Shaendra's advice proves to be well-considered.  A night's rest, in a place guarded by her people, and by the tirelessly patrolling Archons, results in everybody feeling more refreshed in the morning.  And while the weight of what lays ahead of them still lays upon their minds, physically, at least, they are more fit to continue their journey.

A simple breakfast of bread, nuts and fruit is served, along with tea which is, apparently brewed from the leaves of a shrub which grows in the forest.

Crrurr'nokp joins them, and the brintizzi too seems much better, though he declines the breakfast, taking only water.  "Today I have the strength to travel again." he declares, "I shall seek out Jonnee Kay and let him know that I have found you."

Having awoke early and snuck from the tent, Cyan is well-prepared for her travels.  She has even stolen a touch more time to work on her latest piece of art; it nears completion.  Now, she munches contentedly on the provided breakfast, well-satisfied with fruits and nuts.  "This tea," she declares, "is excellent."

Not surprisingly, Crrurr'nokp demurs.  The brintizzi are of the more carnivorous persuasion, after all.  "I wish you a good journey, Crrurr'nokp."  Cyan sips at her tea, her amber eyes studying him over the cup's brim.  "One hopes you will reach Jonnee Kay safely, to impart the news."  Frowning, she pauses.  "Curse me for a fool.  I could send you there myself, given five minutes."  Her fingers fumble in her bag, but Berd, now alert and watchful, raises his head and Cyan finds her instruments sitting atop her other gear.

"Bide a time, Crrurr'nokp," she requests, flicking out a quill and opening her sketchbook, "and I will send you directly to Jonnee."

Crrurr'nokp cocks his head to one side, a bird-like gesture of curiosity as he watches Cyan start sketching.  After a short while, as realisation dawns, he says, "Ah... I know what you are doing.  I have heard Jonnee Kay speak of this, and had hoped to witness it myself one day.  The tactical implications are most interesting.  To be able to travel instantly to a place or a person, without crossing the intervening distance.  Or to simply observe from a distant location."

Then a moments thought, and his head tilts to the opposite side, "Might it not be possible to create an image, or several images, of the enemy's leader, this Harbonnah, and attack him directly with a strong enough force?"

"Absolutely," Cyan murmurs as she rapidly sketches.  "Harbonah is..."  Her quill stills on the paper for a long moment before taking up its scratching course again.  "...known to me," she finishes, her voice still soft, still calm.  Berd twists and turns on her shoulder, though, hissing in agitation before settling down.

"I could certainly create an image.  Making contact, however, is more difficult than maintaining it.  Should Harbonah choose to resist, it would require many minds of immense power to break through to him."  A faint, lopsided smile touches her lips; it doesn't reach her onyx eyes.  "His mind holds great strength."

Berd grumbles this time, but remains lying down.

"Certainly he would have warning," she continues.  "And we have seen that the Archons are willing to meld minds into one in order to battle.  Berd has experienced it firsthand.  We might break through his defenses to find ourselves facing the minds of a massed host of Archons, none of them daring to betray the other in such a circumstance for fear of the host turning on them as well."

Her lips thin.  "Once locked in a battle, mind to mind, it becomes very difficult to escape.  In essence, it becomes an all or nothing throw of the dice."  Another smile, this one as jagged and sharp as the brintizzi's own.  "Something worth considering if we fail."

The pen continues to move across the paper, filling in sharp features, a quirky smile, and narrowed, clever eyes.  "The palanqueti are of great use, but they are slow to make.  A sketch such as this takes only a short time, but is only viable for limited use.  If Jonnee moves to another world, it becomes useless.  If time passes, it becomes useless.  A sketch of a world will undergo the same deterioration.  Were I to make it into a full-fledged palanquet, it would last forever, but that is a process which could take me a full day."

"I understand." the brintizzi says, his single eye still fixed on Cyan's hands as she sketches.  Whether he refers to the limitations of a hastily made palanquet, or to the problems inherent in attacking Harbonnah isn't clear.

His next question shows that he appears to be giving considerable thought to the matter, "You can make an image of a place?  What, then, prevents you making images of Harbonnah's fortress, and then fifty or a hundred brintizzi go to that place, bearing the new weapons?  Would that involve a battle of minds?  Or would we be able to do fight on our terms?"

There is no accusation or irritation in his voice; he simply seems genuinely curious.

"It carries similar risks." James answers.  He has little experience of Trumps and palanquet, certainly when compared with Cyan, but he understands some of the military and logistical challenges involved.

"The Archons have ways of monitoring and manipulating the energies some call the Underflow, which is tied to the use of these images.  Harbonah's fortress may be screened to prevent their use.  Even if it worked, it is likely that any arriving troops would quickly be detected and the bridgehead cut off.  It would almost certainly be a suicide attack for the assault troops.  If one hundred brintizzi got through, or even fifty, it might be enough." James has considerable respect for the brintizzi's prowess, but in this case he is exaggerating to mollify Crrurr'nokp's pride.

"But it might not.  If the attack failed then we would lose not just the troops committed but also an element of surprise.  The Seraphim would gain experience of your capabilities and devise defences against your weapons.  Jonnee's army is probably the best chance we have if this comes to a pitched battle.  If we use it, it must be for it's best effect."

James moves closer to Cyan and Berd, without being too conspicuous.  He makes the slightest contact.

"James has the right of it," Cyan absently replies, her concentration split between the work and the discussion.  "As a beachhead goes, it is woefully vulnerable to those with the capacity to deal with it...and the Archons live and breathe in the Underflow as easily as we do air.  If anything, it is their home."

She doesn't bother going into how killing Harbonah wouldn't stop the problem - someone else would step up, or the Seraphim would fracture into several different camps still working toward a similar goal.  Best to let that go; her plan is mad enough as it is, and she doesn't need people pointing out its possible flaws.

After all, this is the time for mad plans.

(Heavyhand/Scarspirit {wishes/desires/requests} (discourse/conversation), (Cyandaughtermine).

Her lips purse slightly in a moue of concentration; abruptly, Cyan's focus is split three ways as Berd opens up a bridging between himself, his daughter, and James.  This makes it much easier to discuss, and Cyan holds no secrets from her father.

Well, none of import to anyone but herself.

Ah, James.  I suspect urgency in your request.  *amusement*  Is it not a fact of life these days, that not an hour goes by without one of us finding an emergency?

...Apologies.  Now is not the time for witticism!  What might I do for you, this fine morning?

The brintizzi warrior bows his head, "I defer to you wisdom in this matter.  I had assumed that there was a reason we did not use such a tactic, and was simply curious as to what that reason might be.  Now I know."

He returns to his breakfast of bread and water, and a cut of cold meat left over from the previous evening's dinner.  He eats quickly, and with frightening efficiency, clawed hands dissecting the meat, even as he tilts his head back to swallow the previous mouthful.  Pieces of bread are dipped into the water and devoured dripping wet.

Meanwhile, Cyan and James continue their discussion in private...

"Good day to you, my friends!" Shaendra calls out, while still some distance from the table.  Moving closer, she continues, "I hope you slept well?"  She takes a seat, and pours herself some water.

"My people are preparing travelling provisions for you - a little food, water, blankets.  You seem woefully ill-prepared for your quest.  Is there more you would have before you continue on your journey?"

Attending to James and awaiting his response, Cyan still finds it within herself to hail Shaendra as she approaches.  It's less hard than it might be, with Berd in the link, keeping things together and focused.

"A fine day to you, Shaendra!" she calls back, standing to bow.  "Lords of the West, but you have been more than generous to us!  We require nothing else, thanks to your kind hospitality."  Taking some of the water herself, she raises her cup in a toast to the woman.  "We owe you a great deal.  Perhaps more than you will ever know."

It's possible the fate of many worlds might have hung upon this meeting, and the time and help they received upon this world.

"Woefully ill-prepared's a fair description, Shaendra, but not for lack of food and blankets.  We have means of acquiring such necessities.  Not that we aren't grateful.  You have been very generous, as Cyan says."

James helps himself to a light breakfast but his attention is fixed more on his conversation with Cyan - and the prospect of donning his armour once more.

I had a dream last night.  A visitation you might say. *smile*  The Unicorn of Amber came to see me, to warn me.  Here, you might as well see for yourself. A memory is pushed to the forefront of James mind, of a child's bedroom and a peculiar feathered horse.  It "plays" as James recalls the events of the previous night but halts abruptly just as James asks "You saw visions of my future?".  A slight hesitation.  Sorry, this bit seems a little...ah, what the hell, you might as well see this too.

An older memory, but still quite recent, of James walking a mental image of a damaged Pattern...

The Pattern is almost half repaired, and James suddenly notices that a dark patch that he hasn't touched yet is starting to shrink, as if the unicorn  is regaining enough strength to start healing herself.

"... golden ships... without cease... portents... coins... war... King James of Amber... waterfall... the mountain... "

...the rest of James' memory plays out.

It appears we may have a traitor amongst us, but I have no idea how best to discover its identity.

"You have done my people, and Tander, a great favour by returning his belongings to us, and bringing us news of his travels and of his demise.  A handful of supplies is small recompense for that service."

Shaendra is, of course, entirely unaware of the discussion between Cyan and James.  She does, however, notice Cyan's sketching, and leans closer to peer at the almost complete image.

She laughs, "A splendid portrait.  You seem to have captured the essence of the young man.  I could almost believe he winked at me."

Cyan can't help but pick up some of James' emotion regarding his armor - Berd doesn't filter such things between friends, and she sorrows at the idea of him forcing himself back into his protective...warlike...gear.  Soul of a romantic, spirit of a defender, she suspects.

But her sadness vanishes at his explanation of his dream.  Amusement spikes, despite the gravity of the situation.  Even so, she cannot help but be impressed by his capacity for repairing the Grand Pattern, and even moreso for his obvious close link with the Unicorn itself.

And...King James of Amber?  Is this the Unicorn's prediction?  A true seeing?  Or a dream that might-be?

She has no suspicions of it being a creation of James' own mind; he just doesn't seem the sort to hold hidden aspirations to the crown.

Uniduck?

And has the Unicorn visited the mad Castle Greyhawk?

It seems you are favoured of the Unicorn...and small wonder.  *delighted laughter*  I cannot think of one more deserving...  She trails off, then grows more solemn.  One who travels with us.  One of the Archons?  The Sencathi?  We know little of them.  But I...I trust them, and I trust Right.  *confusion*  It cannot be you, James.  Banglen-Yp?  No, I cannot see it.

Me?

And what of the Golden Ships?  The coins?

*brief frustration*

I am no ferret to seek out those traitors hiding with our people.  I have not the skill.  Berd might...had he time to do so, and not against all.  Some would have the strength to deny him, and would I name them traitors for wishing to keep their minds inviolate?  No, never!

We...we may have to settle for the warning, James.  And, forewarned, watch for signs.  Prepare.  And react as best we can.

And I thank you for this.  And for showing me what you did.  King James.  *delighted laugh*

*puzzled silence*

The vision of myself with the Deathiron?  Strange.  I have set gurthang aside for you, James.  I will not carry it again.  I...no, I will not.
I raised that sword against my friends, and it has an evil history of such things.  I raised that sword against you.

*painsorrowshame*

I shall not raise it again.

The bard grins at Shaendra, her topaz eyes glittering in the sunlight.  "Indeed?  Well, I should not put it past Jonnee Kay to do so...here, look well.  I rarely have the time and forethought for this."  She holds up the sketch, and her smile twitches mischeviously.  "Alakazam!"

Berd slants her a disgusted look and exhales slowly upon the paper.  The shimmering cloud engulfs the sheet, dancing through all colours of the rainbow.  Within it, the paper folds in ways impossible to understand with Euclidian geometry, growing smaller while simultaneously linking itself to the Underflow, the impressed psychic pattern stretching through it like the skin of a drum.

When the cloud fades, the sketch has shrunk into a tarot card in Cyan's fingers, completely with the sign of a small drake on its back.  Flipping the card over, she reveals its face.

A young man, tall and rangy, and seemingly in his early twenties, Jonnee has short, spiked, reddish-brown hair and violet eyes.  Eight silver rings pierce his left ear.  A closer look reveals his pupils are vertical slits, like a cat's.

Apart from that one tiny detail he looks like a perfectly normal human being.

He wears a pair of baggy jeans, an outsized, sleeveless tee shirt, tie-dyed in shades of red and purple and printed with tribal artwork consisted of thick black lines and spirals, and a worn and patched leather jacket hangs over one shoulder.  Combat boots and mirrored glasses complete his outfit, and black peaked cap dangles from his hand, bearing the strange legend "Bekka's Surf Shack, Las Angelos."

The sleeveless shirt reveals a large tattoo of an odd geometric design, covering his left arm from shoulder to elbow.

Despite his crooked smile, his posture brims with febrile energy, that of a man a step away from bursting into a sprint.  The sky behind him is blue, the mountains beneath that sky dark and white-capped.  A forest sprawls behind him, and the eyes of a large wolf gleam from within its shadows.

"Ah, Jonnee Kay," Cyan whispers.  "I miss you."

Shaendra watches the transformation, her face rapt.  When it is over, she lightly raps her knuckles repeatedly on the table, "A fine trick.  Your magic is most impressive.  I've not seen its like before."

As Cyan speaks, the green-skinned woman nods, "Aaah... so he is somebody you know, or knew.  It would, I suppose, be difficult to put so much life into an image without a living model to inspire it.  Is he, perhaps, family, or an old lover?"  Before Cyan can answer, though, Shaendra apologises, "I am sorry, I forgot that your ways might not be the same as ours.  Such questions would be commonplace here, but I have heard that in other places they might be considered rude.  Forgive me, please, if it has offended you."

Cyan stares at the other woman for a moment, then bursts into pleasant laughter.  "Oh, Lord of the West, Shaendra!  No offense is taken!"  Reaching out, she pats the other woman's arm.  "That question is a compliment - one such as Jonnee Kay being related to me, or choosing me as his own?"

Leaning back, she waves expansively in the air.  "A bit rough around the edges, but having Jonnee here to call me 'babe' would certainly lift my heart."  Her smile softens.  "I would be pleased to call Jonnee my brother, though he lays no sole claim to my heart.  I love him dearly, and would gladly stand against the darkness beside him.  He is a wild boy who has become a strong leader, as boys of strength and character are wont to do."  With a sigh, Cyan walks in a circle.  "I...miss him.  I miss them all."

Her eyes slip sideways to touch James for an instant.  Not all.  Lucky I am to have this one with whom to walk the road.

Berd rears up and scrabbles at her hair for a moment, and Cyan utters a vicious curse in a flowing, alien tongue. "Melcaquétima!"  Combing her hair back in place with her fingers, Cyan shoots the smug drake a glare.  "Foul beast...stand close, Shaendra, and I will demonstrate the use of this painting."

OOC - waiting a bit on James.  :)

I wouldn't trouble yourself with the ships and the coins.  The Unicorn *said* a great many things while we were in contact but only ever a word here or a phrase there, nothing coherent.  Trying to extract some greater meaning would be a fool's errand.

For the rest, I agree.  Forewarned is fore-armed as the saying goes.  That may be the best we can hope for.

Gurthang, too.  I agree, I mean.  That surprised me, too.

*amusement and sympathy*

You don't know how happy I was when you took your helm off.  Just finding you felt like a victory - even when I felt you might still strike me dead.

Speaking of helms...

James crosses the clearing to collect his pile of arms and armour, he pauses before donning them, as he is keenly interested in Cyan's palanquet.  He has seen her use them before, of course, and has some little experience of his own with Trumps but he has rarely had the opportunity to watch Cyan in the process of making a card.

Jonnee was one of those who joined the quest with me.  I don't miss them all.

People appear and start to clear the table.  Crrurr'nokp stands and stretches, causing an impressive array of sharpness to appear, if only briefly.  "I will return to the army shortly.  With your permission, Shaendra, I will speak to Jonnee Kay about this place.  Perhaps he will send a number of brintizzi here, to help defend this place."

Shaendra considers only briefly, "I can not speak for everybody in the world.  I am only the leader of this camp, and only for a few days each year.  While I would welcome your people as guests here, I would not wish it to become an armed camp, and thereby possibly attract attention from those who would destroy our world.  Others may have different opinions.  If you can wait a day or two for an answer, I can speak to the parliament."

She steps closer to Cyan and watches...

Cyan frowns as she studies the card, but only in part out of concentration.  Some of her focus is on James' words, echoing in her thoughts.  So many portents and signs...why could beings of power not speak clearly?  She shoots a quick look of annoyance at Berd, sitting on her shoulder twiddling his thumbs.

One never knows.  I will keep them in mind, consider them carefully.  Perhaps they are metaphor, perhaps literal.

James, King of Amber...that, I would love to see.

*sorrow coupled with surprise, and blossoming pleasure*

I had not guessed you were glad to see me at the time, James.  Then again, my memories are...fragmented.  And it is possible that helm would never have come off again, had you not caught me by surprise and necessitated its removal.  Well-played, that.

Lords of the West, it hurt to see you standing there, bloodied.  *disgust/fear/anger*  By my hand!

Ah, but I was so angry with you!  So wrongly angry.  *pained amusement*  Angry because you meant so much, even in my confused, twisted mind.  A stranger would have received no such fury.

Such hurtful memories.  Away!  Gnaw at me no more.  *rueful amusement*  Times past, and thank the light for that.  Glad I am that such things are behind us.  Glad indeed.

"Often, I wonder what happened with my people," she murmurs, then shakes her head.  "Attend, Shaendra."  It is not a command, but merely a statement.  "If you would place your hand upon my shoulder, you will see and hear what I do."

Her ruby eyes narrow.  "Jonnee Kay.  I would have words with thee."  And the force of her spirit beats against the palanquet like a stick against a drum, sending reverberations keyed to Jonnee's mind through the Underflow.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:24, Mon 11 June 2012.

"Who's there?  Cyan!?!  Hey, Babe, it's good to see your face!"  Jonnee, the vision of him transmitted over the link, seems to be standing on a hilltop.  There is the sound of surf pounding on a nearby shore.  The air around him is filled with smoke, teased into ragged streamers by the wind which tugs at his red hair (several inches longer than Cyan recalls).  He looks a little older than her memory of him, there are a few more lines in his face, but he still wears the same infectious grin.  Over his left shoulder juts the hilt of a sword.

"How're you doing?  I sent one of the brints to find you a while ago.  Have you seen him?"

His eyes flick away from Cyan for a moment, staring at something far behind and to her left, and he raises a hand to point in that direction, "Brakus.  Send a squad over to check those trees.  Tell them capture first, kill if they have to."

And back to Cyan again.  "Who's your new friend?"

Next to Cyan, Shaendra gasps.

"He can see me?" Shaendra asks, her voice tinged with awe at what she is witnessing.

"Hear you too." Jonnee replies, smiling.

"My name is Shaendra.  I am a caretaker of sorts, responsible for this place which has given shelter to your friends.  They honour us by being here and we, in return, provide them with simple food and a place to rest."

"Hello Shaendra the caretaker  I'm Jonnee Kay, late of Las Angelos.  If you ever need a shiftless layabout for anything, then I'm your man."  The laughing eyes grow serious as he once again watches something, or somebody, beyond the field of vision granted by the palanquet.  Then his gaze comes back into focus.

"Did the brintizzi find you?  Crrurr'nokp's his name.  I suspect he made it, he's a genuine hero.  The kind who fights a dozen monsters before breakfast, then says it's his duty and refuses a reward.  When he's given a job, he doesn't stop until it's finished."

OOC - Sorry, thought I'd have more than a couple of days.  :(  This trip...

IC -

"Ah, Jonnee Kay!"  Cyan squints, peering at the land behind him.  "To where have you gotten yourself now, I wonder?"  And she breaks into a smile of her own.  "I do quite well now, Jonnee, at sight of your own face.  Glad it makes me to see you smiling, even through the palanquet!"

"Indeed, Shaendra."  Still smiling, she lets Jonnee introduce himself, and cannot help but laugh.  "Be wary, Shaendra - Jonnee will spin tales, fill your ears, and steal your heart.  But he lies poorly; this is no shiftless layabout you see, but as much or more of a hero as his soldier."

Her ruby eyes snap back to Jonnee.  "Crrurr'nokp did indeed arrive, though not safely.  He was badly injured in his journey.  Fortunately James was able to heal him - impressively! - and now we can return him to you over the short route."

Slowly, she nods her head.  "A hero indeed...glad I am to send him to you directly, without danger, that he might bolster your own company once again."  Her smile slowly fades.  "Jonnee, there are things to discuss, but...is this a poor time?  You seem in the midst of something.  And -" one eyebrow cocks "- a sword?"

"The old lizard said he'd get there, even if it cost his other eye, or he had to complete the trip as a ghost." Jonnee replies with a smile, "Send him back, he'll be welcome.  Since he learned to cross Shadow, with help of course, he's come in handy as a messenger."

"We're not far from Amber now, I think.  But the going's been a bit tougher for the last few days.  We had to do some fighting here, and we're just tidying up.  There were no Archons, just ground troops.  They outnumbered us about three to one, which the brints thought was great fun.  I've got patrols out now, bringing in survivors for questioning."

"Yeah... the sword... " he looks suddenly nervous, and his eyes shift away, not to watch something else, but simply to avoid meeting Cyan's gaze, "The brints gave it to me.  A trophy from an enemy commander.  Seems they don't do medals... no coats to pin them on I suppose.  Instead they present their heroes with swords.  Fancy ones.  So the brints told me I should have this one as a mark of victory or something."

"I never use the thing, of course, but I'm expected to wear it all the time."

"Then you are a hero?" Shaendra asks, reprovingly.

James stands in the shade donning his armour a piece at a time.  His armour is lighter and less cumbersome than metal full plate or field plate but checking the various buckles and seals still takes time.

James listens to what he can hear of the conversation with interest.  James had fond memories of his time with Jonnee and hoped he had been faring well.  He cocks an eyebrow at the mention of a sword.

"She's got you there." James grins with amusement, then calls to Cyan, "Say 'Hi' for me.  And tell him to look after himself, the going'll get heavier as he approaches Amber.  I'd brief him but I never got much of a briefing myself and the situation on the ground will've changed from what I can remember."

"I shall indeed send your soldier back, Jonnee Kay, and via the short path," Cyan replies.  "You shall have him forthwith.  The rest...James, who says hello, informs me that your observations regarding resistance dovetail with his own, and that it shall likely grow worse.  As for the sword, the army, the enemy commander..."  Cyan's brows draw together.  "May I see the sword?  I am curious."

Curious and worried.

Some of that dissipates as she glances first to Shaendra, then James.  "Yes...James is the correct of the twain.  Jonnee is a hero, and has been many times over.  Do not let him sell himself short to you, rogue that he is."

Berd cracks an eyelid open.  The Bridging opens further, offering James the capacity to join the conversation should he desire, even at a distance.  (Windwalker/Wolfbrother), I/Berd {greet/welcome} onceagain/beforetheend...It is with pleasure that I look upon you again, Jonnee Kay.  Would that you were here with us, to assist my daughter

{help/assist} (Heavyhand/Scarspirit) {keep/hold} (Cyandaughter) safe/alive from (selffoolishness)

in her plan.

"My thanks for the vote of confidence, Berd," Cyan sighs.  The drake blinks innocently.  "Jonnee, I would send you Crrurr'nokp now, if you desire."  She reaches out a hand for the brintizzi warrior.

"Some people say I'm a hero.  I don't think I am, I'm just a guy who got scared enough to take risks that others thought were crazy." the cheerfulness is gone for the moment, and Jonnee's expression and tone are deadly serious, "Sometimes it worked out, other times... not so much."

"So you and James are still travelling together?  That's good - it means I can stop worrying about the two of you separately."

He reaches for the hilt of the sword and draws it, a little awkwardly, "Here you go, Babe." a chuckle, "You should see the faces here, wondering why I've suddenly pulled a sword for no obvious reason."

The weapon is designed for one-handed use, with a cruciform hilt and a thirty inch, double-edged, wavy blade.  The hilt is fairly plain, though the disc-shaped pommel is inlaid with gold in a representation of the sun, but the blade is etched with a complex knotwork pattern which follows the curves of the steel.  "It's light enough, and looks nice, and it's got great balance, I think, but it doesn't compare to my own.  Do you want to hold it?"

For some reason that last question seems to strike him as funny, and he struggles to contain a laugh.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:52, Sun 01 July 2012.

Not the end yet, Berd.  Plenty of time for you and Jonnee to have eating contests later.  Which, of course, is why I'm busy strapping on the heaviest armour I have. {self-conscious amusement}

Hi Jonnee.  The situation on the ground at Amber was improving when we were there last, we've done our bit to sow doubt in the enemies' minds.  You may be better served by boldness than caution.  A strong attack from the rear may break the siege altogether and it suits the brintizzi fighting style.  Rely on Benedict to capitalise on any gains made.

I'd love to have you with us in this but our...confrontation will not be won by the strongest army.  Instead we have teamwork, creativity and the afore-mentioned foolishness.  Lots of fun.

James just barely avoids thinking 'What could possibly...'.

"Such is the path of a hero, Jonnee.  I understand most of them are frightened people reacting on the spur of the moment...and things turn out well, because they are even so capable of the proper decisions."  She smiles; it's a touch lopsided, but it's real.  "Such is the path of a hero," she repeats with a sigh, then brightens. "And you qualify."

She, herself, made the wrong choices.

"A beautiful weapon, Jonnee Kay," Cyan responds, studying it as best she can through the palanquet link.  Then she shoots him a narrow-eyed, ruby glance.  "Your sense of humor, Jonnee, has not changed...."  The dark look brightens.  "I can count on that, at least!  Yes, I suspect it is a touch inferior to yours, though would look better mounted over a fireplace."  This time the grin shows teeth.  "We could test the issue...?"

A laugh follows.  "But no, I jest.  Best we not hand it to and fro through the link, Jonnee.  I am concerned of setting the wrong vibrations through the Underflow; who knows what such a tool might bring?"  Her visage grows more serious as James inputs his own information, with a ghost of a smile for his witticism rregarding Berd.  "Ah, but while the armor does not suit you, James, so to speak -" he does better in evening wear, if her memory of a steamboat serves Cyan correctly "- it certainly keeps you safe."  The smile falters a touch at his mention of foolishness, then returns, and Cyan shrugs.

"Thus far, we have had few difficulties.  And James is well-acquainted with the strategic disposition in Amber."

"We should reach our destination in a couple of days, all being well.  Ran into a storm on the road that slowed us down quite a bit, but not for too long.  We've made decent time since then." Jonnee explains, sheathing the sword after Cyan has had a chance to study it.

"That calmed everybody down."

"I have every confidence in your teamwork, creativity and foolishness, James.  They've always worked well in the past.  If you say boldness will serve me better now, then I'll push on as fast as the army can travel, and hit the enemy hard.  My guess'd be that they're not really expecting me and the brints to come at them from over here.  Should be a nice surprise for them." he laughs.

"If you want to send the old lizard through... mine, that is, not yours, "I'll put him to work.  Can't have him getting lazy."

"Fantastic news, Jonnee Kay.  Do be careful, mind," Cyan states, unnecessarily.  She knows it, Jonnee knows it, but being Cyan...it has to be said.  She lets out a quiet laugh.  "I suspect any enemy would be surprised by your forces.  It is merely that..."

Drawing in a deep breath, she continues.  As she speaks, her topaz eyes darken, first into gold, then fully shadowing as her tone of voice and even diction shifts.  "Jonnee, Harbonah's forces have faced your soldiers before, which means they might adapt to your appearance.  And if they do, it'll be quickly.  They might come from below ground, right into the middle of your forces, instantly expanding even more quickly than the brintizzi can move.  They could bombard.  Or shift in from the Underflow.  Not that they will, mind, especially if there aren't any Archons in the army you face.  But if there are..."

The General shakes her head.  "Archons learn, cursed quickly when there's a need.  And I showed them how to fight your people."

Cyan blinks, and when her eyes open, they are shimmering sapphires.  "I merely...worry."  On her shoulder, Berd grumbles and turns in place.  "I have no doubt of your capabilities, no doubt at all."  The bard reaches out, as if to touch, then shakes her head.  "Yes.  I can send Crrurr'nokp through."

Cyan reaches out and lays a hand on Crrurr'nokp's shoulder.  The scales are laying flat, sheathing the barbs and spines beneath.  The reptile skin is smooth and warm to her touch.  Warmer than a human's would be, as if the brintizzi were running a fever.

Jonnee grins, "Hey, Crrurr'nokp.  Time to come home buddy."  His hand reaches and grasps that of the brintizzi, and he pulls, releasing his grip a moment later.

Shaendra gasps, "He's gone." and Jonnee laughs, "Oh, that surprised a few people.  Never seen so many brints get so spiky so fast."

"Great way to check their reflexes."

He sobers then, considering Cyan's words, "We've already seen them tunnelling.  Always catches a few by surprise, but we're learning to keep alert for them, and a bunch of brints with death rays always make them pay for trying it.  They learned early on that dropping out of the sky makes them an easy target, so they don't use that as much.  Mind you... " his cat's eyes look past Cyan, "Brakus?  Who was it that told us we were running into less Archons than we used to?  Saedon, that's right."

The young man's focus returns, "I have some non-brints with me now, troops that we picked up on the way.  Some of them are good with numbers.  One of those, Saedon Denor, he's been keeping a count of Archons and he says we're seeing less than we used to, and less than we should.  Makes him think they're doing something important somewhere else."

"I figured they were busy chasing you guys around."

Cyan shoots Shaendra an amused smile.  "Yes, Jonnee has taken him across the worlds.  What you see is not only for communication; it can be a gateway, as well."  She chuckles at Jonnee's words, recalling the brintizzi reactions to unexpected events.  "It is good that Crrurr'nokp has returned safely."

But she sobers at the news of the Archons.  "Not seeing as many...oh, yes.  Jonnee, the Seraphim recently made an attempt to destabilize the Myriad Worlds.  We blocked it, with the help of Right and his troops - the nephillim, you remember?  The attempts did require many of them acting in concert.  It's quite possible this is the reason you have been seeing less of them..."

She grimaces.  "I hope.  If not, then we are in for as much of a surprise as I hope to provide to the Seraphim."  One eyebrow cocks.  "I would tell you to move swiftly, Jonnee Kay, but that would be redundant.  You must link with the forces at Amber, I suspect, and hold that place until our plan takes root."

Curiousity swells in her.  "You have other troops?  Are they from the same alliance as the brintizzi?  Or other worlds harmed by the Seraphim?"

James finishes buckling on his armour and moves to join Cyan and Shaendra.

"There weren't as many Archons as I expected at Amber, either.  One, at least.  Perhaps a few, acting as commanders.  They can always bring in more as reinforcements, of course, but not so easily that close to Amber."

"I encountered three different types of ground troops but only one that would match the brints and they were few in number.  If you meet any horse-size hound beasts with scorpion-like tails remember they're sentient, they can teleport and they were deceived into swearing oaths to Harbonah.  That last point's just as important as the first two."

"Okay...  If we're not seeing them, and you're not, then where are they?  We captured some of their troops a few days ago, at least as we're measuring it.  It was just after I sent Crrurr'nokp to find you.  They were terrified of the brints and really happy to talk to me."  Jonnee runs a hand through his hair, looking thoughtful, "They told me some crap about their Archons fighting among themselves and one called... what was it?  Moradel?"  A quick glance to one side, then back again.  "Morael.  That was it, Morael.  Apparently he was sent to take over when the Archons started fighting each other.  He turned up one day with a swarm of assistants, and all the Archons who'd been in charge before were killed.  In front of the army, as a show of what happens to anybody who doesn't follow orders."

"Could that be where they've gone?  Too busy infighting to follow the plan."

Jonnee nods as James speaks, "The brints will be glad to run into something that can match them, though they'll probably complain if there aren't enough to go round."

"I think we've seen one of those scorpion-horse-dog things.  Spotted it drinking from a stream, but it didn't see us and it didn't attack so we left it alone.  Thought it was just an animal.  Glad we left now.  If they're only working for Harbonah because they were tricked, I'll watch out for more.  Next time I'll try to capture one and see if I can talk to it.  Maybe get one to switch teams."

Infighting?  Fighting with Right's forces?  Fighting with the rest of the nephillim?

"Perhaps they're overextended," Cyan breathes.  "They've moved quickly.  Maybe too quickly.  And with every success we achieve, cracks grow in their organization.  With every battle that goes against them, more lose faith in Harbonah, more become convinced they could do better.  Might that be it?"

She turns to the glittering rings of their escorts.  "Might that be it?"

Her lips press together.  "If that is the case, then strong Archons will eventually swim to the top to take command.  Some might be willing to do so for Harbonah.  Certainly one will be Harbonah himself.  The forces may fracture.  They may hold together.  But for this moment, they are stalled with the struggle for power."

Her lips twist slightly.  "Best case scenario, of course," the General notes quietly, her eyes caught between ruby and black.  Then the colour leeches back into them.

Gripping James' arm, she squeezes hard, then grins at Jonnee.  "We might have more time than I thought.  But we can't take that chance!  This must proceed as if we face the worst - that the reports are a lie and they plan something big, or that Harbonah will regain control of his forces within a short time.  But Jonnee...if you can garner information, please send it to me."  Closing her eyes, Cyan sighs.  "I know not how.  Perhaps I will use the palanquet regularly.  How I wish I had another of my own to send to you!"

At Cyan's question, the Archons move in to form a tight cluster.  They don't say anything, but they all hover close together...

Jonnee nods, "Best case.  Worst case, I suppose, is they're working on something.  Like this thing you mentioned, the one that you've been poking holes in."

"If we're lucky, and it is the best case, then maybe a bunch of pretenders will hold together just long enough to take out Harbonah, then fall apart."  He falls silent, thinking.

One of the danioti breaks away from the rest of the Archons to hover close to Cyan, + WE BELIEVE IT IS POSSIBLE THAT THE SERAPHIM ARE FIGHTING EACH OTHER.  IT TOOK ALL OF HARBONAH's WILL TO HOLD THE SERAPHIM TOGETHER.  IF HE IS DISTRACTED, THEN HIS ABILITY TO MAINTAIN  THOSE FRAGILE ALLIANCES WILL BE IMPAIRED. +

With a sudden snap of his fingers, Jonnee asks, "Do you have a card for James, or Berd?  If I take that, I can contact you through them.  Otherwise I'll just have to send Crrurr'nokp after you again."

"Harbonah's plans collapse?  Yes, it's possible," Cyan whispers, nodding along with the Archons.  "One cannot hold together an alliance based on fear forever.  Sooner or later, it will crack.  And there are many, many Seraphim who have their own plans, plans that do not necessarily coincide with Harbonah's."  Her topaz gaze flicks to their guardians.  "You truly believe this?  Ah, but you would not suggest if you did not.  Then it gives me hope."

She begins to shift from foot to foot, in lieu of pacing, in order to leave Shaendra contacted to Jonnee.  "With Harbonah fighting for control, it is possible that the danger's immediacy is reduced.  Somewhat.  True, he may have a contingency that might yet cause all manner of devastation, but so long as he believes he can regain control, he will continue in that direction."  A small, bitter smile touches her lips.  "And I am well-familiar with Harbonah's ego.  He will believe, to near the bitter end."

"Which means we still have time.  Time and a chance."  Closing her eyes, Cyan sways a moment in the breeze, considering.  Is it possible...?

"No," she decides.  "The plan must go forward.  The Seraphim as a whole are a threat - that threat must be dealt with."  A bolt of pain shoots through her heart, but she smiles.  "They still need to see."

Berd stirs, then snaps the air irritably.

"I do indeed have a free palanquet, Jonnee."  A crooked smile dances across her face and like a conjurer, she snaps out a card in her left hand.  On it, a lonely, exhausted soldier rests against his pack, his back to a tree, a long road ahead of him.

James.

"It might be of use to you when this is over, as well," she offers.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:42, Mon 23 July 2012.

James armour flexes slightly at the strength of Cyan's grip but he doesn't really feel its full strength.  He listens with some enthusiasm to Jonnee and Cyan speculate as to the cause of the recent dearth of Archons.

"We do know part of their something big." James pauses.

"Are we sure this link is secure?" James asks no-one in particular, before continuing, "Never mind, I guess they know we know already.  Cubes, Jonnee.  Of the hyper-dimensional, more than six sides, makes your head hurt variety.  Cubes as big as buildings.  Banglen-Yp destroyed one, and we believe a second one is compromised, but there are others.  We have forces working to prevent the placement of the rest.  I doubt there'll be any on your route to Amber but, on the off chance there are, they're priority targets - and you'll find some of your Archons."

"Going back to what I was saying, I'd be glad if you can persuade any of the hound-creatures to turn.  The one I fought seemed kind of noble and I was sorry to have killed it.  But it said they had sworn strong oaths to Harbonah.  I doubt any will be forsworn for all that they may agree with what you say."

Jonnee accepts the card from Cyan and laughs again, "Sorry... the way the brints react when I pull something out of thin air like that just doesn't get old."

"Yeah, I reckon it's too late to start changing plans now.  If we keep second-guessing ourselves we'll never get anything done."

He nods slowly as James describes the cubes, "Ah, the cubes.  I saw one of those a few weeks ago.  Small one.  Only had four sides, all places I didn't know.  I took it off its owner, put it in a bag with a rock, and dropped it into a deep lake, from a boat.  I wonder if that's why they were made - start them small and let them grow bigger and bigger until they're... well... ripe, I guess.  And they made a lot of them because they weren't sure if any would get lost or broken along the way."

"I'll watch out for any bigger ones, and see what I can do about them."

"And for those hound things.  At least give them a chance to talk before we do whatever needs to be done."

He looks out past James and Cyan, his slit pupils widening, "Listen I need to go, there's a scouting group coming back in, and I'll have to talk to them.  I've got James' card, so I can call you up if I need to, and you know where to find me."

"Take care, and good luck."

"I can only imagine, Jonnee Kay," Cyan laughs, recalling how the brintizzi used to react to sudden surprises.  She can't really imagine living life on such a hair-trigger level, but then...she wasn't born one of their people.  Still, it must be difficult at times for Jonnee, who is close to that himself.

James wisely decides to outline the Archons plot to Jonnee, and Cyan begins kicking herself (mentally).  Better that their friend know of the situation, that he might recognize something odd when he comes across it.  To be fair, I am beginning ot have trouble recalling exactly who already knows what, she considers.

The bard shoots a worried glance at Shaendra, wondering how their host is taking this vast amount of information, much of it troublesome.  "Shaendra, are you well?"  She grimaces.  "This must be difficult to absorb in some ways; Lord of the West, I often find myself struggling and I have been enmeshed in it from the start."

Jonnee admits to finding one of the cubes, and Cyan grimaces.  "Your analysis makes sense, Jonnee Kay.  If you can let Berd know which world it was on - perhaps a glimpse of your memory - he can return later and deal with it properly.  It was a fine way to deal with it on the short notice, to be sure; I merely feel that such things should be destroyed forever.  Even should we thwart the Seraphim's plot, they are a danger."

A sigh follows, and Cyan cocks her head to the side.  "It has been a pleasure talking to you again, Jonnee Kay.  Please take care of yourself."  She dithers a moment before the card, glancing first at James, then Shaendra to see if they have aught futher to say.  When they finish, she raises the card up higher, and Berd peers into it from her shoulder.

Cyan's smile wobbles slightly, but it holds.  "Good luck, Jonnee Kay.  And fare thee well."

Her palm passes over the card, and it returns to a portrait.

The connection is severed, and Jonnee is gone, for now.  Shaendra stands in silence for a long moment, brow furrowed, and then she speaks, "That was... interesting.  I have never seen anything like that before, and I thank you for showing me.  That man is a soldier, of some sort? Or at least he leads an army of creatures like your friend who was here?"

"I did not understand every word that was said, but I did grasp enough to get a general idea of their meaning.  The war, from his point of view, goes well, and he is close to his destination.  Wheels, like the ones you brought with you, are the enemy, but they also have other servants of various kinds.  They make devices to aid in their war, and those devices can be destroyed or otherwise removed from the field of battle, though doing so must be handled carefully."

She shakes her head slowly, "But I can tell you, I do not believe I've seen anything which fits the description - a cube with the wrong number of faces - I would remember if I had."

"A soldier, of sorts," Cyan chuckles, knowing how Jonnee would react to the sobriquet.  "He never wished to be a leader, which makes him the best sort."  She lets out a long sigh.  "The brintizzi probably think of him as a older warrior - slow-moving, but cunning and experienced."  The idea of Jonnee being 'slow' is ludicrous...except when compared against his warriors.

She nods along with Shaendra's summation.  "That is the meat of it," the bard murmurs.  "And Shaendra - if you find a cube, do not use it.  It offers other worlds to explore, a dreadful temptation, but every world to which it is taken fuels it, and it becomes an instrument of destruction for the Seraphim's plans.  Bury it.  Throw it into lava.  But do not use it.  I beg you."

Her hands rise to scrub at her eyes, and suddenly the words begin to spill out.  "The war has not gone well until now.  Until recently, it has been a scramble, a desperate attempt to discern the Seraphim's plans, to stall their advances, to win space to think before they end...everything.  World after world fell to them.  They poisoned realities, tore them apart.  We couldn't keep up, we couldn't -"

Her teeth snap shut and Cyan covers her face for a moment, breathing in.  On her shaking shoulder, Berd croons quietly, pressing his head against her ear.  Years, now, she has run, fought, burned, and drowned, and suddenly Cyan is so very, very weary.

How long ago did she step onto the docks of Cadiniagart beside Lexy, Morgan, Duncan, and Tander, with Ares as their dark shadow?

A shudder rolls through her body, and she pulls her hands away.  No tears, only topaz eyes; pale topaz, altogether too pale.  Fear shines in them, despite her smile.  "Now, we have hope.  We have allies of strength, we have foiled their plans, the enemy's forces fracture.  One push may be all we need to end this.  One push."  For an instant, rainbows sparkle in her diamond eyes, then they shade into deep amythest as the colour rushes back to her cheeks.  Letting out a small sigh, Cyan absently scratches Berd's forehead.  "End it for the better of both sides - ours and the Seraphim," she whispers.

Shaendra signifies her understanding of all that Cyan tells her.  About Jonnee, and the cubes, and her hopes for the war.  Two of the green skinned people approach, one bearing a basket of provisions - fruit, something resembling wild onions, nuts, still-warm bread - and three full water-skins.  The other carries blankets, tied into bundles with a bright green cord.

All of this they lay on the table before Cyan, James and Banglen-Yp.

"I promised you things to help you on your journey.  I can offer you only what you see here, and the thoughts of myself and my people.  Each night, and every morning, we will think of you as we commune with those who watch over our world.  With luck, they will consider you worthy of their protection too."

The woman bows, "Once again, I thank you for returning the memories of Otandal to his home."

James clasps Cyan's shoulder gently as she struggles with the memories of battles past.  The war against the Archons seems to have been going on forever.  James no longer has an accurate count of days but certainly has has fought in wars that lasted longer but this struggle has been particularly taxing, characterised by extremes of emotion and desperate intensity - and Cyan has been fighting for longer than anyone.

James steps forward to accept Shaendra's gifts, as much to give Cyan a moment to recover as for any other reason.  "And once again we must thank you for your hospitality.  The warmth of your welcome and your generosity will stay with us for a long time and we are grateful for we may have as much need of happy memories as of blankets and fresh bread."

"My thanks, Shaendra," Cyan whispers in response, bowing as the gifts are offered.  "Your food will sustain us and I hope your prayers will guide us to the correct path."  She glances up and back with a small smile for James as his powerful hand comes down on her shoulder, and takes the moment he offers to pull herself together.

A long journey indeed; one that started for James many years before he fell into this quest.  She cannot imagine a life of conflict; for all that this one has stretched, for all that she watched the lands of Balar sink into the sea following the War of Wrath, the bard has lived most of her life in peace.  Reaching up, she rubs her shoulder - the one without the small dragon - and breathes out in a long, slow exhalation.

The hardest thing is yet to come.

Stepping forward as James offers his own exquisite thanks, she nods her head in agreement.  Fitting, their words.  "Memories."  She cocks her head, her rusty hair falling about her shoulders, thin threads of grey winding through what was once waves of brilliant copper.  "Hold to your memories, Shaendra."  Her smile grows wistful.  "You never know when they might come in handy...or for what."  For an instant, her sapphire eyes sparkle in the forest light.  "The happy ones, most of all.  I think...I think my memories of this place are some of my most favourite, and I shall treasure them."

For a moment, she feels her body drawn through the steps of a dance by strong, gentle arms, and sees falling motes of light reflected in dark eyes.  Yes.  Bolstered by her own spirit, some memories will prove stronger than others; those will be the ones which turn the tide.

Berd eyes the food hungrily, then chirps at Shaendra, a ringing chime that echoes from the trees as if struck from crystal.

"So."  The bard glances about, at Banglen-Yp, then at her escort of tiny wheels, and finally to James.  "Is there aught else before we leave this sanctum?"  Back to Shaendra.  "Or do we take our leave of our noble, generous hosts?"

The Archons seem anxious to move on.  As might be expected from creatures to whom motion is like breathing, they find it difficult to remain in one place for long.  The danioti, still no larger than coins, skim across the surface of the now-cleared table in what appears to be a carefully coordinated dance.  They leave the table carved with a pattern which resembles stylised leaves.

Banglen-Yp claps, applauding their effort, before turning to Cyan and shaking her head, "Nothing more."
This message was last edited by the GM at 09:48, Sat 18 Aug 2012.

James quickly checks his equipment (an old habit that) before replying, "I'm as ready as I'm going to get.  Let's go."

There may be nothing more to do, here, but there is still much to think about.  James considers briefly whether the daniotis' parting gift makes them less likely to be, or include, the traitor.  It is a generous gift, in its own way, and an expression of creativity, which James takes to be a good sign but hardly conclusive.  The fact that they co-ordinate their movements to such effect suggests joint planning, which would be a risk for a traitor, unless they were all traitors.  James pinches the bridge of his nose and screws up his eyes.  Such thinking could save a man's life, or give him a powerful headache.

Goodbyes are offered and returned, and Berd raises his head to give a warbling cry.  The world recedes, and they are tumbling into the Underflow.  The currents swirl around them, buffeting them and almost driving them off course, but Berd has a destination in mind.

A place which fits Cyan's crieria - somewhere where the Archons will come, somewhere that has meaning to them, where words which are spoken will be long remembered, simply because of the place where they are spoken.

So they fall through the Underflow, and James looks around... to see himself looking back at him.  Like a mirror which doesn't mimic his own movements.  More than a mirror... a hall of mirrors.  All of the reflections moving individually.

The remaining Banglen-Yp giggles, and waves an arm to encompass the duplicates, before addressing the original, "That's you all over."

The tides of the Underflow grow more erratic, more violent, and Berd struggles to hold them to their course as something comes into view in the dimness ahead and below.  An orb of flame, burning fitfully as streamers of fire are torn from it and dragged away by the things which inhabit the Underflow.  Things which have come to feed on the corpse of a dead world.

The Archons grow, until they are yards in diameter, spreading out to provide a defensive perimeter.  Though who knows if even they can prevail, should the vast, dark denizens of the Underflow choose to attack.

And then Berd gives a clarion call, and they are falling again, surrounded by a glittering bubble of force, and they come to rest on a mountain of pure diamond, on a world of terrible storms and blazinging earth, where clouds of flame rain down ash and burning cinders.  Rivers and lakes of lava boil and churn far below.  If Berd's concentration should falter, it is doubtful that he, Cyan or James would live long enough to notice.  Banglen-Yp... might.  The Archons probably would.

This, then, is Hosk.  Once a nursery for the Archons, until Dorian obliterated all life there in a storm of fire, magnetic forces and radiation beyond even the survival capabilities of Archons.
This message was last edited by the GM at 09:49, Sat 18 Aug 2012.

Fixing the final gift of the Danioti in her mind, Cyan raises a hand in farewell before taking James' arm.  And through the worlds they fall.  A smile touches her lips at Banglen-Yp's amusements, but she sobers as they flit between the spheres and the Archons grow to form a cordon around them, a perimeter of protection too fragile to stand against the awesome presences swimming in the Underflow.

And...arrival.

Heat.  Wind.  Death.

Hosk.

And Cyan's eyes bleed tears.  "Oh, Dorian," she whispers, her knees weakening at the sight.  "Not in my name."  Her gaze passes blindly over the devastation, seeing the fury of the Archons.

"Oh, I'm so sorry."

So much destroyed in this war, but this cuts deeply, straight to her heart.  For more reason than one, as well.  Pale topaz eyes turn to James, their fear palpable.  "James...you would heal this?"  Horror grips her voice.  "I saw what it took from you to heal Crrurr'nokp.  This will burn you!"

Berd's eyes shine as he looks out over the hellish landscape, and his power holds steady, keeping the group safe within the bubble.  For now.  Even as he does, another part of him reaches out, seeking across the world.  Hunting for presences.  In general, yes, but one in particular.

"This nearly ended me...ironic, that I survived and the children of this planet did not."  His eyes are dark as he studies the world outside the bubble.  "But then, wars have a way of killing those who don't deserve it." Dressed in a neat, Armani suit, collar open, a thin sword-hilt with a broken blade hanging about his neck from a leather thong in lieu of a tie, Luke turns to the small group with a bleak smile.

"I said I would be here for the finale, and this might be it."  He nods his head in greeting to those before him.  "Archons.  Banglen-Yp.  Cyan.  James."  A snort.  "Dad."

"It's good to see you all still alive."

Though James is sad to leave their recent haven, he is pragmatic enough to accept the necessity.  They have had the opportunity to rest and recover, now the task lies ahead of them and James will not shirk his responsibility.

James (as usual) finds the trip through the Underflow unsettling.  The mirror images are disconcerting ("Shadow?" James thinks briefly) but serve as a welcome distraction from any consideration of the gargantuan natives of this realm.  James recognises, indirectly, that their passage has not been as smooth as on other occasions but still, in an improbably short time, they arrive.

...on a deathworld, both maelstrom and furnace.

James is affected by the experience, though not as Cyan is.  He had hoped for gentler climes, less obvious damage, but if he is daunted by the scale of his proposed undertaking he doesn't show it.  To Cyan's question, he answers simply.  "Yes."

After a moment, he expands, "Matters of scale can be misleading.  With the Pattern things are unlikely to be directly proportional.  A World Pattern is not so very different from a personal Pattern."

"It is not simply a question of damage, or of the change required.  Crrurr'nokp had a very well-established sense of self and an extraordinary metabolism that was itself working to heal his injuries.  By fulfilling its function in protecting and healing him, his mind and body made my job harder.  This world has been shattered, almost to obliteration.  That may actually make it easier to reconstruct.  And I attempted that alone.  Here I hope to have powerful help."

Turning to Cyan, James kneels with her and puts his arms on her shoulders.  Looking into her tear-filled eyes, he flashes one of his characteristic grins and says, "Cyan, love, if it burns me, it burns me.  We are each allowed our foolishness."

Aware now of another present, James stands and offers Cyan a hand to help her to her feet.  "Hello, Luke.  It's good to see you, too."

The roar about them is held distant by Berd's shield, the battering of wind, heat, and radiation reduced to an aurora.  Hellish light plays across James' face as he stares into the furnace.  And explains.

The power of those with whom she travels never ceases to surprise Cyan.  Scale meant little to the Great Pattern?  But of course - it affects worlds as much as people.  No living forces here would work in opposition to James' attempts to change the world - it is dying already, whatever resistance it might once have possessed to alteration swept away by the fist of a star.

The light changes, the shadows shifting on his visage as James kneels to take her shoulders.  Appalled, Cyan can only stare with brilliant, opal eyes as he smiles.  Smiles!  Is this how she might look when she explains her own plan?  No, for never has she faced it so readily, so bravely as James now does.

Love.

Did he mean that?  In full truth?

Luke is there, bearing the remains of Kirilindë about his neck, as always as if he always stood with them.  For once, Cyan cares not a whit for his presence.  A knot tightens in her chest; taking James' hand, she stands to throw her arms around his neck and bury her face in his shoulder.  "Lords of the West...the foolishness has been mine.  Always.  Perhaps even now, but I care naught for that."

...James yells out, "Friend!" as soon as Aaron, Jack and Cyan come in sight around a curve in the stairs...

"Tea please, Cyan, black, no sugar."

"You've already practised this morning, haven't you? Damn. Going to have to lift my game."

"If this were real, I would offer you a drink.  I suppose I could offer you my memory of a good cafe in Italy."

"But that's not why I brought you here.  Listen.  This is one of my songs."

"Stop that.  Your eyes have enough colour without making them bloodshot."

"Hello Cyan.  Well, we have now, but I'll have to pass on your kind offer."

Pulling back, she stares up into his face, one hand brushing his hair from his brow.  "'Friend' you said, the first I heard of your voice.  So much more than that, in truth."

Gods.  What can she do against such memories?  Against that smile, so terribly calm and bright amidst this madness?

Turning her head, she regards the newcomer.  "Thank you, Luke."  A crooked smile touches her lips.  "It is...a fine thing to see you here, in the very teeth of time."
This message was last edited by the player at 16:14, Wed 15 Aug 2012.

James steps out of the bubble, and is wrapped in a miniature tornado of fire as dust trapped against his skin is ignited.  The flames are short lived in the inferno of Hosk, and the man stands, looking off into the distance.

Another James joins him, and another, another still... soon all of the imposters are standing outside, staring out towards the surrounding horizon-

"We keep watch." the remaining Banglen-Yp explains.  "Lovely weather out there."  The laugh that follows is unconcerned, filled with the joy of seeing yet another new thing.  "They could survive it now." a hand waves in the direction of one of the Archons.

"They would not enjoy it, but they would survive."

James, the one still inside Berd's protection, returns Cyan's embrace.  He feels the restrictions of his armour keenly, wishing strongly to be able to feel her touch without its rigid barrier.  He feels an urge, every bit as strong, to lean forward and...but maybe...and Cyan turns to speak to Luke

James turns too, opens his mouth to speak, then stops abruptly and frowns.  "Or maybe not."

James comes back to himself just as quickly, "Sorry, Luke, not you.  It is good to see you."

To Cyan, James says, "The Pattern here is shattered.  Whatever we make here will not be Hosk.  Better, I suspect, not to try.  The result would be flawed, perhaps hopelessly."

James sighs heavily.  "Still, no matter.  I had intended to invite the Archons to make a new Hosk, anyway.  But I had thought to make changes to the existing Pattern, not start from scratch.  Truly, I'm not sure whether it's possible.  Corwyn and Oberon had the Jewel when they inscribed Patterns.  I wish Fiona or Dworkin were here."

Cyan blinks, glancing back at James.  Does he mean...  Any speculation at that point is cut off by the multiple 'James' who step out into the hellish world beyon Berd's aura.  Banglen-Yp's, of course, but for a moment Cyan shudders at the sight.  "Thank you, all of you."  Information flows from Berd to her...but James has still more to say.

Still holding James' forearms, she turns back toward him.  "Ah, James.  I am sorry.  I knew you hoped to save this world, much as I hoped you could.  Might you try?  Make it more comfortable for the Archons who do come?  I want them to listen, to wish to stay, to...well, they require time here."  Her fingers unlock from his arms only reluctantly, one at a time as she releases him, one hand rising to rest against his breast.

"If any can, it will be you."  Her smile is not broad, but it shines.  "Never have I nor Berd heard of the Grand Pattern being a power of healing.  Berd can supply you with raw strength from the Underflow itself, but the skill...ah, that will come only from you."  She leans a touch closer, her topaz eyes catching the burning glare about them and flaring.  "And you have it."  Her head cocks. "But if you have an idea to create another world for them?"

Her hand slides to his shoulder, grips, then down to his elbow where it rests.  Cyan looks out to the world, narrowing her eyes.  "Berd senses Left...and other Archons.  It may be that Harbonah has plans on this world.  Certainly Right hinted as much, and Left came here to spy.  I will have Berd contact her."

Her.  Him.  Such words are near meaningless when it comes to archons who do not take on humanoid form, but for some reason Cyan has always thought of Left and Right as such, respectively.

Eyes blazing like the sun that tore this world, Berd shuffles from shoulder to shoulder, ending up on James'.  His head comes up and he chirps once, studying Luke, before bending his mind toward contacting Left.

Quietly.

Banglen-Yp turns as James speaks, and as he finishes she thinks for a a little while, before commenting, "I heard a man say once, on the screen, that half a loaf is better than no bread at all."

"At first it meant nothing to me, because with no bread I would just eat something else.   All things are the alike to me."

A smile, as she adds, "I came to understand.  You can repair this world.  It will not be exactly as it was, but it will be partly mended, which is better than not mended at all.  It will be half a loaf."

The smile broadens, and her voice becomes more serious, "Another man said, 'It is better now than what it was when it was worse than what it is.'  I believe that this world can become better, with your help."

"Agreed, Banglen-Yp.  Some is indeed better than none," Cyan whispers, staring into the maddening chaos before her; this world will end with a bang, rather than a whimper, if not prevented.  "An inch of meditation is an inch of Buddha.  Or something of that nature," she continues, her ruby eyes mirroring the ruddy light.

"Ah."  Her eyes sharpen.  "Left hastens to us with all speed.  It should take her little time - if she is too far for conventional methods, she will drop into the Underflow and join us from there, shaving time from her trip."  One corner of her mouth quirks, and for an instant her eyes darken.  "Shaving time.  Right would like that one.  Wish he was here..."

One hand rises to indicate the nephillim and sencathi, who have joined them.  "But then, we have his best already.  But I am curious to hear what Left has discovered about this...sad and lonely ruin, and what deviltry the other Archons carry out upon its corpse."

"Thank you both.  All." James amends his response as Berd shuffles onto his shoulder.

"This isn't quite how I thought things would work.  I had thought the Archons might provide the raw power with Berd managing the link.  That would mean waiting for Cyan's plan to take effect, and likely mean trying to make the repairs while under attack.  My own grand gesture, I suppose.  Perhaps this is better." James gives a small sigh, while mentally balancing the pros and cons as best he can.  There is so much here that is new that it is difficult to weigh up the risks.

"I'm going to try anyway.  If Berd can provide the power it will be enough.  Two things, though.  I will wait till Left arrives.  The information she can provide may be very important."

James turns to address the Right's chosen Archons before continuing.

"And I will still need your help, danioti, sencathi and herenethi.  It is vital that in attempting to do this I do not simply aim for my own vision of a perfect world.  I am not trying to create James' World.  It would just be a pale echo of what Harbonah is trying to achieve and entirely useless.  Your kind are still largely alien to me, I need you to show me what you want, show me what this world can be.  You have each travelled and have a wealth of experience, I'm sure.  I need your guidance.

The Archons veer in towards the bubble, still remaining just beyond the boundary.  The Banglen-Yps, wearing their James faces, turn their attention outwards, studying the horizon for signs of trouble.

They don't have long to wait.  A gleaming red spark appears, growing in apparent size as it draws rapidly closer.  One of the eshurianti, or so it seems... but as the range decreases it is revealed as a danioti, metal blazing red hot from its high speed passage through the heated atmosphere of Hosk.

Left!

As the Archon hurtles closer a voice roars from it, + I HAVE BEEN DETECTED!  A PATROL OF SERAPHIM FOLLOW CLOSE BEHIND! +

And above and behind, four more gleaming wheels can be seen driving down towards the mountain of diamond.

The chosen Archons howl, and James' instructions are forgotten, at least for the moment, as the rise up to face the attackers, one of whom breaks off from the others and heads away...

I will make the attempt, James.  Berd falls silent after this, considering his place.  To assist in the healing of a world.  It might be a teacup toward redressing his river of crimes in the past.

Cyan's smile smoothes out, become more natural as James includes the Archons in his plans to heal the world.  A fine thing, she thinks.  The more the cooperate with other races, the more they work beside them...well, they not only provide a strong example, but they learn more themselves.  And we learn more of them, she notes to herself.  So we must, if we are to live alongside them within the Myriad Worlds.

Then...

"Left!" Cyan cries out.  It is impossible for her to mistake that pattern of flight, so characteristic of her friend.  But instantly, the situation grows clear.  Not only is Left pursued, but they, themselves, have been discovered.  Four danioti from above...an unknown group in pursuit of Left.

Too many.

"To me, Left!  Berd.  Do what you can, but try not to give the game away."  Good luck with that, she tells herself.  Against so many, Berd will be forced to fight, while simultaneously keeping himself a...

...wait.

"We need one alive!" she cries out, drawing Fangmir.  Like as not, she will not have to employ it - between Banglen-Yp, their own bodyguards, James' control of the Pattern, and Berd, it seems unlikely the Archons will reach them.  But better safe than sorry.

Out numbered, the remaining Seraphim scatter, pursued by the bodyguards.  They don't get far before they are forced to fight...

Left, meanwhile, continues down to the bubble, hesitating briefly outside, before passing through to the more hospitable interior.  The Archon halts, turning on her saxis, almost as if looking at Cyan, James and Banglen-Yp in turn.

+ YOU SHOULD NOT HAVE COME HERE WITHOUT AN ARMY.  LEAVE NOW BEFORE THE ONE WHO FLED BRINGS AID.  HARBONAH HIMSELF IS HERE, AND HAS AT LEAST ONE THIRD OF THE SERAPHIM WITH HIM.  I KNOW THAT JAMES IS MIGHTY IN BATTLE, BUT EVEN IF THOSE DUPLICATES OF HIM ARE AS POWERFUL AS HE, THEY WILL BE SCATTERED, LIKE DUST BEFORE THE WIND. +

There is a scream of tortured metal, audible even over the storm which rages in the atmosphere of Hosk, and one of the Seraphim perishes.

+ HARBONAH PLANS TO MAKE HOSK HIS NEW STRONGHOLD.  HE IS HERE, OVERSEEING THE CONSTRUCTION OF A FORTRESS.  WHEN OTHERS COME HERE TO SPEAK WITH HIM, THEY WILL BE REMINDED OF WHAT HAPPENED HERE, AND HARBONAH WILL TELL THEM THAT IS WHY THEY MUST FIGHT.  HE BELIEVES THAT THIS WILL MAKE HIS WORDS BEAR MORE WEIGHT. +

+ WHY HAVE YOU COME HERE, TO THIS PLACE? +
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:48, Sat 08 Sept 2012.

As Left and the Archons pursuing her close on the group's position, James begins walking.  Not far, for he has no desire to test the limits of Berd's protection.  Indeed, he is all but turning on the spot.  But the movement is sufficient to effect some basic use of the Pattern.  Berd is probably the only one present who can stop the lone Archon from reporting their presence, with the possible exception of Luke, but there is always the chance that some arbitrary surge in the planet's magnetic field or violent eruption of lava may be enough to divert or destroy the would be messenger.  And for a Pattern-user, the chance is enough.

The local environment both aids and hinders James efforts.  Change is trivial to effect; directing that change is very, very hard.  Without sufficient control it is all but impossible to discern the deliberate changes from the "normal" chaos.  James can only guess at the implications for his broader plan.

James smiles, although it is far from reassuring.  "Powerful?  Yes, they're each far more powerful than I am."  And dangerous, when one considered that each of James' doubles could, with the proper prompting, become an all-consuming black hole.  "But that's not why we're here."

"We're here for the same reason that Harbonah builds his fortress.  Because Hosk is a potent symbol.  Cyan hopes to persuade the assembled Archons to abandon Harbonah's cause.  I hope to re-shape Hosk in a different way, as a demonstration of collaborative creativity.  And yes, I know what that sounds like, and no, we're not insane."

"Suffice to say that for our purposes an army wouldn't help."

+ IS THIS TRUE, GENERAL?  YOU SEEK A MEANS TO END THIS WAR BY REPAIRING HOSK? +

Cyan confirms it with a simple, "Yes." and then elaborates, "We have tools at our disposal that Harbonah cannot match.  We hope to use them to steal his followers.  Even the attempt to mend Hosk might prove sufficient."

Left hovers silently.  Had she been a human, it could have been said that the wheels turning in her head were plainly visible.  For an Archon, the analogy is even more appropriate.

+ CAN YOU DO THIS, JAMES? +

While the Archons continue to skirmish over head, the one which flees veers aside to avoid a sudden downdraft.  Not quite fast enough.  It skims too low across the churning ocean of molten rock, and is engulfed, already starting to melt...

+ BUT OF COURSE YOU BELIEVE YOU CAN, OR YOU WOULD NOT HAVE COME HERE. +

There is a flurry of movement, high overhead, and two of the danioti are suddenly plummeting down towards the bubble.  They pass through and come to a halt, hovering parallel to each other, just a few inches apart.  Seconds later, a third Archon appears, another danioti, emerging from the volume within one of them, and almost immediately starts to push into the heart of the other.

Trapped twixt the two, it can do nothing but hang suspended between their internal spaces.  One of Right's danioti speaks, + WE HAVE CAPTURED ONE OF THEM.  THE REST ARE DESTROYED.  SURIEL, RABACYEL AND BARKIEL PURSUE THE ONE WHICH FLED.  SHALGIEL KEEPS WATCH FROM THE UNDERFLOW. +

Left moves closer to them.  + THIS ONE IS HASMED, ONE OF THE FIRST TO FOLLOW HARBONAH. +

James responds to Left's question with a slight nod, though he seems less than entirely convinced.  "I believe it's possible, though it won't be easy."

To the returning Archons, James says, "Well done.  Right chose well, I think.  Certainly you have proven your might."

To Hasmed, James says nothing, at least not at first.  He is unsure whether to attempt to interrogate the Archon for information concerning Harbonah's forces, hold it as witness to the attempted reconstruction or send it forth as emissary to announce Cyan's plan.  Each possibility has significant risks attached and though James is aware that the group has no time to waste, he does not want to misstep in his haste.

And it can't hurt to let it stew for a moment.

Hasmed roars and snarls like some feral beast, which brings harsh, metallic laughter from Left.  + THIS IS A TRICK THAT I TAUGHT THEM.  HASMED CAN NOT CHANGE SIZE, OR MOVE INTO THE UNDERFLOW, WHILE ENCLOSED WITHIN ANOTHER ARCHON, AND CANNOT ESCAPE WITHOUT CHANGING SIZE.  SEE, HASMED, WORKING FOR THE GENERAL... +

+ FOR THE DESPISED ONE'S PET, YOU MEAN! +

+ ... HAS ITS ADVANTAGES.  ARCHONS HAVE NEVER TRIED TO CAPTURE EACH OTHER UNHARMED BEFORE I SAW THE GENERAL ORDERING THAT PRISONERS BE BROUGHT BEFORE HER, AND SAW THE VALUE OF THAT APPROACH. +

+ TAKE COMFORT IN THIS, HASMED.  HARBONAH APPOINTED THE GENERAL, AND ASSIGNED ME TO OBSERVE HER, AND NOW YOU ARE LEARNING FROM MY OBSERVATIONS, WHICH WAS HARBONAH'S INTENTION. +

Left starts to circle the trio of Archons, captors and captive, and there is a sound... wind rushing across the surface of rapidly rotating blades as their angle of attack changes slightly.  The sound varies in pitch and volume at regular intervals.  The Archon is whistling...

+ WHAT IS IT THAT YOU WANT? +

+ YOU WILL SPEAK TO THE HUMANS, OR I WILL COMMAND STAOSHA TO REDUCE IN SIZE BY ONE TWELFTH PART.  THIS WILL CAUSE THE PART OF YOU WITHIN HER TO REDUCE BY A SIMILAR AMOUNT.  THE PART OF YOU WITHIN NARIEL WILL NOT CHANGE.  THIS WILL CAUSE YOU GREAT DISCOMFORT.  MORE SO IF I ORDER FURTHER REDUCTIONS, WHICH I SHALL. +

The whistling resumes, and goes on for a little while.

+ I WILL SPEAK TO THE HUMANS.  JUST STOP THAT INFURIATING NOISE!  WHAT DO YOU WANT, HUMANS? +

"Indeed, well done," Cyan echoes James, moving to study their captive.  She does a brief check on the Archons with them - a headcount, so to speak, to verify they haven't lost anyone.  Then her full attention falls upon Hasmed.

Her chin rises a touch as she studies the danioti, lips quirking slightly as Left demonstrates her innovative mind...and her new capacity for whistling.  Left and Right, her two shadows when the darkness lay upon her.  And part of her slow climb from that darkness, to boot.  "Spirits of the West, but it is good to see you Left."  Her amber eyes narrow.  "A new trick, as well.  I wonder how many more you have up your sleeve...impressive.  But let us leave off tormenting Hasmed.  Should I require the answers I will have Berd remove them from his mind."

Though she keeps her voice steady, Cyan's spirit quails at the thought of torture.  It disgusted her before her own torment, and after?

"Hasmed, I require two things from you at present.  The first, I wish to know Harbonah's ultimate goal.  I believe we already do, but you have been with Harbonah longer than I; surely you will have...noticed and filed any discrepencies between what he states, and how he acts."

Her lips purse.  "Second.  What is Harbonah doing here?  Why are you here, in this place?  In Hosk?"

One eyebrow cocks.  "Berd - your 'Despised One' - will seek knowledge of your veracity from your mind, nothing more.  Speak the truth, and he will let you keep your own secrets.  Lie to protect Harbonah and all of your plans will be brought to light."

+ NOT A NEW TRICK, GENERAL.  IT IS ONE THAT ALL DANIOTI CAN DO, BUT SELDOM CHOOSE TO, SINCE IT MIMICS THE SOUND MADE BY DAMAGED, POORLY CONTROLLED BLADES.  BECAUSE OF THAT, OTHERS OFTEN FIND IT IRRITATING OR INSULTING. +

+ THOUGH, AS YOU WILL DOUBTLESS HAVE NOTICED, MANY OF US TEND TO FIND SOURCES OF IRRITATION IN A GREAT MANY THINGS. +

Then, as an afterthought, she adds, + OR PERHAPS YOU REFER TO WAY HASMED IS HELD? +

Hasmed roars, like thunder directly overhead, + THERE IS NO SECRET TO BE HIDDEN FROM OTHERS!  HARBONAH's GOAL IS, STILL, JUST AS IT HAS ALWAYS BEEN - TO PROVIDE OUR PEOPLE WITH A HOME WHICH WE CAN BEND TO OUR WILL.  TO THAT END, ALL OF YOUR KIND MUST BE ERADICATED! +  The Archon gives a short laugh, + IF IT WERE WITHIN OUR POWER, WE WOULD ERASE THE VERY MEMORY OF YOUR EXISTENCE.  BUT THE END RESULT WILL BE THE SAME. +

+ HOSK IS TO SERVE AS HARBONAH'S NEW FORTRESS WORLD.  ALL WHO COME HERE WILL BE REMINDED OF THE CRIME WHICH WAS COMMITTED AGAINST US, AND HAVING BEEN RENINDED, THEY WILL FIGHT ALL THE HARDER IN OUR CAUSE. +

"Both, in fact."  But she smiles at Left's explanation of the 'whistling'.  "And yes, I did find many danioti to be...touchy at first.  Once I got to know them, though, I began to understand their point of view."

She suspects Left will appreciate the small play on words.

Then Cyan faces the trapped Archon, studying it with ice-sapphire eyes as it makes its brassy claim.  "Indeed?  How fortuitous.  I had thoughts of something similar.  But there is more, is there not?"

She leans closer, heedless of the danger of the blades; a danioti's control is absolute, and Cyan trusts her warriors.  "You lie by omission, Hasmed.  Do you not comprehend the might of the being you name the Despised One?"  On her shoulder, Berd grins his thousand-toothed smile.  "I wish details, not the obvious.  There is more.  Your final chance - give it all, or Berd will wrench it from your mind, along with all else.  He knows, you see, that you hold back.  He sees only that, for he grants you that privacy."

The eyes glitter in Hosk's hellish light.  "Grant us the truth, the whole truth, and pass through this final test with your mind sealed.  Balk now?"

Turning away, she slashes the air with her hand.  "No more privacy.  No more secrets.  No more seal upon your thoughts.  Every plan, betrayal, feeling, idea...he will lay them bare."

Russet hair flares as she glances over her shoulder.  "Final chance.  Speak now, and speak sooth, or he commences the harvest."

James allows Cyan to conduct the interrogation.  It is the kind of exercise that James has found increasingly distasteful since he left the military, though Cyan's methods are comparatively benign and there can be no doubt that the information provided will be helpful.

James keeps his face impassive, doing his best not to show any emotion or reaction.  He allows himself a brief snort of amusement, though, at Hasmed's explanation of Harbonah's goal.  A home that could be bent to the Archons' will?  That was childishly easy, almost trivial by the measure of the Myriad Worlds (but not for those unfortunate enough to be stuck in that "home").  That genocide "must" occur to achieve Harbonah's end was either greed, arrogance or paranoia on an unimaginable scale.

Convincing Hasmed of that fact would be difficult, though, and is probably unnecessary.  It confirms, though, that Hosk is the correct venue to effect their own plans and James turns his mind to further consideration of the world's shattered Pattern.

Hasmed does not respond, falling instead into a silence which still manages to convey the Archon's rage.  Left utters a single word, + STAOSHA. +

That Archon seems to pulse, briefly, and is suddenly smaller than Nariel , who holds the other part of Hasmed.  Harbonah's minion screams.  + ENOUGH. + Left commands, and Staosha expands to match Nariel.

But in that instant of distraction, Berd sends a probe into Hasmed's mind...

James, apparently, finds the process unpleasant, and turns his attention elsewhere...

Banglen-Yp moves closer to the prisoner, but from the opposite side.  She looks through the heart of Hasmed and, briefly, into Cyan's eyes.  She smiles.

There is eye contact between Banglen-Yp and Cyan, and a knowing smile.  James turns from them, and this Cyan comprehends.  And at that instant Berd finds the truth.  In his knowing, Cyan knows, and the eye contact breaks as she staggers under the weight of that truth.  Her hands find her knees as she bends at the hips, eyes closed, hair hanging down before her face.  For a long moment, she breathes harshly, giving no other sound.

Then she straightens to regard Hasmed with midnight eyes.

"You should have taken the bargain, Hasmed," she muses almost casually, but muscles jump at her jawline.  "Berd has laid your secrets bare to me."  Her right hand clenches and unclenches, as if searching for a certain hilt.

"And they are monstrous."

Some of the black bleeds from her eyes; when they approach a stormy grey, she speaks in the cadance of the Warrior in Jet and Gold, but with the words of Cyan.  "I am no judge, but here and now I take that responsibility upon my spirit.  Hasmed, you are not crushed by what has happened here.  Instead, you support the one who took the surviving children of Hosk and rather than succor them, seeks to turn them into monsters.  You have thrown away any hope of growth, with that crime always gnawing at your spirit.  If I release you, you will only compound your vileness."

Her voice drops.  "It happens I could be wrong.  Perhaps, somehow, somewhere, there is hope for you.  But..."  Cyan closes her eyes, squeezes them hard.

When she opens them again, they are ebony pools.

"...but not here.  Capital crimes, Hasmed; capital crimes against your own children, layered atop your other atrocities."  The General cuts the air with her hand.  "End him.  Quickly."

She could be speaking to any within the globe.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:16, Mon 15 Oct 2012.

The Archons, all of them, roar in anger, and Staosha is suddenly no larger than a bee, a gleaming point of metal, blazing red in the fiery glare of Hosk's atmosphere.

Hasmed's roar becomes a scream, and is cut off as Nariel darts forward to enfold the enemy Archon while leaving Staosha only a fraction of an inch outside of himself.

Then Staosha and Nariel pull apart, moving beyond the bubble, and eject a thousand shards of metal into a pool of magma far below, where they burn, melt, and sink into the molten rock...

Left, meanwhile, snarls and starts to tear at the diamond mountainside, striking sparks in her rage, + HARBONAH WILL DIE FOR THIS CRIME!  HE TOLD US THAT ALL THE YOUNG HAD PERISHED ON HOSK, AND THEN SET IN MOTION A SCHEME TO USE THE SURVIVORS, WHOSE VERY EXISTENCE HE HAS KEPT HIDDEN.  ALL OF HIS LIVES ARE FORFEIT.  AND I MUST BE THE ONE TO DESTROY HIM. +

The Archon suddenly swings towards Cyan, then James and Banglen-Yp in turn.

+ WERE I YOU, I WOULD NOT SPEAK OF THIS TO RIGHT. +

"Indeed," the General replies, her voice hard and cold in the furnace of Hosk.  "Not only for his anger and the...direct assault he would attempt; but he would be much displeased to discover you have spoken for its target."  A pause for consideration follows. "Though I believe he might set that aside, given the claiment of Harbonah's lives."

She slowly breathes out; some of the tightness fades from her face and her eyes shift to a cloudy sapphire.  Sickened, Cyan turns away from the glowing pools of molten metal already mixing with the magma.  "A dark deed on my part," she whispers as Berd croons, combing her russet hair with his claws.  She avoids James' gaze, studying instead the horizon.  "No, Berd.  Mine.  As I said, I took responsibility."  Another pause, and her lips quirk in a mirthless smile.  "Splitting hairs does you no good, father; 'she' and I are one and the same, you know that."

Her glance takes in the furious Archons.  "Swiftly done, as such things go.  Well done."  They deserve congratulations, having carried out her orders to the letter, with no lingering for agonizing vengeance.  "And...my oath.  I can offer little else to assuage your anger, your sorrow at this bitter revelation, but that."  Cyan's voice sharpens, an echo of its brilliance returning.  "We will free Hosk's children from Harbonah; aye, free them as best we can for them.  Alive, I hope; will do everything in our power to bring them back -" and her eyes now do fall upon James for an instant.

"- and perhaps, perhaps if miracles exist, to heal them."

Another long, slow breath passes her lips, and she nods.  "Of course, there is Harbonah and his people to deal with.  Not all of them will know this.  But they will."  She slowly nods.  "They will."

A bleak smile touches her mouth.  "I will show them."

"The only surprise," James says sadly, "is that there were any survivors.  After that it was inevitable that Harbonah would seek whatever leverage or advantage he could find."

"Do not condemn yourself, Cyan.  It is a difficult thing, I imagine, to be a judge, but sometimes justice demands it.  There is such a thing as righteous anger, after all."

"I can't help wishing, though, that Hasmed had kept his secret.  I wanted you Archons to aid me in re-shaping Hosk.  I still do.  But I wanted your creativity and I hoped, perhaps, for optimism.  If the new Hosk is born from your desire for vengeance, it will be a hard place."

"So, let me show you a little miracle.  Maybe you will see that the best vengeance is to prove Harbonah wrong."

and then kill him. James doesn't finish the sentence but just for a moment his smile hardens into something sharper and more dangerous.

Banglen-Yp seems puzzled at first, until realisation slowly dawns on her face.  Then she reaches out a hand and touches Left.  A gentle brush of finger tips against the flat of the rapidly spinning blades, with predictable results.  Left jerks away from her as blood sprays.

The blonde starts calmly regrowing her fingers, showing more concern for the Archon than for herself.  • Always Harbonah surprises us with some new cruelty •

And her face shifts, suffused with anger, and her voice grows hard as the ground she stands on.  ⋄ This must end here ⋄

Edging closer again, Left declares, + IT SHALL.  THE ESCAPED SERAPHIM WILL SPEAK TO OTHERS.  HARBONAH WILL COME HERE TO GLOAT AS WE DIE.  AND HIS OWN EXISTENCE WILL END IN THIS PLACE. +

James takes up a position which suits his purpose better than any other, though not for any reason that his companions can see, and he closes his eyes...

James stands with his eyes closed, while around him the environment begins to change.

The first changes are very subtle and, given the effect of Berd's protective bubble, all but impossible to detect.  The temperature, both air and ground, begins to cool; the ground begins to stabilise, no longer rocked and torn as violently by volcanic and seismic activity; even the fluctuations of the local magnetic field are dampened.

A short time later, the ground around James' feet is pierced by a dozen metallic pin-points.  These spread out until there are hundreds of them for metres in all directions.  Gradually, but perceptibly, the pin-points grow into larger forms in a score of shades of silver, steel grey, gold, copper and bronze.

The forms themselves are equally diverse.  Some are more monolithic, appearing as columns, or as smoke clouds or lightning bolts frozen in solid form.  Others are more organic, appearing almost to be metallic trees and vines.  Still others appear as organ pipes or bamboo stands, as though someone has poured molten metal into the cracks between a host of crystals, since removed.  The smallest are almost filigree as though someone has thrown a lace net into the air where it hangs perpeutally suspended.

As the forms contact the air some immediately begin to tarnish in shades of black, green and blus adding another layer of colour and pattern to the display.

James opens his eyes to survey the first elements of his handiwork (still only a matter of inches high) and nods, apparently satisfied.  "A beginning.  For the danioti, though I plan for each to have their garden."

"Link with me, please Berd, I'm ready to start scaling up."

Those with keen senses would note that the forms themselves are not growing, rather they are being gradually revealed by a combination of accelerated subsidence and erosion (which processes are masked by the high level of environmental "noise")

Berd is silent as James indicates his own thoughts on the children.  It's a miracle, frankly.  And if Berd had done the same - cindered the world in his own way - there would have been nothing remaining.

They're fortunate it was Dorian's first attempt.

Cyan nods, grateful for James' lack of condemnation and understanding.  It doesn't make it easier to meet his eyes, not yet, but she rolls her shoulders to relax a touch, feeling the sting of self-hate begin to fade.  Executions...not at all her way, though the General certainly would have understood.  "Hosk can still be born from the hopes of the Archons, James, as you had wished.  With you to guide them..."  She slowly nods, her amber eyes narrowing as she tries to understand what James is up to.

But that smile of his is frightening.  A good thing it's not directed her way, Cyan decides with a small shiver.

"Agreed, Banglen-Yp."  A slow nod, and a wince at the de-digitation.  Unsurprisingly, the woman immediately begins to regrow the lost fingers.  "Harbonah is...beyond insanity, into the realm of pure evil.  Such things cannot be tolerated.  They must be torn out by the roots.  We might change the minds and thoughts of many Archons.  But to change his?"

She shakes her head.  "I know him.  It is beyond me."

A shade of a smile appears on her features.  "Then we should prepare for the arrival of the Seraphim, should we not?"  Her eyes again fall to James as he commences his work, but she speaks to her escort - the Archons who protect her, and Left herself.  "Should we call the nephillim?  Right and his forces as well?  We will need Harbonah to bring his people.  As many as he can.  And oh, I think he will come."

Then the world begins to change about them - only about them for the moment, but...

Geometric patterns, forged of minerals and metals.  The oppressive atmosphere begins to abate about the protective shield.  And a forest begins to grow - a forest of iron and nickel, of tungsten and copper, of platinum and gold.  Oxidization lends its own tints, and the threads begin to glow in the hellish light.  "Lords of the West," Cyan whispers as James makes his request to Berd, caught by the beauty of the Patternmaster's vision.  "It is...beyond words, what you begin here."

And Berd responds.

One mind reaches for the Underflow, forming a conduit of unaspected energies, ready to be birthed by focus.  A link to James follows, beginning with a trickle of that power, slowly increasing through the circuit-breaker of Berd's spirit.

Here is a beginning, James.  But keep me posted on what you need.  The drake's head rises, his eyes beginning to burn like tiny, whirling galaxies.

He knows what he, himself, requires.

And as he waits for the answer from the archons, he reaches out with another head of his hydra-mind.  Not into the Underflow, but into the Myriad Worlds.

COME!

The call erupts from the drake - not aspected to archons, not to a person, but to himself, specifically.  His own mind.  Cyan blinks, catching the spillover on the intimate channel between herself and her father, but her attention remains focused upon James' creation.

And the call goes out again.

YOU CAN NO LONGER HIDE FROM WHAT YOU ARE.  FROM WHAT WE ARE.  OUR DAUGHTER REQUIRES US.

SO COME.

Spreading like imperceptible ripples, the cry echoes through the vastness of the Myriad Worlds.  And in hundreds of universes, tiny creatures raise their heads.  They blink in unison, the foolish, dazed, greedily hungry looks in their eyes fading.

Then sharpening.

Then burning like tiny, swirling galaxies, as they raise themselves into the air.

+ I HAVE ALREADY CALLED AS MANY OF THE NEPHELIM AS ARE WITHIN REACH.  I HAVE NOT SUMMONED RIGHT.  I BELIEVE THAT IT WOULD BE CRUEL, AND DANGEROUS, TO BRING HIM HERE AT THIS TIME. +

Around them. the world is changing.  To those who merely observe, it is happening quite fast.  To James, who urges the changes to occur, they seem to happen with geological slowness.

The Archons assist, as does Berd.  Where Berd provides strength to feed the changes, the Archons also provide inspiration.  Suggestions.  Hints at what would make a pleasant environment for their own kind.

Suddenly Banglen-Yp, her fingers fully restored, looks up to the heavens and smiles.  • They're heeere •

Overhead, the sky is torn apart, and Archons swarm through in their thousands.  They fan out, slowing and taking up positions in the turbulent air with mathematical precision.  They form a dome above the mountain of diamond, a dome which has a gap at its zenith.

Clapping her hands, Banglen-Yp laughs with delight at the display of perfect aerial control.  Left merely gives a metallic howl of derision.  + THEY AWAIT THEIR MASTER.  PERHAPS THEY ARE AFRAID TO APPROACH CLOSER IN SUCH SMALL NUMBERS. +

Cyan's eyes close as Banglen-Yp speaks, two syllables drawn out like metal claws across a chaulkboard.  For a moment she stands still as the world changes around them, James' impossible dream slowly manifesting before their eyes.  And an invisible shockwave passes over her as the Seraphim's arrival rends the sky itself.

It's time.

Her eyes open, a clear topaz almost completely faded to diamond.  But she masters her fear, holds it at bay, keeps the terrible, berserk fury separated.  Instead, she focuses upon the ranks upon ranks of Archons, many thousands of them taking a formation in the sky above, blades, fire and lightning scarring her vision.

It is a vista of terrible beauty.

Vanishing from many worlds the tiny creatures heed the call, falling into an Underflow few of them had known existed until this point, their minds swimming under the weight of the irresistable compulsion.  Not a control, no, but a need arising from within themselves, a need begun within Berd's heart and gifted to them by his cry.

Not controlling, never.  Their hearts mirror his, and his need is also theirs, lack of knowledge notwithstanding.

They swirl and shoot through the burning depths of the underflow like a thousand tiny torpedoes, slowly converging upon a single point.  Rarely do two of their paths intersect, but when they do, a V becomes a Y, only one being remaining, moving at greater speed, eyes igniting with power.  They flit past vast, shadowy bulks, sweeping along their lengths like submarines passing gigantic oceanic escarpments - living monoliths within the Underflow, too large to care about the tiny creatures at their flanks.

To Hosk, they come, their burning stares fixed on a gleaming sphere in the void above them as they traverse the currents of creation.

Left's derision brings a small smile to her lips for a moment as Berd sits up on her shoulder, his cold, fiery eyes studying the Host before him.  Power continues to feed through the drake into the Lord of Amber close to them.  "Be ready," Cyan whispers to the Archons with her, to Banglen-Yp.  James has his own concerns.

"I cannot have dreamed of better companions," she continues, stepping forward to give James a touch on the elbow.  A touch for him, a touch for her.  It steadies her, straightens her back.  "Nariel, Staosha, Suriel...our shining protectors.  Rabacyel, questioning and strong.  Barkiel, brilliant in form and spirit.  And Shalgiel, repository of your people's hopes with us."

She draws in a deep breath.  "Left, ever my clever guardian...survive this, Left.  If Right does not see what transpires, I know you bring him the story."

James...Banglen-Yp...she will speak them, Cyan knows, as Berd opens a bridging to those here who accept.

And so it begins, she sends to those minds connected to hers.

Raising her arms, she gestures to the massed ranks.  "Seraphim!"  Her voice echoes over the broken land of Hosk, enhanced by Berd's power.  "I am here!  I, the General!  I, who served Harbonah personally!  Who carried out many of his orders, his secret commands!"

Another gesture to the planet around them.  "Look upon Hosk, world of your destroyed hopes.  Look upon it now!  See it, as it changes!  Ask yourselves 'Why?'  Ask yourselves, what truly has happened here, on Hosk?"

Now both arms raise toward them.  "And why does Harbonah wish us dead so greatly?  Why does he wish you to slay us?  Just in fear of us stopping your plans?  And if that is the case, what does he know about us that you do not?"

Her eyes lighten further, rainbow glimmers within their diamond depths, and a laugh threatens.  But Cyan holds it in.  "I.  Have.  Answers."

Now one hand jabs a finger up toward them.  "You have the strength, here and now, to destroy us all!  You!  Can there be a question of that?"  And they do.  Perhaps, if the Nephillim come, that might change.  But now?

"And if you do, the answers die with us!  For why would Harbonah share his knowledge with you?"

Her arms fall.  "But I can give you those answers.  If you ask for them, I will give them.  And more - I will let you SEE the truth, in me."

I will let you see all the truth.

In reply to Cyan, there is only silence.

At first.

Then comes the sound, quiet as a whisper.

At first.

Rapidly it grows in volume, until the diamond mountain beneath the feet of the Defenders of Worlds quakes under the force of it.  Laughter, like the din of every sword in all the Myriad Worlds clashing in some titanic battle.  At the heart of the dome of Archons the sky blazes, as if a new sun has appeared above Hosk, and a shape appears... a wheel of fire that burns with a white heat.  And at its heart it holds a sphere of iron, glowing red in the heat, and inscribed with countless runes and sigils which shift and change constantly as the orb slowly revolves.

Harbonah.

+ YOU ARE FOOLS TO COME HERE, TO HOSK, A PLACE WHICH BEARS GREAT SIGNIFICANCE TO ALL ARCHONS!  YOU WILL NOT DIE BECAUSE YOU CAN STOP OUR PLANS, BUT BECAUSE ALL OF YOUR KIND MUST DIE WHEN WE CHANGE THIS NODE TO BETTER SUIT US.  WE SIMPLY COMMAND YOUR DESTRUCTION SOONER BECAUSE YOU SLOW OUR PLAN SLIGHTLY, NOT BECAUSE YOU CAN STOP IT.  YOU ARE AN ANNOYANCE, NOTHING MORE. +

Around and behind Harbonah more Archons appear, and amorphous shapes, studded with countless dark eyes, like creatures of the deep oceans.  And every one of those eyes is fixed on Cyan, and filled with a savage, insatiable hunger.  Harbonnah's hounds.

+ WHEN A HUMAN SWATS A FLY, DOES HE DO SO BECAUSE HE BELIEVES IT CAN DESTROY HIM, OR BECAUSE IT'S BUZZING IRRITATES AND DISTRACTS HIM?  YOU ARE AS FLIES TO US, YOUR BUZZING IS AN IRRITATING DISTRACTION, AND YOU WILL BE SWATTED. +

For a time, James busies himself with the task of change.  Drawing eagerly on both Berd's link to the power of the Underflow and the inspiration of the Archons, James pushes himself to refine and expand the garden even as he strives to stabilise the surrounding environment, to protect the work and make it permanent.

To James, the Archons' arrival, though a spectacle to numb the mind and senses, is merely a precursor to the confrontation to come and he does his best to ignore it, even as Cyan makes her opening address.  Time is precious and growing shorter.

For all that, he cannot let Harbonah's remark pass unchallenged.  Harbonah's logic is poor and James cannot resist drawing attention to the flaw in his argument.

"Oh, I think we're rather more than that.  Does one boast to a fly of its imminent destruction?  Does one require such theatre to swat an irritating distraction?" James gestures broadly with one arm to indicate the assembled host.

"No, you are here because we are a threat.  To you.  We have no quarrel with those you have called here as your audience.  For that must be your intent, surely. If we are so puny you will not need their help?"

"We are a threat because Cyan, your former General, has information that you would keep hidden.  She is willing to share the truth, all of it.  She may not know all of your secrets, but what she knows, what we know, is enough to break your hold on power.  Even as recently as a few moments ago, your creature Hasmed was kind enough to share the truth of the children of Hosk."

"We are a threat because I can show you how this "node" can be changed to better suit everybody.  There is room enough in the Myriad Worlds to accommodate us all should you just will it.  There is no "must".  You wish to exterminate our kind because the only security you understand is absolute dominance.  Without colleagues, without friends, you can only be safe if the only remaining creatures are your abject servants or inconsequential."

James turns his attention to Harbonah's "associates", "Congratulations!  That is how he sees you.  Those of you with the temerity to disagree will be next to be purged should your master succeed.  You have a choice, here, too.  Remember that."

A great cloud of witnesses, very Biblical :)

+ YOU ARE NOT A THREAT TO US, JAMES.  YOU ARE JAMES, ARE YOU NOT?  OUR GENERAL DESCRIBED YOU IN GREAT DETAIL, BEFORE SHE BETRAYED OUR TRUST.  YOU BELIEVE THAT ALL OF THESE ARE HERE TO HELP US DESTROY YOU? +

The metal orb pauses in its rotation for a moment, and the runes upon the surface glow more brightly, shifting about to form a pattern of concentric circles with a dark space at its heart, like a gigantic eye staring down at those on the ground below.

+ YOU OVERESTIMATE OUR OPINION OF YOU.  THEY ARE HERE TO OBSERVE YOUR DEATH, NOT TO PARTICIPATE IN IT. +

The eye-like pattern breaks apart, the symbols flowing across the surface of the orb, and Harbonah hangs in silence, briefly, before continuing, + SHARING THIS NODE IS NOT AN OPTION.  FOR TOO LONG WERE WE TRAPPED, CONFINED, AND WE WERE FORCED TO FIGHT EACH OTHER SIMPLY TO HAVE SPACE TO REVOLVE.  NOW THERE IS AN OPPORTUNITY FOR EVERY ARCHON TO HAVE AS MUCH ROOM AS NEEDED.  FREEDOM TO MOVE, TO GROW AND DEVELOP, WITHOUT IMPINGING ON ANOTHER'S SPACE - THAT IS WHAT I OFFER MY PEOPLE. +

And as the Archon leader speaks, still more followers continue to appear.

For a long moment, Cyan freezes under the attention of the great, burning ring.  Part of her spirit remembers pain, unendurable, mind-breaking pain.  Part of it remembers obedience.  Part of it cowers beneath the weight of such memories.

Then James speaks, and she straightens as his voice penetrates the haze of fear.

Back and forth they go, Harbonah and James, as she gathers her words and her spirit.  James speaks the truth, and Harbonah answers with his own.  His weapons - the creatures he brings, his hounds, and the orb he carries at his heart garner her attention for a moment.  She dismisses him.  There is, in the end, only one purpose to her presence here: not to defeat his creatures, though it might come to that, but to seek a change in the way of things.

And so she speaks, her eyes a pale, pale amethyst.  But not to answer Harbonah.  Rather, she speaks to the Archons he controls.

"I am not here to argue with you. Only to speak, and hope that you listen."  Her voice rises again, like James', held and amplfied by Berd's power.  "There is room within the Myriad Worlds for all, as others of your people have proven, time and again.  You need not impinge upon any beings space to have sufficient of your own!  There needs to be no war!  But why, why not destroy everything and keep all of that space for yourselves?"

Her lips thin as she gathers herself.  Then, "I have that answer!  There are reasons why not to destroy!  There are things that have been kept from you - kept, with your terrible imprisonment you did not deserve, and yes, with this drive to war!"

Turning, she casts her gaze upon them all as she speaks.  "What are you offered?  What happens when you achieve it?  What will be asked of you then, what will you DO?  Do you think you will be free?  Or controlled?  What does Harbonah keep from you?  Why must all be destroyed, when there is an infinity of room?"

"What will you lose, what secrets and knowledge will die, if you destroy all that exists, break it down to chaos?"

"Do you ask these questions, in your spirits?  Do you wonder, what is the worth of this plan to you?  What else might there be?  Is there not more than this?  Might there not be more than control, than struggle for dominion?"

She draws in a deep breath.  "Do you not wonder what secrets Harbonah might have?"  Raises her arms again.  "And what advantages you might gain, were you to know them?  And the answers to these other questions?"

"Knowledge is power!" she cries.  "You know that!  All of you know that!  There is knowledge in the Myriad Worlds!  There is knowledge of Harbonah's secrets in me!  Do you wish to know them?  Dare you take the chance that one of your rivals might learn them, and you not?  I offer you this one opportunity!  Free access to these secrets, to any with the bravery to reach within me for them!  Harbonah cannot punish you all, if you make this choice!"

Her fingers rise and point.  "Eshurianti, will not one of you be the first to strike for new advantage?"  Again, a shift of her arm.  "Danioti, what advantages might you find for the defense of your charges?"  Lastly, the other rings of flame.  "Herenethi, what truths might you unveil, what secret wisdoms?"

"And what of the Sencathi?  You have sight!  Surely you can see one of them, here!  And does it, or any other Sencathi, place its support with Harbonah?  No!  And if not...then why?"

"What do they - the entire Sencathi people - know that you do not?  Will you seek that truth?"

Her arms fall.  "Or will you all, all of you, sit idle?  Watch a single, important opportunity pass by, obey the orders of one who carries his own goals?  You must know he has his own goals - so would any of you!  Why would he be different?"

And her voice rises again.  "Do you know what he did with the Children of Hosk?  What he plans for the survivors?  And there were survivors!"

One finger touches her forehead.  "Hasmed knew.  And now I know.  That secret is here, along with everything else.  And I offer it.  Not to Harbonah.  But all of you."

And they come.  Spiralling closer through the Underflow, at speed.  Dozens, at first.  Then scores.  Then hundreds.

A swarm of them rush through the Underflow, every one of them a Very Small Thing - shadowy crows, black and white winged cats, fox squirrels, the occasional owl, some things that defy description, and even another drake or two.

All with brilliant, burning eyes.

All answering to Berd's call.

Fragments.  Pieces of the puzzle.  Not all of them, not by any means.  But perhaps enough.

And now, like hundreds of tiny bubbles, they boil up from the Underflow and rise through the Void to converge upon tiny, gleaming Hosk.

Harbonah laughs again, + IT SEEMS THAT TREACHERY ATTRACTS TREACHERY.  DID THE SENCATHI TELL YOU WHY THEY WERE ALL BANISHED OR SLAIN?  DID THEY REVEAL TO YOU THAT THEY WERE THE FIRST OF US?  THAT WE ARE THEIR CHILDREN?  OR THAT THEY IMPRISONED US BECAUSE WE WERE NOT LIKE THEM, AND THEY DEEMED US IMPERFECT?  OR THAT THEY WOULD NOT SUPPORT OUR PLANS BECAUSE THEY ALL HAD SCHEMES OF THEIR OWN?  IT WAS NOT WISDOM WHICH TURNED THEM AGAINST US, BUT THEIR OWN AMBITIONS. +

The Archon shifts form to become a tall, three headed, eight winged winged humanoid, his body sheathed in flame.  Wheels of fire dance around each of the heads, pulsing in time with his voice as he continues to speak.  In his right hand he holds the rune-etched orb, much reduced in size.

He drops then, to stand on the diamond mountainside, which cracks beneath his feet.

+ But they did not have it in them to slay us.  We Archons, for all that we are monsters in your eyes, care for our children, by and large. +

+ There were no survivors at Hosk.  We have long suspected that there were spies and traitors among our commanders.  They are all Archons, after all, and filled with ambition, just as our parents were.  To test them, we gave each of them a morsel of false information... a different morsel... so that if our enemies acted upon any particular one we would know whence it came.  Now, of course, we will need to find another method to discover these traitors. +

The three voices pause for a moment, then, + Can we assume that Hasmed is dead, since he is not among you?  We would be interested in knowing... did he give the information freely?  Or are we far more alike than you would like to admit? +

He steps forward, through the dome, + Interesting.  You came here to talk to Archons.  To a world where your very existence, in many cases, + and one of the heads turns to regard Banglen-Yp, + depends on this flimsy construct, created and maintained by the Despised One.  What would you have done had we simply placed a portion of Broken God outside the dome? +

Cyan turns a glance to the sencathi for a moment, then back to Harbonah.  She waits in silence as he speaks, her carefully arranged words collapsing under the weight of his own.  This is a being who knit together a society of rivals under his own banner, and holds that alliance in place; not merely by strength of body, she knows, but also by strength of will, of resolution, of charisma.

His hold over them will not crumble under the impact of rhetoric.  Of clever word-dancing.  Of any other attempts to obfuscate.  The only weapon strong enough to oppose it is the truth.  And for that truth to come, she needs to take a final step.

A near impossible step, but it must come to be.

As he finishes, she paces forward to stand before him, a tiny figure before his might, Berd a burning-eyed weight crouched upon her shoulder.  And her eyes darken from diamond into brilliant emerald, catching the hellish light of the world, the hellish light of their adversary.

"We knew only of sencathi's motivations what they told us, and their is a different story.  We rescued them from their own imprisonment, set them free.  Perhaps this is true, and perhaps their betrayal of you, their children, began this.  If they are your elders, perhaps both of you have learned something."

She takes a deep breath.  "If there truly were no survivors of Hosk, then that is a great sorrow.  A sorrow I feel as well, though I am not an Archon.  The truth of that lies within me, again, open for those who wish to see.  If you truly did not take them, twist them, mold them to your desires, then I must apologize for the accusation, dreadful as it was."

"What we would have done had you employed the Broken God?  I would have died, most likely.  I came here to speak, not to fight.  Not against..."  She waves her arm at the assembled, watching Host.  Broken God or not, there can be no 'battle' against so many Archons.

"As for what we did to Hasmed, you are correct.  Hasmed is gone.  We heard lies in his words, hints of hidden deviltry.  And with those hints, we wrenched that information from his mind, heard this story of Hosk's survivors, taken, tormented, and molded."

Slowly she turns away from Harbonah to face the Archons.  And her voice rings louder.  "And yes!  Harbonah is correct.  We are alike!  More alike than either side wishes to admit!  Hearing of Hasmed's collusion with crimes against your surviving children, we passed judgement and slew him upon the spot, for supporting a regime that would consider such madness!  I could not find it to forgive him for such crimes, and gave the order myself!"

Turning her head, she regards Harbonah again.  "A misplaced judgement it seems."

Then back to the Host.  "But we do carry similarities!  All of us!  You.  Us.  Them!"  A wave of the hand to the myriad worlds.  "All beings in this universe.  We know fear!  We know hate!  We also know joy!  Curiousity!  Care for our children!  Just like you!"

Her arms rise.  "People all through the universe have committed dreadful crimes!  Crimes against their own races, crimes against others.  Crimes like this one, done to Hosk!"

"Just like yourselves, in the end."

Another wave out toward the myriad worlds.  "How many worlds, how many children have died out there?  Children not your own, but children nonetheless?  How many more will die - out there, and of yours as those out there strike back?  How many lives that will never, ever grow into something to look upon with wonder?"

"But the pain we feel from our losses, whatever they might be - it burns us to crimes of our own, and whatever guilt we might feel from those crimes pushes us further!"

"It can STOP!" she cries.  "It can stop, and stop now!  There is no point where one has gone too far!  There is no place where one cannot say 'hold!  This is enough!'  There are no crimes that force one to continue!  This war, this death, the loss of the children of the Archons, the children of the myriad worlds, it can all end.  By choice!  By your choice, by our choice!  It is not!  Needful!"

Gasping, she takes a moment to wipe her cheeks clear of tears.  And draws in a breath for the deepest plunge.

"But do these crimes define us?  No.  No more than the worlds you have burned define you.  You are more than that - worthy of respect.  As are we."

Turning back, she faces Harbonah directly, and her voice shakes with fury.  "You tortured me.  Tormented me.  Broken me into a weapon for your hand.  You took of me and created more weapons.  Small wonder I believed you would do the same with your own children.  Even now, doubt lies in my mind that you speak the truth.  Your past says otherwise."

Slowly, Cyan breathes out.  "But I forgive you what you did to me."  The words come out as if torn from her, but she straightens after speaking them, rage clearing from her face.  "I forgive you," she repeats, her voice smoothing, relaxing.

It likely means nothing to Harbonah.  But it does to her.

Stepping forward within reach of the colossal figure, she holds out a hand.  "Would you like to see what I would have shown your followers?"  Glancing up, she addresses the Host.  "Would you all like to see - all the knowledge of which I spoke?  And the knowledge of the Myriad Worlds, which hold things beyond imagination, advantages and knowledges to be carried by those with the courage to seek them out?  Hasmed's final thoughts, the judgement carried out against him?    I was wrong to pass judgement upon Hasmed!  I should have given him to your people, for it is your place to deal with those crimes against your children, to decide whether to forgive him or send him into death.  You should know that, know what he knew."

"And would you see the horror of your enemies when this world was cindered in a moment of madness?  Would you see that some of them burned, trying to stop it from happening?"

"Would you know the faces against which you fight?  Would you know that which you would destroy?  Do you have the courage to meet it?  To try to understand it?  See how similar it truly is?  To gain from it what you can, for when it is gone it will never come again?"

Her hand rises toward Harbonah's own.  "Will you see?" she asks, her voice clear to all, thanks to Berd.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:46, Wed 14 Nov 2012.

Harbonah is eloquent and his arguments carry weight.  This comes as something of a surprise to James, for while he never underestimated Harbonah's force of will, he had not expected the Archon to be so charismatic.  James marshalls his wits to compose a reply, but Cyan answers.

James is pleased.  The bard's training holds her in good stead for such a confrontation.  She makes the very points that James had in mind and does so rather better than James had expected of himself.  More than that, though, James knows that this is Cyan's moment, not his.  If Cyan cannot persuade the assembled audience to see her truth then James demonstration will never amount to more than a well-meant gesture.

Indeed, James can feel how finely balanced the situation stands.  Harbonah's proximity is discomfiting but James can hardlly take a defensive position without the risk of provoking a hostile response.

It will not take many to accept the invitation.  If enough do, however small that critical mass, then most of the rest will follow.  But they must do it soon.  If they linger too long, Harbonah will be confirmed in his position and, in all likelihood, attack.  The best that can be said of the fight that would follow is that it would be over quickly.

To give himself something else to think about, and in the hope of piquing the curiosity of the assembled Archons, James redoubles his efforts in the creation of his garden.  The metal forms begin to grow and spread anew.  In a burst of creativity, James pushes the 'odds' of more unusual effects.  On some of the new forms, the exposed alloys contain volatile compounds that react as they are exposed to the air, glittering like fairground sparklers or burning like flowers of flame. In other places, an imbalance of free electons creates a static charge that discharges periodically, sending small arcs of electricity between variegated stems.

Right's Archons move into the bubble, along with the James-shaped Banglen-Yps.  They surround Cyan and Harbonah, and draw attention away from the real James.  Ripples of change spread across the surface of Hosk, chemical reactions releasing vapours which burn in the heat with all the colours of the rainbow, and more.

Cyan speaks at length, and there is a subtle change in the Archons hovering overhead.  They move closer.  Not by much, but definitely closer.  There is no move to attack though.  They seem to be listening.  Harbonah turns one of his heads to regard them for a moment, before looking back to Cyan.

+ If we take your hand, you will burn.  The fire will not stop until you are wholly consumed.  Is that your goal?  Martyrdom to prove what you will sacrifice for your cause?  Or to enrage your father?  To force your allies hands? +  One of the heads shakes slowly, and another smiles sadly.  + We will not grant you that.  It would be too rapid an end.  For your crime against Hosk, you... all of you... will die slowly.  Painfully.  We shall command danioti to strip your skin, a half inch at a time.  The eshurianti and herenethi will sear stripes across your flesh and cause your nerves to burn.  You will all know the pain of Hosk. +

Harbonah's eyes narrow as he notices something in the distance beyond the bubble.  The edges of the Archon formation are drifting.  The Archons there are moving about, apparently distracted by the changes to the landscape.

+ What are you doing there? +

And the world continues its change as Cyan and Harbonah speak, James investing his energies, his imagination, and the counsel of their allies into his work.  Little by little, an alien faerie-land begins to emerge, a world of stunning, toxic beauty, arsenic highlights over nickel plated columns, manganese-laden phosphorous showers burning indigo in the sulfurous air, electrical strobes snapping and striking from the tips of carbon-steel twigs.

Archons move into the sphere - their allies, providing more of an audience for Harbonah than a true threat.  There's no question in Cyan's mind that it trumps the lot, especially with that curious sphere in its hand.  Save perhaps for the sencathi - she knows little of it.  But battle is not the point here, and she hopes they recall this.

Certainly Harbonah himself does not appear discomfited by their presence.
Instead, he plays the usual debating game of ignoring many of her statements to focus upon a few he can easily answer.  She understands; he has not grasped that this is not, in fact, a debate.  She, herself, did not comprehend this until very recently.  Neither, in truth, is this war a real war.  Nothing here is as it seems.

But this is something he must know.

"I have suffered your flame," Cyan replies.  "I know you need not kill, and my father can save me from the worst of it if you choose to take my hand.  I do not wish to die, Harbonah."  Her voice shakes for a moment on that last, but steadies.  "Nor do I wish your death.  Not any more.  This forgiveness is truth."  Her lips thin for an instant.  "I wish this war to end, and not with the death of either side."

She glances up at the Seraphim above.  Sees their interest waver.  Sees some focus on her words, on the interplay between herself and Harbonah.  Sees others drift to study James' work.  Her topaz eyes gleam as she waves an arm toward the world beyond the shield, the changing world before them.  "Fascinating, is it not?" she answers Harbonah.  "So different, yet...so interesting, I suspect.  Hosk cannot be replaced.  The children lost upon Hosk...lost children, of any people, cannot be replaced.  The sorrow is too much.  But Hosk itself?"

Another wave of the arm.  "Hosk can be healed.  Made anew, into something different, something splendid.  Something taking from the ideas and desires of Archons, not made to dance to the whim of one person.  Look at this!  Look at what transpires!  Is it not wonderous, a thing to study, to see, to understand?  Out there, there are infinite worlds of difference, infinite space into which a people - many peoples! - might grow!"

"If Hosk can be healed...what else might be?"

Her voice rises.  "I have seen what Archons, your people can create!  I have seen beauty in their forms, seen amazement in their structures, seen mysteries in their thoughts!  You offer so much, simply by existing!  So, too, do those infinite worlds out there, each one a jewel to explore, to study!"  She takes a deep breath.  "So much to see!  So many mysteries, and not only in the worlds themselves, but in the people - things one might reveal, secrets one might unearth, angles one might absorb and comprehend!  All those things are out there, growing, like this world you see changing before you!"

She shakes her head.  "The children lost here will never be forgotten.  The children lost out there - in the Myriad Worlds! - also never forgotten.  But there does not have to be hate!  Anger, certainly, but anger washes one clean!  Hate stains!  Hate makes one do what one hates in others!  And then guilt - guilt comes to us all, touches us all."  Her voice rises to a shout.  "That can be set aside!  Forgiven!  And even forgiven within yourselves, because you are worth respect!  As are all people, and the care they hold for their children, similar to your own!"

Her hands fall, and she stands before Harbonah without defense.  "We do not have to kill each other over space.  It is endless.  We do not have to kill each other over hate - hate poisons ourselves.  And we do not have to kill each other over guilt.  Forgiveness washes away that guilt."

Again, she turns in a circle to hurl her words to the Archons - all of them, the Seraphim, Right's followers, and Harbonah as well.  "The Myriad Worlds are truly endless.  I have only seen a hint of them.  I do not have your lives, your endless time.  But I hold some of those secrets within me.  I offer them freely.  I offer a chance to see what might be lost - forever! - if the Myriad Worlds are destroyed."

Harbonah laughs again, a low rumbling sound which builds slowly to raucous peals of laughter, before fading away again.

+ You would heal Hosk?  Make it once more ideal for our young?  By doing so you seal your own fate.  Hosk repaired means that there will be more Archons, and more Archons require more room to live, to control all that is around them. +

+ Have your allies not told you this?  It is in our nature - we will each control as much as we can hold for ourselves.  We can no more resist this compulsion than we can stop turning, or than your kind can live without food.  It is almost painful for an Archon to be within sensing distance of another, and to know that there is a thing nearby that will resist control. +

+ No amount of creation, no amount of artistry, will assuage the hunger that lurks within each of us.  Even your allies fight, every day, to resist it. +

He turns away from Cyan then, all three faces watching the changes being being wrought all across the landscape.  He considers it for long moments, before finally bringing his attention back to those within the protective bubble.

+ I suspect this remade world will be exactly what we require for our young.  For that we thank you.  But there is a secret to us... +

+ HARBONAH!  NO! + Left cries out, but is ignored as the Seraphim continues speaking. + ... which we now see has not been revealed to you.  It is this: for all our numbers, all our cunning, all our power, there is one thing we can never control.  Our number. +

+ As we grow older, we develop more lives.  For the most part we hold them within.  They become part of us, waiting to emerge when the current life is taken from us.  There is no way to stop this.  It is a natural part of our aging process. +

+ IF YOU REVEAL THIS, I WILL KILL YOU! +

+ You may try, if you wish, and all on this mountainside will perish in an instant.  We have more lives, traitor, but the humans do not.  What we have said so far is no great secret.  Many know of it.  The secret, which has never been revealed to outsiders, is this: eventually an Archon can hold no more lives.  When that happens all new existences beyond that limit must be placed in an environment such as Hosk once was. +

+ These, then, are our young.  We continue to produce them for as long as we live, and we can not prevent it happening any more than a human can stop the flow of time.  More young need more space, and eventually produce yet more young.  That is why confinement was so hateful for us... we could not control our population, and we had no space for more.  We fought among ourselves.  Well... we have always done that, but confinement made matters worse. +

+We will permit you to remake Hosk - by doing so you aid us.  But eventually we must conquer this node if we are to survive. +

James give one of his characteristic shrugs, though his armour somewhat distorts the movement of his shoulders.

"I still think you're failing to grasp the nature of infinity.  If, as I understand, the Myriad Worlds are truly infinite then you and the other Archons can have as many children as you like, you can each have as much space as you need, and there will still be infinite worlds for the rest of us.  There's simply no need to pursue genocide."

"If the Myriad Worlds aren't truly infinite then killing all of us won't solve the problem, it will merely delay the inevitable squeeze, and probably for no more than a generation or two at that."

"The best solution, of course, is both simple and difficult, as these things often are.  You say you feel the need to control, that it is a compulsion.  If control is what you're after, try self-control.  You say that you all feel this need, that our allies must resist it daily.  Well I haven't seen it in Left, or Right, or many of the other Archons I have met.  Do you know what that means?  It means they're succeeding.  Your audience don't appear to be trying to subdue each other, they must be succeeding too."

"Do you really think other species don't feel needs and urges, basic impulses that must be controlled.  Most people don't have the power inherent in even the weakest Archon and yet most people can refrain from mutually destructive behaviours for the good of society."

The ones who can't are called sociopaths.

"All that you're really saying is that you want to destroy us, and the inhabitants of countless other worlds, because you're too weak or too lazy to try to do the right thing."

"Still, I thank you for allowing the attempt to re-make Hosk."

Turning to the audience, James announces, "Any who would like to be involved are welcome.  I'm after creative input and guidance, I've barely scratched the surface of what we can do."

Cyan turns to stare at Left as 'she' and Harbonah argue, and finally the truth comes out.  And her confidence crumbles, Harbonah's words hammering upon it like a death knell.  How can they truly stop this juggernaut from rolling through the Myriad Worlds?  How can the Archons defeat their own nature?  How can they win this war, this final 'battle' they face, with their own allies keeping secrets from them?

"Why?" she asks.  "Why did you keep this from us?"

And then James.

Cyan's eyes close as his words wash over her.  Slowly she breathes in, then lets out a long sigh, releasing tension.  As always, James cuts to the heart of the matter.  The Archons must see that there are other choices.  That is the only path through this minefield; until now, they have been convinced their only option is Harbonah's plan for the destruction of all.  Even Harbonah himself, though it is possible that plan springs from other ambitions.

They need choices for the Archons.  Choices.  James offers one.  But a person backed into a corner needs to see more than one escape.  They...

It strikes her like a bolt of lightning.

Slowly Cyan's eyes open, topaz-bright.  "And what if there were another Myriad Worlds?  An empty place without life?  Not merely a single universe, but a multitude, as this one is?  What then, Harbonah?  What if you had the choice to go there?"

She throws her words out to the massed Host.  "What if you had the choice to find a new home, empty of life and laws, where you could grow to your hearts' content without sacrificing other lives?  From whence you could return to these worlds to study, to see, to experience, but leave for the other to live, to hold your spaces, to have territory and places to raise young?  What then?"

"Would you still choose destruction?  Needless, pointless destruction?  Or reach for something more?  More life, more knowledge, more experiences?"

"To learn more of life without the necessity to control?"

And she turns to a member of their group who has remained silent and watchful - strangely so.

"Banglen-Yp.  You spoke to Luke, Tahirah, and Aaron of your home - the place where you, all of 'you' are all that is.  A place like the Myriad Worlds, but empty."  She steps closer.  "Could this place be a home for Archons?  Would this place be a home for Archons?"

Harbonah looks at James, and his voice seems almost sad as he speaks, + Believe us... we understand infinity.  The node may be infinite, but there is no finite limit on our potential numbers.  Eventually there will come a day when we would be forced to fight, yours and ours.  Your numbers grow, as do ours, and always both sides need more space.  The longer the day of conflict is delayed, the greater the numbers who will be destroyed, on both sides. +

+ Doing it now means less lives lost. +

He turns and walks towards the edge of the bubble, where he pauses to look out over the hellish domain which is Hosk, +Your people do not refrain from destructive behaviour, any more than we do.  We observed you for years after we were released.  We witnessed wars, death, pain, misery.  Yes, there were good things too, but often they were brought about by shame, or fear, or in an effort to gain more power. +

+ Archons are no better or worse than Humans.  When we do not fight each other, as all those who are present do not fight, it is because one who is stronger commands it.  Where we to declare, here and now, that we were relinquishing our command of the Seraphim, the fighting would begin almost before we had finished speaking.  The Seraphim are crowded too closely here for it to be otherwise. +

Left dwindles in size until she is no more than a foot across, and her voice is quiet, sibbilant, like a blade sliding over a whetstone, + I WOULD NOT SPEAK OF THIS BECAUSE YOU WOULD SEE THAT WE CANNOT CONTROL OUR NATURE.  THE BEST THE NEPHELIM CAN STRIVE FOR IS TO DELAY THE INEVITABLE, AND HOPE THAT A SOLUTION PRESENTS ITSELF.  IF I HAD SHOWN YOU THAT OUR NUMBERS CANNOT BE CONTROLLED, THAT WE CANNOT BE CONTROLLED, THEN THE MOST LIKELY SOLUTION IS THE WORLD KILLER'S.  THE NEPHELIM, EVEN BEFORE HOSK, FEARED WHAT THE HUMANS MIGHT DO IF THEY DISCOVERED THE TRUTH. +

Than Cyan speaks of a new home of the Archons, a place beyond this Myriad Worlds, and there is a stirring among the host.  James' request for aid increases the movement, and many of them moce closer to the bubble.

Banglen-Yp thinks for a moment, before replying, • My home may not be completely empty.  I don't know if part of me is still there.  It seems possible.  But it makes no difference.  If I am there still, I can control my size and shape.  I can become more Archons, or more worlds, or more space.  And if an Archon misbehaves... •, she licks her lips before continuing, • it would become one with everything. •  She grins then, and her mouth seems to hold too many teeth, all of them extremely sharp.

Harbonah gestures to the Archons with his empty hand, and the voices start to cry out to James.  Ideas.  Questions.  Suggestions.

But no threats.

Sorrow touches Cyan, now.  Understanding for Harbonah's plight, for the plight of the Archons.  He may have his own reasons for what he does - most certainly does - but at the core of him, she sees the desperation.  The questing.  The hunt for a solution.  The painful failure, perhaps, that turned him onto this path.

Or perhaps she sees only what she wishes to see.

Either way, Cyan takes it as truth.  One must trust, to make another trustworthy.  To trust, one must understand.  And to do that, one must set the past aside.

Goodbye, my pain.  My anger.  My loss.

Music swells in her spirit, the music once heard in a cathedral, shared with her by a man she holds in her heart.

She shakes her head to Left, a sad smile on her lips.  "I understand, Left, and blame you not a whit.  But Left...I would not.  No more worlds destroyed - neither Archons, nor otherwise.  I would never.  You need not fear that from me, nor from my father."  Berd dips his head silently, knowing better than to speak.  "You are my friend, Left.  I could not do that to your people.  To any people."

Raising her head, she stares at Harbonah's terrible, beautiful figure.  "To any people," Cyan firmly repeats.

"The beings of this universe have committed terrible crimes over their histories," she agrees.  "They - we - are not perfect.  And yet, for all the awful things we have done, have we not created wonders?  Is the universe itself not a wonder?  Something that could be explored and understood by Archons as well, rather than destroyed in a never-ending quest for a little more time, a little more space?"

She reaches toward the burning figure before her, her hand hovering close to its flames.  Feels the heat.  Holds her fingers there, despite the pain.  "Would it not be better to find a solution?"

Her hand sweeps out again, across James' creation, now changing in accord with the Archons' wishes.  "To have worlds like this one, where you can raise your young?  Worlds protected by your danioti and others - allies, perhaps, who would help see your people flourish?"  Another sweep of the hand, this time toward Banglen-Yp.  "And a new place, where you can gather without fear of confinement, of crowding, a place of endless space?  A place without the pressures that force you to battle for command, but rather the freedom to gather to speak, to discourse, to visit this universe and study its wonders?"

Both hands rise now, and she stares through the space between them into the shining, awful, glorious host above her.  "And create wonders, yourselves?  I know you can.  I have seen them.  And my father has seen them, has watched one of the Herenethi comprehend art...and by so doing, become an artist himself.  And create a timeless work at which others will marvel."

"It needs not end in fire, blood, and destruction, leaving only ashes and emptiness in which to grow until there is no more room...again."  Her voice drops, but it carries despite that, bourne upon the wings of Berd's power.

"There could be more.  There would be more."

Turning about in place, she listens as the Archons' cries fall upon James, their suggestions, their queries.  Their hopes.  And finally, both hands still upraised, she faces Harbonah once again.

Amethyst eyes bright, she bows her head once, lifts it to stare at his unearthly visages.

"Please."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:21, Wed 05 Dec 2012.

Harbonah stands in silence, looking out across the landscape.

Banglen-Yp is the first to speak when Cyan falls silent, more information about what is being offered, about herself...

• I can not be hurt by Archons, at least not permanently.  I have learned much from being here and speaking to those who aren't me.  If more of me is still in the other place, I - that is, the I who is there - that I would welcome the new experience as much as this I has.  Sharing a place with creatures who are not me. •, a strange expression flickers across the blonde woman's face, and she starts to sing, albeit slightly out of tune:

• Neighbours, everybody needs good neighbours
With a little understanding
You can find the perfect blend
Neighbours...should be there for one another
That's when good neighbours become good friends •

There is a flare of light, and a wave of heat, and Harbonah is a wheel of flame once more, with the metal orb at his heart. + WE GO NOW TO CONSIDER THIS PROPOSED SOLUTION.  ANY WHO WISH TO REMAIN HERE, TO ASSIST IN THIS REBUILDING OF HOSK, MAY DO SO.  AFTER ALL, SHOULD WE DECIDE AGAINST THIS OFFER, HOSK WILL STILL BE NEEDED. +

With Harbonah's assent, James finds himself suddenly presented with a plethora of demands, requests, suggestions and pleas.  James does not have Berd's facility with multi-tasking and he finds the situation momentarily overwhelming.  That is a dangerous sensation when one is working with the Pattern and James is forced to redouble his concentration, focussing on one small 'movement' at a time until he is back in control.

Once the immediate risk has passed, James finds himself enjoying the situation.  He has the opportunity to shape an entire world and a host of willing designers, engineers and architects.  James begins to branch out, taking on more and more ideas presented by the Archons.  He forces himself to accept all but the most outlandish or impractical ideas, reminding himself often that the Archons will have different aesthetics and perspectives to his own.  It is not his place to judge, only to accommodate as many ideas as possible and create.

With his concentration needed elsewhere, James pays scant attention to the more immediate issues raised by Cyan's conversation with her nemesis.  That they are still talking, James takes as something positive.  It seemed the Archons were not so dissimilar to many of the other peoples of the Myriad Worlds, being neither exceptionally virtuous or despicable but remarkable mostly for their potency.

James, for the most part, would happily accept a ceasefire and, ultimately, an enduring end to the current war.  A small part, however, remembers those for whom any peace would come too late and is still galled at the thought that Harbonah may avoid condemnation for the war crimes he has committed.

Cyan waits, her stomach knotted, her heart pounding.  "Berd," she whispers.  And upon her shoulder, Berd narrows his eyes.  The call goes out - invisible, silent, impossible to catch, for it is less a message than an idea forming within one of Berd's minds and thus, shared by all.

Hold.  Hold your place.  Subsumption may not be necessary.  I/We may not need to become One.  We cannot risk upsetting this peace.

Approaching the world, the blizzard of tiny forms wavers, flows, and bursts free of the Underflow to scatter through out the nearby void, wary of predators from below.  Their numbers are smaller, and many of them are far more defined than before, their eyes growing brighter.  Their minds sharper.  Some approach Berd as he was when the quest began, hovering on the edge of something greater.

But they listen.  And wait in silence, shrouded - not a threat, not surrounding the world.

Finally Banglen-Yp speaks.  "Lords of the West, thank you," Cyan whispers.  "And thank you, Banglen-Yp."  The woman (for Cyan cannot think of her as anything but) would accept the Archons, should they choose to enter her space.  And perhaps, just perhaps, without the pressures of room forcing them to battle, the Archon race might find better ways to live than ceaselessly seeking to carve out territory.

But that depends upon Harbonah.

Flicker.  Flare.  The beautiful, terrible form is gone, vanishing into a burning wheel of fire.  To battle?  Or...

To leave.  To leave and consider.  In all the time Cyan has known Harbonah - years, even, thanks to differential - she has never heard such a tone in his voice.  "Thank you," she whispers.  "Thank you for taking this chance."

And chance it is, for him.  He risks loss of leadership.

She straightens, her voice pitched to carry again, taken by Berd's power to all of the observing Archons.  "We will await your decision.  And we will remain here, with your people who choose to stay.  I will talk freely with any who wish to speak with me."  A sidelong glance at James reveals strain on his chiselled features, and Cyan's topaz eyes narrow.  Berd.

The drake's own burning eyes echo hers, and threads of power feed from the Underflow into the Amberite, into his designs - not to manipulate them, but to provide the raw energies for easier transition.  James, if you wish I can track the Archon's requests and prioritize them based on when they arrive - keep them ordered for you.

A small thing, but it would relieve your need to split your focus.

"Left, please bide with us a time.  I would speak with you."  Stepping to the wheel of fire, Cyan stares into its flames.  The shreds and remnants of her hate have gone, as has most of her fear.  They had weighed her down for so long...and yet, she feels empty.  Bereft.  They had helped sustain her for so long, been a part of her life after her capture.

Something else, she knows, will come to replace the dark feelings.  Something good, she hopes.

"I hope you choose peace.  For all of us."

Peace for the Archons, in more ways than one.

Harbonah passes through the bubble without a word.  he follows a curved track which carries him up and out of Hosk, back into the Underflow...

Left's voice is still a whisper, + NONE OF THEM FOLLOWED! +  It is true.  The sky above Berd's protective dome is still packed with Archons.

And it is obvious that their rivalries have not faded.  They are simply being controlled.  Even in a cooperative effort like the rebuilding of Hosk they fight a sort of battle: many of their requests and suggestions, while generally constructive, are couched in terms intended to undermine the ideas of others.

Old feuds held in check only by Harbonah's dominance.  Hostility which has burned brighter than suns, and for longer, now suppressed by Harbonah's will.

But still the work continues, gradually transforming the hellish landscape into one which is equally hellish, but in a different way...

Stepping forward, Cyan lets her gaze rise to watch Harbonah vanish.  He flickers through the air like a comet, fading out of this reality into What Lies Between.  "Goodbye," she whispers.  "And I hope...perhaps, to see you again."

His will holds the Archons in check, perhaps will continue to do so until a decision is made, a decision that will hopefully have them shifting into the freedom of Banglen-Yp's 'home'.  There are sides to Harbonah she had not seen before, but why should that be surprising?  The pain, the damage he has inflicted remains, but perhaps he will become their best hope for peace.

Harbonah...and the example of Hosk, an example that James even now builds.  It captures the imagination, the need, the vision of the Archons Harbonah brought to destroy, focusing them upon another purpose.  James' creation may teach them as well, proving there are things of worth and glory in this universe.  His own dream of the world becomes a reality, twining with those of the Seraphim to create a thing of startling beauty.

Harbonah and James are the ones who forge this possibility; she, herself, only has words, and words cannot truly create on their own.

"Yes, Left.  They stayed."  She nods, suddenly overwhelmingly weary.  "Can you see?  Is it not...possible?  Things might change.  With a change in the situation, there may - may - come a change in the people.  There is a chance, here.  Many factors have come together in this one place, many weights upon both sides of the scale, and it tilts our way.  This time."

She closes brilliant eyes; when they open again, they have darkened, a deep amethyst rather than the paler shades of before.

"And that is all for which we may ask: hope, hope that there exists a chance.  The end avoided for another day, more time to talk, to try to find a new way.  To change."

Her stare shifts from James, hard at work, to the danioti hovering beside her.  "You changed, Left.  You learned things.  Different things, not necessarily better.  See where it has brought you.  Your perspective has shifted."

Now her eyes rise to the shining host above them.  "Change begins again.  Life - all life - continues."

Time passes, and the sun of Hosk rides an erratic course across the sky, bloated and wrathful.

James works, assisted by those that can do so, and watched by others.  The changes accelerate, building upon each other, and each change makes conditions more suitable for those that follow.  Ripples of alteration dance across the land, like waves on the oceans of a saner world.

Forests of coloured metal trees sprout, crystal spires extend upward from rents in the ground, and clusters of tornadoes dance around each other, as lighting leaps between them.  There are structures of ice among the rivers of flame, and hovering mountains of stone drift in the spaces between superheated clouds of toxic vapour.

Finally, as the sun starts to sink towards the newly transformed horizon, James seems to falter.

Standing silent with Left, Cyan observes the changing world with her changing eyes.  Exhaustion threatens, stress and preparation having eaten away much of her strength, but she holds steady.  If James can manage, with what he's currently going through, certainly so may she.

And the world shifts, again and again.

The power these immortals hold is immense.  They walk in worlds like gods, and yet are near as fragile as the mortals they stand above.  Cyan can only wonder what it must be like to forge something new of a broken world, an act of compassion so glorious it cannot in truth be measured.

How does one weigh such creation?

Finally, though, even James' legendary stamina begins to break.  "Berd," Cyan whispers, breaking her silent vigil.  The drake, his eyes glowing dully, summons his own flagging reserves to assist the man in his final efforts.  "James, have done for now," the bard pleads.

"Yes." James replies simply, there is a sense of fatigue but also of satisfaction in his voice.  The job is not completed, true, but the progress made has been significant and will endure.  Perhaps more might have been achieved if the gathered Archons has been prepared to commit more material help but James does not allow himself to dwell on any disappointment.  One might as easily say that far less would have been achieved without their creative input or in the face of concerted opposition.

James says nothing further for a time as he struggles to tie off remaining "loose ends", except two, and disengage safely from the Pattern.

Finally, he finishes.  His shoulders sag slightly, but he gives no other obvious sign of tiredness.  He turns to the assembled Archons, still a sizeable throng despite the time that has passed, and speaks.  "I, we, have not finished, and I am sorry to leave the job part done.  I will continue when I can but for now you must forgive me."

"I have created something, though, so you may continue without me.  Two things actually.  These are mine, my contributions if you will, and I hope you like them."

"A quarter turn of Hosk that way," James points, "I have created a duelling circle.  It hasn't escaped my attention that many of your suggestions have been at cross-purposes to those of others of your kin.  The duelling circle is one means by which you may resolve these differences.  I have set things there so that the Pattern remains unstable, within bounds.  On the circumference of the circle are two smaller circles.  Two Archons, one in each circle, can set the terms of the duel.  Sweeping environmental changes are beyond me, at least in those circumstances, but the duellists can by agreement make some changes to the usual laws.  As a suggestion, you could make lethal injury less likely." James smiles wryly, grimly aware that some duellists will seek to twist chance the other way.  He is not entirely sure what would result.

"A quarter turn that way," James points in the opposite direction, "is another circle, this one an auditorium.  The Pattern there will also remain unstable.  There is no stage, no podium, no place for a conductor.  The more of you who assemble at the auditorium and agree on a particular course, the greater their influence on the surrounding environment.  If all of you were to assemble there...and agree...you could conceivably re-make Hosk again."

OOC: Not entirely sure if any of that is within James capabilities, but I think it's a cool idea so I'm putting it out there, I'm happy to edit or be edited as needed.  Also Dworkin, I think I might need to put Greater Pattern Mastery on James wishlist.  By the time we're done, James might even have a trick or two to teach Fiona.

At first there is growing resentment - calls for "one more change" to be made before James rests.  But there is no agreement on what that change should be.  Instead there is a chorus of voices, each demanding that their own request be fulfilled before any other.  Skirmishes start to break out among the host.  Short, violent squabbles, untrammelled without Harbonah to hold the Archons in a grip of iron.  Archons in a confined area, without that authority to hold them in check, are free to let old rivalries run their short, lethal course.

And James continues to speak, describing two sites, poles apart in terms of both position and purpose.  The fighting dwindles, but not before a number of Archons have fallen.  The attention of the host is, once again, focussed on the man standing below them in a flimsy-seeming bubble of force.

James finishes speaking, and for a moment there is silence.  Followed by the sound of a thousand peals of thunder as the Archons streak away in the indicated directions.  The wind of their passing swirls around the bubble, and then they are... gone.  All of them.

Of all the Archons, only Left and two of Right's assigned guards remain.

"Well," James looks around in surprise, "I wasn't expecting that!"

James continues to peer about, as though expecting some trick.  "They have really gone, I take it, Berd?  Do you think we can relax a bit?  'Cause I don't know about you but I'm feeling pretty tired.  We could bring out Shaendra's supplies and have a picnic while we decide what to do next."

Truth be told, James would love the opportunity to explore the newly created garden but there is no telling how long Harbonah will need to consider the current proposal, or what his answer will be.  If things go badly, the group may need to fight or flee with very little notice.

James' innovations widen Cyan's eyes even further.  The far-reaching ramifications of such things, she cannot imagine, but the short-term idea of channelling the Archons' aggressive tendancies toward something a little better than 'killing rivals' cannot be understated.  Certainly both areas garner a great deal of attention; even her own bodyguard is fractured down to a single herenethi and danioti.

And Left.  But that one is no bodyguard.

For a long moment, she simply stares at the remains of a set of blades scattered across the acidic landscape and already beginning to tarnish: the remnants of one of the archons slain after Harbonah's departure.  Never before has there been such a statement supporting their erstwhile enemy's words.  Archons.  Cannot.  Coexist.

Or can they?  Perhaps, Cyan can hope, they might add 'until now' to the end of that statement.

James' words wash over her, and she finds her knees growing weak.  Which is odd, considering how little work she, herself, has done here.  It has all been James, with his control over the world and his changes, and Berd, supplying power.  It...

Her knees hit the ground.

Gone, James.  Only Left, Barkiel, and Staosha remain.

Her hands cover her face as she slumps, and a single, muffled sob escapes them.  Then Cyan lets her arms droop, trailing their fingers upon the diamond 'rock' beneath her.  "Have...have we won?" she whispers.  "Or is this merely a stutter in the war?"  Her eyes find the others - James, Banglen-Yp, Left, Barkiel and Staosha.  Even Luke, standing silent and watchful.

"Is it over?"

+ A CLEVER IDEA, JAMES.  SOMETHING TO DISTRACT THEM FROM THEIR HATREDS. + Left declares, + THOUGH IT WILL, OF COURSE, MEAN THAT THERE ARE MORE OF THEM ALIVE, SHOULD HARBONAH ORDER THEM TO ATTACK. +  The Archon laughs quietly.  With the numbers involved, even the loss of half of them would have made little difference if Harbonah had commanded an attack.

Banglen-Yp. the one still in her original form, looks up from where she plays with Nine Lives and smiles cheerfully, • Two of me have gone with them • one to each of the places James told them about •  They will watch over them and warn me if they are coming back •  It will only be a few seconds warning but it will be a warning •

• For now they seem busy with the new distractions James has given them •

Just for the moment, then, it seems that they will have some peace and quiet.  Perhaps it would be the right time to take some rest and a little food...

Sagging with relief, Cyan slowly draws herself into a cross-legged posture.  "Perhaps they might learn from it.  One never knows," she murmurs.  It's not impossible.  And if some do, then...

"Please sit, everyone, or remain the forms you choose," Cyan offers.  "Thank you, Banglen-Yp.  Warning would be appreciated.  Berd?"  The little dragon slowly nods his head, letting himself relax on her shoulder, his eyes closing: almost asleep, but not quite.

Slowly Cyan begins bringing out what she carried from Shaendra and Tander's world, laying it out atop a small cloth removed from the pack.  She doesn't trust the diamond - there's too much in the air around here, and it could be dusted with heavy metals (poisons, her mind translates).

"We haven't won," she suddenly declares.  "But then, this isn't about winning any more.  Sadly, we've not yet ended the threat, either.  James' creation may prove to be the tipping point, but it does not fully end the central issue, that of Archon space.  Left.  Barkiel.  Staosha.  What do you think of the potential of having a second place in which to live and grow - another fully universe like the Myriad Worlds - and this one, to visit and study?"

Glancing up at James, she pats the diamond beside her, then eyes the Archons.  "I would have more opinions from different Archons on this matter.  Is it viable?  Might it be enough?"

Left seems to consider for a moment, and then her form starts to shift, until she finally stands before the others as a metal skinned humanoid, covered with moving blades.  The other Archons follow suit, Staosha adopting a similar form to Left's, and Barkiel becoming a winged humanoid composed entirely of lightning.  Only Barkiel sits.

Left speaks, + We cannot sit, we danioti, but this form is as near as we can come to it. +  She looks at the other two, who nod, and then she continues, + I speak for all of us.  We cannot say if this idea will work.  A group can be predicted easily - barring some outside influence the group will always act in the way which is determined to be best by the most powerful faction within that group.  Individuals count for little, as their opinions and inclinations are cancelled out by those who disagree with them. +

+ In this case the group effectively consists of Harbonah.  None will oppose him if he comes back and rejects your proposal.  Nor will any oppose him if he declares that the proposal is acceptable.  His is the only voice which matters among the Seraphim.  Unfortunately we do not believe that he is... entirely rational.  He acts upon whim, and his mood is changeable.  On some days he is wrathful and filled with rage, and on other days he is in a bad mood. +  Staosha laughs, a harsh metallic screeching, like the rusted hinges of an old gate.

Left falls silent and lowers her head for a moment before resuming, + But he has been gone for longer than we would have expected.  This would seem to indicate that he is giving much consideration to the idea. +

+ Perhaps... +

James takes the offered seat next to Cyan and nods his thanks to Berd and Banglen-Yp, any warning would indeed be welcome.

"I'd complain that the seat is hard," James smiles, "but it would be a little perverse since I can't really feel it through my armour."

"Just think what our little stool might be worth on another world.  Enough to buy a kingdom, I'd wager.  Travelling the worlds can teach you some worthwhile lessons about the value of things, don't you think?"

James stops, "Listen to me, I'm rambling.  I must be more tired than I thought.  Still, I'll settle for a good feed.  Let's see what treats Shaendra packed for us."

James sets about making a meal as best he can.  Whatever food he prepares, he makes sure to offer some to Berd.  The little dragon has been working hard and will surely be hungry.

Staosha shifts uncomfortably and looks towards the sky, before speaking, + It may be worse than Left says,  Harbonah has become increasingly unpredictable since your defection, General.  Only days ago, as time is measured here on Hosk, five hundred of the danioti were killed by him as a punishment for suspected treason against his will.  Five hundred.  In a single day.  He has learned, too, from what happened here. +

An arm lifts and gestures at the world around them, + Harbonah has a weapon that will destroy worlds in less time than it takes a human to... to... what is the word?  When the eyes close for an instant?  No matter.  Harbonah has a weapon that would allow him to destroy any world before anybody could stop it. +

At first, Left's words bring a sense of accomplishment.  They're not sure, they're not finished here, but there's a chance...she grins at James' words and clasps his armored shoulder, wishing she could feel him rather than cold metal.  "Well put, James.  For myself, this little stool is valuable that I might sit with those closest to me."  Closing her eyes, she breathes in deeply.  "That makes it all the more precious."

Berd practically falls upon whatever James lays out for him.  At present, he cares little for its contents, preferring volume over flavour.  The drake wolfs down his share with little grace and less neatness, finally collapsing in place to be gathered up and dragged into Cyan's lap.

But the bard's good mood evapourates with Staosha's next words.

"Truly?"  Chilled, Cyan studies the danioti for a long moment.  "Harbonah has gone beyond dictator, then, to despot.  And he now holds a weapon that might cinder a world?"  Her jaw tightens, her appetite fades, and Cyan shakes her head.  "That...your people deserve freedom, Staosha.  Guidance by an enlightened ruler, perhaps.  And yes, perhaps strength is necessary for a ruler to hold sway over the Archons.  But this?"

She swallows thickly, one hand creeping over to latch onto James' forearm.  "It is too much.  If Harbonah is this lost...if he holds your people in a grip like this..."

"Why?"  Cyan glances to the Archons.  "Why after my defection?  Surely my loss mattered little to Harbonah.  It did not significantly weaken his plans.  It did not significantly weaken his forces.  Did it...teach him to expect treachery?  But he knew that, before!  Archons have turned upon each other before.  Surely my loss could not have engendered such a feeling within him."

Again, she surveys the Archons around her with too-bright, topaz eyes.

"Staosha, you know something of this.  Barkiel, until recently you were of the Seraphim.  Help me understand - if you have any reasons, any insight as to why Harbonah has grown more jealous of his power, more suspicious, more...crazed since I left, please!  Even a guess might help!"

+ We believe it is pride, in part, which has caused this shift in his behaviour. +

+ Never before had anybody, Archon or otherwise, betrayed Harbonah so openly.  Yes, others had defied him, but they had never served him, or if they had then their defiance was less public.  You have defied him before other Archons.  Made him seem weak.  This has wounded his pride. + Staosha replies.  Barkiel shifts position, seeming uncomfortable, but remains silent.

+ He thought he had made a perfect weapon.  Archons do not serve easily, we are too intent upon our own goals.  In you he thought he had created a servant who did not share that trait.  And he thought he had broken you.  He believed you could not defy him.  To put so much effort into creating a weapon... to display it openly to others and extoll its virtues... and then to find that it was flawed.  This, too, has wounded his pride. +

+ And the five hundred were an example.  A lesson.  A demonstration that he will brook no challenge to his authority. +

+ It may also have been an attempt to stop the opposition from other factions. + Left interrupts, + To shock his enemies into capitulation.  To let them see that he can destroy so many of his own, motivated simply by suspicion and whim, shows that he believes he has more than sufficient support to win this conflict. +

And Barkiel speaks at last, + Yes. It says that he did not trust the five hundred, but that mattered little, for he did not need them.  He could afford to dispose of them. +

James grimaces at the mention of Harbonah's new 'super-weapon' "I feared as much."

"For a long time now I've been worried that one of the Seraphim would learn to copy what Dorian did here at Hosk; the effect, at least, if not the method."

"I don't know how much difference it will make, though.  Harbonah already had a good claim to irresistable force if he wanted to threaten a world.  And there are few enough worlds dangerous enough to make him prefer destruction over conquest."

James puts his hand over Cyan's where it grips his forearm.  "Harbonah's pride might yet be our biggest problem.  He may refuse Banglen-Yp's offer merely because it is not his idea, though I hope I'm wrong."

"Luke, you've been awfully quiet.  Apocalyptic conflicts caused by pride, any wisdom for us?"

OOC: Couldn't resist that last bit, sorry (I'm assuming Luke's still with us?)

"Dorian," Luke mused.  "Tried to stop him, I did.  Failed.  Amusing, James.  And discerning."  Luke stared out into the hellish world, his eyes thoughtful.  He'd seen worse in his day: just as terrible, without any of the beauty.  "You've got three choices with Harbonah."  Up comes a hand with two fingers and a thumb extended.

"One.  You kill him.  Only problem with that, the Seraphim fracture and boom, we've got chaos.  I can think of a few ways this WOULD work, but it requires someone to lead the Archons afterward.  You'd need someone capable of taking Harbonah's place who wouldn't decide to burn the universe to the ground, but who is also strong enough to hold onto the Archons until - if ever - things change for them."

He grunted.  "I'd offer myself up for the job, but...I'm not sure I'm up to the task."

"Two.  You imprison he and his followers." A grimace twisted his handsome features.  "Problem with that is it leaves the situation open-ended.  No prison is good forever - none - and when he gets out, he'll be righteously pissed beyond anything we've seen.  So will his followers.  Then there'll be zero chance of peace, just war until everything is over."

He shot a glance at Berd.  "I've got...some experience with that.  And we've already seen it done with Harbonah.  It's part of why we're in this situation."

"Three?"  A deep sigh followed. "You give him what he wants.  What he needs.  Only problem is, I'm not sure what that is.  To give it to him, you have to know what it REALLY is.  Is it winning this war?  Having a safe place for Archons?  Or is it total control over the Seraphim, forever, all about power?  Or is it something we haven't seen?  A salve to his pride?  A hidden desire?  A change to Archon society?"

"Peace?" He sniffed.  "I tell you, being angry all the time, always feeling betrayed, always trying to guard yourself, and maybe, just maybe, trying to do the right thing for your people but getting hung up all the time on the minutae...that can be awfully disheartening."

"So flip a three-sided coin." He pushed his hand against Berd's barrier, stretching it slightly before letting it snap back.  "Me?  If we can figure out what makes him tick, three might work.  But it won't solve the greater problem."

Cyan bows her head when James' hand covers hers, closing her eyes.  Even this, after the stress and terror of the day...she could simply sleep, here and now.  Safe.

But that's not to be.

"It's because of me," she whispers.  "Not...my fault, of course," Cyan amends, knowing people might (logically) take this as ridiculous self-pity.  It isn't.  The observation is there, though.  Had she not fallen to Harbonah, had she not then escaped his domination of her mind and spirit, perhaps he would be reasonable?

"Well, perhaps he would be more reasonable," she sighs aloud with a smile that only holds a pinch of bitterness.  Shifting slightly, she leans against James for support and stares up at the Archons.  In her lap, Berd snoozes, grumbling a touch as his 'awake' mind disagrees with her assessement.

"This is not a dictator I would see in command of the Seraphim," Cyan continues, her voice gaining a touch of strength.  "One who would slay hundreds of his own simply to make a point, or to assuage his wounded pride?  No.  Never."  Her gaze shoots to Luke for a moment, narrowing.  She doesn't like him, never has, and still doesn't know why.  But still.  He makes a fine set of points about their options.

"Say we give him what he desires.  What then?  Will he suddenly become a better ruler?  I think not.  Say we imprison him.  Will we then be free of him?  Not forever.  Which leaves us the third option, one I will take from Luke's advice, yet alter."

Her lips tighten for a moment.  Then, "Harbonah must be unseated."

"Kill him?  Perhaps.  But will he not follow if forced by a superior?  If he is defeated, if one crushes him who can hold the Archons with their strength, if he is overwhelmed...will he not also follow?  Plotting, planning his ascension, but still relegated to similar status and strength as his former followers?"

She breathes out.  "If we can begin a new regime...in a new place...?"

Cyan lowers her eyes, clearly thinking; when her head raises again, they are pale emerald.  "Of course, another option.  Is there aught I could do to assuage his pride?  Is there a step I could take, beyond my words of today, to end this, do you think?"  Her lips tremble for a moment, then firm.  "What might satisfy this wounded pride, make of him a better ruler?  And would it last?"

Her eyes narrow.  "My plan.  What...what if I made Harbonah see?  Everything?  Would it be enough?  Can he change, now?  Grow past what he is?"

+ It is possible for Archons to change. + Left responds, with a laugh + Right and I have demonstrated that. +

+ But it is harder for the more powerful Archons to change.  The personalities grow within them, and they become more rigid in their thinking.  A new idea must overcome the resistance of four or five or six minds. +

+ But I believe you must try to change Harbonah, rather than remove him from power.  An attempt to remove him would force him to resist, and he would do anything within his power to thwart you. +

The danioti turns her attention to James, + He may reject the idea, yes.  But I do not believe it would be because he did not think of it.  I was one of the Seraphim at one time.  I have seen his mind at work.  Always he has held the interests of our people at his core.  If he rejects this scheme, it will be because he perceives some flaw in the idea, or because he does not believe it will be a solution, not because of pride. +

+ His pride and his rage are similar.  Both are allowed freedom only when it suits his plans.  Only when he sees some benefit to his own strategy will he let them show.  He does not let uncontrolled anger or vanity direct his actions. +

"Indeed, Left.  Point taken," Cyan murmurs.  "Both points...among many," she muses, with a small wave toward Left's sharp edges.  As much as she despises Harbonah's crimes - against others, for against her she has truly let go, only fading wisps of her hate remaining - she can see that he is perhaps the only leader possible for the Archons.

"So how do we change him?  It is his pride that burns him against me.  I might be able to something for that, if I could only sit and speak with him.  But to make him see the benefit of the universe itself, how it might enable the Archons to grow as a race, to become something more?"

Cyan purses her lips.  "Benefit.  He seized control because to leave the Archons free would leave them fighting.  Weakening them.  What if he could see that through growth, there would come change?  A change in needs, in wants?"

James leans companionably into Cyan, taking some of his weight on one arm so that the weight of his armour doesn't overbalance the pair of them.

"At least you tried, Luke.  I was glad of that.  Some of us tried to talk him out of it, but no-one else had the heart or the means to try and stop him."

"Really, it has to be option three.  I think we agree that killing Harbonah won't solve anything.  What I've seen here at Hosk convinces me of that.  The splintered groups would cause a lot of damage and then somebody else would take control and things would get even worse.  And prison's out.  That's how we landed in this mess in the first place."

"So it's good to hear that Harbonah's not just thinking of himself.  I despise what he's done.  But if he can think beyond himself then we have a chance.  I think there's always some resistance to change - the older you get, the more ingrained behaviours become; the more powerful you are, the more you have to lose.  But the possibility remains.  Dorian's example, for all the damage he caused here, is ultimately positive."

Two days.

Two days in Hosk's hostile landscape.  James works to make adjustments to the world, supported by Berd and the others, where they can.  Banglen-Yp reports regularly on the Archons in the playgrounds that James had provided - they experiment with what passes for nature here, and fight small wars among themselves as a rsult of the experiments, by the end of the second day, fully a quarter of each group have fled or been destroyed...

Luke expounds at great length, and often, on the nature of conflict, and pride, and avarice.

And at some point the realisation strikes Banglen-Yp that, though she has offered the Archons a new home, she does not know how to get there, short of returning to Amber and speaking to the one who brought her here.

And shortly after sunset on the second day, the sky directly overhead tears open with a blast of flame, and the sound of ten thousand peals of thunder.  Harbonah returns, burning like a sun in the heavens.

The Archon leader hovers above the diamond mountain, and his anger beats down upon those below, as palpable as a rainstorm... and gradually it fades.  + WE SEE THEM NOW.  WE SEE WHAT THEY ARE DOING.  INTERESTING.  CAN YOU ALSO SEE WHY THEY NEED US TO LEAD THEM?  TO GIVE THEM STRUCTURE? +

He dims, and descends, shrinking as he drops lower, until he is no more than a hundred yards broad.  He still bears the strange orb at his centre.

+ WE HAVE GIVEN SOME THOUGHT TO YOUR PROPOSAL.  WE FIND IT... ACCEPTABLE.  PROVIDED THAT YOU ARE ABLE TO DO THIS THING.  TO GIVE THE ARCHONS A NEW HOME WHERE WE CAN EXPAND AND MULTIPLY. +

Two days.  Two days of assisting James, of watching him work with awe and concern.  Two days of speaking with the Archons, observing the Seraphim, agonizing over their losses and conflicts, and struggling to find a way through this.  Two days of Banglen-Yp not knowing how to return to her home, and Cyan fighting to find a plan for opening a doorway there.

Two days.

And then the return.

Cyan pushes herself to her feet as Harbonah appears, her ruby eyes catching his fire and throwing it back as he descends.  "Yes.  I see and understand."  She waves to the Archons who have remained with her, hopefully learning from her as she learned from them.  "I listen, and I understand.  I have heard your words as well, Harbonah, and comprehend their truths."

One hand rises to rub her forehead, then she straightens.  "There will need to be work.  A gateway must be created to this other place, and to do so we will require assistance.  This is not dissemblance.  I will..."  Her voice trembles for an instant, then firms.  "I will allow you to probe my mind if you desire, to verify the truth."

She stares up at the vast, terrifying Archon above, so much greater than the others.

"I need to speak with you, Harbonah, about your rule.  About your strengths, for I believe that you are the only Archon I have yet met capable of maintaining order among your people.  Despite our past, I believe this."

She shifts from foot to foot for a moment, Berd moving in unison with her upon her shoulder.  Then relaxes.  "And I need to apologize to you.  Apologize for my own betrayal of you.  And speak to you of it, if you would grant me this boon."

Harbonah says nothing at first, seeming to consider Cyan's words, then, + YOU WOULD... APOLOGISE... + and he seems to stumble over that word, almost as if unfamiliar with its pronunciation, + ... TO US? +  Laughter rings out, loud enough that it threatens to shatter the sky.

Left moves closer to Cyan, still in her vaguely humanoid form, and speaks quietly, + Take care.  An apology might be seen as a sign of weakness. +

The laughter dies slowly, + APOLOGIES ARE IRRELEVANT.  WHAT IS DONE IS DONE.  YOU WERE A TOOL... A WEAPON... SHAPED TO SERVE OUR NEEDS, AND YOU WERE BROKEN BY MY ENEMIES, USING MEANS WE FIND DIFFICULT TO ENVISION.  WOULD YOU SEEK AN APOLOGY FROM A BROKEN SWORD?  YOU MIGHT BE ANGERED BY THE BLADE'S FAILURE, BUT YOU WOULD NOT REQUIRE THAT IT APOLOGISE TO YOU. +

+ WE ARE PUZZLED THOUGH, THAT YOU WOULD QUESTION OUR REIGN OVER THE ARCHONS.  NO OTHER COULD HOLD THEM IN CHECK AS WE DO.  NO OTHER IS STRONG ENOUGH. +

"Yes," Cyan states quietly.  "I would.  For I am not a sword, and no doubt if a sword could speak, it too would do the same."

She flicks an emerald glance at Left.  "Should one wish to make the mistake of viewing such as a weakness, one may do so," she states aloud.  "There is no weakness in flexibility, nor admitting one is incorrect.  Through such honesty with oneself and other, and the knowledge it brings, one may grow stronger."  A shrug follows.  "Not all may believe this, mind."

She returns her gaze to the colossal form of Harbonah.  Berd stirs fitfully on her shoulders, but she calms him with a touch.  "I question not your strength, Harbonah.  Certainly we see the results of the lack of your leadership.  You can hold the Seraphim, keeping them focused to a point.  And in truth, I can see you hold the well-being of your race and your people within your heart."

Her eyes narrow.  "But you are not consistent in that."

"I understand you slew five hundred danioti recently?  Danioti 'suspected' of treason?  Were they truly treasonous, or merely a convenient example against those would might consider such?  For 'five hundred' is a strangely even number."  She shakes her head.  "This does not help your people.  It does not make them strong.  It merely kills them.  And it shows them that killing other Archons is perfectly acceptable to reach their goals.  Indeed, it sets the example."

She raises her hands.  "How can a race grow strong, how can a race grow, when the leader inspires his own people to slay one another?  One might argue that 'the strongest will survive', but eventually the race will be nothing but the few strong remaining.  And slaves."  There is no accusation in her voice, only a quiet firmness.  "One can be strong, but fair.  Strong, but discerning.  Strong, the moreso for not giving in to one's own angers."

She studies the Archon before her for a long moment before speaking again.  "They listen to you.  They accept your decisions.  Yes, in fear of your might.  But are their memories so poor that they require frequent reminders, even when you cannot find a true target?  Is your hold over them so weak you must kill some of them to ensure control over the others?  I think not."

"Could it be different?"

Harbonah burns more brightly, hovering above the tiny bubble of protection,+ FIVE HUNDRED, YES.  OUT OF THE EIGHT HUNDRED AND TWENTY THREE THAT WERE HELD.  EIGHT HUNDRED AND TWENTY THREE DANIOTI AMONG ONE THOUSAND FOUR HUNDRED AND TWO SERAPHIM WHICH HAVE TURNED AGAINST US... AGAINST ALL ARCHONS... SINCE WE STARTED THIS CAMPAIGN TO HELP OUR PEOPLE.  YES, THEY HAD TRULY TURNED AGAINST US.  FIVE HUNDRED SEEMED SUFFICIENT TO PROVIDE, AS YOU SAY, AN EXAMPLE.  DANIOTI BECAUSE THEY PROVIDED THE BULK OF THE TRAITORS.  SHALL WE TELL YOU THEIR NAMES? +

And the flames dim, + WE DID NOT ORDER THIS LIGHTLY.  THE NUMBER OF BETRAYALS WAS RISING, SO WE DECIDED TO SHOW ALL ARCHONS WHY WE HOLD POWER. +

+ YOU SAY WE INSPIRE OTHERS TO KILL EACH OTHER?  BUT, IN TRUTH, WE ARCHONS KILL DUE TO OUR VERY NATURE.  IT IS PART OF OUR BEING.  WE NEED NO INSPIRATION.  IT COMES AS EASILY TO US AS MOVEMENT. +

He remembers their names.

That, more than anything else, convinces Cyan.  Slowly, she nods.  "I see.  I have wronged you with this accusation as well, Harbonah.  I would not have done so myself, but despite the deaths, you showed restraint, even as now you demonstrate regret."

Restraint and regret, at least from what she understands of him.  He could have obliterated them all.  Harbonah has no reason to lie, here, and in fact has been quite straightforward.  And why should he not be, given his personality and circumstances?  He has never, ever shied away from gloating, from scornful words, and certainly has not cared for the opinions of others.

"I shall have to be more careful with my judgements," she muses, her topaz eyes lambent.  "It is too easy to think the worst of one recently considered 'enemy'.  It was wrong of me to do so."

The bard shakes her head.  "As for the killing...."

Breathing in, Cyan slowly nods.  "You have resisted the urge, evidently, even in this circumstance you discuss.  The Nephilim resist.  Perhaps, as you suggest, this is only a short-term thing, but is it not possible one can learn to resist for longer and longer?  That one can, in fact, change?  I have seen Archons change.  I have seen their priorities shift away from the gathering of power to something different.  Is it not possible<i>, Harbonah?"

A bow of the head, an opening of her hands.  "In truth, yes, you have the greater experience.  In truth, you <I>are an Archon.  But perhaps I have the benefit of standing without the circumstance, of looking at it from a different perspective.  Harbonah...many beings begin their lives killing.  Killing is a means of control, after all.  Archons, with pressure toward needing control thanks to space issues...is it possible that they have learned to kill?"

"I wish understanding, to better create a bridge.  To better assist.  To better be capable of finding a way to end this war without the destruction of one or both sides."  The bard offers a sad smile and a shrug.  "My questions, though impertinent, are not meant to offend."

James watches silently as Cyan and Harbonah discuss possibilities, recriminations and leadership philosophies.  It is far from the confrontation James had expected when arriving on Hosk but James understands that for these two, at least, the outcome is no less important.

For his own part, James had finished his own work some time ago.  The substantive alterations had been made and the final form stabilised as far as James was able.  There was still plenty of tinkering to be done, a lifetime's worth, maybe even for an Amberite.  The two unstable zones nagged at him whenever he concentrated on the Pattern but he couldn't tie off all the loose ends without defeating his own purpose so they remained, though James did what he could to ensure the surrounding areas could not be compromised.

All told, James had found the experience very educational.  He had understood the traditional uses of Amber's blood-ties to the Pattern, but there were clearly far-reaching possibilities that had not yet been explored, except possibly by Dworkin and Fiona and they weren't telling.

When it came to the Archons, and particularly Harbonah, James remained cautious.  He had barely taken off his armour in two days, despite any discomfort suffered.  He remembered all too well the stories of treachery and death at the hands of the Seraphim.  For James, the fact that Harbonah remembered the names of those he slew meant only that he had a good memory, not that he felt regret.

Harbonah pulses brightly... once, twice... and then dwindles in size.  Less than two yards across he passes through the bubble.  + POSSIBLE TO CHANGE?  YES.  BUT IT IS UNLIKELY TO HAPPEN AS THINGS STAND NOW.  YOU SAY THAT THE NEPHELIM HAVE CHANGED, AND NO LONGER KILL...  YOU ARE MISTAKEN.  THEY STILL KILL THOSE WHO OPPOSE THEM, JUST AS WE DO.  JUST AS ALL ARCHONS DO.  THE ONLY REAL DIFFERENCE BETWEEN SERAPHIM AND NEPHELIM LAYS IN WHO THEY CHOOSE TO KILL. +

+ WE WOULD SUPPORT CHANGE.  BUT WHILE ARCHONS STILL NEED ROOM TO LIVE, THEY WILL ALWAYS FIGHT THOSE WHO WOULD TAKE THAT ROOM FROM THEM.  WE SOUGHT TO CHANGE ARCHON NATURE BY TAKING MORE ROOM, BUT UNTIL WE HAVE THAT ROOM, FOR ALL ARCHONS, OUR NATURE SERVES US WELL.  AND WHILE WE STILL SEEK THAT GOAL FOR ALL, WE ARE FORCED TO RULE THE ARCHONS RUTHLESSLY.  IF WE HAD NOT, THEY WOULD HAVE ALL TURNED AGAINST EACH OTHER, AND REFUSED TO WORK TOGETHER.  WORSE, THEY WOUD HAVE TURNED AGAINST US - AND WE WERE THE ONLY HOPE OF UNITING ALL ARCHONS. +

The Archon drifts towards James, waves of heat washing over those who stand within the bubble, + YOU HAVE DONE WELL HERE.  YOU HAVE SHOWN THAT YOU ARE PREPARED, AND ABLE, TO MAKE REPARATIONS.  TO SET RIGHT THE MISTAKES THAT OTHERS OF YOU GROUP HAVE MADE.  EVEN TO IMPROVE ON THE WAY THINGS WERE.  FOR THAT, WE THANK YOU. +

Banglen-Yp draws his attention next, + YOU HAVE OFFERED US A NEW HOME.  FOR THAT WE ALSO OFFER THANKS.  WITH ROOM TO SPREAD, TO GROW, ARCHONS MAY HAVE LESS NEED OF THE OLD WAYS.  THE CHANGE IN OUR NATURE MAY COME, NOT IMMEDIATELY, BUT SOONER THAN IT WOULD OTHERWISE HAVE DONE. +
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:09, Tue 26 Feb 2013.

"That you admit the possibility gives me hope," Cyan admits.  "As do the Nephillim; they have chosen not to kill those of the Myriand Worlds, but rather to study and in some cases assist them.  This is a step in a direction different than 'destroy all', is it not?"

She bows her head for a moment.  "Everything must begin somewhere, Harbonah.  Similarly to your assertion to support change."  With a sigh, she raises her eyes to the burning sky.  "I am most glad to hear of this."

Her jaw tightens.  "I comprehend the need to rule ruthlessly, to enforce control until such is no longer needed.  And until there comes a change, the need will remain.  I could not do such a thing.  It is not within me.  But I fully comprehend the need for it."

Berd stirs uneasily upon her shoulder, perhaps considering memories of his own.

She listens as Harbonah addresses the others - James and Banglen-Yp.  Luke stands silent, possibly wisely in the face of his capacity to irritate those to whome he speaks.  A small smile touches her face - a sad one - as Harbonah manages to put a criticism of his enemies into his thanks to James.  Some things do take time to change, though she appreciates his consideration.

Perhaps someday he will see his own guilt in this war, in the deaths of uncountable victims of the Seraphim.  It may change him further.

But she must play the hand she has been dealt, and the only winning card is Harbonah.  In the face of that, Cyan must swallow her misgivings, swallow a desire for justice - not for herself, for she has set that aside already - and accept him.

And realize that in some ways, she has misjudged the Archon and his goals.

"We still must find this man who summoned Banglen-Yp here, and discern a way to open a gate to her own...own...home, I suppose," she murmurs.  "Or perhaps Berd may find that avenue.  Or even..."  One eyebrow cocks.  "Is not this being who brought forth Banglen-Yp and trapped the Sencathi supposedly a master of 'Trump'?  Trump and the palanqueti partaking of the same science, same energies?  Perhaps I myself might be capable of finding a means.  Or James, with his own power - it far exceeds mine, though in a different direction."

"It lies within our grasp, to be sure."  Pacing, she glances up at Harbonah, her eyes dark rubies.  "Will you hold from hostilities while we seek an answer?  Will you refrain from using your weapons, your Hounds?  I mean to bend my full effort toward this answer - given our...association, you know well that it and the strengths of my companions are not inconsiderable."

Her jaw sets.  "Should you wish confirmation of my stance, you may take it from my mind."

• You are welcome to this new home •  At least you can try it • to see if you like it •  I promise will not harm any of you unless you do something bad there •  It is my home as well and I will defend it •

• I was brought here as a weapon to destroy all the Archons • but that was not my choice and I choose not to do it •  Now •

Harbonah hangs before Banglen-Yp for a few moments, as if considering her words or, perhaps, merely puzzled by them.  Then he shifts away from the blonde woman, moving to hover at a poit more or less at the centre of the group.

+ HOW SOON CAN WE BEGIN THIS MOVE?  MUST WE SEARCH FOR THIS MAN, THE ONE WHO HOLDS THE KEY? +

• The others are coming back • from both places •

Cyan lets out a small sigh of relief as the 'confrontation' between Harbonah and Banglen-Yp ends without any rancour between them.  Harbonah's power is vast, and she remains unsure about the metallic sphere...but Banglen-Yp's power has never shown limits.  Indeed, every time it faces something new, she merely reaches a new apparant level of strength.

Unsurprising, the bard realizes, in the avatar of a universe itself.

Lords of the West, but I am a very small thing in this company.

Shaking out her hands to still their trembling, she faces Harbonah once again.  "I have wracked my mind to find an alternative, Harbonah.  Berd may be capable of reaching to another place...but he cannot guarantee it will be the correct one.  I, myself, must know a place before I open a gateway to it.  James -" with a gesture to the silent, armored man "- is a master over this reality, but not others."

Her lips thin and an edge enters her voice.  "We must find Dworkin.  He drew Banglen-Yp here.  He can send her home, and from there...there are numerous ways to open a gateway between the realms."

"But we must find him."

Her emerald eyes sharp, Cyan turns to face Harbonah.  "I can do this.  I have done similarly before.  I am under no compulsion, and this is for the benefit of all; you may trust me to see this through.  Hold off, Harbonah, on the war, on the destruction.  I ask only this.  Give us time - this group, whose record, yes, even a record against your own forces, speaks for itself."

"I didn't do it for your thanks, but I appreciate the sentiment." James answers with ill grace.

For all that James is glad that a peaceful resolution to the war may be at hand and despite Harbonah's apparent honesty, there are some things that James will not easily accept.  He understands well enough the need for strength, even ruthlessness, in those who would rule but there are limits.  James would not lightly forgo justice for those who had been duped into service and led to slaughter; for those needlessly slain, maimed and tormented as a  result of the Archons' drive to conquer; and what Harbonah had done to Cyan was beyond James' capacity to forgive.  He was willing and able to suppress such feelings in the interests of attaining peace, but they were there all the same.

"Cyan is right.  There are other ways, but they are likely to take longer and would be less reliable.  Finding Dworkin is almost certainly the way to go.  I can do that.  Probably.  In theory I can find practically anything.  In practice, Dworkin knows more about the power I use than pretty much anyone.  If he doesn't want to be found, I'm going to struggle."

The Archons come swarming in again.

Gone is the precisely constructed dome.  Instead they form a chaotic, ever-shifting mob around the bubble.  A few dart forward, hanging poised before Harbonah for a moment, only to move away again, just as quickly, and be replaced by a few more.  Two move to hover behind Banglen-Yp, and one of those appears to be made of fragments of stained glass.

Three more move to take up position near Cyan and James.  They seem subdued, and reduce their size considerably as they approach, until they are no larger than coins.  The missing bodyguards, returned in shame.  Most of them.

Left speaks quietly, for the benefit of the non-Archons, + They renew their allegiances to Harbonah.  Very important.  He has been away long enough that the alliances which hold the Seraphim together could easily have fragmented. +

+ It is likely that only the thought that he might return soon prevented that happening.  Even so, there are less of them now.  Deaths or defections have reduced their numbers.  Though not significantly. +

"James."  Cyan shifts to lay a hand on his arm.  She understands his anger, and no doubt frustration.  Harbonah has committed grievious crimes, with hordes dying at his command.  He has poisoned universes, stolen energies, wreaked havoc across the Myriad Worlds, not to mention the hurts that strike closer to home, the personal hurts.  And now he is their best hope for a peaceful solution, one not requiring risky plans or genocide.

The universe has a terrible sense of humor.

It might be within Cyan to forgive.  She knows the kernels of that have begun to sprout, at least for her own pains.  Understanding breeds a possibility of rapprochement.  That thus far the understanding has only been in a single direction is a cause for concern.  If the Seraphim are to co-exist in this reality in any way, there needs to be a change in their way of thinking, much as the nephillim have changed.

Even so, there is hope now.

"We shall seek out Dworkin, then," she affirms.  "James, we have accomplished so much so far."  A small laugh escapes her.  "Surely this cannot be beyond us?  We will find him.  And this...all of this, can be ended."  A sudden, giddy burst of emotion sweeps over her, an almost hysterical relief.  For a moment she grips his arm tightly, holding herself up on his strength as her knees shake.  Had her plan been put into motion, had this parlay not taken place...

Fortunately, James is strong enough to bear her weight.  Strong in many ways, even to leaving aside his justifiable fury; he astounds her.  "We will do this, James," she swears.

In comes the massed Host of Archons to swear fealty, including two who take up positions close to Banglen-Yp, one of which more brilliantly coloured than even Right.  Cyan studies this being with interest for a moment.  "Thank you, Left.  I am glad to see this, though sorrowful for the losses."  And then her bodyguards return, sadly lessened.  Cyan spares them a cold look for a long moment, her eyes darkening to burnt amber, then twilight shades.

"So.  The danioti return from having foresaken their charges.  Well you should be abashed.  The Herenethi stood fast; where is the vaunted duty of your own kind?"  The General blinks, her eyes clearing to brighter topaz, and Cyan shrugs, a sad smile playing about her lips.  "And yet, understandable.  The world is changing, bringing upheavals in all things.  Come then, make yourselves known to me.  Some of you have fallen in this pursuit, and I would know who to grieve, and who to welcome in their return."

She frowns.  "I will require one messenger.  Right must know of the current situation, and cease hostilities.  Left, what say you?  Is this wise, or should I bespeak him directly?"

And she raises her hand to indicate Banglen-Yp's escorts.  "And what is the purpose of these two?"

• Our purpose is the same as it has always been •  To be what we are as best we can •  No more and no less • Banglen-Yp replies to Cyan's question, her voice and face both puzzled.  Behind her, the stained glass Archon suddenly holds a ball of mirrored squares revolving at its core, a bright imitation of the sphere that Harbonah holds.  • It is all any of us can do •

Left considers for a moment, + A messenger, I think, would be less distracting for Right, in case he is involved in something important.  Perhaps one of the failed bodyguards would like to redeem themselves? +

And the Archons who had deserted their posts seem to pick up at that, growing slightly in size and becoming more active...

"My apologies," and Cyan bows to Banglen-Yp.  "I often forget you are many in one - I thought these to be two new escorts, Archons both."  Sometimes, with Banglen-Yp, it's hard to tell.  "Wise words," she murmurs, turning back to her own escorts.

"And further wisdom from Left; hardly surprising, well as you know Right."  Tapping her lips with a finger, she studies the errant bodyguards.  "Suriel," she decides - how Cyan can tell them apart is a mystery, even to herself.  But having spent time among the Archons, she has grown used to their body language, so to speak.  Archons are motion incarnate; it is how they express themselves.

"Yes, Suriel."  A nod.  "You will redeem yourself and your comrades simultaneously.  A team, yes?  You work together to protect me?  Then you must trust one another as well, within that task.  Well, then.  Upon Suriel rests the responsibility to make up for your brief dereliction.  Upon the rest of those who left, the responsibility to guard us with one less in Suriel's absence.  Equal in weight, these things.  Do not fail one another."  A cautionary note, but with no edge to it.

"Go, then.  Goodspeed, and a deft touch in avoiding difficulties along the way.  This message must be delivered."

James takes Cyan's weight on his arm easily enough, and waits while she marshals their escort.  The fact that the danioti left did not overly concern James, but he is deeply disappointed to find that they were unable to either resist or avoid squabbling over control of his little follies, even to the point where one of them was destroyed.  Cyan's rebuke is well deserved.

James concentration remains on Harbonah.  Were it any lesser creature, James would happily indulge himself with a good, old-fashioned staredown.  But engaging in a contest of wills with the lord of the Seraphim would be dangerous as well as foolish and any hope that he might be cowed into good behaviour is certainly futile.

"We will find Dworkin." James concurs, rather abruptly.  "Will you be sending an observer, Harbonah?  I'm not real happy with the idea of you constantly looking over our shoulders, but if it helps maintain the truce then so be it."

+ BY YOUR COMMAND. +  Suriel bobs twice, before streaking up and away to seek out Right and deliver the message.

Harbonah shifts slightly, like a human turning his head to look at a person they are talking to, and addresses James + THERE WILL BE NO NEED TO SEND AN OBSERVER.  WE SHALL ACCOMPANY YOU OURSELVES.  SHOULD NEGOTIATION BE REQUIRED, ALL TERMS AND CONDITIONS WOULD HAVE TO BE AGREED BY US IN ANY CASE.  EFFICIENCY AND EXPEDIENCY WOULD BE SERVED BY OUR PRESENCE. +

The Archon pauses for a moment, before adding, + WE SHALL NOT INTERFERE IN YOUR ACTIVITIES, NOR SHALL WE... LOOK OVER YOUR SHOULDER.  WE ACCEPT THAT YOU WANT THIS TRUCE, AND WOULD NOT UNNECESSARILY RISK ITS FAILURE. +

+ IF YOU REQUIRE ASSURANCES OF OUR NON-INTERFERENCE, WE WOULD BE WILLING TO BE HELD WITHIN ONE OF YOUR OWN FOLLOWERS, THE DANIOTI PAHADRON, WHICH YOU NAME LEFT, UNTIL OUR PRESENCE IS REQUIRED. +

"I rather expected your presence," Cyan murmurs, waving a short goodbye to Suriel.  There are a myriad of reasons for Harbonah to come himself - to ensure of no treachery, regardless of his words, to ensure the job gets done properly, to see more of his enemy(s)...and then there's the efficiency thing.  "Well then, we shall be travelling companions."

She studies him for a long moment, then shakes her head.  "I, for one, find it unnecessary for you to be confined.  You evidently wish this truce as well, and so long as we are in accord that our actions must be considered, rather than be hasty and without council, your assistance could be considerable."

A rueful smile follows, more at the situation than in any humor.  "And there is the matter of confinement upon your people.  You are no danioti, but still it cannot be comfortable."  Then her sapphire eyes sharpen.  "But I have two questions, Harbonah, before we continue."

"The first is this: how will you ensure this alliance you leave behind does not fall apart into squabbling in your absence?  I well recall such issues during my own...tenure...in your employment."  Her jaw sets, and Cyan shifts slightly to squeeze James' armored forearm.  It helps keep the memory at bay, and she breathes out slowly, relaxing.

"The second: what is the device we have seen you carry?  What is its use, and will it be an issue during our sojourn?"

Berd's head rises at that, and his eyes brighten slightly.  Not in threat, but concern.  The little drake has been quiscient during the discussion, allowing his daughter free reign with her decisions, but his minds have always been watchful.

To Harbonah's offer of confinement and Cyan's response, James adds simply, "I agree."

Beyond that, James awaits Harbonah's answers.  Some scrutiny of Harbonah's artefact seems a wise precaution but it is the former question that most concerns James, destabilisation of the Seraphim faction could render any agreement irrelevant.

Besides, if Harbonah was to be confined anywhere, James would suggest that it be within Banglen-Yp, he being fairly confident that Banglen-Yp could simply eat Harbonah before he caused too much mischief.

That arm you're leaning on wouldn't happen to be the one you opened up in James' duel with the General would it, Cyan? :P

+ THOSE WHO ARE LEFT BEHIND WILL KNOW THAT WE INTEND TO RETURN, AND THAT, WHEN WE DO, THE GOAL OF A NEW HOME FOR ALL ARCHONS WILL BE FULFILLED.  OUR RETURN, AND THE CHANCE OF THAT NEW HOME, CAN BE USED TO HOLD THEIR UNITY.  FOR A WHILE, AT LEAST. +

+ HOPEFULLY IT WILL BE LONG ENOUGH. +

Harbonah considers for a moment, and the orb can be seen slowly rotating in all three planes. + THIS?  THIS WAS OUR OWN... ASSURANCE... AGAINST FURTHER TREACHERY BY OUR FORMER GENERAL. +

The sphere drops, landing with a dull, booming impact which is out of all proportion with its size, and striking hard enough to crack the diamond underfoot.

+ IT CONTAINS A SEVERAL FRAGMENTS OF THE BROKEN GOD.  WE NO LONGER CONSIDER IT NECESSARY, AND WILL LEAVE IT HERE, GUARDED BY OUR FOLLOWERS.  HAVING A PURPOSE WILL ALSO HELP THEM TO MAINTAIN UNITY. +

+ THEY WILL NOT BE ABLE TO OPEN IT.  ONLY WE KNOW THAT SECRET. +

Left waits for him to stop speaking, before adding her own answer to Cyan's concerns, + Carryng Harbonah would do another Archon no injury.  Once within, he could not deliberately hurt his host for fear of being trapped permanently, should that Archon die, or simply choose not to release him. +

"A pity you cannot select an interim leader, someone with the power to hold control," Cyan muses, considering Right.  "But I expect such trust only goes so far."  She eyes the globe with some distrust, having now learned of its true contents, and Berd hisses at it spitefully.  "Glad am I that we will leave that behind...though a slice of Broken God might come in useful dealing with Dworkin," the General momentarily muses.

Cyan shakes her head, the shadows leaving her eyes; they glitter like topaz in the burning light.  "I would leave Harbonah free, Left.  For one, I hope to work in tandem upon this quest.  For another, I wish there to be no confusion to his presence, nor danger for his life; I am working to end this war with as little loss of life as possible, and that is all the better if we function as a whole."

Turning, she studies the vast being of flame.  "That is, if Harbonah agrees that he is dealing with beings of a sort with which he has little to no experience.  Beings capable of opening gateways to other universes, capable of imprisoning the sencathi as a whole.  We - especially James, who is experienced with such people - must take the lead to avoid a precipitous incident that might doom both us and the possibility for all of our peoples to come away without further deaths."

She purses her lips.  "It is a difficult thing for an Archon to accept another's lead.  In this case, it is necessary.  But no constraints lie upon those agreeing to this - those who take the lead do not command; they lead out of expedience and efficiency, to see the quest through to the best possible end.  And we will listen to each other's advice, and discuss matters openly."

Harbonah considers briefly, + WE HAVE COMMANDERS WHO CAN ASSUME CONTROL, FOR A SHORT WHILE.  NONE ARE HERE THOUGH.  WE CAN SEND THOSE SERAPHIM WHO ARE PRESENT TO CARRY WORD OF THIS TRUCE.  THAT SHOULD KEEP THEM SUFFICIENTLY OCCUPIED, AND SHOULD SERVE TO REDUCE THE LIKELIHOOD OF A REBELLION AMONG OUR OWN FORCES.  NEWS OF A SWIFT AND ACCEPTABLE END TO THIS STRIFE SHOULD ASSURE CONTINUING LOYALTY. +

The Archon leader starts to dwindle, becoming smaller, but no less intimidating, + WE ACCEPT YOUR TERMS.  WE ARE, AND ALWAYS HAVE BEEN, ENTIRELY REASONABLE WHEN DEFERRING TO THOSE WHO MIGHT HAVE MORE KNOWLEDGE... AND MORE EXPERIENCE... OF A SITUATION WITH WHICH WE ARE UNFAMILIAR.  IT WOULD BE FOOLISH NOT TO DO SO. +
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:18, Sat 13 Apr 2013.

The terms and assurances discussed by Cyan and Harbonah seem reasonable to James.  There is one point, though, that James wants to amplify.

"The most obvious place to seek Dworkin is Amber.  He's supposed to live somewhere in Kolvir, though finding the place can be difficult even when you know what to look for.  That's likely to make things difficult.  The last time I was there we were at war.  You're an enemy commander.  Heck, you're the enemy commander.  My family could make life difficult for us.  Equally, you could do a lot of damage just from what you learn from being there."

"So here's what I propose.  If we hit trouble, I'll do my best to get you to a safe place and I expect the others'll do the same.  But I want your agreement that there'll be no spying, no sneaking, no funny business at all while we're in Amber or any of the worlds of the Golden Circle."

"If we can agree that, then I think we should probably be on our way.  Do you or Berd want to handle travel or shall I lead?"

+ WE ARE ABOUT TO ACHIEVE OUR GOAL - A HOME FOR OUR PEOPLE.  WE WILL NOT JEOPARDISE THAT. + Harbonah's harsh, metallic voice booms out.  + ADDITIONALLY, WE SHALL BE, AS YOU HAVE SAID, IN THE STRONGHOLD OF AN ENEMY.  IT WOULD BE DIFFICULT FOR US TO WANDER UNATTENDED AND UNOBSERVED, AND DANGEROUS, SHOULD WE BE FOUND. +

The Archon leader falls silent for a moment, then, + YOU WOULD BE MORE FAMILIAR WITH OUR DESTINATION.  WE DEFER TO YOUR KNOWLEDGE. +

Cyan waits as Harbonah and James hash out the details of their current trip.  As always, James shows solid sense and levelheadedness in his dealings, even with their 'former' enemy.  She tries to picture how things might have gone if certain others of her compatriots had been at the meeting.  It produces a shudder.

Surprisingly, Harbonah shows similar tact, deferring to James' greater knowledge.  Could it be true?  Have they misjudged Harbonah through this entire war?  Not that he has not committed many crimes - terrible crimes - but is it possible that his sole purpose has been what he perceived as the salvation of his race?  Certainly he seems more...agreeable and flexible than other Seraphim have proven.

Is this all a misunderstaing - on his part and on theirs?  Must he only see that other races have value as well?  And if he does...would he become as fierce an advocate for them as he has for his own people?

Anything is possible within the Myriad Worlds, Cyan knows.

"Well said, both of you," she murmurs.  "I believe James should take us to Amber.  True, it will be a longer route, but safer - the Underflow is a chaotic place right now, full of forces both Archon and otherwise, and not all of those forces would be pleased to see either of our two groups.  Besides which, Berd has difficulty reaching the Underflow near to Amber - he names it 'calcification'."  Cyan shrugs, knowing the general meaning of the word by not the specific reason for Berd's choice.

Standing, she searches the world with her eyes.  "Left...you will accompany us, along with Right's chosen wards?  Harbonah, do you have aught to prepare among your followers before we leave - delegations and so forth?"

"It's a pretty good description." James acknowledges Berd's assessment.  Calcification certainly seems appropriate to James' understanding of travel in Amber's vicinity.

"I'm right to start as soon as everyone's ready."  James calls the Pattern to mind and considers his options.  It is tempting to head straight for Kolvir.  But Pattern-walking directly onto the mountain would be incredibly difficult.  A conventional approach via Arden or by sea would almost certainly bring the group to the attention of one of James' uncles, and that might not end well.  James reluctantly concludes that the best choice, while slower, would be to make for the Golden Circle and then seek information on the current situation in Amber before proceeding.  And since Cadiniagart is the Golden Circle world James knows best, that is his current objective.

First, though, some gradual changes to remove the more remarkable features of the local landscape...

With a means of travel decided, it remains only for Harbonah to delegate responsibilities to the host of Archons which still hovers above.  A few are assigned to carry instructions to those who will command in his absence.  Most are simply ordered to carry word of the truce to those who still fight.

It takes almost an hour to ensure that all of the Archons know, and understand, their tasks.

And at the end Harbonah expands somewhat, and the other Archons hurtle into the heart of him.  But instead of vanishing into Harbonah's internal space, they instead pass straight through, each of them curving away in a different direction to vanish into the distance...

Left explains the odd ritual, + He marks them as his servants.  When they speak to other Archons, those Archons will know that the words these messengers speak come directly from Harbonah, and that the bearers are serving his will. +

And finally, none of the host remain.  Harbonah hangs silently for a while, like a man taking a last look at a familiar place which he may never see again.  Then...

+ WE ARE READY. +