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.