James starts to walk, making his way around the perimeter of the bubble.

Harbonah hovers, stationary, closer to the centre.

On James' fourth circuit, the Archon starts to move as well, in a smaller circle which keeps pace with James' larger.

On the tenth circuit, Harbonah stops, + THE WORLD CHANGES AROUND US.  OR DO WE MOVE? +

The changes are infinitesimal yet.  Perhaps the sky is a slightly different colour, or the temperature of the lakes of lava is a fraction cooler.

On the thirtieth circuit, there are blades of a tough, metallic green grass protruding from the cracks in the diamond, and the orb, with its fragments of Broken God, is no longer there.  beyond the bubble, there are patches of the same metallic plants.

Five hundred circuits, and the world is covered with the metallic grass.  The sky is the colour of a dying ember, and the pools of lava have crusted over.  The bubble bursts silently, and nobody is instantly incinerated, though the world is still uncomfortably warm.

At last James can start to move in earnest...
This message was last updated by the GM at 08:47, Sat 27 July 2013.

Silence, as James begins his walk.  Cyan takes the time to ponder Left's words. Harbonah, it seems, plans well for the future...but then, they knew that already, didn't they?  She isn't certain that it's wise to show Harbonah James' skill of world-walking, but...she's also fairly sure he has never navigated the Myriad Worlds in this way.

It might do some good.

"The worlds move, and we move within them," she replies to his question.  "Follow James.  We now stand in another world close by Hosk; similar, yet different.  Unique.  You will never find a place among the Myriad Worlds exactly as this one."

The archons with them are five: one from each of their peoples, save for the danioti, who number two.  "Glad am I to travel with you again, Left," Cyan murmurs, following in James' footsteps.  Upon her shoulder, Berd raises his head, his eyes burning brightly.  The drake sweeps the worlds about them with his minds, seeking their particular signatures, and begins plotting a path toward Amber based on James' methodology of travel.  It's an amusing and edifying game for him - while he, himself, can do something similar, it's not nearly as crisp and precise as James' World-Walking.  In the past, Cyan and he meandered for weeks in search of their destinations.

"Your people can follow others through the Myriad Worlds, I know," she continues.  "But can you travel directly from world to world, Harbonah, or do you use the Underflow for such things?"

Harbonah seems willing to talk as they travel onward...  + WE USE THAT WHICH YOU NAME THE UNDERFLOW.  TO US IT IS NOT A SEPARATE THING.  IT IS THE SAME AS OTHER WORLDS, THOUGH DANGEROUS.  THERE ARE THINGS DWELLING THERE WHICH EVEN WE WOULD SOONER AVOID. +

+ WE HAVE NEVER MOVED IN THIS FASHION BEFORE.  IT IS... INTRIGUING. +

Left seems happy to be travelling with Cyan again, and the other Archons are almost... relaxed.  Well, as relaxed as creatures who must move to live can ever be.

Overhead, the sky has faded from a sullenly burning red to a rich cerulean.

Something hurtles by, shrieking joyfully - a bird, four wings spread wide as it twists and turns in the air, catching insects in flight.  It's plumage, seen only fleetingly as it passess, shimmers iridescently in tones of emerald green and ruby red.

And then it is gone, as suddenly as it appeared.  But still it is the first living creature they have seen since leaving Hosk.

Soon there are more of them, wheeling and darting above the grey desert sands, dotted with tussocks of coarse, thorn-laden yellow grass.

A little further, and the ground beneath their feet changes.  Instead of sand there is now brick, partly buried beneath drifts of blown sand.  The bricks are of baked clay, but almost every one has a rune, fashioned of a blue-grey metal, inlaid in its surface.  Different runes, laid out seemingly at random, until one notices repeating patterns, and realises that the runes spell out words in an unknown language.

The road serves as a book of some kind...

The going is easier with a solid surface beneath them, and as they top a rise, with two suns dropping down the sky to their left, the travellers see a walled city a few miles ahead, surrounded by cultivated fields, with irrigation channels.

There are people working in the fields.

Popular wisdom held that in order to use the Pattern to travel one had to move.  Walking, running, riding or driving, it made no difference so long as one was moving.  Many still held that it was best, or even necessary, to move in the 'direction' one wished to travel, although Corwin among others had conclusively disproved this prerequisite.  Ultimately, though, the peculiar gift of the blood of Amber was not travel, it was 'luck' and the luxury of choice.  If there were different possible outcomes, a prince of Amber could choose which occurred, or at least cheat the odds significantly.  Once something was known to be the case, it was all but impossible to change.  Ignorance may not be bliss but it holds endless exploitable possibilities.

Similarly, since there are myriad possible worlds, there is always a chance that one is elsewhere than one expects.   In theory, a gifted Pattern user ought to be able to close her eyes momentarily and open them to a new world.  In practice one moved because the brain was hardwired to think of the observed present as known and to exclude the possibility of travel without movement.

None of which helped James, who at that moment may have known Hosk better than any other being in existence.  Fortunately, omniscience was a peculiar arrogance beyond the reach of even the royal line of Amber.  If one considered the possibilities long enough there was always the chance that something unexpected would happen, and so it did.  The sky might change colour slightly or the temperature drop.  And once you had moved, once you were someplace else, then who knew what might happen?  The possibilities were endless.

All told, James was quite satisfied with their progress (and, if he was honest with himself, satisfied to have surprised Harbonah).

"I'm glad you find it interesting.  We should be able to obtain transport ahead.  I know many of you can move more swiftly already but I see no reason why Cyan and I should walk."  James gives a slight smile, lest his comment be misconstrued as a criticism.

James has an absolute confidence that some form of transport will soon be available, but he doesn't yet know what and he turns his mind (and the Pattern) in that direction.  Let's try for something with a little flair.

Approaching the city, Left suggests that discretion might be a good idea.  All of the Archons, including Harbonah, reduce in size.  The Banglen-Yps, except for one, who may or may not be the original, transform into a variety of small animals, insects and birds, particularly the four winged type which they have seen recently.  Piles of fine dust are left on the road behind them, and pools of water.

And so the group makes its way down the incline towards the walls.

The workers in the fields look human from a distance.  Closer, all of them, men and women alike, can be seen to have short, light blonde fur covering all areas of exposed skin.  They seem friendly enough - though they all carry assorted sharp implements, those have the look of tools rather than weapons - as they finish work for the day and start towards the gates of the city.

One of them stops in his tracks, staring as the travellers pass him, then hurries to catch up.

"Well met, strangers, and welcome to Carcos.  Have you come far?"

"I have lived much of my life in this way, wandering through the worlds.  It has an interesting effect upon one's perspective, I find."  The bard watches James' changes, eyes seeking out each new vista, mind struggling to predict what might shift next...and how.

Upon her shoulder, Berd grins a thousand-needle smile, his lambent eyes staring into the distance.

"I would be more than pleased to have a conveyance...I still recall our travels in the khar, with Jonnee Kay."  A grin brightens her features for an instant; the memory isn't clear, fractured and mixed up like many of her other ones, but it's there.  She notes the alterations made in the crowd surrounding her, her mind processing the mass 'lost' by the various forms of the Banglen-Yp, and shifts her pace to walk a touch closer to James as they close in upon the people at work in the field.  "But look you, one comes to us for a greeting.  It never ceases to surprise me how many worlds are either knowledgeable that there are strangers beyond that which lives upon their earth, or are welcoming enough to accept this without fleeing in terror of the unknown.  I find it quite heartening."

When the man approaches, she raises her hand in a hail, topaz eyes catching the light.  "Well met indeed, sir.  Carcos, is it?  Far we have come, in truth, and further yet to travel.  I am Cyan, of No Place In Particular, and this is James of Cadiniagart."  Cadiniagart: where this all began, and where she first met James.  Better that than using the loaded name 'Amber', which may or may not be known to this man.  "We hope to pass through your lands without issue, and from your greeting you have no prohibitions against strangers."

"I have never seen such as yourselves before.  That is how I guessed that you were far from home.  That, and you came along the road from the Iron Waste.  The nearest place that I have heard of in that direction is at least five days' travel from Carcos."  At that moment, one of the twin suns kisses the horizon, and all of the locals pause for a moment, giving voice to an odd ullulating call.  Then they start to walk again, but faster than they had previously.

The man who has been speaking to the group, and who has also quickened his pace, suddenly exclaims, "Ah... I am a fool.  My name is Zhavar, son of Yhenastor.  I am but a simple field-hand, but I can take you to the Paladins.  They will be able to give you any help you might need."

Ahead, the walls of the city reach high into the air, and like the road they are covered with the inlaid metal letters.  The gate, forty feet high and seemingly made of overlapping irons scales, starts to swing open.

"The Iron Waste," Cyan muses.  Interesting name, and one with a story.  For a moment she feels the stirring within of the old Cyan, the need to stop here for a month and learn their songs, their tales, their ways.  But no; there is no time.  This must be done.  And that Cyan, she muses, has lain wounded for too long to easily clamber back into the light.

Berd grumbles something, shifting upon her shoulder.

"It is my pleasure, Zhavar, son of Yhenastor, to greet you."  The bard offers a small bow as she walks.  "I would meet these Paladins, if they might be of assistance.  "Tell me, though.  What means the call at sunset?  Why is it necessary to swiftly enter?"  She eyes the gates askance.  They're not the sort of thing to put on for decoration, no.

They're there to keep something out.

Zhavar does not slow his pace as he approaches the gate, "The call?  Ah... you mean the Ynhar.  It is a tradition - a warning that darkness is coming, and a lamentation for the dying of the light.  We hurry because it does not do to be beyond the walls after nightfall, of course.  Do you not have the Horrors in your homeland?"

They step through the gate, which even now is ponderously starting to close.

"Behold Carcos, ancient as mountains, and as enduring."

Beyond the wall, the bustling interior of the city is  every bit as impressive as the exterior.  Walls of gleaming white stone catch the light of the setting suns, and even here they are inlaid with script in countless hand-sized letters of metal.

And there are statues of corroded bronze in every open space.  Thirty feet tall and oddly similar in form, with featureless faces and six arms, every one of them is clad in outlandish armour, inscribed with more of the lettering which covers the buildings, and bears a bow in two of its hands and a pair of curved swords in two more.  Their stance is digitigrade, like the feet of an animal, and they seem to have hooves, judging by the shape of the armour on their feet.

The guide stops before one of the statues and calls out, "Iakuvail!  I bring strangers who would speak with the Paladins!"

And the blank face tilts downward, as if to study the group standing below.

A dull boom echoes through the streets.  The gate has closed...

"The...horrors?"  Cyan slowly shakes her head.  "I have seen many horrors in my travels, but likely different ones.  I would hear of these horrors, Zhavar, if you can spare the words as we walk."

Entering the gates, she pauses for a study of her surroundings.  "Your Carcos is beautiful," Cyan breathes.  And it is.  Truly gorgeous, a city she would stand against others she has seen throughout the Myriad Worlds.  Perhaps the City in the Stone might better it, but it has been years since she has seen Turgon's fabled towers, now lost forever, and her memories have broken.

This is enough.

"Look well upon the creation of Zhavar's people," she murmurs.  "I shall not forget, not again."

And then the statues.

Cyan tenses as the statue moves, then relaxes.  Despite the shock of its movement, despite its colossal size, despite its fearsome appearance, the...being? does not threaten.  Not yet.  "And these?" she quietly inquires.  "Defenses against the night's Horrors?"

"Yes.  The Paladins defend against all that would destroy Carcos. They... "

"Silence!" Zhavar is interrupted by a voice, like the whisper of steel against a whetstone.  A voice which seems to bore into the skull and push spikes of ice into the mind.  "Strangers, you are welcome in Carcos, for as long as you comply with our laws.  Break those Laws, and you will be cast out, regardless of the hour."  There is a rhythmic thumping sound from somewhere nearby, and a glance in that direction reveals one of the statues coming around a corner and moving towards the gate.

"Is this clear to you all?"

"Ah."  Cyan scrunches her eyes shut against the voice, wincing, as Berd's head comes up, eyes burning.  The drake shrouds himself, his mind fading into the mists of his defenses, difficult to spot much less assault.  Safe behind the shrouding and the mirrored walls of his inner defenses, the drake begins to a complex delving, studying the 'statues' with greater interest, sweeping them with his preternatural senses, searching for signs of powers both greater and less, as well as signs of life, of world affinity, of control or leashes (both from them and upon them)...anything, really, he can discover.

"Quite...painful," the bard whispers, before raising her voice.  "Indeed.  Very clear.  However, we are unfamiliar of your laws.  Perhaps this goodman might inform us of them?"  She smiles; thanks to her acting skill it looks real, but to those who know her it's nothing more than a baring of teeth, never reaching her dark, dark sapphire eyes.  "I admit, it seems more comfortable listening to him than to yourselves."

"Might he also be our guide?" she inquires.  "If - and only if! - this neither breaks your laws, nor puts him out of his way.  I would not wish to take up his time if he has other things he must accomplish, or family from whom we keep him."

Within the group a bridging opens, a secluded, secretive mind-link offered by Berd.  Open to all, even Harbonah...should it choose to accept.

The moving statue continues past, towards the gate.  The other, the one that the group are speaking to, stands in stolid immobility as Cyan addresses it, and then the cold voice comes again.

"This man shall guide you to a hostel where you may rest the night, but he does not meet the stipulated requirements to instruct in the Law.  The Master of the Order will assign somebody who does meet the requirements, and they will attend you in the morning."

"Labourer Zhavar, guide the strangers to Hostel Fourteen by the most expedient route.  Do not deviate from that route, and return to your home immediately after."

"It shall be done exactly as you say, Paladin." Zhavar replies, with a bow to the hulking figure.  Then to the strangers he says, "This way please, quickly."

James greeted Zhavar simply, raising one hand, open, palm out.  It was a nearly universal gesture, something that James had come to appreciate as he became aware just how big the universe really was.  He hoped the locals didn't take offence at his attire.  He was still armed and armoured, both because he hadn't stopped since leaving Hosk and because he wasn't carrying much by way of a change of clothes.  Fortunately, nobody seemed to notice very much, or perhaps they were just too polite to comment.
----------------
As they near the city and the conversation turns to the customs of Carcos, James quickly considers the group's options.  He is still feeling reasonably fresh and hadn't intended stopping but, while he is confident that he can lead the group out if they need to leave, it may be difficult to obtain transport if the city closes up for the evening.

James also gives some thought to the talk of night horrors.  It seems likely to him that the metal plates and letters are intended to serve as wards of some kind.  James also thinks that the horrors are either localised or only come intermittently as Zhavar talks of other settlements across the Iron Wastes that are several days travel away.  On the other hand, it is possible that the runes on the road help to protect travellers.  It is an interesting intellectual exercise but James hopes that it won't become more immediately relevant.

The city and its guardians are quite impressive, though the Paladin's voice is distinctly uncomfortable.  Out of curiosity, James triggers the recording mechanism in his helmet.  Later analysis may reveal whether there it has any aural quality to account for its penetrating effect.

As the bridging opens, James accepts the proffered link, What price safety, eh?

Zhavar leads the way through the streets of the city.  He says nothing, and seems to be in a hurry.  He keeps glancing up at the sky, which is darkening rapidly.  His expression appears anxious.  At the second junction he pauses and sketches a shallow bow before a triangular copper plate, corroded and inscribed with an odd three-lobed design, which is mounted on the wall of one of the buildings, just above head height.

"Honoured are the Three, and blessed are the Paladins, their servants."

Another of those servants strides past, heading towards the gate.  Its head turns as it passes, apparently watching the newcomers.  A line of about two dozen people shuffle along behind it, heads bowed.  None of them bear the short golden fur possessed by Zhavar, the other workers in the fields, and most of Carcos' other inhabitants.  In fact they seem to be a motley group, made up of representatives of perhaps seven or eight different peoples, with widely varying physical appearances.

Their clothing is as varied as they are, save that it is all ragged and dirty.

Worse and worse, this grows.  Cyan eyes the 'Paladins' as they move off, then follows Zhavar at whatever pace the worker sets.  Quick, it turns out.

The bard's jaw sets as Zhavar bows before the...symbol?  Monitoring system?  Well put, James.  I like this not at all.  Berd, have you discerned aught about these beings?  Her face darkens as they pass the third Paladin and his 'entourage' of dirty, beaten-down people.  "Tell me, Zhavar," she queries after they pass by the group.  "Who are they, who trail in the Paladin's footsteps?"

"Thieves, murderers, blasphemers, usurers.  In short, criminals.  They will work through the night to maintain the walls.  It is the just punishment for their crimes."  Zhavar does not stop to explain.  Nor does he look at the criminals as they trudge along behind the Paladin.

"Do not stare at them.  You risk drawing bad luck down on yourselves."

"I see," Cyan murmurs.  She's not going to dispute the morality of this punishment; she isn't up on the situation, and it doesn't seem much worse than 'exile', 'imprisonment and hard labor', or 'execution'.  Though perhaps it leads to the latter.  And she doesn't truly know the situation beyond the walls.  So for now, that gets shelved.

That's something that she can remedy.

"Zhavar...these horrors."  Cyan neither gestures nor looks at the walls as she speaks; Zhavar seems particular about giving attention to things he deems as wrong.  "Speak to me of them, if it is not too much ill-luck.  What are they?  How do they manifest?  When did they first come against your city, and from whence did the Paladins spring?  I am ignorant of such things, and I would know more."

Within, her mind shifts like quicksilver, sending information to the others in the bridging.  Berd deems the Paladins to be magical in nature, giant metal statues animated by sorcerous means.  They are connected to one another by the same forces.  He cannot yet discern if there is a mind that drives them, and is unwilling to risk discovery by probing further.  But this much is certain - they are not truly living.

Hence, either there is a controller, or they are...ah...programmed is the word, I believe.

There comes a frisson of old anger and loss along the link for a moment, then gone.

"The Horrors are the Horrors.  Ghosts, demons, or simply monsters?  I know not."  Zhavar says quietly, looking about nervously as he walks.

"They come from somewhere beyond the city, and assault the walls at night.  Not every night.  They have a preference for nights when there is no moon in the sky, but have been known to attack even when the moon is full, and sometimes they will not come for weeks."

He turns, leading the way through a narrow street, "The story is well know.  When the first people lived here, there were no Horrors, and Carcos was a peaceful town, with no walls needed to defend it.  The plains were fertile, and filled with all manner of beast.  Then the Horrors came, nobody knows where from.  They slew the townsfolk and destroyed the buildings."

"The King sent an army against them, and they died to a man, and the fertile plain became a blasted an barren wasteland, called the Iron Waste, because of the armoured bodies buried beneath the dust."

"Then the King ordered the creation of an army to fight the Horrors.  The first Paladins were made, and drove the Horrors back.  Carcos was rebuilt as a fortified bastion against the Horrors.  People came back, and the Paladins are our army, and our watchmen, defending us with unceasing vigilance."

"We are close to the hostel now."

"It sounds a terrible tale," Cyan muses.  "One of great misery and hardship for you...even now."

I like not the smell of this story.  It is too vague, too old, and fails to address many points.  This does not, however, preclude it from essentially being truthful.

"I wonder how the Paladins were created," she continues aloud.  "But I suspect you do not know that.  Do they rule, here?  From the look of it, it is they who enforce all rules upon your people.  With unceasing vigilance."

She eyes their guide, one eyebrow cocked over an emerald orb.  "Who does rule this land, Zhavar?  From whence do your laws come?"

Automatons, robots, constructs.  There are many words to describe such things.  Golems?  These seem quite sophisticated, though, and powerful.

James keeps a watchful eye on their surrounds, though he does his best to be discreet about it.  He's not particularly concerned about offending the locals but he doesn't want to get Zhavar in trouble.  James feels sure that Berd, at least, and likely the Archons as well, will spot any threat before he does but that is no reason to be careless.

Unless I miss my guess, the Three will be the sorcerors who created the Paladins to guard the city.  The real question is: did they create the Horrors as well?  It wouldn't be the first time a threat was manufactured to gain, and maintain, control.  It's a protection racket on a grand scale, essentially.

As much as I feel for these people, I wonder whether we have the time to investigate.  The truce will only hold for so long in Harbonah's absence. James clearly feels uncomfortable about leaving matters as they lie - but a good deed is not always the best deed or the necessary deed.

"The King authorised the creation of the first Paladins, and the priests of the Three oversaw their construction.  Today, another King from the line of Kings rules over Carcos from his palace in Hool, and all laws come from him.  The Paladins serve the Three, and the Three command them to defend Carcos from all threats.  Both those from beyond the walls, and those from within."

Zhavar shrugs, "I am a simple man, and am neither qualified nor authorised to teach you more than this, the common knowledge possessed by all.  The Paladin said that somebody will be assigned to answer your questions, should you require more than that."

From somewhere there is a brilliant white flash, bright and brief as lightning, and moments later a sound like thunder rolls across the city.  "The Horrors!  A Paladin is fighting at the walls.  Hurry inside, that I might return to my own home before the night grows too dark, I beg you!"

And there is a loud hooting, followed by another dazzling flare, and more thunder...

"Berd," Cyan hisses.  The drake on her shoulder, his head perked up, nods slow assent, his eyes burning in the growing darkness.  "Of course, Zhavar.  Take us with all haste," Cyan requests.  "Then you may return to your abode as swiftly as you may."

She has been selfish, the bard realizes, placing her own concerns above those of this man.  He has given all he may, and jeopardized his own safety.  Were it not that he would refuse, having been given his commands, she would escort him home.  But his orders were to bring them to the hostel, so that they might shelter.

She has a feeling that disobeying those commands would land Zhavar in a great deal of trouble.

In the meantime, Berd can be their eyes.  The drake reaches out with one of his minds, searching for the battle, extending his perceptions beyond his body.  A useful talent, the ability to see anywhere.  Not as useful as the talent to see everywhere, of course, but...that capacity is now denied him.

"This is the hostel, then?" James asks, glancing around quickly for any sign of a street name, or the number fourteen.  "Thanks Zhavar, for all your help.  You get home to your family, we'll head straight in, as you say."

Whether we stay or not is another matter.  I take it we're going to investigate? James' "tone" carries a hint of amusement.  If he disapproves of the break in the journey, it doesn't show.

To the commotion from the walls, James adds Bladed weapons and lightning.  Our Archon friends will be right at home if it comes to a fight.  Can you see the Horrors, Berd?  What are we talking about, here?

There is some writing on the front of the building.  It might be a number...

An image flows out into the link.  It seems to be a view from the top of the wall, looking across the city from a broad walkway.  the view turns, and there are people running away, along the wall.  One man is standing still, yelling something by all appearances, but there is no sound beyond an odd whistling.  The view swings from side to side briefly, and turns to look out across the land beyond the wall.  An arm is there, outstretched and pointing.  The arm of the viewer?

Where it points there is a Paladin, glowing a dull cherry red.  And something else, further out from the wall.  A massive shape, taller than the wall but indistinct in the gloom.  It dwarfs the Paladin.  White fire gouts from its mouth, washing across the armoured figure and heating it even more, judging by the way the red glow brightens to orange in places.

The Paladin stands its ground nonetheless.  And even retaliates, raising its bow to shoot what seems to be a bolt of lightning at the creature.

To one side, more Paladins can be seen approaching, loping across the open ground.

Thunder rolls across the city again, and Zhavar cowers, "I must go now!"  Without waiting for an answer, he turns to flee...

About to reply with a witticism of her own, the bard falls silent.  Then: "Lords of the West," Cyan whispers as the vision sweeps over her.  "Go, Zhavar!"  Her mouth works for a moment.  "I have...never seen the like, I think, save perhaps for the Lord of Fetters' demons of might.  It is possible we have misjudged the Paladins.  Possible."

Cruel and harsh their control must be, but perhaps there is a need for them here, if creatures like this stalk the lands.

Hiss, Berd uncoils on her shoulder, rising onto his hind legs.  "Not yet, father," Cyan whispers.  "We know little of this situation, and..."  Her teeth set.  "We have a mission."  What has happened to me, that I think of such things?  The fate of the universe itself, perhaps.

Yet while she may consider that, she cannot follow through.  Not for the universe itself could Cyan turn aside from one dying man.

"What do you see, Archons?" Cyan asks, her fingers twisted about Fangmir's hilt.  "Berd, what do you see in that?"  Reaching out, her other hand hooks James' sleeve.  "All of you, do you know anything of this...thing?"

+ WE SEE... SOMETHING WHICH CONCERNS EVEN US GREATLY.  SELDOM HAVE ANY OF US SEEN ANYTHING TO RIVAL THIS CREATURE.  YES, WE MAY HAVE SEEN THINGS THAT WERE LARGER, BUT THIS... +

Harbonah interrupts, + THIS IS A THING OF POWER.  IT WOULD RIVAL THE STRONGEST ARCHONS, EVEN OURSELVES.  CAN YOU NOT FEEL ITS MIGHT? +

Beyond the wall, the Paladins take up position, and the creature turns.  To leave?  No... a massive tail swings, and half the Paladins are scattered.  Some of them start to get up almost immediately.  More do not.  The thing, seemingly half shadow and half substance, completes its turn, facing towards the city again.  It throws back its head and emits a sound, midway between a screech and a roar, which echoes across the city, louder even than the thunder created by the Paladins' attacks...

And that cry is answered from further afield.

When Zhavar mentioned Horrors, I pictured swarms of things clambering up the wall.  Not that.  Why aren't things ever small and grossly-overestimated? James, as is sometimes his wont, attempts to disarm his natural feelings of dread and awe with a certain bleak humour.

I know it's getting late, but does that creature strike anyone else as... James pauses briefly as he tries to find an apt description only to finish with the highly unsatisfactory, ...shadowy?  I wonder?

As James questions the presence of the creature, Banglen-Yp is paying more attention to their immediate surroundings.  • We should go inside • One of those things is coming • It might be better not to attract its attention •  Along the street, one of the Paladins is moving towards the hostel.

The group push their way through the door, though James seems distracted.

Inside, the structure is one large room, the high ceiling supported by pillars, and with one corner fenced off and holding a simple kitchen with a bench and a stove.

There are perhaps a hundred cots, laid out in a uniform pattern across the rest of the floor.  Only about a dozen are currently occupied, mostly by people who look like Zhavar, with light coloured fur (though in one case the fur is marked by dark stripes).  Three of the occupants are entirely different though - two with dark skin, completely lacking in fur or hair, and round golden eyes whose lids blink horizontally.

The third, sitting on a cot well away from anybody else, looks to be entirely human.  He glances up from a book which he is studying as the group enter, but returns his attention to it after a cursory inspection.

Astounded by the visions granted by Berd, Cyan does not resist as she is herded into the hostel.  "Agreed, Left, Harbonah."  She offers a weak smile to James.  Why, indeed, can they not be small?  Or...alone?

"That is not the worst of it," she murmurs, echoing her words along the link.  The bard leans back against the doorframe, struggling to relax.  "Berd has sensed the others.  Examined them.  Delved.  These creatures are native to this world.  They are many.  And...the one we view attacking the city is but a child.

The others are far, far stronger."

Rubbing her forehead, Cyan closes her amber eyes.  "Perhaps the adults do not attack because unlike the young one, they are concerned with more than merely hunger.  Perhaps they recognize that here stand living, thinking beings: civilization, not prey.  Perhaps...perhaps the city has been lucky, or managed to fend off an assault by one of the adult horrors."

Her eyes, when they open, are grim.  "And yes, James.  Creatures of shadow and flame, like the Lord of Fetters' servants.  The demons of might.  Not truly here, in a way.  I wonder...from whence do they spring in this world?  Berd has sensed anomolies in their signature -" there, again, the curious shift of diction in Cyan when speaking of certain matters "- but as I said, for the most part they match that of this world.  For the most part."

Her brows draw together.  "I wonder...might they have slipped through a crack from an adjacent world?  Berd?"  The drake rolls his whirling eyes and nods, sending out a mental feeler to investigate, a hydra-head of his multipart consciousness turning toward that purpose.

"So here we might rest, those of us who have need of it.  Rest, and consider this conundrum."  Her lips thin.  "And I thought the Paladins to be tyrants.  Perhaps they are.  But they are needed...or at least, that is the appearance."  One finger rises to tap upon her lips.  "Appearances oft deceive."

One eyebrow rises as she finally surveys those within the hostel.  "And...travellers.  Berd?"  The drake snorts, but a cloaked probe is sent toward those of a different nature, seeking their worlds' signatures and the presence of Power.

As well as the title of the human's book.

The two dark skinned foreigners, with their golden eyes, pick up rucksacks and scuttle... the only word appropriate for the way they move... across to the area which serves as a kitchen.  One of them opens pulls a small cooking pot from his pack, uses a pump to fill it with water, and then places it on the stove.  The other adds several handfuls of something that look like beans.

Another crash of thunder sounds outside, muffled by the structure, and the two creatures start nervously, then drop to their knees to gather up several beans which had spilled.

Most of the locals simply ignore the sound, but the human slams his book closed and glares up at the roof.

That one.  He holds the signature of something vaguely similar to the Broken Pattern, Cyan notes, 'indicating' the human with the bridging.  An image flickers across the link for an instant: the book he reads, Zalando: Of What Dream the Stars?. I am not familiar...his spirit is alien to this place.  Another world-walker, like us.

Her ruby eyes narrow as she stares around the dark room.  "I would rather not merely rest here...were we to stay for a night, I would far prefer investigation of this world.  Else leave.  I would have your thoughts, my travelling companions."
This message was lightly edited by the player at 17:56, Thu 10 Aug 2017.

The creatures are native to this world's Pattern.  They may have migrated but this is their world.  It does make me wonder how any civilisation could have arisen in competition to creatures of such power.

The occupants of the hostel are a curious mix.  Under other circumstances, James would be anxious to meet the other world-walker, to compare travel-stories if nothing else, but it seems more likely that the dark-skinned foreigners will be able to provide a different perspective on the city's predicament.

I can't say I'm happy about it but I think we should leave.  If the Three and their Paladins are capable of resisting those creatures then... I think we need to accept that we may find ourselves in serious difficulty if it comes to a direct confrontation.  Better to find Dworkin and return when we can.

Disturbed in his reading, and apparently unable to go back to it at the moment, the human tosses the book onto the cot and rises to pace about a little, while never straying far from his resting place.

The two alien-looking strangers drop the spilled beans back into the pouch they came from.  One of them whistles a complex musical phrase, a rising arpeggio, and the other responds in kind, holding out one hand, palm down.  The first picks up the bag and moves across to drop it on the bed.

The second, meanwhile, stays by the stove, staring at the water.

The first one approaches the group of newcomers, tilting his head back, and twisting it to one side as he whistles another phrase.

The human, still pacing, stops to watch, then speaks in a relaxed drawl, "That'd be his way of greeting you.  Means something like, 'Well met, and successful trade.' near as it translates."

More whistling, ending in a drawn-out trilling.

"Says he wants to buy your pet."

Cyan frowns at James' advice.  It's a bitter pill to swallow, but the soldier has the right of it.  They don't know the situation here.  They could upset any number of balances.  And while she would stop if the city were in grave danger of falling, it isn't - the Paladins seem to be holding the walls.  Which means their own mission takes precedence.

I agree with James.  I would rather find a way to end this, but the Paladins hold the walls for the moment.  In this case, we likely have time - time to complete our own mission, then return to give these people aid.  I would not leave them as this, suffering beneath possible oppression and certain danger...but I can see no quick end to this circumstance.  And while they have time, we do not.

Disappointment is clear across the bridging...as is resignation.

She glances up as the human approaches, raising an eyebrow as he addresses them.  The second eyebrow rises as he translates the offer.

"I see," the bard replies, doubtfully.  Do they mean Berd?  Or perhaps one of the Archons?  Or is it Banglen-Yp?  One can never tell what another race might sense or believe.  "Well, greetings in return to them and yourself, stranger," she replies with a little bow toward both speakers.  "I am Cyan, of No Place In Particular.  Sadly," and she hooks an arm through James', "he is not for sale."

A hint of amusement rolls across the link.  Let us see who they truly mean, then.

The alien stranger turns his head to the other side, still keeping it tilted back, and never quite meeting anybody's gaze.  He raises one hand, fingers splayed to reveal slight webbing between, at least as far as the first joint, and there is more whistling.

"I believe he was talking to the lizard that's riding around on your shoulder.  He wants to buy you from it."  The man shrugs apologetically.  "He regards you as some sort of riding animal, I think.  Or food.  I never could keep those two straight."
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:17, Sun 14 July 2013.

"Well, riding animal is certainly not far off," Cyan muses, studying Berd with sapphire eyes.  The drake snorts, sending a burning ring of smoke floating up toward the ceiling.  Rolling over, he ignores her.  "However, my father is not for sale; besides which, he would be overvalued at any price."  A shake of her head to the prospective buyer, and small bow.

"No," Cyan reiterates, with a shake of her head.

Returning to the speaker, her gaze sharpens.  "But you, sir - what might your name be?  And from whence do you hail?  And do you know aught of what transpires beyond the city walls?"

If I understand correctly, Cyan, the first fellow wants to buy you from Berd, not the other way around. A certain amusement carries with James 'tone' but it is mixed with restrained anger and while James wears an easy grin it comes nowhere near his eyes.

To their translator, James says "Indeed, any news would be welcome."

"To avoid any further misunderstandings you might also tell our friend here that information is the only thing we're looking to trade.  No one here is for sale and I'll thank him not to ask again."

The creature moves again, it's chin dropping to rest on its shoulder, while both arms are crossed in front of its chest.  Again it whistles.

"I believe he understands your words, though he cannot speak this language - it's their throat, you see, it's the wrong shape.  He apologises for the misunderstanding.  In his home, if a creature is bearing another, then it is subservient."

Bowing so deeply that it's head almost touches the floor, the alien backs away to rejoin its companion.

"My name... " the human bows, but not as low as Cyan's would-be purchaser, "... is Corvain, Jelet Corvain.  I am a historian of sorts, and a wandering scribe.  I travel from place to place, learning of the history and customs.  I too hail from No Place In Particular, I would suppose.  Which is to say I was born in a place that I have no wish to recall, and have not returned to since I was first able to flee it on my own two feet."

Thunder rumbles outside, and Jelet Corvain looks up to the ceiling as dust drifts down from above.  "As for what transpires beyond the walls...  Why war of course.  These Horrors assault the city, the Paladins drive them back, and they attack again another night.  Five nights I have been here, and this is the third such attack that I have witnessed.  If you might consider cowering in a fortified building to be witnessing an event."

"Aaaah..."  ...aaargh.  Thank you, James.  Cyan shakes her head, feeling rather foolish.  "My apologies," she states to the prospective buyer, giving him another short bow in return to its own, "for the misunderstanding.  Both ways.  No, I fear neither he nor I are for sale, and it has been quite some time since one of us was subservient to the other."  Berd twists around uncomfortably at that, and Cyan reaches crossbody to touch one of his feet.  "Merely a memory," she whispers, "nothing more."

That hand sweeps away to pat James' arm in turn, for his staunch defense of the group and their freedom.

"Terrible," Cyan whispers, staring up as the thunder crashes.  "You Walk the Worlds, Jelet Corvain.  Have you seen aught of this sort of violence in nearby lands?  Has it...reflected?"  More thunder, and she winces.  "Or might it be a reflection, itself?  I have rarely seen such power in the Myriad Worlds."  Her smile is lopsided and ironic.  "Perhaps it might be best if you sought out safer pastures."

"I travel between worlds, yes, though walking is not an accurate description of the process.  Nor do I have any real control over it." the man who names himself Jelet Corvain replies, with a shake of his head, "If I could control it, I would not stay here another night."

He gestures towards the two aliens, discussing something to do with their meal by all appearances, "I have seen their kind before, and picked up enough of their birdsong that I can understand much of what they say.  I can even read some fraction of the worm trails that pass for writing among them.  But I do not know their home, nor how widely spread they are."

"I have visited perhaps a hundred places that I believe are distinct worlds, and more that I feel are simply different regions of worlds that I have already travelled to.  I have, for example, never been here until I arrived five nights past.  The people, though, are familiar, so I think I have been to another of their cities, one named Akkut, though that one was not besieged."

He starts to pace, head bowed, as he continues speaking.  "I simply arrived here, directly from the previous location, a beautiful city with fine gardens and great palaces.  I will stay here for an as yet indeterminate length of time, and then I will move somewhere else, whether I will it, or not.  If I try to leave here before that time, perhaps by purchasing a fine steed and riding out of the city, I will get perhaps two hours' journey along the road, and in the blink of an eye I would find myself back here, and bereft of my expensive mount."

A sigh, and he spreads his hands, "I am but a plaything for the Universe.  I know neither how it happened, nor why."

James gives a small sigh and his shoulders relax slightly, "See? Now I am not helping matters."

Turning to the birdsong speakers, James speaks directly, trusting that they will understand enough of what he says, "There is no need to apologise, I am sure you did not mean any offence.  It is just that these are my friends.  It is...difficult to think of them as commodities.  Things to be bought and sold."

To Jelet, James says, "That's quite a predicament.  If you don't mind my asking, what do you know of your parents?"

Corvain could easily be a derivation of Corwin.  His travel might be an unusual manifestation of the bloodline, though I'm at a loss to explain why he "bounces" back.

The whistler, not the one who had tried to buy Cyan, nudges his companion and gestures towards James.  The would-be purchaser adopts a posture, his head bowed and turned to one side, and hands folded in front of his chest.  Another burst of birdsong, translated by Corvain.

"He says that he is grateful for your understanding."

"My parents?  Ah, I see, you hope to divine if my bloodline caused my predicament.  My father was a soldier, Jelet Dedoras, and my mother was his wife, Zialda.  Sadly my birth was not an easy one and she did not survive the event.  I never met my father, and always got the impression that he may have died before I was born.  I was brought up by an aunt and uncle who were... mean spirited and, as I believed, meant to do me harm.  I left them as soon as I could - I believe I was twelve or thirteen years old, or possibly a little younger.  A few months later I hid in a barn for the night, and awoke in a park in a city that I had never visited before."

A wry grin as he adds, "As a child I often thought my aunt a witch.  When these strange transportations started happening, it was easy to imagine that my fears of witchcraft were true, and my sudden movements the result of some spiteful curse."

"What of yourselves?  You are strangers here, it would seem."

"It sounds an eventful...and difficult...life, Sir Corvain," Cyan notes quietly during a pause in the thunder.  "I am sorry."  Her lips thin.  "Would that there is something I could do to assist; our own travel through the Myriad Worlds is more controlled.  But it seems we cannot even bring you with us, as your...system?  Method?"  A wave of the hand.  "Whichever.  It prevents you from leaving before your time."

A small bow.  "I can only wish you the best in your life, despite its terrible beginnings.  How terrible it must have been, to grow up alone yet always moving in that way.  Though there may yet be some assistance we can offer...."

On her shoulder, Berd continues to run the bridging, but one of his minds peels away from the others to begin a full-scale, detailed delving of this traveller.  He may yet discern something important.

She gives James a small shake of his arm.  It's like trying to uproot a tree.  "Ridiculous, James.  You merely defend us."  Corwin...Corvain.  Perhaps, James!  That which Berd detects within the man is similar to the Broken Pattern Dorian utilized, but even less solid.  Perhaps the Grand Pattern itself, its power diluted by thinned blood and age?

And...it is Corwin of whom we hear, again and again, though not solely he.  Corvain here.  Carl Corey.  Curious.

Another bow.  "We, too, are strangers.  We but pass through this world on our way to another.  Sadly, we can neither stay nor assist the people of this place, much as we may wish to do so."  Her lips thin as thunder rolls again.  "I like not this land, these threats...and include the Paladins among them."

"I have grown accustomed to it." Corvain replies, with a shrug, "Sometimes I find myself returned to a familiar place, so I at least have the chance to see how things have developed.  On rare occasions I seem to settle in one place, and may be there for a while - on one occasion I was in a mountain village for over a year.  And then, one morning, in the midst of breakfast, I found myself sitting on a large boulder in the middle of a river."

"Less than an hour later I was standing in a graveyard, and some mourners were shocked to see me, as I had interrupted the funeral."

A smile, though a little wistful, "That was the day I decided to study the places I visit, as best I might.  The words of the service caught my interest."

"I never knew it was possible to control the way one travels between worlds."

James gives a slight grimace, though whether in response to Corvain's troubled upbringing or thoughts of his own is unclear. That doesn't tell us anything.  It wouldn't be the first time one of the Amberites has travelled under an assumed name - or skipped out on their kids.

Aloud, James says, "Most can't travel at all, as you've no doubt found for yourself.  Those who do have different methods, but some control's usually possible.  You could come with us when we leave, if my friends agree?  Maybe a different way of travelling will break whatever it is that controls your movements, or at least you might learn something useful.  It rather depends, though, on whether you 'bounce back' to the same location you left.  I wouldn't want to arrive randomly on this world."

"It sounds miserable," Cyan breathes.  Worse, for example, than her and Berd's original wandering, which meandered from world to world without rhyme or reason.  Part of that, she now knows, was deliberate, Berd seeking to shield her from Amber.  Another part, though, was due to the drake's weakness at the time.  But at least they chose to move, and when.

Within, she considers information passed on to her by her father.  Berd feels little to nothing of the Grand Pattern in this one - if he is a scion of Amber, it is distant by dozens if not hundreds of generations.  Likely not at all.  He has some skill with sorcery, though weakly, and something similar to Dorian's Broken Pattern...but again, weaker and more dissolute even than that.

Does your skill with the Great Pattern tell you aught, James?

"I am with James.  Should it be safe for you to make the attempt," Cyan muses, "you could do worse than try to join us.  Not far, perhaps, for our way will eventually bring us into danger.  But sufficiently to experiment?  To see if our greater methods of travel provide a buffer 'gainst your random hops?  What say you, Sir Corvain?"

"If I try to leave, I always end up back at the same place, within a foot or two, as close as I can recall." Corvain says, then shakes his head, "I'm not sure about travelling with you though.  It might stop what happens to me, or it might do nothing.  Or it might make things worse.  So far this gift has never dropped me into a volcano, or the middle of an ocean."  More thunder roars overhead, producing a crooked smile, "Nor in the middle of a battlefield...  This is close, but at least I have shelter."

"I'd hate for that to change.  And, I suppose, there are worse curses for a man whose childhood ambition was to visit distant lands."

"So I thank you for the offer, but I must decline."

"That...is understandable," Cyan agrees after a moment.  "It's true, we have no idea how your ability will react to..."  She cocks an eyebrow at Berd, then continues after a moment.  "'Outside interference.'  And yes, at least here you are protected."

Turning, she stares in the direction of the thunder, seeming to stare through the wall.  Perhaps, in a way, she does.  "If only there were aught we might do for these people.  Given time, yes...but time, we have not."  Facing Corvain, she shrugs helplessly.  "Likely we shall be gone quite soon, after we rest."

OOC - Shall await comment by James.

I can't use the Pattern that way.  Or at least I don't know how.  I could probably ascertain that Corvain is not native to this world but I have no way of determining a person's...abilities.  I'll defer to Berd there.

To Corvain, James says, "That might be wisest, I suppose."

Turning to Cyan and the others, he continues, "I doubt I'll be able to find suitable transport here.  Do people need a rest?  I was thinking we might stop for a meal and then be off.  I'm conscious that we're moving slowly by some standards and I'm fine to push on."

James does not address Cyan's concern for the inhabitants of the city, though he feels it keenly.  Having decided that they will not tarry, James must focus on more pragmatic matters.

Cyan bows her head for a moment.  Forgive me, James.  Your birthright is sometimes so shocking that there are times I forget it has its own limits.

With a sigh, she slowly, regretfully nods her head.  "I wonder if the chaos and misery here is a reflection of a greater issue within the Myriad Worlds...but at this time, we cannot tarry.  I would not step over a soul in immediate danger for a distant goal, but these people have their own guardians, terrifying that they may be.  I will remember this place - Berd shall hold its signature - and return if I can in the future."

She stares out, through the walls to where the battle continues, seeing through Berd's mind.  "It is unfair," Cyan whispers.  "Tremendous forces clash, and the small lives, the quiet, calm lives, must perforce suffer near-slavery for protection against this chaos.  I like it not, and were there a swift way to ameliorate this issue, I would take it, risks be hanged."

The bard blows out a sigh.  "But our situation will only hold so long, and then greater threats will materialize.  Barring an immediate danger to innocents, we must press onward."

Corvain shrugs, "I have, over the years, developed a more hardheaded approach to these matters I'm afraid.  I do not control my own destiny, nor can I be certain that I can affect that of others.  Any help I offer may be interrupted before the task is finished, and the more protracted the task, the more likely the interruption.  What good would it do an old lady where I to agree to mend the door of her cottage, only to vanish immediately after removing said door from its hinges in order to work on it?"

"I could easily be moved onward in the midst of this conversation... " a pause, and he looks about expectantly, "... or perhaps not.  And I would take nothing with me that I do not wear or hold.  Long ago I learned that there are other reasons than thieves to sleep with my hand entwined in the strap of my pack."

Banglen-Yp seems enthralled by Corvain's tale and a little distracted as she answers James' question, •• We are not hungry or tired • but if others need food or rest we would not object ••

"It seems a poor way to live one's life," Cyan notes - an observation rather than a judgement.  It's not her place to judge another, not having lived in his shoes.  "Have you met will-workers and magi in your travels?  Have you researched sorcery?  Have there been any answers, any at all, that might help you move to the next question in seeking a way to alter your current fate?"

She cocks her head.  "It would seem to me that in a situation like this, every scrap of knowledge might be useful, allowing one to gradually build a kind of...library of information regarding your curse."

"A poor way to live, perhaps," Corvain agrees, with a rueful smile, "and not one that I would choose, if given the opportunity to do so."

"I have compiled a journal, which I keep on my person at all times, and have, when able, spoken to others that I believed could help.  They proved, universally, unable to do so, or in fact actually worsened the situation."

He shakes his head at a sudden memory, "Like one self-proclaimed expert who told me that it might be the result of some cursed item I was carrying, and suggested that I divest myself of all my possessions.  I awoke, the next morning in the garden of a wealthy merchant, who assumed, perhaps understandably, that a naked man on his property was engaged in some form of sordid liason with his wife.  Not only did I spend an unpleasant, though thankfully brief, period in prison, but I never saw any of my belongings again."

"For all I know, that may have been that particular expert's plan - " another blast of thunder, a loud one, seemingly overhead, rattles the structure and brings a shocked whistle from the strange aliens who had tried to buy Cyan.  Dust and grit fall from above, drifting unconcernedly through the space where Corvain had stood an instant before...

His pack and his other possessions, save for the clothes he had been wearing, still sit on the cot.

 

•• Oops • He forgot his stuff •• Banglen-Yp pointed out, looking away from where Corvain stood a moment before and to the belongings he left behind.

•• This was our fault •• Cyan • you should make one of your cards to we can returns his gear •• she proclaims solemnly.

•• If you prefer you can give the card to one of me • us • and we will deliver his pack to him ••

 

James is wondering how to go about getting some food when the thunder sounds close overhead.  He flinches slightly, an automatic reaction, and glances up.  When he looks back Corvain is gone, but his belongings remain.  James gives a quiet groan, more in frustration than dismay.

"No, I don't think so, Banglen-Yp.  We didn't make him put his pack down.  The way he was talking I thought he might have a strap tied to his wrist or something, but I guess not."

"Still, even if it's not our fault, it is something we can fix.  But palanquet take time and I can't go seeking him.  Well, I suppose I could, but you'd need to change the way we've been travelling.  Cyan?"

 

•• Of course it was • James •• Banglen-Yp quipped and reached out to attempt to beep James' nose unless he dodged.  She tilts her head and gives the abandoned pack a forlorn gaze.  •• We distracted him ••


•• How then will we travel •• she asks curiosuly, once more looking at James.

 

Cyan utters a short, disbelieving curse in a liquid tongue as the traveller vanishes.  Immediately, she turns and begins rummaging through her own pack.  "I think...whether or not we bear...responsibility, certainly we have...the means to ameliorate his immediate problem."  Giving up, she closes the pack.  "Berd?"

Opening it again reveals her small pouch with pens, and her art book - common on some worlds, but a precious thing once Cyan discovered it.

Setting the book down on the table, she flips it open to a blank page.  "Banglen-yp's suggestion holds merit.  Regarding the time, fear not.  Five minutes, perhaps, for me to sketch.  I am...somewhat skilled at this, and can create a temporary palanquet using Berd's assessment of his signature.  It should suffice for the short term, though it will need detail and full creation if it is to function after he skips to another world."

Already Corvain begins to take upon his appearance beneath her quill-tipped pen.

"I can most certainly...spare five minutes to help...Lords of the West, imagine the horrid life he lives."  She shakes her head.  "Perhaps, James, he will seize upon your suggestion and tie his pack to his wrist...a fine idea from where I sit."  She looks up with a quick smile, her eyes shining like emeralds.  "Now would be a good time for dinner.  I may even be finished before it hits the table."

OOC - Cyan will use "Fast Draw" to create a sketch of Corvain.

Cyan sits down and starts to sketch, working purely from her memory of a man she has seen for but a few moments, and spoken to for even less...  Working feverishly to commit her recollection of his face to the page.

Some of the locals, meanwhile, seem to have noticed that Corvain is gone, and are taking covert glances at the man's pack, and the book which lays still upon the cot.  But only when they think nobody is looking in their direction.  The other two strangers are whistling to each other quietly, but their attention seems to be fixed on the progress of their impending meal.

The image that forms under Cyan's skilled hands at least bears a close resemblance to the Corvain.

Cyan pauses, frowning.  "What...but..."  She glances up at Berd, and the drake shifts on her shoulder, almost as if embarassed.  "This...there is nothing.  Nothing at all.  I cannot reach him, I cannot feel his presence within it."  She taps the paper.  "We have his signature, Berd has touch him with his mind and I have used that in my attempt...I should be able to at least connect with him."

She turns her head to regard her compatriots, sapphire eyes wide.  "Nothing.  As if he is in a place beyond the reach of palanqueti.  Too distant, or blocked.  Or perhaps it is within his own nature."  Frustrated, she adds a few more details, then leans back.  "Nothing."

Berd, knowing it is hopeless, diverts one of the hydra-mind to begin a search for Corvain's signature, slowly spiralling out from here through the nearby Myriad Worlds.  But if Cyan's sketch cannot touch the man, it seems unlikely he will....

There is a faint metallic whisper, like the drawing of a blade from its sheath...  Left, no larger than a fly, speaks quietly, + ONE OF THE CREATURES WHICH OFFERED TO PURCHASE YOU, GENERAL... + and is interrupted by a harsh laugh from Harbonah, + HA!  GENERAL! +, + ... IT APPROACHES, BEARING A WEAPON. +

Indeed, the odd whistling creature is moving forwards.  In its left hand it holds what appears to be some sort of fusion of carving knife and cleaver - the blade some eight inches long and mirror-bright, ending in two short tines.

It stops moving though, when it reaches the cot with the abandoned pack and the book.  Holding the blade, which looks more like a kitchen tool than an actual weapon, out in front of it, it slowly turns in place.  Four times, as it turns, it pauses and adopts a posture which appears to be one of triumph, the blade lifted high above its head.

Then a long, drawn out whistle, before starting to turn again...

No posturing this time, it just tilts its head hard to the right, and meets the eyes of anybody who is watching, with a challenging gaze and a loud hiss.

 

Banglen-Yp looked a little sad at Cyan's statement but turned her attention to the whistling knife-wielder.


When it became clear to her what its intentions were she smiled at it.


Her smiled shifted and changed, her skin and clothes darkened and the young female human was no longer that, but a smooth, sleek looking beast.

It raised its own dagger, attached to the end of its tail, up high above its head and reached out towards the pack.

Then the lips parted, showing drooling fangs.  Next to part were the jaws and another set of jaws shot out, snapping before slowly withdrawing again.


Evidently the challenge was met.

 

James shrugs at Banglen-Yp's response.  They had different views and that was fine.  It didn't look like it would matter anyway as Cyan was working much more quickly at a sketch palanquet than he would have credited.  No doubt Cyan would find some fault with the line work upon more detailed inspection but to James it seemed a very good likeness.  Her work, as always, captured something of the essence of its subject.  So he is surprised to find that Cyan cannot make contact.

James' mind quickly turns to some of the possibilities.  He is not actively sending over the bridging but his thoughts are easily discernable.  A trick?  Could Corvain have turned invisible and masked his presence?  Has he been killed or destroyed?  Travel, even as he does, shouldn't disrupt a connection.  Maybe if he changes appearance?  No, if he retains enough self-awareness to be conscious of himself as Corvain then he should still register.  Is he blocking?

"We shall have to find some other way..." James trails off as the whistler stakes a claim to the "abandoned" pack only to be met by a transformed Banglen-Yp.

James steps forward hurriedly, "No!  You'll bring the Paladins down on us!"  The ambitious trader was unlikely to be a threat but Banglen-Yp's current appearance was likely to panic the other residents of the hostel.

"Look, forget the meal break, I think we'd better be going.  Whistler, we're taking the pack.  We're going to try and get it back to its owner." James glances at Banglen-Yp "It probably wouldn't be a good idea to try and stop us.  I know you've no reason to trust us," James hurriedly calls the Pattern to mind, "But, as a gesture of goodwill, if you search that cot your stuff is on, you'll find a hidden drawer in the frame.  There's enough in there to compensate you for your troubles."

"Come on, everyone, time to go."

"I am baffled, James," Cyan states aloud, waving her hand over the sketch.  "He simply is...unaccessible.  Not blocking.  But somewhere palanqueti cannot reach?  Or utilizing a method to seal away their power?  I cannot say-"

She cuts off as Left begins her warning, then shoots a quick glance at Harbonah as the creature approaches.  "Yes, General.  Begrudge Left not her choice of sobriquets, if you would."

After all, they could always go back to 'Harry'.

Banglen-Yp's transformation, as always, is unnerving.  James steps in to defuse the situation before Cyan can move, and hopefully it will prove sufficient.  Not that Cyan is concerned with the threat - the being could turn out to be their better, but she sincerely doubts it can match this particular group - but James is correct: massive displays of strength or power might leave them a threat in the eyes of the paladins.

However, it seems quite possible that Banglen-Yp's rather frightening transformation will back the creature off.  "No precipitous moves, please," she quietly states to her own group.  "Let us hope he leaves the pack, for we will not abandon it.  But if it needs to be dealt with, James and Banglen-Yp are fully capable of doing so without loss of life."  Then she considers the sword James carries.  "Hopefully," Cyan amends.

There is a stir of apprehension around the room, as a strange chitin-armoured creature suddenly appears to defend the pack.

The whistler stops, folds its arms across its chest, the blade held point down, and tilts its head to one side, eyes closed.

The other gives a shrill whistle which drops in tone over its duration, and the one who would commandeer Corvain's belongings steps back, pivoting on one heel to stand at a right angle to his former position, though otherwise in the same posture.

A twitch, and the knife slices through the sleeve of the creatures jacket, where a blue-black stain immediately starts to spread.  Then the creature lowers its arms and walks away to rejoin its companion, without looking back.

Moments later the pair seem to be arguing.  Though the sounds are kept low, the gestures and body language are unmistakable.

The other ocupants of the room, locals all, still appear very nervous of Banglen-Yp's scary face.

"One hopes that's a gesture of submission," Cyan murmurs.  "However, it seems we have taken possession of the items in question.  Perhaps now would be a good time to catch them up and move along?"

Standing, she retrieves her own pack.  "I cannot help but notice that alien beings, strange appearance and disappearance, and even the idea of other worlds seems more acceptable here.  This is not always the case.  I am unure what it might indicate, beyond the basic and obvious."  Her amber eyes flash in the gloom of the common room.  "Are we all ready to travel?  If so, vacating seems prudent."

I think it is, after a fashion.  It would fit with various traditions where a blade should not return to its sheath unblooded.

Aloud, James says "I know what you mean.  Most places I've been, people would have been legging it for the door rather than be in here with Banglen-Yp looking like that.  It could be the battle outside, but..."

"Anyway, I'm ready to go whenever everyone else is."

Casting an eye around to make sure his companions are ready to go, he moves to collect Corvain's belongings and (assuming that goes uncontested) starts for the door.

One of the locals steps forward and bows, before speaking quietly, "A bold thing you have done, to protect the belongings of another.  But I must give you warning, the klakaar have a poor reputation here.  While they always trade fairly, they are not always so fair in their other dealings with those who do not wish to trade with them.  That one will, with certainty, report your behaviour to the first Paladin it sees in the morning, in the hopes that you will be arrested and questioned."

"They will, I'm sure, want to know about the strange creature that travels with you."

The Carcosan glances in the direction of the whistlers, the klakaar, who seem to be engaged in a conversation of their own, "You appear to be of the same kind as the other stranger.  You will be easy for the Paladins to find, here in Carcos.  Were I you, I would try to leave as soon as possible after the suns rise, leaving the hostel before morning would draw attention, but leaving at sunrise may let you reach the gate before the klakaar speaks to a Paladin.  Unless you possess the same ability to simply vanish as the other had, in which case you should do so sooner."

"I must say, you're taking this better than I expected.  I had thought a disappearing man and a shapechanger would be enough to draw attention regardless of whether or not it was reported." James sounds a little surprised, even skeptical, although he is clearly respectful of the Carcosan's composure in the face of such unusual behaviour.

"What do you think?" James addresses his friends "Should we go now?  We can disappear pretty quickly."

"Strangers, and strange behaviour, are not that uncommon here.  Carcos lays upon the road from beyond the Iron Waste, and travellers from the lands beyond must pass through the city."

"I travelled much, in my youth, and have seen many odd things.  I even followed that same road across the Iron Waste and spent a season in the land of the Nox, who wear armour of wood and stone, speak to spirits and can take the shape of animals.  My countrymen are likely to be just as calm about these matters.  As I said, strangers are nothing new in Carcos."  The man looks towards where others in the room seem are huddling together in groups, talking among themselves and studiously ignoring James, Cyan and Banglen-Yp.  "I do not think they will report you.  Your defiance of the klakaar makes you a minor hero in the eyes of many, but they cannot protect you from the Paladins should the klakaar seek to create difficulties for you."

Harbonah adds his own thoughts to the discussion, though they do not seem universally popular, + SINCE THE JOURNEY CURRENTLY SEEMS TO BE MORE IMPORTANT THAN THE DESTINATION, WE CAN CARRY ALL TO SAFETY.  IF YOU WILL TRUST US. +

+ OR I COULD CARRY ALL, INCLUDING HARBONAH. + Left states, sounding even angrier than Archons generally do.

+ IT IS NO DIFFERENT, WHICHEVER OF US DO IT.  IT WOULD BE THE FASTEST AND SAFEST MEANS OF TRAVEL AWAY FROM HERE, SINCE THE DESTINATION DOES NOT MATTER. +

+ THE DIFFERENCE IS THAT I AM TRUSWORTHY. +

+ NOT TO US. + Harbonah pauses, as if collecting his thoughts,+ THIS, OF COURSE, ILLUSTRATES PERFECTLY WHY ARCHONS NEED A STRONG LEADER.  ONE OF THE HUMANS MUST DECIDE. +
This message was last updated by the GM at 11:56, Tue 17 Sept 2013.

"Thank you both.  You're right, we should be off.  I think it might be best if each of the Archons make their own way.  I trust you all to keep our journey safe and discreet.  Berd, you could perhaps transport Cyan and yourself?  Otherwise, I'd suggest that Left take you both.  I'll go with Harbonah."

James breaks off to speak to Harbonah directly, "I'm not sure I trust you either but we must try or this whole exercise is pointless."

"Banglen-Yp, you can go with whoever you like.  Or," James gives a short chuckle, "With everybody at once."

Cyan remains quiet while the others discuss, somewhat disturbed by the situation they have unearthed.  The klakaar seem to be the sort who will always try to shade a deal toward their own advantage, regardless of the cost to others.  Not exactly a laudable trait, in her opinion.

Certainly not worth fighting over, at the moment.

"Compromise is something we humans are good with.  It has its uses," she finally notes, nodding to James.  "I agree with James.  We can certainly split up, and I have no issues with his choices."  She has concerns, mind.  Leaving James with Harbonah is a disturbing idea.  But if he's comfortable...  Also, Cyan trusts Harbonah in this, so long as they're working toward the goal he desires.  She doesn't trust him on a personal level, but for keeping the group in one piece while they seek out a solution?  In that, yes.

Until a better idea comes to him, of course.

"Berd and I will go with Left -" the little drake currently stares at James, his eyes burning and whirling "- and James and Banglen-Yp with Harbonah.  I believe that will suffice.  The others Archons will split between the two groups, as they see fit."  Reaching out, she hovers a hand uncomfortably close to Left's whirling blades without hesitation, something Cyan has done in the past many times.  "I comprehend lingering trust issues.  But we must learn to trust one another, at least with regards to this journey.  Our goals are the same.  With that in mind...perhaps compromise might flourish."

Berd opens up a small, subchannel to James, sealed away and invisible behind his mirrored defenses.  The link includes his daughter.  There are concerns, obviously, but I trust your judgement, James.  And I do not believe Harbonah will betray us.  He has no reason to do so, and no gain...that I can see.

I/Berd {ensure/guarantee} (Heavyhand/Scarspirit) full/complete Signature/Mental Pattern {testing/scan} before/advance and after/completion of (archonjourney/engulfment).

Turning to the man who has given warning, Cyan bows.  "My thanks, stranger.  Is there aught we might do to repay your kindness?  I would know your name, at the least, that I may carry the memory through my travels."

"My name is... " the Carcosan lowers his voice, with a glance at the klakaar, "... Rhozel, and you owe me nothing.  I simply offer advice to strangers, as any decent citizen should."

And there is a brief panic in the room as Left and Harbonah swell to a size capable of enfolding the other travellers, and two of the Banglen-Yps follow suit, apparently from sheer excitement.

And then all of the Archons, real and counterfeit, are speeding through the Underflow, Harbonah and Left bearing their passengers.

A brief passage only though, and they emerge on a barren, boulder-strewn hilltop, bathed in moonlight, above a seemingly endless expanse of forest, like an island jutting up from a dark ocean.  A cold wind blows, and stars glitter in a cloudless sky as the James, Cyan, Berd and the human form of Banglen-Yp all emerge from within the Archons.

As the travellers look out across the forest below, somebody clears their throat, and a deep voice, definitely feminine, says, "Hello Jim.  It's about time you got here.  Don't you know it's not polite to keep a lady waiting?"

One of he boulders moves, scrambling to its feet, revealing a large quadrupedal form.  A powerful, dark furred body gleaming with silver highlights in the moonlight.  Wide-spaced yellow eyes stare at the group from a distinctly leonine face.

"Well?  Are you going to introduce me to your friends, or are you just going to stand there like a ninny?"

James looked around at their destination and nods, apparently satisfied.  The trees were different but there were obvious parallels with Arden, which would simplify matters.  The Archons short hop should make travelling the rest of the way significantly quicker than it would have been from Carcos.

He is somewhat nonplussed, however, to find that in his quick survey he missed a lion; a lion the size of a Clydesdale; who happens to know him by name.

"I do recall somebody telling me that once, yes.  It helps, though, if one knows a lady is waiting."

"It's Malkia, isn't it?  Malkia, may I introduce my friends Cyan, Berd and Banglen-Yp."  James continues his introductions with the Archons, starting with Harbonah and Left and making his best attempt to identify the others, though he finds it difficult to distinguish between them, and concludes, "Everyone, this is Malkia."

The lion, lioness rather, pads forward, impossibly quiet for its size as it stands at least 17 hands at the shoulder.  A large horse would be a modest comparison, though for sheer presence one might do better to start with a small elephant and work upwards.

She stops a short distance away and gives a little sniff, "Really Jim, I thought Bleys taught you better that that.  You might at least try a little.  I am Malkia, Queen of the Endless Plain, Mother of a Thousand Prides, Hunter of the World Bull, Purr of the Creator."  Malkia gives a gentle toss of her head and a roll of the powerful muscles across her shoulders as she shifts balance slightly.

"Honestly, I'd be tempted to give up on you Jim, for all that I promised the Unicorn, if you didn't have such interesting friends."  Malkia steps closer still until she stands in front of Berd and Cyan "You, little one, have more scents on you than anyone I have ever met.  I could start listing them and we'd still be here next week."

"But you, my dear, are something else again.  You smell of music and colour and sadness, and that shouldn't be possible.  There's a word for that isn't there?  Jim, be a darling, what's the word I'm looking for?"

"Synaesthesia." James replies, looking bemused.

"That's the one.  Yes, I can see why he likes you."

Malkia gives a short, rumbling purr and moves to rub the side of her broad face against Cyan's cheek and shoulder.

Travelling via Archon can be a disorienting experience, but Cyan is well-used to it by this point.  She arrives without issue, aside from the drake currently crawling uneasily about her head and shoulders.  There's a brief moment of whispered curses and struggling when Left releases her, then the exasperated bard yanks Berd away from her hair and plunks him down on her shoulder.  "Stop that," she whispers, taking a long look around.

And another.

A small smile touches Cyan's lips, and her amber eyes gather a hint of liquid sheen in the moonlight.  "Doriath," she whispers, the memory striking her.

Then an interruption; a voice, where none is expected.

Cyan blinks, slowly turning, to regard the speaker.  Her eyes widen.  "Morgan," she whispers, recalling that man's friends, but no, this is no horse-sized panther.  Instead, a lion, on a scale to match (and thus, even larger) and one known to James.  Only..."Jim?" she inquires, one eyebrow cocking slightly.  Berd has now crawled onto her backpack and hides as best she can behind her head, his own snout peeking out from within her rumpled hair.  He glances at his daughter for an instant, and Cyan slowly nods.  "Ah.  A diminutive."  She's never heard that name before.

And introductions, along with a splendid series of titles.

Cyan bows - she has rarely worn skirts, after all - and struggles to control her astonishment.  The fabled Unicorn?  This person - Malkia? - has met, spoken with, promised something to the Unicorn?  She holds her ground as the great lion paces closer, noting the silvery sheen to the fur.  Addressed directly, Berd loses his apparent fear and sticks his head out of Cyan's hair beside her ear and grins, thousands of needle-teeth glittering in the moonlight.  The drake bobs his head in several quick nods - agreement?  Greeting?  Likely both.

"More scents?" Taken off her guard, Cyan glances to James, then back to their...host?  "It is my pleasure to greet a friend of James, your majesty."  Certainly appropriate address for a queen, and of that title (and the others) Cyan has no doubt.  Hunter of the World Bull?  She holds carefully still as the great head lowers to her own - Berd immediately launches himself from her shoulders and scoots across the distance to perch upon James', shuffling about nervously - and sinks her weight slightly so as not to lose her balance.

The fur is soft and warm, and she feels the purr in her bones; it feels like safety, and for a brief moment she struggles against tears.

"Synaethesia," Cyan whispers, swallowing heavily.  "You do me much honour, your majesty.  I am Cyan, of No Place In Particular, and yes, I am honoured also by James' friendship."  She colours for a moment, remembering the dance in the forest, remembering a thought upon a riverboat, so long before.  Remebering so many other things.

Desperation in her heart, stone stairs beneath her feet, and a voice crying out 'Friend!'

A sword offered, a wry smile. "That's as melodramatic as I'm going to get, promise."

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

"Diner food again!"

"I do this because I accept the need and because we seem to be the only people to do it.  And because these are my friends."

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

She clears her throat, nervously.  "And I like him, as well."

I've been a fool about so many things.

"If I may, your majesty?"  She slowly raises a hand to indicate the night sky.  "What is this land?"

She has a thousand more questions - 'Who are you, beyond names?' and 'How do you know James?' head the list - but it seems a good place to start.

The great lioness tilts her head back to look at the sky, then back down to meet Cyan's gaze, "To be quite honest... Cyan, was it?  Yes Cyan... I knew another Cyan once, long ago.  Absolutely hated her.  Awful creature."  Lips part in a snarl of disgust, revealing fangs like daggers.  "I would hope that your name is the only similarity."

"To be honest, I have not the faintest idea where here is.  I only came here because I was tracking him."  She moves across to greet Banglen-Yp, sniffing the air as she gets closer, "And you... I know who you are - Jim introduced you, after all - but what you are is an entirely different matter."

•• Banglen-Yp is both who I am and what I am ••  the blonde woman replies with a friendly smile.

"I see."

•• And what I am also is pleased to meet you ••  and the smile continues, and seems to grow broader and brighter.

"And I to meet you."  Then Malkia turns her head to look at James, the Archons dismissed as servants, or perhaps merely things.  "I was asked to locate you Jim, and bring you home.  And I was led to believe that this was important enough to warrant my putting considerable effort into the task."
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:22, Sat 21 Sept 2013.

"Ahhh...one can only hope I will prove different," Cyan replies to Malkia's memory of her name.  On her shoulder, Berd ceases to cower and settles himself down, eyes thinning to burning slits, like slices through the side of a furnace.  So the great lion can track between worlds, not simply move.  It only makes sense, Cyan concludes; Berd - and others - have shown the same capacity, why not her?  She watches as Malkia greets Banglen-Yp, and is pleased with the politeness.

Less-so with her disregard of the others in their group.

James has already introduced them, but even so.  "Malkia, as James said these are Left and Staosha of the danioti, Barkiel of the herenethi, Shalgiel of the sencathi, and Harbonah of the eshurianti, leader of the Nephillim Archons."  Her voice is quiet but firm.  "They are our allies in this quest and, in some cases, our friends."

"If you say so." Despite Cyan's efforts, Malkia seems determined to be cooly dismissive.

"Alright Jim, let's go."

James is still a little flustered at having his affections so casually announced but he collects himself and responds calmly, "We're all going together.  That's rather the point, Malkia."

Malkia gives a quiet harumph, "I was afraid you were going to say that.  Ah well, I can carry two of you easily enough.  Three if I have to, though it will make the run rather less comfortable for all of us.  And the little one, of course.  The rest of you will just have to keep up."

•• You need only carry two •• Banglen-Yp says with a shake of her head, •• I can make my own arrangements ••  And she starts to shift then, becoming a wheel of fire, smaller than Harbonah, and less bright (though possibly more in deference to his position, rather than from any inferiority in her own abilities).

"Ah... that would explain the odd scent about her."

With Banglen-Yp airborne, with the Archons and the rest of her, there seems littl more to do than move onwards...

"I should travel with Left," Cyan notes.  "Berd will join James, should he be amenable."  There's a pause.  "James, not Berd."  It would have been a fine thing to join James in the ride of a lifetime, an exceptionally fine thing...but Left is her friend as well, and she'll be hanged if she tosses one aside in the face of Malkia's abrupt dismissal.

Poor James; he must feel trapped several ways, so she drags the narrow-eyed drake off her shoulder and presents him to the soldier.  "A small gift."  Berd studies James with brilliant, narrow eyes; they calm a touch, and he belches a small cloud of colourful smoke.  Cyan grimaces.  "Not precisely well-wrapped in a bow, but hopefully sufficient."  She offers James a sad smile, touching his arm.  "I would join you, but..."

Berd opens and closes his eyes sleepily.  My daughter would join you, James, he notes privately to the man, but cannot, for the sake of the peace and the feelings of her friend among the Archons.

One hopes I shall not be eaten.

Travel arrangements are made, and the odd group sets off - a man and a small drake riding upon a gigantic lioness, and accompanied by a veritable swarm of flying wheels.

Malkia moves at a steady pace, an easy, mile devouring lope which soon leaves the hilltop far behind them.  Over head the stars begin to fade as crimson dawn sets the horizon alight.

Malkia speaks after a little while, "I could move more quickly, Jim, if you choose to.  But I would tire faster, and would grow hungrier, so would need to spend more time hunting for food.  This is, in my judgement, the best balance between speed, rest, and appetite."

Riding with Left, Cyan is bombarded with questions by the Archon, most of which are requests for information regarding Malkia's identity and trustworthiness, repeated and rephrased as Left tries to assess any and all threats to their mission...

I understand, Berd.  I only met Malkia briefly when I was travelling with Bleys but she can be a little...touchy.  Fickle might be a better description but James isn't ready to make that judgment yet.  It's a pity, we should be in for a treat.  And, don't worry, unless you can work out a way to fall forwards into Malkia's mouth I'm sure you won't be eaten.

James briefly allows himself just to marvel in the ride, Malkia's 'endurance' pace would pass quite well for a fast horse, or city traffic, and in the easy tense and release of her powerful legs there is an imminent sense of really explosive power and much greater speed.  James has never considered himself much of a horseman but Malkia's poise makes the task relatively straight-forward.  He does check on Berd from time to time, though, as he's unsure whether the drake will be most comfortable.

"I will leave that to your judgment.  We certainly seem to be making excellent speed.  I take it my lamentable tardiness is not so great that we will need to hellride?"

"For that matter, I should ask, will you be guiding us or would you like me to handle that?"

Cyan, somewhat amused, answers Left as best she can.  It probably leaves Left less-than-amused 'her'self, as said answers boil down to 'Because James trusts her.'  It's not easy for Cyan to go into greater details, but she tries, mostly using examples.  Left and Right trusting her, for example.  Or Left and Right trusting each other, for another.

Said examples only hold up to a certain point, but Cyan does hope they help.

Berd grumbles a little on James' shoulder, but otherwise seems to remain quiet.  As always, what is on the outside doesn't at all match what is within.  His curious multitude of minds are a beehive of activity, snatching data from the worlds about them while scanning for threats, correlating the information, matching it to their location among the myriad worlds (in reference to the poles of Chaos and Order), attempting to discern their destination...and carrying out the conversation.  At least one mind dedicates itself solely to that, though others seem to peer in from time to time.

I shall make the attempt to avoid that singularly unpleasant fate, James...I am well-acquainted with touchiness, no fear on that part.  I have, after all, travelled on this quests and seen all manner of such.  *amusement*

I shall relay the experience to my daughter, though it is not, as you know, the same.

(Heavyhand/scarspirit) sufficient/fine/excellent (perch/grip/bed) for I/Berd...

"Don't trust me to do the job properly, Jim?" Malkia asks, her voice tinged with amusement, "Must I remind you that I was following trails across worlds before you were born.  Correction: long before you were born.  I'd tell you exactly how long, but a lady never reveals her age.  Suffice to say that, had I the means to get there, I could have been waiting atop Kolvir to greet that old fool Dworkin when he first deserted his kin at the Chaos Pole, instead of the Unicorn."

They are moving across a windswept plain, and Malkia takes a stream in her stride.  A single stride.  Without pause her muscles punch and extend, and without effort carry her across twenty feet of fast moving water.  Her riders barely even notice the switch from run, to leap, and back again.

Malkia herself continues talking without pause, "Of course, I didn't have the wherewithal then.  Until Dworkin used that shiny rock to impose order on the world, there were no trails for me to follow."

"I'm rather glad, actually, considering the rumours I've heard about that old degenerate and the Unicorn.  Which is another thing - why is she 'The Unicorn', while I am 'Malkia'?  Do you not know her real name?  It would be just like her not to tell people.  Would you like to know her name, Jim?"

And through the link Cyan and Left and the Banglen-Yps hear everything that is said...

Probably not a wise idea, James. Berd notes, likely somewhat unnecessarily.  But he wants to be sure, not wishing to hear the name, himself.  Names have power.  Power over the named...and the taker of the name.  And knowing certain things can bring about unwelcome attention.

The drake shifts about uncomfortably.  Some of this conversation he finds a trifle disturbing, especially the part about Malkia being around for a long, long time.  He tries to avoid beings like that, and beings of power.  He's not entirely certain why, but suspects it has something to do with his only dimly-remembered past.

And he may have brought a trifle too much attention to himself, of late...not merely due to his exercises of control, but from the recent summons of his fragments.  Dozens, if not hundreds of them now traipse through the Myriad Worlds, many grown into Something More™ thanks to their conjoining and integration with others.  Sooner or later, they're going to be noticed.

Perhaps, perhaps he should finish what he began, simply for safety's sake.

Not here, though.  Not while riding this being.

Behind obdurate, clouded shields, he continues his discussion with James.  Perhaps your friend knows where to find Dworkin.  Is this likely, James?

"Of course I trust you, Malkia.  I'd hardly be sitting on your back if I didn't." James replies, smiling.

He rides crouched low over Malkia's back.  It's not so much the lack of saddle and harness, as James trusts his own balance and Malkia's sure footing, but James' trust doesn't quite extend to the possibility that Malkia might run under a low-hanging branch if the mood took her.  There is also the matter of the wind in his face.  James could put his helmet on but that would spoil the fun (and make the bridging harder to maintain).

"But I've no real idea how you travel or how easy it is for you.  I just thought I'd offer."

James is startled by Malkia's age and the suggestion that she might know the Unicorn's name.  He is about to decline but hesitates when Berd interjects (to much the same effect).  James resumes, "No, thanks.  If she hasn't told anyone in the family after all these years, she must have a reason.  I think that probably falls into the same category as asking a lady her age."

"Besides, you can't tell me Malkia's your name, your true name, can you?  I read somewhere that cats have at least three names.  And I'm not counting those other things you're called, they're titles, not names."

"Oh, and do you know where we might find Dworkin?"

"Names are tricky things, true enough, but Malkia is as close as anybody has ever come to knowing my true name." the lioness admits, matter of factly, "Which is not to say that it isn't very close."

A sudden switch of direction to avoid an equally sudden steep drop.

"Most don't even find out that much.  Many don't realise that I have a name.  Food does though.  I always give one of my names to food, so that it knows who has hunted it, and it can die with pride."

"As for finding Dworkin... of cours I can, Jim.  Am I not who and what I am - the greatest hunter alive?  I just need to track him like any other prey.  Oh, that and remembering not to snap his spine when I catch him."

Was there a hint of laughter in her deep voice?

"Hmm, yes, I have heard stories of other hunters that are kind of similar." The tales James had heard were of people who gave thanks to the spirits of the animals they killed for the sustenance it would provide, but James guessed that Malkia didn't feel the need to say thank you very often.

When it comes to Dworkin, Malkia's confidence is encouraging, but James wonders if it isn't misplaced.  It is easy to dismiss Dworkin as a crazy old man but better, and safer, to remember that he is an old power, probably of an order of magnitude greater than the formidable Malkia, and that being crazy didn't make him any less dangerous.

"Well, unless there's some other place we're supposed to be, let's go find Dworkin.  We need to talk to him."

The land rolls by endlessly.  Plain and forest and desert, beneath stars and moons and suns.  Malkia leads, and the Archons, real and facsimile, follow in her wake like sea birds behind a ship.

For hours they parallel the crumbling , ruins of a wall, ten feet high and straight as an arrow, as it traverses the countryside, cutting across hill and valley and woodland, until Malkia turns aside, turning towards the sunset, then continuing on as night falls, and a dozen moons rise behind them like beads on a wire.

Sunrise finds them on a plain of purple heather and stunted gorse, where game birds scatter before their passage, their short wings beating frantically.  A brief breakfast, While Malkia hunts, and then onwards, across an ever-changing landscape.

A beach, with a giant four toed foot, all that remains of a huge statue.  Then night time again, and they race across an rolling plain with dancing flames all along the eastern horizon.  And into marsh, dotted with twisted cypress and mangrove, all bearing shrouds of  phosphorescent moss, where Malkia moves sure-footedly, but pronounces that she can smell something she would rather avoid meeting if possible.

Another sunrise brings an icy land, where their breath rolls round them like fog and they speed alongside an iron behemoth which runs on rails and belches smoke and steam and embers into the frigid air.  Fast as it may be, Malkia eventuually leaves it far behind.

And finally, as the day draws to a close they cross over a ridge to arrive on a darkening hillside, with the lights of a city spread across the valley below.

Malkia regards the city, lips curled into a sneer, "We must go around.  But in the morning.  For now I must hunt again.  Running always makes me hungry, and it is best for those with me if I assuage that hunger."

"Munnopur," Cyan whispers from within Left, as Berd feeds her sight of the moons.  "Only not."

And on they continue, finally ceasing their headlong plunge from world to world with the gates of a city distant.  Left drops, widening, then rises, leaving Cyan standing on the grass.  She rocks back and forth for an instant, gazing about herself.  "Thank you, Left," the General murmurs.  "Always a pleasure."

Berd remains where he sits, upon James' shoulder, seemingly resting.

Then she blinks, her eyes shading from smoky quartz to ruby, and glances to where James sits atop the gigantic lion.  "Must go around?  Does this city block our path, such that we cannot shift to another world?" Cyan inquires, genuinely curious.  Whe waves to the Archons, indicating they should move closer.  "I would speak with you all, and know your thoughts upon this journey thus far.  Call it...curiousity."

Something - hunger?  fatigue?  frustration? - twists Malkia's features into a grimace of anger, and her tail thrashes.  Then she sighs, and seems to relax.

"Like Jim, I must move to go from place to place.  Unlike Jim, I can not choose my own path.  I follow a trail, like all hunters.  I set a goal, and the trail appears before me.  I can not deviate from it.  This place... " she glances towards the sprawl of brightly lit glass, metal and concrete structures which stretches along both sides of the river in the valley below, "... sits on the trail.  I could follow it, but that would mean going down there, and I do not like the stench.  Or I can turn aside, and find another trail to Amber."

And a deep rumbling growl, "And the noises!  The noises are worse than the stink!"

The Archons move closer to Cyan, though none of them speak (except, perhaps, to each other, in a manner which means nothing to human ears.  Harbonah finally answers her question, + THE JOURNEY... PROCEEDS.  WE HAVE ENCOUNTERED NO DIFFICULTY. +

"Interesting," Cyan admits, considering Malkia's admission. She understands both Malkia's explanation and method of moving between worlds far better than she comprehends that of James or Berd.  It's simpler.  Berd once attempted to show her how he managed it, and she spent the next day curled up in ball, gibbering, while he paced around her making sympathetic noises and keeping her safe.

She can't even recall what it entailed, only that it involved such abstract complexities that her mind shut down.

"I admit that cities can be daunting at times," she agrees.  "I prefer smaller towns, rather than the occasional technological sprawl I have encountered."  Musing over Malkia's feelings, she turns to confront Harbonah.  Sadly, Cyan finds his words lacking.

"Naught more?  I shall need to gather firewood as we speak, but I doubt it shall cause issue with discussion."  Moving a few steps away, Cyan begins casting about for something she might use for fuel.  "I had hoped you might have obserations regarding these places you have seen.  Curiousities.  Questions.  Notations."  A shrug follows as she picks up a wrist-thick stick, settling it into the cradle of her other arm.  "If not, I understand.  I am constantly interested in the places through which I pass, but not everyone feels similarly.  Berd, for example."

The drake snoozes, apparently asleep.

"Thank you, Malkia." James' experience with horses almost makes him accompany his words with a pat on the lioness' shoulder but some sub-conscious instinct for self-preservation prevents him making what would undoubtedly be an unwisely patronising gesture.

"We will go round if that's what you'd prefer.  We can pick up Dworkin's trail on the other side."  It was Dworkin they needed to find, after all, there was no guarantee that another trail to Amber would suit their purpose.

"Berd is quite the jaded traveller.  I swear he slept through half of our ride." James reaches up and gently lifts the drake off his shoulder, disengaging Berd's claws from the articulations in his armour were Berd has found purchase.  He places Berd on a pack and starts to clear ground for the fire.

"Malkia, would it affect your trail if I used the Pattern to find us some supplies?  We're kind of travelling light."

Malki shakes herself, and stretches.  "No.  I do not think it would affect anything, Jim.  Though, if you need food, I can share my prey.  I would, of course, eat first."

Again Harbonah chooses to speak for the others, + WE HAVE DISCUSSED THIS AMONG OURSELVES AS WE TRAVELLED.  THE WORLDS WE HAVE SEEN ARE INTERESTING, BUT NOT UNLIKE COUNTLESS OTHERS.  ONE OR MORE OF THEM MAY HAVE BEEN VISITED BY ARCHONS - THE ONE WHERE THE LAND BURNED, FOR EXAMPLE, WAS REMINISCENT OF THE PLACE THAT THE RESIDENTS NAME ¶ºßÞ³³⁷⁵, A PLACE WHERE SERAPHIM AND NEPHILIM FOUGHT A PROLONGED BATTLE.  WE BELIEVE THAT YOU HAVE BEEN THERE, WHEN YOU WERE OUR GENERAL. +

And that last comment brings a snarl from Left, the scraping of blade upon blade upon blade. + DO NOT SPEAK OF THIS! +

+ YOU FORGET YOU PLACE, UNDERLING. +

The two start to circle each other...

Berd belches when James plucks him free, hanging like a ragdoll cat in the man's grasp and eyeing him blearily as a small haze of rainbow sparkles seeps from his jawline.  But a line of brightness passes across his eyes for an instant, indicating that at least one mind of the hydra remains aware.  The little dragon scrabbles about atop James' pack before plopping himself down with a faint groan.

Riding is hard work.

"Berd is...a tad concerned with other things than the worlds.  Food, sleep," Cyan begin to list, ticking off her fingers, then cuts off as the situation between the Archons sudden sparks close to violence.  "Hold!"  Her mind calculating angular and linear velocities, her body following its decisions, she shifts through the orbit of the two Archons, taking her place in its center.  "We have sufficient before us to deal with - fighting among ourselves only weakens us before confronting Dworkin."

"Harbonah," she continues.  "You state it factually, but a comment of that nature irritates my friends, for they care for my well-being.  Please avoid such clarifications in the future."  Her gaze flicks to the rapidly spinning Left.  "Please, Left.  Harbonah meant no harm - it was merely an observation.  Can we set this aside?"

OOC - Hopefully Cyan's rather high Warfare will allow her to slip between the two Archons.  :)

For a moment there is tension in the air as the wheels hang before each other, steel and fire, and only flesh and blood between them.  And then the unthinkable happens...

+ WE APOLOGISE FOR OUR THOUGHTLESS CHOICE OF WORDS. +

Harbonah dimishes in size, and backs away from Cyan and Left, and there is a stirring among the other Archons, a subtle shifting, though no words pass between them.

+ THE WORLDS WE HAVE SEEN, MANY OF THEM, HAVE BORNE RESEMBLANCES TO OTHERS THAT WE HAVE SEEN IN THE PAST.  IT IS WORTH NOTING THAT WE HAVE SEEN THAT THE MAJORITY OF WORLDS ARE SUITABLE FOR HUMANS, ALTHOUGH THEY ARE NOT NECESSARILY COMFORTABLE FOR THEM. +

+ SOME TIME AGO WE CONCLUDED THAT THEY WERE SHAPED BY SOME FORCE WHICH WAS CONTROLLED BY HUMANS, OR BY THOSE WHO SHARED THEIR NEEDS, IN MUCH THE SAME WAY AS WE HAVE TRIED TO SHAPE WORLDS TO SUIT OUR OWN NEEDS. +

A prolonged pause, broken only by the constant life sounds of Archons.

+ IT LED US TO WONDER IF ANYBODY LIVED ON THESE WORLDS BEFORE THEY WERE SHAPED AS THEY ARE CURRENTLY, AND WHAT HAPPENED TO THEM?  WE MUST CONFESS, THOUGH, THAT OUR INTEREST LAY MAINLY IN LOCATING POTENTIAL ALLIES. +

With a bard's natural aplomb - insomuch as she has demonstrated little of it, from time to time - Cyan keeps her features placid despite her astonishment at Harbonah's apology.  It's a measure of the Archon's own strength of character that he is capable of such things, and she hopes the other Archons see it as such.  There's some cause for concern, as one of them might feel it to be weakness and challange him...which won't go well for them, Cyan suspects.

So she bows, low, as befitting one receiving a gracious apology.  "Accepted, Lord Harbonah."  Her choice of words is deliberate; by giving ground on this one issue, Harbonah has surrendered none of his power or position in her eyes.

Straightening, she listens to Harbonah's observations with a keen ear.  They strike home, and Cyan finds herself caught up in the suppositions.  "A strange thing," she says when Harbonah finishes.  "I find myself questioning my own, simple conclusions now.  I had always thought that our method - mine and Berd's - of Walking The Worlds simply avoided those inhospitable to my kind.  Not being the 'guide', so to speak, I had no means of knowing otherwise.  But you have seen the Myriad Worlds from outside, as it were, and as a whole. You visit each by choice.  And so many of them are habitable for versions of my species?"

Her eyebrows rise.  "This opens many new questions.  New avenues for study, for conjecture, for the seeking out of proof.  What did come before?  How did the Myriad Worlds unfold?  Were they made for my kind?  If so, by who?  And, as you ask, what happened to them?"

Topaz eyes wide, Cyan stalks in a circle.  "These are questions that shall plague me, I think.  Here and now, we have a purpose.  But if this purpose ever finds a terminus, if we can settle our current problem to everyone's satisfaction...I think it would be a grand thing to travel the worlds, seeking evidence and signs of those who came before."

She stares pointedly at the Archons.  "We have already done so in search of information regarding your kind, and found your footprints - so to speak - upon many, many worlds.  Perhaps, buried deeply, we could discover those of the ones preceeding everyone."

A mystery to solve...perhaps the greatest one of all.

"Of course." James answers shortly to Malkia's comment.  That Malkia would take first portion of her own kill was really so obvious that it didn't need saying, but perhaps Malkia thought a discreet warning was warranted.

"Anyway, thanks for the offer but if I'm going to eat prey, it'll be something I catch myself."

Satisfied with his preparations for camp, James stands and asks the others "I'm going to go for a short walk, see if I can't find us some supplies.  Any requests?"

James calls to mind an image of the Pattern and begins wondering how likely it might be for an unoccupied woodsman's hut to be located over the next rise.

"As you wish, Jim." and Malkia is gone, moving away from the city of light and glass at a trot, back along the way which had brought them here.

James too sets off to search for food, but taking a different path, one which leads him parallel to the valley, but below the crest, so that the main sign that the city is the light illuminating the clouds in the sky above it.  That, and the occasional traffic sounds, carried faintly by the gusting wind.

High overhead the stars are only dimly visible in the gathering dusk.  Far brighter are the winking red and green lights of an aircraft, heading out from the city, in the same general direction as James. 

Cyan, Berd, and a number of Banglen-Yps are left to keep the Archons company.  The original Banglen-Yp, that is the one that Cyan has known the longest, seems inspired by their current situation and is soon involved in telling a complicated story regarding something she saw once on the screen - a tale of young adults camping in the woods and encountering a man in a mask who, for no reason that the blonde woman feels is necessary to explain, proceeds to kill them using a series of grisly techniques.

The kitten, Nine Lives is curled in her lap, asleep.

The Archons, meanwhile, perhaps intrigued by Cyan's suggestion, seem more interested in each other, hanging in a group a little way off and communing silently.

Banglen-Yp suddenly breaks from her tale, just as a pair of young lovers were about to go into a tent together, and glances at the wheels, •• They are talking about what you said • about finding who was here first •• The idea fascinates some of them and bores others ••

James wanders off.  He soon picks up a game trail that leads him over the crest of the hill and out of sight of the camp.  As the light fades, he can see a faint glow coming through the trees, so he heads in that direction.  The Pattern, as always, provides.

Coming to the edge of a clearing, James stops to take stock of his surroundings.  He is looking across a bitumen carpark at a large building with an illuminated sign that reads "Overlook Hotel".  James feels a momentary sense of disorientation.  With all the variations in the myriad worlds, James is surprised to find that similarities as well as differences still have the ability to shock him.

There is only a single car in the carpark but the light above the front door is on, so there's probably somebody about.

James decides that his armour  will be a little too conspicuous, so he takes it off and finds a place to bury it amongst some fallen branches.  As James is rooting about he comes across a wallet.  Curious, and needing some local currency, James opens the wallet and finds the stub of an airline ticket, some cash and a driver's licence in the name of Richard Halloran.  The photo doesn't look anything like James, so the ID won't be of any use, but James pockets the cash after offering a short wish that the absent Mr Halloran won't miss it.

James considers for a long while before deciding to hang onto Gurthang.  The sword is too dangerous to be left lying around, it's likely to attract trouble.  James figures that is he can find something to disguise the hilt, he'll probably be okay.

Finally, James steps back to check his hiding spot and takes another look around the parking lot before breaking the cover of the trees and walking towards the front door.  James feels a bit self-conscious, riding for a couple of days in the same outfit doesn't leave you looking fresh, but he hopes the cash will be enough to make up for that.

OOC: In case you're wondering, it was that or Bates Motel, and the second answer is because sometimes I'm a glutton for punishment

Cyan glances with amusement at the kitten in Banglen-Yp's lap, knowing full-well it's far, far more than it seems.  Reaching up, she touches Berd on the head, and the drake grumbles in his sleep.  But the 'woman's' observation wipes the smile from her face, and she moves over to crouch next to the being they name Banglen-Yp.

"I am...surprised?  No, pleased.  I shouldn't be surprised."  She shoots a look at the group of Archons.  "With interests beyond survival, beyond conquering, there would come divergeance.  Certainly some would find this interesting, and I expect I might be surprised to discover which.  Or not.  The main thing is that with choices opening beyond the grip of power - thanks to a strong yet fair leader and the potential for each to carve out their own 'place' in this new possibility we offer - they find themselves curious to explore other options."

The smile returns, softer now.  "I am no proper judge for such things - nor do I have the right to judge - but it seems to be a more...comfortable life for them.  Less harsh.  After eons trapped within a prison, they deserve such a life."

It is easy to forget that the Archons themselves have been horribly abused.

She laughs quietly.  "Berd has met an archon who grew interested in art.  I wonder, then, what might the others discover worthy of exploring."  She slants a look at Banglen-Yp.  "A fine talent you have; I wish I could understand their language.  Thank you for illuminating me regarding their discussion."

James walks into the Overlook Hotel.  The lobby is mostly deserted, except for a sizeable collection of hunting trophies which regard him with glassy-eyed looks of disapproval from the walls.

The only other person in the room is a sandy haired young man, perhaps in his late teens or early twenties, behind the counter.  He wears a pair of thick-rimmed spectacles over not-quite flesh coloured eye-patch which covers his left eye and holds a padded dressing in place.  His red jacket was clearly intended for somebody larger.  He watches as James comes in, a thin book laying open and momentarily forgotten on the counter, the pages covered with colourful images and very little text.

He clears his throat, "Good evening, Sir, welcome to the Overlook.  How may I help you this evening."  It sounds stilted and awkward, as if he's rehearsed it too many times in front of a mirror. 

•• Their language comes from their shape • some of me have the shape and can hear their words •• This me hears what they hear •• Banglen-Yp says softly, watching as Nine Lives wakes, stretches, yawns, and is asleep again before his mouth is closed.  •• They have changed •• There was a time when they only thought of killing •• Of their own kind and others ••

She smiles, •• It now seems that this plan might work ••

•• Something we never thought possible ••

Cyan slowly nods along with Banglen-Yp's words, and as she does her eyes shift through many colours.  A pressure builds within her chest, and she struggles to form an answer around it.  "I had hoped...I hoped this journey might help.  That they would see things from a different perspective.  That the Myriad Worlds might...show them some of their wildness, their vast wonder."  Her smile twists.  "I thought I would need to die to show them.  I was ready.  So many dead already, so many on all sides."

Her gaze slips to the Archons, all discussing 'quietly' in a group, and something inside her cracks.

Abruptly Cyan finds herself weeping - not the enormous, wracking sobs she has suffered in the past, but silent tears pouring down her cheeks.  "I knew there was hope," she whispers.  "But now I finally see it."  Her head goes down on her knees and her shoulders shake.

Agitated, Berd climbs upon her shoulders and fusses with her hair, crooning quietly.  Reaching up, she blindly pats him, clumsy in the release of emotion.

Banglen-Yp cocks her head to one side and watches Cyan curiously.  She has seen tears before, on the screen, but they are not the same in the real world.  Less picturesque, for one thing, and seemingly less controlled.

And they leave the alien woman unsure what to do.

Consideration of the options soon rules out the likelihood of help from the Archons - if she, herself, almost human in her current form, doesn't know what to do, then it's seems impossible that the Archons, almost as alien as she and lacking a human form, would fare any better.

There is one here who is closer to Cyan in nature than any other.  Banglen-Yp's arms stretch out, extending and thinning, and deposit Nine Lives in Cyan's lap.  Young animals, the blonde woman recalls from the screen, can provide comfort.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:12, Tue 19 Nov 2013.

James approaches the counter and leans on it casually as he addresses the receptionist.  "Yeah.  Hi.  I was wondering if you do any take away food or have laundry facilities?  I've been hiking with some friends and we saw the light from the hotel here while we were setting up camp.  I thought I'd pop over and see if we couldn't supplement trail rations with something a bit tastier."

The young man seems a bit of an odd sort.  The jacket's probably just a wrong-sized uniform, but the eye injury makes James curious, though he's too polite to ask directly.  James settles for taking a glance at the book that's open on the counter.  Any local context would help make the conversation a little less awkward.

The young man, a badge on his lapel reads "Teddy", carefully places a slip of paper on his book, then closes it, revealing a cover that's just as brightly coloured as the interior.

"Well, Sir, you're in luck.  Another half hour and the kitchen would have been closed.  There's probably a limited selection at the moment.  We don't generally have many guests until the holiday weekend.  But I can call though and see what Charlie's got in."

He does just that, picking up a glossy black object from the desk and speaking into it.  After a brief and, from James' perspective, one sided conversation he puts his hand over the part he'd been speaking into.  "We can do you some sandwiches, or burgers.  Not much to choose from just now."

He nods towards a brightly lit glass fronted cabinet near one wall, with a large vaguely deer-like animal head above it, "Got plenty of different drinks in the chill cabinet though."

Back at the camp, Banglen-Yp looks away from Cyan, staring up at the sky.  A mournful howl drifts through the evening air.  Whatever produced it doesn't seem too far away.

Cyan accepts Nine Lives from Banglen-Yp's curious grasp, drawing the tiny(?) kitten in and cradling it.  A smile cracks her visage, even through the tears.  "Ah, thank you, Banglen-Yp.  You have been...a spot of light within all of this darkness. We could not have come near as far as we have without you."

She can't help but laugh, now.  It comes out a touch strangled, but true nonetheless.  "So many things have come together to bring us this far.  Luck?  Perhaps.  Or perhaps it has been people - of all forms and sizes, and on both sides of this conflict - working to raise themselves past expectations, to just do that little bit more to support each other in finding a way through this threat."  She holds up the kitten, staring into its wide eyes.  "Like this gift you have given me, Banglen-Yp.  You, who do not fully understand my kind, still trying to find a way to help."

She shudders once, a release of tension through her entire body, and goes back to hugging the small feline close.  Not too close, of course - no squeezing going on here.  On her shoulder, Berd doesn't protest the usurption of his ages-old position.  If it helps, it helps, and sometimes a daughter doesn't need her father trying to be a cute animal.

Cyan shoots a smile at Banglen-Yp.  "Hope is a curious thing.  Only when we have it can we truly feel the risk of loss, and its accompanying pain.  Yet far better that than the grey void of despair."

Banglen-Yp looks puzzled, •• If I can help • then why would I not help ••  A nod towards the kitten, •• Even he helps in his own way •• Who is to say that his help is not as important as mine or yours •• In the right place • and at the right time • his help might be exactly what is needed ••

•• It may be that something important will need to be napped upon ••

There is a stirring among the Archons.

•• They have decided that • if there is time before they move on to my home • some of them will search for signs of the first ones •• Harbonah finds the idea interesting ••

•• Perhaps that is all he ever needed • something to occupy his mind ••

"Sounds good to me." James was a little surprised to find this was entirely true.  Hours of riding had left him feeling as hungry as a peckish Berd (not a properly hungry Berd, though, that would be something else again).

"Burgers'd be good, but I'd probably just have a mess on my hands before I got back to camp."

James digs into his pocket and pulls out the cash he'd 'found' earlier.  He puts the money on the counter and hopes his exchange rates aren't too far out.  "D'you reckon this might do for a round of sandwiches and a bottle of something from the cabinet?"

Cyan offers Banglen-Yp a small smile.  "So many do not, Banglen-Yp.  Help, kindness...these things are rarely given freely.  To help, to aid, one must give of oneself; as such, many people instinctively shy from it.  Other are consciously greedy.  Not all, and some people do surprise...but it is less the norm than it should be."  She wipes the remains of the tears from her face.  "It is a fine thing that you are of the sort who does grant them without hesitation.  You will be a welcome guardian for the Archons and their new universe.  I have met...quite a few special people upon this journey; I count myself blessed."

Her fingers scratch the kitten's ears.  "We might all learn something from cats, I suspect."

She studies the Archons for a long moment.  "Perhaps you are correct about Harbonah.  Perhaps that is what ALL Archons require, much like any living thing.  They spent so long trapped in a hellish place, they may have lost everything but their base instincts - survived, rule.  Control becomes a necessity when there is none in one's life."  The bard laughs, a quiet, rueful sound.  "Harbonah also strikes me as the sort who despises chaos, who wishes for order.  Everything in its tidy place.  It's possible the random push and pull of his people's desperation offended him greatly."

Teddy relays James' order to the kitchen, with a few questions to clarify one or two details, then scribbles a series of figures down on a notepad, before splitting out some of the cash.  "This is plenty, Sir.  We aren't close enough to charge big city prices." he says with a grin.  A drawer behind the desk is opened, and the separated cash disappears, to be replaced some brass coins.

"And here's your change.  Help yourself to... " he pauses, as bright light sweeps in shines in through the windows, sweeping across the walls.  "Help yourself to drinks, they're all one price."  He seems distracted, trying to see out of the windows into the night beyond, "Busy night, for the time of year."

At the camp the Archons drift away from each other.  Some seem to be patrolling, while others appear to be drifting aimlessly, moving from place to place, pausing near a tree here, or a rock there.  One of them, one of the stained glass ones that is really a Banglen-Yp is following a moth.  Suddenly the brightly coloured wheel engulfs the insect, then darts away and releases it on the other side of the clearing.

And starts following it again.

The Banglen-Yp talking to Cyan frowns, •• Why would they not help •• By helping others you help yourself •• You gain friends who will help you in future •• And you feel good for helping ••

Cyan grins at the sight of the Banglen-Yp playing with a moth.  She isn't hurting it, really.  Her smile fades slightly at Banglen-Yp's question, growing a touch more wistful.  She ponders a moment, then smoothly rises to her feet, moving to hand Nine Lives back to the 'woman'.  "It is a question both easy and difficult to answer, Banglen-Yp.  The reasons are simple.  It is comprehending them when you do not feel such yourself, that is hard."

Taking two steps away, the Bard draws Fangmir, the unfamiliar sword heavy in her hand.  "I should practice," she murmurs as Berd makes a panicked lunge off her shoulder to the nearest tree-limb.

"Through their lives, people feel rejection.  They reach out as children, and are turned down.  Not at every turn, mind, but it is impossible for people to provide for every child's every want and desires.  This would be poor parenting, as well - it does not teach a child to be self-sufficient.  Rather, it teaches greed and selfishness."

She tests the blade's balance.  Perfect, of course, but weighted differently than both Kirilindë and Gurthang.  The bard attempts a few exploratory sweeps in the air.  The weapon may have been made for James' strength, but when he was younger.  Less seasoned.  While even that James would be stronger than her, Cyan is no weakling, capable of effortlessly hefting a strong man into the air one-handed and throwing him several paces.

She can manage this blade.

"But rejection hurts.  And children come to realize that there will always be rejection, in some way, and it always hurts.  Some learn to grow past this, to realize that rejection of a request is not a rejection of them.  Others do not.  They learn that to request leads to pain.  To open oneself to another leads to pain.  It is a lesson they find hard to break."

She begins a simple form.  Forms are nothing more than that, of course; they teach form.  Balance, footwork, blade control - all useful, but no substitute for real practice against a resisting opponent.  But for learning the ways of this sword, a form will suffice for now.

"At the same time, they encounter the fact that sometimes when they give, the other person does not give back.  This is life.  Perhaps the other person has no time.  Perhaps the other person, through a conflict of personalities, does not wish to give back or be a friend.  Perhaps it is situational.  Perhaps - and this is sadly all-too-common - the other person is of a sort who has grown selfish themselves, for whatever reason, be that pain in their heart, or a general malign bent.  But the lesson is still learned, whatever the root."

The sword becomes a wheel of silver in the air, echoing the shape of the archons for an instant.

"Sometimes when one gives, one loses."

She pauses, turning a sad smile to Banglen-Yp.  "And so these children grow into adults.  And as adults, if they cannot rise above these painful lessons of childhood, they may grow cold.  Closed in.  Greedy.  They have learned that if they wish to feel good, they must take that from others, not help others.  To help is to give.  Far easier to take.  One can take items.  One can also take worth - by putting down another, one makes oneself feel better...for a time.  It also brings guilt, somewhere inside, so one quickly must do so again, to keep the superior feeling, a vicious cycle difficult to break."

Moving through her form, she shakes her head.  "Ah, but there are many ways this manifests, too many for me to list.  And certainly people are not all this way - people are a mix, in general.  Some mostly giving, but at times selfish of their needs.  Others in the other direction.  Very few stand at each pole.  Certainly I have been guilty myself!" she notes with a small laugh.

"But in the end, it comes to this: it is easier, in the short run, to gain something - worth, items, respect - by taking it from others, than it is to put the effort into helping them.  Easier, but less lasting.  And damaging to oneself, for it is wrong, and the spirit knows this no matter the decisions of the mind.  Effort is needed in life.  All good things come with effort.  Some people realize this, and are perfectly willing to put in the effort, to make their lives and the worlds about them better places through hard work.  To create something lasting, for themselves and others."

The form ends.  Cyan slowly lowers Fangmir, her eyes glittering amethyst.  "But to those who learned the two painful lessons wrongly in their childhood, who have never grown above them, the effort is too costly.  Far better to seek the shortcuts, the easy solutions that never last, that only cause more pain within oneself and the world."

Her lips press together and she gives another sad shake of her head.  "It is a sorrowful thing."

The door opens, and a figure is silhouted against the lights on the porch.  A woman by the slim build and the height, a long dark coat pulled tight around her, and a hood drawn down low over her face as she advances into the hotel.

Gloved hands are raised to throw back the hood and reveal short red hair and blue eyes, and a sneer of contempt as she sees the hunting trophies.  The man who follows her in is burdened with enough baggage for three people, as well as a longbow, and a quiver of arrows.  His clothes are considerably more casual and rustic than the woman's.

He drops the bags near the door, causing the woman to sigh theatrically and roll her eyes, but retains the bow and arrows, and advances towards the desk, with a nod in James' direction.  His eyes flick back to Teddy, peering at his name tag, "Hello... er... Teddy.  We need a room for at least two nights, maybe longer.  Best room in the house, if possible."

As Teddy starts on the process of checking the guests in, James is left to wait for his food, as the woman watches him curiously...

Cyan tests the blade, moving it through forms and patterns which grow ever more complex as she grows accustomed to the feel of the weapon.  The weight pulls against her muscles in odd ways, drawing her arm out further to the side than normal, or pulling her forward so that her foot comes down six inches ahead of where she would normally place it after a step.

Banglen-Yp watches, holding Nine Lives where he can observe without getting in the way.  Like most cats, he finds rapid movement fascinating, right up until he doesn't... for the moment though, he does.  Eyes locked on the fast moving shiny thing.

And then another movement draws his attention.  An Archon moves close, but stops just out of reach of the blade.  + GENERAL.  WE HAVE FOUND SOMETHING WE BELIEVE YOU SHOULD KNOW ABOUT. +

James' attention is caught by the sweep of the headlights and he watches with interest as the woman and man enter.  As the man approaches the counter, James steps back to make room for him.

The woman's cloak and hood, not to mention the bow and arrows, strike James as anachronous but then James is discreetly screening a scabbarded sword with his legs, so it would be rather hypocritical to judge them on account of their equipment.  Mostly, James hopes their conversation with Teddy will give him some more clues about his current surroundings.

James crosses to the drinks cabinet and starts  to inspect its contents.  He is listening intently and tries to angle any convenient reflections to keep an eye on the woman.

The newcomer signs the register, and Teddy peers at it, evidently adept at reading inverted signatures.  "To be quite honest, Mister... Latimer, until the holiday weekend you can have any room in the Overlook.  A different one every day if you feel like it.  That's the best one though."  A key is placed on the register.

In the glass, James can see that the woman is watching him still.  Not that he needs the reflection.  He can practically feel her eyes boring holes in the back of his head.

"I see you're a bowman, Mister Latimer."

"Please, my friends call me Burton." and the woman's eyes shift from James to glare at her companion's back, lips twisted into a sneer of anger.  "The waiting time on a bow license is shorter than for a gun, and it's cheaper." Latimer says, with a high pitched chuckle, "And when you're out in the forest, a bow feels more... well, I guess the word would be intimate.  Closer to the target."

It's slow going, working with this blade.  Far heavier than Kirilindë and balanced differently than the Deathiron - a hand and a half sword - it will require further work to master.  Cyan pauses to consider James, experiencing something similar with Gurthang and hopes he practices dilligently.

The Deathiron has a way of living up to its name, occasionally with the wrong target.

She grins a the cat's fascination, but sobers when one of the Archons floats up to address her.  The bard ceases her form work, letting the sword-tip fall (but not to touch the ground) and studies the wheel in question.  Which is it?  She has some skill at discerning their identities after years working with them.

"Very well, sir."  Even after so long, to be addressed by an archon with that title...it brings back habits, memories, feelings.  For an instant, her body yearns for the encasement of Ares' armor, her fingers itch for the Deathiron's hilt.  Then Cyan blinks, her eyes lightening.  "What is this you have discovered?"

The Archon  says + PLEASE FOLLOW. + and moves away into the forest, with Cyan behind.  Not far, perhaps a hundred yards or so.  It's hard to see in the darkness beneath the trees, and the bard moves amidst a cacophony of cracks, thumps and rustles.  Which probably serves to keep the local wildlife at bay.

Suddenly there is a different sound.  A loud click as Cyan kicks something.  Another step, and another click.  Something pale gleams faintly in the gloom at her feet. Indistinct, but noticeably different from the forest floor.

Yet another step and there is another pale object.  And another a little to her left.

She raises her eyes to look ahead and sees a mound of them in the blackness, shining in what little starlight breaks through the canopy.  Harbonah swings in from somewhere, casting more light, and making it easier to see what is here.

Bones.  Thousands of them.  Human bones.

James straightens from his inspection of the drinks cabinet.  Opening it, he selects a bottle, largely on label design and the colour of the liquid inside, since he knows nothing of the local brands.  Closing the door again, he turns to regard the man and the woman more directly.

"Evening, folks.  Nice night out, don't ya think?"

Cyan cautiously paces after Left, following the Archon deeper into the forest.  Berd, back on her pack, sleepily opens one eye, then closes it again.  But his consciousness remains with her as she moves through the gloom.  Cyan isn't exactly quite - she could be, though not as silent as some - and it means her footfalls and quiet crack of broken branches are the only sounds amidst the trees.

Until, that is, she encounters something new.

Harbonah's burning aura opens up hellish vista before her, and Cyan sucks in a breath.  "No," she whispers.  "What matter of horror has transpired here?"  Her jaw set tight, the bard slowly drops into a crouch; far behind her, Berd's head comes up, his narrowed eyes burning with a hot, angry light.  Reaching down, his daughter carefully picks up a bone for examination then replaces it with another, and another, all plucked and returned to their place of rest with the greatest of care.

"Is this their graveyard...or a dumping ground?" she breathes.

Cyan examines the scene carefully - a broad - perhaps some thirty feet across - shallow depression in the forest floor, filled with bones.  All manner of bones, but the skulls that she can see are human, no animal skulls.  A few bones are scattered around the depression, but the vast majority lay within it.


The man turns to look at James, and smiles, "Good evening, friend.  Name's Burton Latimer.  Friends call me Burton.  My companion's name is Constance.  We're pleased to meet you.  And, yes, it's a beautiful evening for the time of year."

The woman actually looks less than pleased, though not at James.  "Come along, Dear.  Don't waste any more of their time with your chatter."

"Now Constance, I'm just being friendly with Mister... ah...  What is your name, friend?"

"This is..."  Cyan turns a bone over and over in her hands for a long moment before carefully replacing it where it rested.  She closes her eyes and breathes out deeply.  "I see no marring of the bones.  There are some with signs of injury, but they are old injuries, suffered long before death - possibly an accident through which the person survived."

Her amber eyes open, narrowed.  "I feel no rancor here.  No hate in how the bones have been laid.  Merely lack of care.  If the people were slain, it was by some means other than physical force, and their bodies were carried here."

She bites her lips.  "It is...perplexing.  This is a great deal of people...but not sufficient to be a burial area for an entire town or city.  So why?  From where do they come?"

Frustrated, she sits back on her heels.  "Perhaps James has ferreted out some clue in his sojourn into the city."  Her fingers slip into the pouch at her waist, by feel removing the card of the Weary Soldier from her deck.

James' palanquet.

Raising it, Cyan focuses.  "James.  It is Cyan."  It is unlikely he can identify her, but she hopes.  And, of course, it is polite. "James."

"I'm James.  It's a pleasure to meet you, too."  James extends a friendly hand to Burton.

"But, please, don't let me keep you if there's something you need to be doing.  I'm just waiting for some sandwiches from the kitchen."

As Cyan calls on James' palanquet, he tenses momentarily.  It is not that the contact is unwelcome, rather he is wary about how the others present, and Constance in particular, might view his behaviour if he were to accept the call.

Here, Cyan.  Got some locals with me.  Give me a minute.  James is unsure whether the message will get back to Cyan, but he needs to buy some time.

James briefly considers his options.  He could pretend to be speaking on a mobile phone but that might be inconsistent with local technology.  In the end, James decides one of the old excuses might be best.

"Sorry, Teddy, is there a bathroom I could use?"

"Yes, sir." Teddy replies, "Through that door and straight down to the end of the corridor.  Door on the left."

Burton Latimer, meanwhile, seems to be engaged in an intense, though hushed, discussion with Constance.  The woman appears to be doing most of the talking, and does not give the impression that she's happy.

James pushes through the door and walks along the corridor. 

Left veers in closer to Cyan, + WE CONCUR.  OUR FIRST THOUGHT WAS A BATTLE, BUT THE BONES ARE UNDAMAGED FOR THE MOST PART, AND APPEAR TO REPRESENT INDIVIDUALS OF DIFFERENT AGES, SOME TOO SMALL TO BE EFFECTIVE WARRIORS.  AND NOT ALL WERE PUT HERE AT THE SAME TIME, WHICH WOULD BE THE CASE WITH A BATTLE. +

"Some sort of burial ground?" Cyan wonders.  "An area to place bodies of those lost to a sickness, away from the people of the city?"  Her lips thin.  "Sacrifice?  I cannot determine.  Though perhaps there is one who can."

She settles back onto her heels, still crouched.  "For we are not alone.  And I do not think it is James' presence through the palanquet."  The card remains cold in her hand - she has a feeling of James' presence, but nothing of his thoughts or words.  Still, she holds onto the artifact and directs a portion of her consciousness toward keeping it reaching out for James, the vibrations humming through the Underflow to reach him.

Her emerald eyes narrow, and she peers through the undergrowth surrounding herself.  "If you are there, please make yourself known," Cyan calls, as always preferring the direct approach.  "We mean no harm, and seek only to pass through your lands."

Left expands suddenly, and yet manages to avoid damaging any of the nearby trees.  A moment later the rest of the accompanying Archons, including Harbonah and the stained glass one which is really a Banglen-Yp come howling through the forest and arrange themselves around Cyan.  While most are clearly aggressive, the glass Archon's howl seems to contain a definite note of glee.

They are a little less careful than Left, and there is some damage, including a small fire in the branches of something that resembles an oak.

+ WE SENSE NOTHING AMISS, GENERAL.  DO YOU DETECT SOMEBODY NEARBY? +  Left moves about erratically, concerned...

Harbonah starts to perform a slow circuit above the bone pit.

+ THIS IS... CURIOUS. +

"I sense..."  Cyan frowns.  "A presence.  I am not my father, and as such cannot detect its location.  It might even be James, through our tenuous contact."  She raises the palanquet.  She grimaces at the burning parts of the oak.  "If someone could put that out, please...it would be best not to disturb any forest, and this seems to possibly be some kind of burial ground."

Her eyebrows rise as Harbonah makes his own observation.  "Is it merely the bones, sir, or have you seen something we have missed?"

Even as she questions, Cyan focuses on James' palanquet - not merely to contact the man, but additionally to empower as a defense against magic and other hostile, preternatural intrusions.

James walks down the corridor and takes whichever door most closely matches Teddy's description.  Finding himself in a bathroom, James turns on a couple of taps, quite hard, and retires to whatever passes for a toilet cubicle in these parts.  Only then does he accept the palanquet contact.

"Hello Cyan, odd things afoot, so we'd best be brief.  I've found a hotel and ordered us some food.  Also met a couple of hunters, the gent prefers bows to guns and the lady has a lovely smile, pointed.  I've made an excuse to get some privacy but I still feel like I'm being watched, which shouldn't be possible using conventional means.  Starting to wish I hadn't left my armour outside."

"What's up at your end?"

Harbonah stops his circuit above the bones, + THESE BONES ARE CURIOUS, YES.  SO MANY OF THEM, FROM NO FEWER THAN TWO THOUSAND INDIVIDUALS, OF ALL AGES.  THE BONES, TOO, ARE OF ALL AGES, SOME HAVE BEEN HERE FOR SEVERAL CENTURIES. +

+ THEIR CONDITION IS ALSO CURIOUS.  THEY HAVE NOT BEEN BURIED, AND YET THEY HAVE NOT BEEN DAMAGED BY ANIMALS.  ONLY THOSE FEW THAT LAY BEYOND THE PIT SHOW SIGNS of BEING... 'GNAWED' IS, WE BELIEVE, THE WORD.  SOMETHING ABOUT THE PIT, PERHAPS, DRIVES AWAY THE FOREST BEASTS. +

The Archon recommences his circling, + OR PERHAPS IT IS THE WATCHER...  WE, TOO, CAN FEEL THAT WE ARE BEING OBSERVED.  WE FEEL IT ALMOST AS STRONGLY AS WE FEEL THE PAIN OF DEATH IN THE BONES. +

For a moment, Cyan focuses.  There.  James.  "Bide an instant - James bespeaks me.  Left - can you bring his armor here?"

When she replies, it is aloud for the benefit of her companions.  For James' sake, she concentrates hard, and in the contact the image of her grows steady, along with that of her surroundings.

"James, a fine thing to find you whole, if not in ideal conditions."  A relief, truly.  "We have found what appears to be a burial site, or a ritual site, where bones have been left out for...hundreds of years, by the sound of it.  Untouched by animals.  Additionally, we find ourselves watched - both Harbonah and I have sensed a presence.  Possibly similar to the one watching you, if not the same?"

Her lips thin.  "I like this separation not at all.  I might bring you here, or we might come to you - all of us.  And should you not agree, I might send your armor to you."  It's a poor bandaid to James' situation, but better than nothing.

The bard's ruby eyes flick to the circling lord of the Archons.  His observations are fascinating, disturbing, and bring about still more questions. "You...feel the pain of death in the bones?  What sort of death?  How is it that you can do this, if I might ask?"

Back to James. "What say you, James - come here, or us go there?  Or I, at least, send your armor to you, and perhaps Berd to boot?  Or shall I open myself to this presence, see what it might make of an offer to discuss?"

Berd...father, I need you here.

The door opens, and footsteps enter the bathroom.  Quietly moving about outside the cubicle, pausing every few steps.  After a few moments water starts to run in the sink.  Then it shuts off, and there is silence.  A long pause, and the footsteps begin again, followed by the door opening and closing... 

+ IT IS JUST SOMETHING WE HAVE LEARNED TO DO. +  Archons have no shoulders in the wheel form, but the shrug can be heard in Harbonah's words.  + WE HAVE ENJOYED INFLICTING PAIN AND MISERY, AND LEARNED TO DETECT IT IN OTHERS.  BUT NOTHING SO CLEAR AS TO SUGGEST THE MANNER OF THEIR DEATH.  IF A HUMAN CHILD CALLED TO YOU FROM ANOTHER ROOM AND TOLD YOU, IT HURTS, AND NOTHING MORE, COULD YOU EASILY DETERMINE THE SOURCE OF THEIR PAIN?  THIS IS SIMILAR, BUT THE OTHER ROOMS ARE YEARS IN THE PAST. +

Left howls away through the forest to retrieve James' armour.

Cyan winces.  Every time she thinks she's ready to set the past behind her, something jars her.  Violently.  This time, it's Habonah's words.  She'd say 'confession', but he's not exactly treating it as a crime.

Almost she makes comment on it, but...there is a larger picture, here.  Whatever his predilections in the past, Harbonah is now working toward peace.  She will stop him from 'indulging' if he sees fit to make the attempt, but otherwise it boots nothing to confront him.  Rather, it would threaten this thing they are attempting to end the cycle of violence.

With an effort, she lets it pass.

"Thank you, Lord Harbonah.  Enlightening."  It's a touch stiff, but the best she can manage given the circumstances.  "Our host, or watcher at least, still sees fit not to make itself known.  My hope is that my father might be capable of discerning more than I."

Even then, at the campsite Berd slowly raises his head.  His eyes burning the dim light, and he pushes himself to his feet.  A moment passes, then the drake leaps into the air...to settle back down atop James' armor.

After all, if Left is already bringing it to Cyan and there is no immediate hurry, what's the point in exerting himself?

"You'd better bring me through," James decides, "I'm not comfortable about this either and while the guests here are interesting, I think your find is more important.  Besides, I can't imagine the sandwiches are worth the risk."

James stands and waits for Cyan.  He hopes his disappearance won't cause too much trouble for the hotel staff.  James doesn't think it likely, since he wasn't a guest, but it would be awkward if they launched a search.

"Absolutely, James," Cyan replies, reaching out.  "Let us not waste any more time."

Best to get things done swiftly, with James in a potentially dangerous situation.

Left drops down to enfold James' armour, and the passenger coiled upon it...

Cyan reaches through the palanquet and takes James' hand.  She pulls, and there is a flare of rainbow light, and James is suddenly standing in the forest next to her, and to a broad hollow, filled with bones.

And in the same moment Harbonah howls in what seems like pain, and Cyan slumps to the ground, unmoving...

James steps forward, Harbonah screams and Cyan collapses, all of a moment.  It happens so fast that James is still holding Cyan's hand as she crumples to the ground.

James' assumes they are under attack.  Instinctively, he sweeps the bone field in an attempt to identify their assailants and releases Cyan's hand to reach for Gurthang.

"Harbonah, what's happening?!  Berd, search and defence!  Left?  Left, where are you?!"

Whether any of the three are in a position to hear, or of a mind to appreciate, James' hasty orders is an open question, but the ossuary feels like a fight or, worse, a trap and James is in no mood for niceties.

Harbonah doesn't answer... too busy howling and darting about aimlessly, it seems.  And yet the Archon does not seem angry.  Afraid would be a better description, if he were human.

Left comes spinning in through the woods, drops flat on the ground, then rises to leave a ring of torn earth and James' armour behind.  An extremely shaken Berd sprawls ungracefully across the suit, and looks about, blinking confusedly.  Left drops to snatch up Cyan, concealing her.  Then the bladed Archon begins to describe rapid circles centred on James... and more Archons start to appear, summoned to help drive off whatever is attacking.

They circle, seemingly unable to find any target for their hostility.

James, meanwhile, can detect no immediate threat, beyond Harbonah's somewhat erratic movements, and at least he is well above the man's head.

In accord with James' command, Berd shakes off his stupor and raises his head, eyes burning brightly.

I/Berd {hear/attend}, (Heavyhand/Scarspirit/designate: Commander).

A Bridging unfolds, offered to James and...after a moment's consideration, any Archon who will accept.  Join with me for defense, should you choose comes the drake's mindvoice, its customary chaos now narrowed to a needlepoint of focus.

It is spirits, I believe.  Spirits of those who have passed on, or echoes of their spirits at the least.  James, you and I have encountered this before.  There is no malice, only fear, possibly of the flare of energies when Cyan brought you here, James.  My daughter was overcome by their terror - it struck her squarely.

But this was not an attack.

Berd's own mindshields are focused, holding off the fear washing over him.

His consciousness expands, whispering through the aether surrounding them.  Calm, calm, we are not enemies, we travel, we seek, we greet, nothingmore.  Sorrow for disturbing your rest, for shattering the peace with the energies we have wielded.  We wish no harm for your ground, your place, your home.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:41, Mon 10 Feb 2014.

Most of the Archons present slip into the bridging, the one exception being Harbonah, who still seems agitated.  The other Archons seem unaffected by the situation, and are operating as a coordinated defence, spinning through the forest in concentric circles centred on Cyan.

Harbonah is definitely on edge, about a dozen feet above the ground and darting about, seemingly at random.

+ WE FIND NO ENEMY. + Left pronounces, after a few moments consultation with the others, + YET HARBONAH CLEARLY SENSES SOMETHING, AND THE GENERAL HAS FALLEN. +

A spinning wheel of stained glass approaches, and shifts to become Banglen-Yp, before moving to lean over Cyan.  The bard groans and starts to stir.

"What's happening Jim?  I smelled smoke and heard the racket, and came as fast as I could.  I see that your friend set fire to a tree."  Malkia pads out from among the trees and wonders, "Is that normal behaviour?  Why does it howl like that?"  She watches Harbonah closely as the Archon continues its random dance above the bone pit.

James relaxes slightly and sheathes Gurthang.  Berd and Left can find no enemy, only disturbed spirits.  The bridging, which James joins upon its being offered, offers the combined psychic defence of Berd and the Archons; the Archons also offer a perimeter defence, while James and Banglen-Yp are both in a position to defend Cyan, if necessary.  All in all, their position is about as good as could be hoped for and James is confident that if the spirits cannot be appeased the group should at least be able to retreat in good order.

"Not sure, Malkia.  Berd senses the spirits of the slain.  In their fear they may have lashed out at Cyan.  Harbonah, though, that's a worry." And indeed it is a grave concern that Harbonah should be so oblivious to his surroundings as to accidentally set fire to a tree.  James can't find it in himself to be sorry for whatever discomfort the Archon is feeling but it would be disastrous for the greater purpose if Harbonah was injured or slain.

James calls out, "Harbonah, you need to focus.  Move away if you need to."

James' voice seems to strike something in Harbonah.  Perhaps it is the man's knowledge of command and the giving of orders, but some element seems to break through the Archon's confusion, and the burning wheel stops its erratic movements.

+ SO MUCH  PAIN.  SO MUCH FEAR.  THE... BEAST FEEDS UPON US.  DEVOURS US.  ALL THAT WE WERE IS GONE.  SAVE ONLY THE PAIN AND THE FEAR. +

And then, howling, he launches himself skywards.  At least he seems to retain enough control to avoid hitting anything on the way up.

"Well, that was... odd.  Do you think he was talking about these spirits that you mentioned?"  Malkia moves closer to the bones, and sniffs delicately at the air above them.  Then raises her head to test the air in general.

"I detect nothing, not even the scent of decaying meat.  These bones have been here a long time, Jim, and have been well cleaned."

"The woman is waking."

Confused, Berd reaches out with his mind, seeking after the vanishing Archon.  Well, one of his minds.  The hydra-mind continues to gently seek to open communication with the mass of spiritual echoes surrounding them, while continuing to protect the group as best it can.

Beast.  What beast?  It seems evident Harbonah speaks for the spirits themselves, for Berd has no sense of an actual attack upon the Archon, and his words dovetail well with the sensations that overwhelmed Cyan.  Is it possible these bones are not those of a burial, but rather the discards of a predator, one of a singular nature?  One which feeds upon not merely the flesh, but the spirit?

Groaning, Cyan fumbles about - a dangerous proposition around danioti and clutches at her forehead.

One massive paw extends, and claws like vicious curved knives serve as a gaff to gently extract a femur from the mass of bones.  "Very clean." Malkia opines, "I don't even smell marrow."

Harbonah's powerful mind, open to seeking sensations in the area...Cyan's own mind, open as well, especially due to use of the palenquet.  Is it possible that they, of those here, had sufficient sensitivity and lack of defenses at that time the that feelings of the spirits have overwhelmed them?

Harbonah, Berd surmises, might well be totally unaccustomed to such things.

Malkia...please reposition the bone in its resting place when you have finished your examinations.  Something terrible happened here, and the remnants of the spirits of those who fell have grown agitated at our presence.

Part of his mind wings high, seeking out Harbonah.  Lord Harbonah.  Speak to me.  I would hear your thoughts.  He could offer to assist, and will, but to do so early might spike the pride or defenses of such a being.  I have determined no danger exists...only old pain.  Please, Lord Harbonah, assist me in understand what transpires.

Perhaps a request for aid of his own might open a door for communication between Berd and the master of the Seraphim.

Below, another mind of the hydra opens to the space surrounding him, waves of sorrowful comfort flowing forth from it.  Softly, spirits.  I am here.  I hear your pain.  I feel it.  The thoughts come more as concepts rather than language, the diminished entities possibly beyond more complicated sendings.  No harm.  Help.  I would help you.  Calm, and come to me.

Taking a risk, that portion of the hydra-mind opens to the spirits, letting forth Berd's inner spirit - lazy and greedy for food is his surface, nothing more.  Beeath that lies a depth of compassion and care, with no anger to drive the spiritual echoes into terror once again.  The hydra-mind is vulnerable here, for a moment, but it holds the way into the bridging barred, to keep safe those who have chosen to link with it.

It could be dangerous, but if Cyan could weather the assault without injury, Berd feels his own, stronger mind should be able to manage even if the spirits throw themselves into it.

It will not, however, be pleasant.

"That's good to know, Malkia."  Berd is right about the bone, of course, but there is no need to offend Malkia by repeating the little dragon's  request.

James briefly wonders whether it is possible to extract the marrow without damaging the bone or whether it is simply a matter of the marrow degrading over time, but it doesn't seem immediately relevant so he turns his mind to other things.

Crouching beside Cyan, James rests a hand on her shoulder.  "Cyan, it's okay.  Just lie still for a moment."  James is confident enough of the danioti's skill and speed that he's not concerned Cyan will be injured by some accidental collision but James judges that it would be better for Cyan, and for Berd's attempts at appeasement, for her to rest.

Malkia uses a paw to flip the bone back into the pit.  "Spirits you say?  Interesting.  Rarely deal with spirits myself, other than those of prey, which must be thanked, and informed of the honour of their death."

Cyan's eyes are open now, but she follows James' instruction and lays still.  She appears confused. 

High above, Harbonah starts to descend, his course wavering and erratic...

"What...where?"  Utterly confounded, Cyan stares up at James, her eyes wide and an odd shade of pale amethyst.  Almost colourless, in fact.  But they begin to darken almost immediately, and she places one cold hand atop his own.  "Is anyone injured?" is her first, worried question.  "Are you well, James?  I know not what has passed - how long have I been unconscious?  I felt fear.  Terror, even.  But not my own, I think."

At least James has arrived safely; it seems she succeeded before being struck down.

Harbonah returns, Berd announces, but only to the group.  Join us, but quietly, Lord Harbonah.  These spirits are easily frightened by any disturbance of the bones, and possibly by the appearance of strangers as well.  I would know what has transpired here, to better understand what I must do to aid them.

Another mind carefully studies the spirits, even as a third bespeaks them - calmly, quietly, and with respect.  No harm, Berd repeats.  I would help you, if I can.  I must understand, first.  Why are you here?  What has happened?  Are you trapped, that I might free you?  Is this your resting place we have disturbed, that we might leave it in peace?  Will you speak?  Can you speak? 

Even as he asks the questions, the mind observing the spirits begins to seek further.  It searches for answers - tethers holding them, echoes in their substance of what has taken place, reasons for their fear.

As Harbonah moves lower, he diminishes in size, and fades considerably.  By the time he is describing a wavering circle around the bones, and no more than four feet above the ground, he would sit comfortably in James' hand (comfortably for him åerhaps, not James - the Archon, while much dimmer than usual is stillember-hot).

His voice, even over the link is quieter than usual.  + THAT WAS UNPLEASANT.  A SENSATION WITH WHICH WE ARE UNFAMILIAR.  OR RATHER, THAT IS TO SAY WE HAVE EXPERIENCED FEAR, BUT ONLY IN THOSE WE HAVE ENCOUNTERED.  NEVER BEFORE IN OURSELVES.  IT ROBBED US OF ALL CONTROL. +

The Archon sounds almost ashamed...

"Fear," Cyan hoarsely whispers.  "'Unpleasant'.  Well put, Lord Harbonah.  Indeed, it robs control - not only from you, but from all who experience it.  Also dignity.  Self-respect.  Resisting it is a most difficult task.  It is a mechanism for self-preservation, but like many feelings, when it grows past a certain point it becomes destruction."

She shakes her head.  "Living in fear...there is little worse."

His shame...is it from his own actions here?  Or the fear he engendered in others?

Or his lack of understanding until now?

They were slain, Berd whispers over the link. Lured here by a predator, a being that consumed their blood and marrow.  In death, their spirits became anchored to their bones.  Trapped.

They cannot continue on.

Small wonder they know such terror - they died in appalling pain, in utter horror, and now face an eternity of such.

Feel their fear and know this is not right.

His own spirit reaches out to enfold the surrounding echoes as best he can.  I am here, now.  I will help.  You need not remain trapped here, locked in this horror.  I will free you, that you may move on.

And I will see to it that this does not happen again.

Deep within his slow, heavy sorrow at their plight, there burns a bright flame of anger for this crime.

Calm yourselves.  Come to me.  I will seek an answer to this, a way to unlock your prison.

One of his minds breaks off the others, beginning an in-depth examination of the spirits to determine how to unravel their bonds without harming them.  It may be impossible.  But Berd has determined to try.

As Berd seeks more information, Harbonah, the habits of his life hard to break, commands the Archons to spread out through the forest and keep watch for potential danger.  There is some hesitance to comply with his order.  Only when Left issues a curt + DO IT! + do they wheel away through the trees...


One of the Archons comes spinning out of the darkness beneath the trees and stops before Left.  + TWO HUMANS APPROACH.  MALE AND FEMALE.  THE FEMALE IS... STRANGE. +

Part of Berd continues to study the spirits, deeply concerned.  While releasing them from the force binding them here will allow them to move on - even if that proves possible - they might not wish to do so.  They are attached to this place in a way difficult to describe.

Another part of him continues to bespeak the spirits.  Tell me more.  Speak to me of what happened to you.  Show me.  Let me know and understand you.  If he can see...if he can understand the finer details...perhaps it might prove possible to fully free them from the shackles binding them here.

The rest of him shifts to full alert.

No hostile moves.  The beings who approach exceed us in power.  They are old, and tremendously potent.  I had not thought to meet something of this strength...here.

They may be those responsible for this horror.  If so, I am uncertain what we might do to aid the spirits.  Flight may be our only recourse.

He maintains his present shielding and shrouding about those who have joined the bridging, but does nothing further.  Panicked attempts to bolster defenses may only indicate weakness to those who come; it's better to remain a mystery, that they might approach in cautious curiosity, themselves.

Though why they would feel caution, Berd is unsure.  There are beings in this vast multiverse of Myriad Worlds, he has discovered, of great antiquity.  Things of terrible power and age.  He has met some.  Seen others.  Seen the passage of more of them, and the echoes of that passage.  The Lords of Order and Chaos believe they stand upon the pinnacle; Berd knows they are wrong.  They are young, by comparison.  Young, and terribly limited for all their pride.  And now, two more of these elder beings approach.  The weight of their might is heavy upon his senses, and an idle thought drifts through the drake's head; at his greatest, eons ago in another...place, they might have proved difficult to overcome.

It doesn't bode well for the current situation.

Minutes pass, and two figures step out of the forest.  The woman's face is stern, and her eyes burn with anger.  The man... the man sways, unsteady on his feet, and his eyes are glazed.  His mouth hangs open, slack jawed and drooling. 


The woman stops as she catches sight of the group near the bone pit, and her mouth twists into a snarl which shows unusually sharp canines, "This is my feeding place.  Why are you here?  Leave now."
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:38, Tue 11 Mar 2014.

Behind his defenses, Berd shudders.

The 'woman''s power is immense.  Merely the aura of her arrival has put pressure upon his spiritual defenses, such that he must expend effort to keep them in place.  It doesn't bode well, since the creature has yet to actually take action.

And yet.

She doesn't know them.  She might even be surprised at their presence.  That she arrived with prey in-hand may indicate they have caught her off her guard.  For all her power, she may not be as capable as Berd himself at ferreting out information.

A lot of 'mays'.  He doesn't like that part.  But it 'may' be the only chance they have - lack of knowledge, even in a being of such might, could lead to a more cautious approach.

He disdains the Underflow at present.  If the being has no knowledge of such a place, Berd does not wish to alert her.  Instead, still secure behind his shrouding, the drake sends out his requests.  Join your minds with my own for defense.  Let all hold this aegis as one.  Keeping this creature from knowing our true nature, keeping her from breaching our defenses, might be our only true weapon - failure leads to fear, fear might lead to retreat.

Lips thin, eyes a too-pale sapphire, Cyan slowly climbs to her feet, one hand on James' shoulder.  I am here, father.  And James holds the Deathiron.  Its edge cuts magic and power as easily as it does steel, and its blows cannot be ignored.

Part of Berd reaches out.  Carefully, cautious, it begins to slowly take up the reins of control of this world, seeking to hold mastery of its laws and environment.  But under stealth.

"We are travellers," Cyan states, leaving Berd seated where he is.  An alien lizard, nothing more...or so she hopes.  "We came upon this, all unknowing.  Who are you?"
This message was lightly edited by the player at 12:24, Wed 12 Mar 2014.

"I am... " and an ear shattering vibrato shriek, "I am the Hunter of this Land, from Western Strait to Grass Sea, from Bay of Ice in the north to Stone Wall in the south.  I have held title to it since my parent passed over, one hundred centuries ago, and my line has held title, by Right of Conquest and Decree of Peace, for a hundred times that."

"This is my feeding place, and you are not welcome here.  You interrupt my meal."

James grits his teeth against the impact of the Hunter's proclamation.  He is already linked to the bridging and is as committed to its defence as his faculties allow.

In light of Berd's estimation of the Hunter's power, James quickly reviews the available resources.  He has the Pattern but he's loath to bring it fully to mind as he's not sure how the Archons in the bridging would respond; his armour is here but not on, it would be of little assistance against a creature of this power anyway; Deathiron, as Cyan notes, is a powerful tool and likely the best chance James has if he can close with the creature before it recognises the threat.

And for all that, James struggles not to simply say, 'Hello, Constance'.  Grand titles and claims to authority always left James a little cold.

"As my friend says, we are travellers.  We do not know of your Right of Conquest or Decree of Peace but neither do we have any reason to doubt them.  Our concern is that the spirits of your previous...meals are trapped here.  If that is not your intent, then it may be possible for us to free them and leave you in peace." Malkia, at least, would probably defer to a stronger predator's claim to territory.

If it is her intent, we may have a problem. James observes dryly to those in the bridging.  Those are the two I met at the hotel.  Constance and Burton Latimer.  Poor Burton was rather more talkative the last time I saw him.

The woman turns her head to regard James, "I saw you at the hotel, and then you were gone.  You are not from here.  In fact I am not sure what you are, or where you come from."

"I don't understand what you mean by spirits.  I take the flesh and blood and leave the bone, which I can not consume.  I have... wait... "

She cocks her head to one side, "One of you tried to change the toka-ka-ri of my feeding place.  Why?  Do you challenge me?  Here, where I am at my strongest?" 

A hand extends, one finger pointed, and she sweeps it in an arc, pausing for an instant at each of the individuals facing her, until it reaches Berd.  "There."

Then the same finger indicates Banglen-Yp, though the eyes are  fixed on Berd, "That one is like me, in a way." then flicks to Malkia, "And that one."

"Would you enter their feeding places and challenge them regarding what they eat?"

"They had better not bloody try." mutters the lioness.

Berd sits up straighter and stares back at the woman.  So much for any advantage he might have had.  His control over the world around them has rendered useless; much like he, himself can do through access to the Underflow, the woman has solidified the area.

He can no long twist it to his will.  Disconcerting, to say the least.

Terrifying, in fact.

"There is no challenge," Cyan quietly states, stepping slightly away from James.  "But the spirits of the people - their souls, their essence - they remain, locked in a cycle of pain and fear.  They suffer, here, linked to this place.  We seek to free them."

Problem: free them they might, but the creature will continue to consume.

Constance.  Well-pleased am I you avoided her, James.  I know not what to do about her.  Her power here is significant, Cyan notes through the bridging.  Beyond Berd's own, at present.  And though my father has yet to reach into the Underflow, it's doubtful that would prove sufficient.

"As I have said, I know nothing of these spirits.  I feed at the appointed times each year, on every equinox, and leave the stripped bones here so that others of my kind will not try to claim my territory." Constance, to give her a more pronounceable name, stands straighter, drawing herself up to her full height, "I do nothing more than this.  I am not some vile defiler of the dead, and I would not dishonour those I feed upon."

"How many of your kind are there," Malkia rumbles, "that you feel you must guard your territory so  dilligently?"

"Since the Decree of Peace, we have controlled our numbers most carefully to avoid destroying our food supply.  At present there are about one million of us in this world."

"One million?"

"It is carefully controlled.  Our food outnumber us by a hundred times that."

She steps forward, to the very edge of the pit.  The man with her stays were he is, still looking dazed, and swaying slightly.

"Glad I am that you do not challenge me on my own territory, where I am at my strongest." again the emphasis on her own strength, "And it is my territory.  This is my home.  My people were building cities here, formulating laws, like the Decree of Peace, creating art, writing literature... while these humans, our prey, were still daubing themselves with mud and the blood of other creatures and endeavouring to discover the secret of creating fire, rather than waiting for lightning to strike a tree."

A pause for that to sink in, then, "They are our food, and always have been.  We guided them, bred them much as they breed cattle to improve the stock.  We culled the weak, and ensured that choice bloodlines mingled.  And we controlled their civilisation, so that they learned how to better tend to themselves - so that they would know how to farm their own food, and create their own medicines, and the devices that make their lives better."

Every equinox.  So two a year then, assuming Earth-normal solar activity.  Not so many, perhaps, but multiplied by a million?  That was quite a spike in 'missing persons' if the others kept to a similar feeding pattern.

Really, though, there was little to be done.  Burton had been a hunter, now he was the prey.  As much as James found it distasteful, there were certain parallels.

"If I may, I have a proposal.  We will leave now so you may feed in peace.  but we will return once you are finished and see what may be done for the spirits of the deceased.  To honour the dead, if you like."

"I believe that we can do what needs to be done without disturbing the bones and we would, in any case, not do anything to challenge your rights.  You may, of course, stay, if you wish, to ensure we don't accidentally transgress."

Across the bridging, James adds With an ounce of luck we might even teach her how it's done, for that's surely the only hope we have of making a broader difference here.  It would take years just to find the other feeding grounds.

Cyan listens in silence as James makes his proposal.  This isn't their world.  This isn't their business.  This is predator and prey.  Do they have the right to interfere?  Possibly.  Certainly they have the right to try to help deal with the fallout from the creature's predation.

But they cannot stop this, that is certain.

Agreed, James.  Loathe am I to admit it.  I despise this sort of predation, but here it is nature.  Setting aside our lack of capacity to challenge these beings, it is the way of things in this world.

I yearn for worlds where living, thinking beings do not prey upon one another, do not raise one another for foodsources.  Do not keep one another in slavery.  And yet, so few have chosen this path.

I can only strive for something higher.  A mental sigh echoes over the bridging.

"It is good that you have...cared...for these people, in your own way," she carefully notes.  "But their spirits suffer after death.  We can show you this suffering, should you desire, or should you not believe.  It is a simple matter.  After this, we would, as James states, do what we can to alleviate their pain."

The woman seems fixated upon the idea of strength and territory.  To hold, even against her own kind, presumably?  This reminds her of the Jaghut, after a fashion.

We cannot allow them to become cognizant of methods of travel to other worlds, Cyan warns.

"We know nothing of these spirits." Constance affirms, her face a mask of confusion, "These humans are our food, and have been for so long that some of us have speculated that we no longer have the ability to feed on anything else.  Still we care for them, as any wise farmer cares for his stock, so if you believe that you can improve their existence in some way, then I am prepared to listen to you."

Then her voice hardens again, "Know, though, that I will brook nothing that lessens my own hold on this land.  If I sense anything that makes me weaker, or taints the land or its people, then I will stop you."

Malkia clears her throat with a low growl, "Perhaps I can explain?  I, too, am a predator.  When I hunt, I honour my prey.  I tell it who I am, and why it must die to provide me with sustenance.  I tell it that it will live in my memory, and that by dying it has saved the life of another of its kind.  And I treat it with respect."

"I believe that is what Jim is proposing to show you.  It should not affect your control of this place."

Cyan stays out of the conversation for the moment, aside from her brief interjection.  Too many people speaking at once will only frustrate the being.  For now, it's showing remarkable forebearance for a predator whose territory has been invaded, and seems willing to listen.

She doesn't want to spoil that.

After Malkia, though, Berd feels it appropriate to break in.  I am Berd, he politely offers, separating the bridging into another mind.  James - Jim, as he is named by the predator who just spoke - may speak more upon honoring and releasing the dead.  But if you cannot see the spirits, if you cannot experience them, why would you listen or believe us?

I can show you.

There is no threat.  You would remain in control.  I would merely offer you what I see, what I feel.  What the spirits see and feel as well - filtered, at first.  It can be shocking, and I would not have you believe I was attempting an attack.

But if you wish understanding of their spirits, this is the path.  I am willing to show it to you.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:33, Mon 31 Mar 2014.

"It does not matter whether or not I believe in these spirits, only that you believe in them.  If listening to you will cause you to leave me in peace, then that is a better solution than a possibly injurious combat.  We could fight here and now, and I would win.  I can taste that victory.  But it would be a hollow one if, as a result, I was wounded to such an extent that I would lose this place to a challenger."

The woman tilts her head back, staring up at the canopy of leaves, and at the stars which occasionally break through the gaps in it.

"This place is mine, but only while I have the strength to hold it.  That is the full extent of the law.  The Decree of Peace says that I have claim to my territory, but another can challenge, and we would have to do battle in one of the appointed places.  The winner would keep this territory, the loser would be consumed."

Then she sighs, and asks, "Are you from one of those stars?  Or somewhere else?  You do not come from this world.  Once, long ago, we travelled to other worlds, and found humans on many of them.  At least they looked human, but we could not feed on them.  Are you from one of those worlds?"

James affirms Cyan's warning with a brief I agree before turning his attention back to the conversation now ranging between Malkia, the woman and Berd.  The woman's explanation of the Decree of Peace and of past travels to other worlds is interesting enough but what matters to James is that the deal appears to be done.

"Somewhere else - that's the simplest answer anyway.  It might be one of those stars, one of those worlds but I doubt it.  I don't have any star map that would identify my home world relative to this place."

"You won't find any starship tucked off in the woods if that's what you're thinking."

"We'll leave now.  How long would you like us to give you?"

They cannot feed upon the peoples of not of this world.  Interesting.  It's a relief for Cyan, but Berd cautions her.  Should these beings find a way to other worlds, they might very well begin 'colonization'.

Terraforming with their own foodstuff, as it were.

Should our...host...chose to feed now, and should she allow it, I will stay, Berd announces to the group at large, including the 'woman'.  It means I can show her the spirit immediately following her feeding, and perhaps save the spirit from becoming locked in a cycle of fear and pain by succoring it.

I will not challenge this being's mastery of this place.

Constance considers James' words.  "Dawn.  I will need to be left alone until dawn.  That should be sufficient time for feeding and... I suppose the closest word would be recovery."

"All of you must leave.  None of you can remain here while I feed."

She pauses, her face furrowed in thought.  "I look human, at least to humans.  But I am not human.  For my kind, another creature nearby while we eat is a rival, trying to steal food.  As cubs, as soon as we are able to feed ourselves, we are driven away at meal times.  And shortly after that we seek out our own lands, and only return in extraordinary circumstances."

"We do not have the same need as humans for companionship.  Nor have we ever developed social rituals around feeding.  Any creature nearby when while we feed is considered food, or a food thief.  In either case it will be attacked and killed."

"This is nothing we have control over."

Apparently I will reconsider my decision, Berd wryly notes.  Cyan doesn't laugh; her face and mood are dark, but there is little she can do.  This is natural to this world; it is not the act of a Devourer, but rather that of the world's apex predatory.

And, she must admit, there would be nothing she could do about it in any case.

"Very well," the bard murmurs, her jaw set.  "We shall leave you in peace, then return in the morning.  Perhaps we can find a way to prevent the terrible pain and lingering horror of your...prey," she finishes with great difficulty.

It may be the natural thing here, but she finds no love in her heart for this.

"Come," she quietly requests of the Archons.  "We shall leave this place.  Berd will continue to calm the spirits, though I suspect they will grow even more agitated now."

The mood is low as Cyan leads the group away from the bone pit, and back towards the camp.  Harbonah, in particular still seems subdued.  Perhaps ashamed of his open display of fear.

Only Malkia seems to be in a moderately positive frame of mind.  "I will teach her.  She seems intelligent enough to grasp the lesson." she explains to Cyan and James as they walk, "There are rites - words to calm prey so that it accepts its place in the order of things and will not return to drive away the rest of its kind.  One must explain one's role and position, honour the prey, explain the vital place it holds in the world, and how it brings life to others.  Wish it a safe journey and a peaceful rest, and end its life as swiftly and cleanly as possible."

"If this creature has not been doing that, then it's little wonder that her feeding place is haunted.  Prey is not an enemy, to be defeated.  It is food.  An enemy is something that threatens, food is something that supports.  As such, it must be treated with respect."

James spares a last glance for Burton before gathering his armour and leaving with the others.  The man's fate is regrettable but is hardly James' first regret or his greatest.  Hopefully, with the morning, Berd and Malkia will be able to make something better of the situation.

"That would be good.  In some ways at least, you have more in common with her than the rest of us. She should listen to you.  A good outcome here rests as much or more on our ability to teach Constance a better way for the future as on Berd's ability to repair some of the damage already done."

On the way back to camp, James adds, "It's probably unnecessary to say, but we should set a watch tonight."

"Thank you, Malika," Cyan replies.  "And well-put.  It certainly helps place things in the proper persepctive."

"She seems willing to learn, at least," Cyan muses.  "Hopefully she will, and will pass this on to others."  The bard slowly shakes her head.  "When this is all finished - if it ever is - I will return here and see if the situation has improved.  If not, I shall need to find a way to help them learn myself."

Her small laugh has little humor to it.  "I will add it to the list.  And I think...I think I would be glad to take one of the guard shifts tonight."  The bard shakes her head.  "I believe I will recieve precious little sleep, in any case."

Her sapphire gaze flicks to the Archons accompanying them.  "And what are your thoughts, my friends and associates?"

+ GENERAL. WHILE YOU MAY BELIEVE THAT YOU WILL BE UNABLE TO SLEEP, THE FACT REMAINS THAT YOU NEED TO DO SO.  YOU SHOULD AT LEAST MAKE THE EFFORT.  WE DO NOT NEED SLEEP, SO WE SHOULD STAND GUARD.  BEAR IN MIND ALSO THAT WE HAVE A WIDER VARIETY OF SENSES AT OUR DISPOSAL. +  Left's voice is stern, as if she will brook no argument regarding Cyan's need to sleep.

+ AS FOR THE CREATURE... WE HAVE DISCUSSED THIS AMONG OURSELVES, IT IS STRANGE FOR US TO FIND AN END TO CONFLICT WHICH DOES NOT, ITSELF, INVOLVE CONFLICT.  TYPICALLY, IN AN INSTANCE WHERE ARCHONS HAVE A DISAGREEMENT, OF ANY SORT, IT ENDS IN VIOLENCE OF SOME SORT.  OR THREATS OF VIOLENCE.  WE ARE UNFAMILIAR WITH THIS APPROACH - OFFERING AN OPPONENT AN ALTERNATIVE WAY OF DOING SOMETHING. +

+ WE LOOK FORWARD TO SEEING HOW IT ENDS. +

James chuckles, but he's tired and it lacks something of its usual vigour. "Well, Cyan, I believe you may have just been told off."

"Left, what you're speaking of is something that took me a long time...relatively speaking, to learn: that the strongest is not the one who wins the fight but the one who doesn't need to fight.  Sometimes finding a way to avoid conflict is much harder but it opens up so many more possibilities."

"The trick, I've found, is to remember that the other person, she..." James gestures back in the direction they have just come, "is not my opponent, she is another being with needs and wants.  It's one of the reasons Cyan hates the word 'Shadows' that people of my family often use for the Myriad Worlds.  Anyway, if you can find out what the other person needs you may find that you can meet those needs without compromising your own."

"It's a philosophy I've spent some time considering.  I'd be happy to discuss it with you all if you're interested."

Left hovers in almost silence for a few moments, blades whispering against each other, and it soon becomes apparent that there is a kind of pattern to the rapid, quiet scrapes and clinking of metal.  Especially when some of the other Archons start to respond in kind.

+ WE WILL LEARN MORE OF THIS, BUT AT ANOTHER TIME.  TONIGHT WE HAVE GUARD DUTY AND YOU, ALL OF YOU, HAVE REST DUTY. +  There is something that sounds like a quiet laugh.

+ WHEN NEXT YOU SEE RIGHT, HE WILL LIKELY WISH TO LEARN OF THIS TOO.  HE HAS OFTEN EXPRESSED AN INTEREST IN LEARNING TO BE MORE LIKE YOU, JAMES. +

Cyan bows her head under Left's words.  "Indeed, James."  She sighs, and for a long moment her eyes are close to ebony.  "Left, you make some good points...as always."  Then she shakes herself, blinking, and color bleeds back into her gaze as her accent changes.  "And so I will heed your words, and take myself to sleep when it is time."

There is some back and forth between Left and James.  James, Cyan knows, has been an object of some interest for the Archons, for several reasons.  One is most certainly his outlook upon life.  "You could do worse than listen to James.  Much, much worse.  We are all people, all with our own perspectives and desires.  This is one reason I have wished to find a peaceful end to this war."  She studies the Archons, her gaze running across moving metal, lightning, ice, and fire.  "I know you as individuals, as people.  I would rather see a compromise that benefits all sides."

Her pack hits the ground with a thud.  "This opens doors to further benefits...again, for all."  The bard lets out a quiet laugh.  "You'd be better off discussing it with James.  He has better words for it, for all of my training and practice."  Her smile grows wistful.  "I would love to see Right again.  It has been too long."

With the Archons taking control of the situation, and insisting that their more organic companions should rest, whether they themselves think they ought to or not, preparations are made for the night.

The Archons begin patrolling a series of circular paths around the camp, concentric rings, with the furthest Archon being a hundred yards out, and reduced to the size of a fly to make it less likely that anybody approaching will be alerted to their presence.  Left has some misgivings on this point, unsure exactly what senses the creature, Constance, has at her disposal.  Still, there is nothing to be done about that, and if there is a chance that being small might ameliorate their chances of avoiding detection, then she can see no harm in taking that simple precaution.

She does agree that she will have Cyan and James roused if any of the guards notice anything unusual.

The night passes without incident, and at dawn the Archons report only that they frightened off a few nocturnal forest animals.  Of Constance, there has been no sign.

And suddenly she is in the centre of the camp, her approach unseen by any of the guards, eliciting shocked howls and roars from the Archons.

"I have fed.  We will talk now."
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:52, Mon 28 Apr 2014.

Cyan wakes early, and immediately sets about setting up for breakfast.  Her and James, of course - and Berd, who remains 'asleep'.  Mostly.  She glances about for Harbonah, curious as to how he feels this morning after yesterday's shock.  Perhaps, she reasons, now is not yet the time to broach the subject.  Wait until after the confusion with this creature, 'Constance'.

Then discuss.

And with that decision, it seems, Constance appears.

Berd's head snaps up at the outcry, his eyes burning, but relaxes almost immediately.  Or perhaps 'relax' the wrong word - his gaze dims, his tension slackens, but the drake has awoken and remains as such, perched upon Cyan's backpack.

"Please!"  Cyan stands, gesturing for calm, her own eyes pale but slowly darkening to ruby.  They knew this being to be above them.  As a predator - an apex predator in the truest meaning - it follows that she has methods of moving undetected.  Nonetheless, the demonstration is appalling, given those who patrol and Berd's own presence.  "Let us welcome our guest into our camp."  She waves Constance over.

"James and I were about to eat.  If you wish, we can set that aside for now -" though, she considers, the food will be cold or overdone; a small issue, in truth "- or eat while we talk."  The bard cocks her head.  "Would us eating in your presence cause any distress, given your own race's need for solitude while...consuming?"

"Human food is not food to us.  Your eating it will not bother me in the least.  In fact, I will often feign the eating of a meal with my intended prey.  I find it relaxes them and makes it easier for me to influence their mind.  Feel free to take your breakfast while we speak."

Constance moves to one side and clambers easily atop a boulder, where she squats down, elbows resting on her knees, forearms crossed.

"I have given more thought to this situation.  While I am not able to detect these spirits, I have no reason to suspect you of lying to me, and even less reason to want to risk damaging my food supply."

"I have read books, written by humans, which speak of ghosts and hauntings and other phenomena.  While I have never knowingly experienced any of these things, I have met humans who claimed that they have.  If there is a chance that these spirits might be detectable, even if only by a minority of humans, then I cannot risk allowing them to remain at my feeding place, simply because they might warn off potential prey."

"Even if for no other reason than this, I wish to learn to avoid these spirits being bound to my feeding spot."

The woman, when not aping humans, moves like an animal, perching atop the nearest boulder.  The sight is oddly reassuring and focusing for Cyan; it proves the point that, regardless of appearance, she must keep in mind they are not dealing with something that thinks like them.  Or the archons.

"We would be pleased to assist you in this; regardless of our reasons, we both wish to avoid these ugly circumstances.  Common ground in this manner, as it were," she finishes.  The bard slowly rises, placing a hand on James' shoulder for a moment.  "Again, if you desire, we can show you these spirits.  It might aid in your understanding.  Should that not be the case, we might move on to encouraging them to leave, and for new spirits not to become bound at all."

Berd remains silent, and makes no thought toward seizing the reins of power in this area; the woman has proven herself difficult - if not impossible - to overcome in that way, and at this moment they seek understanding and an end to conflict, not battle.

Malkia makes her way forward, and seats herself close to Constance.  "The first thing to remember," she rumbles, "is that you need your prey more than they need you.  You need to bear this in mind, and show them respect."

"I do respect them."

"Would you like me to teach you, or not?"

"Continue."

The lesson starts, explanations of how the spirits of prey can linger if not properly satisfied with their lot.  Further explanations of how to tell prey who you are, and why you need to feed on them.  Why they are important to you, and to the world... and finally the ways to satisfy them so that they don't haunt your hunting ground.  Not in detail, this last part, for the details vary from prey to prey, but enough general information that Constance should be able to lay the spirits of the newly dead to rest...

Hours pass, and Constance learns.  All seems well, until...

"This is all very well.  But it teaches me to release the new spirits.  How do I release the ones that are there now?"

A question which leaves Malkia a little nonplussed.  "I... I'm afraid I have no idea.  I have always known how to do this, so there were never spirits that weren't from fresh kills."  She looks towards James and Cyan, "Jim?  Cyan?  Do you have any idea how to do this?"

Cyan purses her lips thoughtfully, but it's not her who answers.

Yes.

Berd sits up, his eyes burning.  You need to appease them.  Apologize for your lack of care or, perhaps, your lack of understanding until now.  Assure them that they died for a reason.  Assure them that their sacrifice has taught you to do differently in the future.

Assuage some of their rage, their pain, their fear.

Since you do respect them, they should see this.  Feel this as true.

The drake slowly blinks, studying the creature before him.

I can assist with this, should you desire.  I can allow you to communicate with them.  See them.  For you, also, need to see the truth.  Then they may more easily feel the veracity in your words.

At present, I cannot assist them in moving on.  But with this, it may be that I will not be needed at all.  Or, if I am, it will likely become a more simple matter to assist them in remembering how to leave - it is possible many of the older ones simply cannot without help, but without the desire to leave, they will remain.

Constance nods thoughtfully, "I understand.  You can show them to me.  The rest is my responsibility.  Let us begin.  Be warned though, if you try any trickery, I will be aware of it, and will take measures to prevent it."  Clearly she remembers Berd's earlier attempt to control her world, and is still a little unsure of his motives.

"I have taught her what I can." Malkia rumbles, "There should be no more restless spirits from her feeding.  She needs your help now."

The lioness stands, and stretches.

Berd blinks sleepily.  His mental voice, however, remains alert.  My purpose is not trickery - it is to ameliorate the problem.  Perhaps these teachings will travel among your people, and save further agony of the spirits of this world.  Were I to deceive you and overthrow you - even should I be capable of such, and that is in great doubt - it would salvage nothing.

...of course, I am aware that were I planning deception I would say much the same.  Nevertheless -

"Oh, get on with it," Cyan mutters, clearly distressed but, unhappily, unable to find a better method for dealing with the issue.

Please, let us adjourn to your...feeding ground.

Berd wings from Cyan's shoulder, leaving his daughter behind.  Better that she not again be exposed to such things; it would serve no purpose.  But he sends a swift message to Harbonah - and then to the other Archons - offering them the chance to observe.

To learn something of this universe.

Gliding, he lands upon a tree limb close to the bony graveyard.  His mind reaches, calling to the spirits once again.

Join me.

Please.

Your killer comes, but seeks no harm to you, only understanding of your plight.  It did not comprehend what happened to you, but now it wishes the knowledge.

Join me.  I will allow your killer to view your pain, your suffering, your displeasure.

But let it end here.  Let your killer listen to you, and you to it in turn.  Let rest and peace come to you, as comprehension comes to it.

Please.

Join me.

"Yes, you would say that." and a smile displays a carnivore's dentition, "But if I truly suspected treachery, I would not go through with this.  We are a solitary people, and it is difficult for us to trust others.  Especially in matters involving food."

Constance bows to James, Cyan and Malkia, before turning to follow Berd away into the forest.

The Archons, Harbonah in particular, refuse the offer of being permitted to observe.  Only one accepts, one of the Archon shaped Banglen-Yps.  Keen to learn, and if she learns, then all of her kind will know.

Running easily through the forest, Constance keeps up with the others effortlessly, and finds a suitable vantage point, crouched atop a fallen tree trunk.

And Berd sends out a summons.

The spirits which start to arrive, within moments, seem angrier this time.  Less fearful.  They begin to surround the creature which slew them, and which seems only slightly aware of their presence...

Thank you.  Thank you for listening, Berd echoes out to the crowd, allowing Constance to hear as well.  He feels their anger like a wave, and part of his mind begins preparing defenses against it - defenses only, no mirroring, no mental weaponry. I will make you known to this creature before you, allowing it to speak to you and be heard.  But...this creature comes to understand and through understanding will rectify its errors.

Please contain your anger.  It is rightful, but will not help here.

I am Berd.  Listen to my words.  And know this being before you.

Bit by bit, he slowly begins to share what he senses with Constance, allowing her to 'see' the spirits as he does, to 'hear' them as he does.  To feel them and their auras, their own emotions, as he does.

Its name is Constance.

He is careful to watch for any signs of explosive hostility, or any feelings that the spirits - through numbers and force of emotion - are gaining any actual strength, strength sufficient to attack on a spiritual or even physical level.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:06, Thu 10 Aug 2017.

More and more of the spirits are coming out of... somewhere.  At first, as each arrives, it is filled with fear, but as the moments pass, that fear turns to anger, to rage, to murderous hatred.  Not directed at Berd, but at Constance.

"I can see them." Constance is smiling, "Come to me.  I will make all right."  She spreads her arms wide, in a gesture of welcome, beckoning them towards her.

The angry spirits move closer, their hatred filling the forest...

+ WE SENSE THEM.  THEY ARE FILLED WITH ANGER AND FEAR.  AND THERE ARE SO MANY... EVEN AT THIS DISTANCE IT IS ALMOST UNBEARABLE.  MUCH STRONGER THAN THAT WHICH WE EXPERIENCED BEFORE. + Harbonah whirls around Cyan and James, faster and faster...

Berd's wariness grows.  Constance.  Be warned - the spirits are full of hate for you, and would do you harm if they can.  I do not know if they can harm you, but should they make the attempt, I will try to shield you from them.

"Hold steady, Harbonah," Cyan whispers.  "Should this overwhelm you again, take refuge within the Underflow."  Even her own weak psychic abilities can sense the building fury.  Lords of the West!  It is like unto a spiritual hurricane!

Berd again turns his focus upon the spirits, though he prepares to shield both Constance and himself from any rage-driven assault.  Spirits.  I beseech you - listen to Constance.  There is peace to be had here, peace for you, and it does not come through violence.  Freedom comes through understanding and forgiveness.

Please.  Listen to her.

"Come closer!  Now I sense you, where I couldn't before." Constance is smiling, holding her arms spread wide, head thrown back, "Which means... " and though the air is still, it is as if a blazing hot wind blasts through the forest, a wind that Berd feels only in his own mind...

Harbonah suddenly stops circling around James and Cyan...

The presences are gone, Berd can no longer hear them.  Only the echoes of their voices remain, and they, too, are fading...

"... I know how to destroy you." whispers Constance.

In the silence that follows, Constance turns towards Berd.  "I have removed the ones who were here, and you have taught me how to avoid creating more.  Is there more that I need do?"

Silence falls, and Berd slowly turns his head to study Constance.

You misled me.

The drake blinks, eyes closing over twin, burning suns, then slowly opening again.  Dark.

We shall leave you now.

His power closes about himself, a hard shield against any assaults.  It boots nothing to discuss further with this creature.  She is what she is, and Berd has not the strength to oppose her.  Resist?  Certainly.  Make her life truly uncomfortable, should she attack now, especially if backed up by the Archons?  Quite likely.  But win?  No.  Not now.

But oh, his memory is long.

The drake leaps into the air, winging back toward the campsite.

There, Cyan's lips thin, her face pale.  "Berd comes," she whispers.  "Constance obfuscated her purpose.  She meant not to appease, to peacefully send the spirits to their rest, but to destroy them.  Her strength is appalling.  We should go now, go from this place.  And swiftly."

+ WE TOO WOULD ADVISE LEAVING, AND QUICKLY. + Left's voice is filled with urgency.  Harbonah's too, as he adds, + WE CONCUR.  THIS CREATURE IS POWERFUL.  AN ARMY OF OUR PEOPLE COULD NOT HAVE DEFEATED HER.  AND THERE ARE MORE OF HER KIND.  WELL IT IS THAT THEY CAN NOT DEVOUR THE DENIZENS OF OTHER WORLDS.  SHOULD THEY DECIDE TO INVADE OTHER REALMS, THEN THERE IS NO POWER THAT COULD STOP THEM. +

Malkia stands and shakes herself, "Agreed.  This creature knows enough to stop the creation of any more restless spirits, and I believe that she will avoid doing so, rather than chance the arrival of others to investigate her territory."

"I know her kind.  Very protective of her hunting grounds.  We should leave before we give her reason to attack us.   We can do no more here."

She sniffs the air, and bares her teeth, "I smell the path we must take."

A rainbow flicker amidst the trees, and Berd floats into the clearing, his eyes dark and subdued.  Cyan stands motionless as he lands upon her shoulder, then nods to both Harbonah and Left.  That both of them agree without equivocation or even thought of an argument?

The one thing that unites Archons is a greater threat, she recalls, remembering Dorian.

"I agree with your counsel.  Let us away from this place, with haste."  A wave of her hand indicates Malkia should commence, and Cyan shoulders her pack, moving to the side.  Berd loops up from her shoulder now, hovering in preparation for the World Walking.

"Onward," Cyan whispers, with a swift glance at James.

James scrambles onto Malkia's back, and the lioness springs into motion, even as Left drops down to snap up Cyan with practised ease.  Massive paws devour the distance, stride after stride...

James leans low, feeling that Malkia is moving faster this time, urgency driving her onward.  And a swarm of Archons, both real and Banglen-Yps imitating Archons, orbit around them, easily keeping pace.

Down from the wooded hills, and across a wide valley, avoiding the brightly lit city where Constance hunts, before bringing her prey back to the place where she feeds.  Something huge flies overhead, like a metallic bird, studded with blinking lights and roaring like a great storm.

Out of the valley, and into the next, where the leaves of the trees have already fallen, leaving naked branches clawing at a sky filled with scudding grey clouds, which have the look of imminent snowfall.

Another valley.  And another.  And another...

More forest, and a broad river.  In the distance a city broods, low buildings sprawling across the land, stretching for miles.  Malkia ignores it, pushing herself faster and faster.

"I believe" she replies to a shouted query from James, "that we are long-since out of Constance's territory.  But I would arrive at Amber sooner, rather than later, Jim.  Ahah!  This will do!" and she springs sideways, twisting in mid-air, and passing into the black, lightning split trunk of a massive tree.  The Archons follow, close on her tail...

And emerge from another, similar tree, into a night-time forest, silent and still beneath a white blanket.  Malkia keeps going, slowed a little by the deep snow.  Wolves can be heard howling in the distance, and a light glows ahead... and then they are past it, a metal post with a glass cage on the top and a flame within it.

The lioness breath is hoarse in the cold air, and condenses in clouds of thick moisture, but still she doesn't stop.

On and on, and the dawn comes up as they leave the forest, and start out upon an open plain, where there is less snow.

Finally she scrambles up a hill, and locates a cave near the top.  "I must rest, at least for a short while.  We should be safe here."

James slides down and pats her shoulder.  "Thank you."  He turns to watch, as the Archons come in from the open air, and notices the paintings on the walls.  Primitive images of men, hunting animals...

Left drops, and Cyan is there, starting from the feet and materializing as if woven together by the spinning blades.  Finally Left passes over her head, and she steps away with a bow to the danioti.  "My thanks, Left."

Curious, the bard glances out the cave entry first, then moves to the wall.  Her fingers pass just in front of the rock, not quite touching the paintings.  Behind her, Berd blinks from a small outcropping, and a tiny, brilliant faerie bursts into appearance beside his daughter's head, holding a burning globe in her hand.  The light wavers, then steadies, Cyan's eyes throwing it back like glittering rubies.

"Who might these have been?" she whispers.  "And how long ago since their painter left?"  One thin eyebrow rises.  "And, if recently, will he or she return?"

Slowly the bard examines the artwork, taking her time to drink in the details.

Across a broad expanse of the cave wall, figures which probably represent humans, or something similar - two arms, two legs, a head are depicted - along with others which look like deer, horses, bison... even some that look like oliphants, limned in faded red.  The animals are shown in more detail - better proportioned than the people, and with some attempt to represent their markings as lines and stripes and blotches of colour.  The humans, if that is what they are, hunt the animals with spears, or with what look like representations of axes and knives.

In the centre of the wall, surrounded by all of the others, a single figure stands, much larger than any of the others.  Humanoid, but with antlers or branches on its head, and bearing two spears.  It is surrounded by a thick black ring, and has a splash of red and yellow next to it, that might represent a fire.  Still this person is not shown in as much detail as the animals.

While Cyan examines the paintings, and Malkia finds a spot to lay down for a while, James explores the cave, moving further back and through a narrow opening.  He returns a few moments later, holding a few pieces of a shattered, crude bowl, which he holds out for Cyan to see.

The pieces are stained with the same colours as were used in the paintings.  Haphazard splotches of colour, long since dried and slightly faded.  "I think the painter left, long ago.  This was partly concealed under a thick layer of dust through there.  There are animal bones too, old ones, picked clean and with the marrow gone.  And a circle of fire blackened stones."

"This was there too."

A piece of flint, one end worked into a crude edge, the other rounded, as if to sit comfortably in a hand which is a little smaller than Cyan's own.

James stifles a yawn, then smiles at Cyan.  "I think I'm going to take a leaf from Malkia's book and have a rest." he says, "This place seems safe enough, and we can set the Archons to stand watch.  They don't seem to need sleep."

"You should get some rest yourself, unless you did that while Left carried you."

He rests a hand on the bard's shoulder for a moment, "I think the encounter with Constance was tiring for all of us.  At least for those that can get tired."  A gesture towards the back end of the chamber, "I'll just be over there if you need anything."

"Thank you, James," Cyan whispers, taking the shard.  Antiquity, here in her hand.  She turns it over, studying it, then glances up to James as he touches her shoulder.  "A fine plan, James.  I would like to study this a touch futher - see the art, feel the truth of the people who lived here - but I shall join you in slumber shortly."

The exhaustion is deep within her bones, now.

Even so, the pictures on the wall call her.  She runs her fingers over the horned man, addressing the archons.  "Have any of you ever met one such as this?  A horned man?  You have much experience in the Myriad Worlds.  Perhaps..."  She runs fingers down the cracked edge of the ochre shaded pottery.

She picks up the small 'blade', noting how it fits in her palm.  "Skinning tool, perhaps," the bard whispers.  "In ten thousand years, these people might have cities reaching toward the sky, have ships that sail between the stars, and perhaps have discovered the Myriad Worlds themselves."

She will be gone by then, long gone, but James, the Archons, and others will remain.

James strips off his armour and lays down on the floor to sleep.

The Archons, or so they say, have never seen a horned man.  Some, including Harbonah seem interested in the art, at least to some extent, but gradually drift away to their guard duties.

Berd settles down on the packs, and his eyes burn in the gloom for a little while, before closing and leaving Cyan alone with the paintings and the tiny glowing sprite.

The detail in the animal paintings is exquisite, given the doubtless very basic nature of the artist's tools and materials.  Some of them look as if they would come to life at any moment and leap across the wall of the cave.

A horse rears, suddenly.  A trick of the flickering firelight perhaps.  But there is no fire, only the sprite.  Except that the sprite is gone, and the light has a definite "fire" quality.

Cyan turns, and she is alone in the cave.  James and Malkia and Berd are all gone.  And there is a fire which she doesn't recall being lit...

And then she's not alone, as a figure shuffles out of the inner chamber.  The horned man.  He is short, perhaps five feet tall, and bearded, and he wears a loin cloth made of some kind of animal skin.  As he moves out into the firelight it becomes clear that he wears a hood, of sorts, made from head of a deer, with the antlers still attached.  His torso is daubed with paint - hand prints in all the colours used on the walls, and he carries two spears, simple sharpened sticks with fire-hardened points.

He stops as he spots Cyan, brandishing the spears at her, not threatening to use them, more like simply showing that he has them.  He tilts his head to one side, and speaks.  Or, at least, he makes a series of noises which have the cadence of speech.  Grunts and clicks forming a pattern that might be words.

Then silence for a moment, before he raps his knuckles against his breast bone and makes a set of sounds, then repeats both it and the gesture.  "[click]-ogok.  [click]-ogok."  A quick nod to Cyan, then he extends his empty hand towards her, palm upward.

From the corner of her eye, Cyan sees one of the painted deer stepping down from the cave wall.

"Spirits of the West," Cyan whispers as the figure steps out.  From where?  The shadows?  Another world?  The past?  She cannot say.

Alone but unafraid, she slowly stands.  The world has changed, but this Cyan understands.  Be it spirit voyage, mystic vision, or actual travel through the worlds, it holds no danger, she suspects.  Neither does the spear-armed man.

She bows, though she keeps her gaze upon him.

There is a power in his creations, in his markings, in his clothing and spears.  Crude, old, unrefined, but the stronger for that.  Sometimes the eldest ways are the closest to the root - detail and complexity adds, but also costs.

"I greet you," she replies, holding out her own, empty hands.  Fangmir hangs at her waist, unheeded for the moment.  Her hand presses a palm toward him.  "[click]-ogok," Cyan repeats, near perfectly, her bard's skill with language and mimicry serving her well.  Her knuckles rap the bone between her breasts, and she speaks again.  "Cyan."  Another rap.  "Cyan."  The bard bows once more, then steps forward to extend her hand as does her host, palm upward.

Her gaze strays to the deer, stepping away from its wall.  "Spirits," Cyan whispers again.  "How glorious..."

Is this his work, the living portrait?  If so, it is to her palanqueti what they are to mere paintings.

"Chy-an." the creature nods, and bobs his head, before studying Cyan's empty hand and comparing it to his own, which is stained with dirt and pigments, and covered with short fur.  "Nga [click]-[click] adcho nongodo Chy-an aku [click]-ogok."  He raises his hands, both now empty, the spears having vanished with no fuss or ceremony, and presses his pals together, fingers interlocked.  "Nongodo."

Then his not quite human face grows thoughtful for a moment, before seeming to light up with inspiration.  He moves across to the wall, with its paintings, and uses a fingertip to describe a circle around a group of men engaged in a hunt together.  "Nongodo."  Then he points at a lone man, "Gonchok." and back to the group, "Nongodo."

A rabbit, rendered in black and white and only an inch long, springs from the wall, and runs up his outstretched arm to escape the stick figure who pursues it.  It crouches on his shoulder and starts to wash.

Clasping his hands together again, [click]-ogok says "Nongodo." once more.  "Nongodo Chy-an aku [click]-ogok."

Cyan blinks as the information begins its flow.  Her thin brows furrow before leaping high as the rabbit smoothly leaps from its stony home.  All the while her mind struggles to follow.

"Nongodo," she whispers.

One hand runs fingers through her red hair, then Cyan purses her lips.  Moving to the wall, she draws the same circle around the men.  "Nongodo."  A finger points at the single man.  "Gonchok."

Smoothly, she moves to the fire.  Her hand motions to places around the dead fire, two fingers clawed downward like bent legs, angle of her hand shifting as if to suggest many people sitting, knees bent, all facing inward at the fire.  A group, seated around the flames.  She passes her palm all around the circle, encompassing all of it.  Sits down, mimes putting arms over the people next to her.

"Nongodo."

Then she points toward the door, walking there.  Stands firmly alone.  "Gonchok."

Then her palm points toward her host.  "[click]-ogok.  Cyan."  She moves to stand before him, bowing slightly.  "Nongodo?"

Nodding, [click]-ogok speaks animatedly for several moments, before shaking his head and falling silent.  Then he starts again, but more slowly.

"Chy-an agho."  He beckons, and walks towards the fire.  "Chy-an nok." pointing to the ground, then a gesture with both hands spread, and making a downward pushing motion.  "Chy-an nok."  Again the downward pushing, then he stoops to pat the ground, before moving a little to one side and sitting.  "[click]-ogok aku nok."

Then he points to the spot that he had patted, "Nok.  Chy-an nok."

And through it all, the rabbit sits on his shoulder, grooming itself.

It seems he wants her to sit.  She isn't certain, but that much Cyan may have grasped.  "Yes."  Keeping her utterances short and on point, the bard slowly moves to the fire, seating herself exactly where [click]-ogok has indicated.

"Sit."  With a nod, she crosses her legs.  "Cyan sit.  [click]-ogok sit."  Baby talk, though he's anything but a baby.  More an exchange, in this case.  The bard studies the rabbit, a small smile stealing onto her lips, her ruby eyes dancing in the flickering light.

The rabbit tilts its head to one side as Cyan speaks and sits close to the fire.  It's nose twitches briefly, and then it ignores her as it returns to its grooming.

Her host, meanwhile, pulls a branch from the fire and extinguishes the flames by laying it on the ground and piling sand on it.  Then he holds the branch out towards Cyan, "Notko[click]."  Not offering it, just showing it, as he had with the spears.

The burned end of the branch functions as effective charcoal, which he crumbles between his fingers, and uses to draw on a nearby boulder.

A horned man inside a circle, "[click]-ogok."  A second figure, off to one side, some distance from the first, "Chy-an."  Below that one a set of rough triangular shapes, apex upward.  "Tsochak."  And between the triangles and the horned figure, a pair of parallel, curving, serpentine lines.  "Dacht."  The unmistakable representation of a fish is sketched between the lines, and promptly starts swimming.

A finger stretches out to touch the figure which apparently represents Cyan.

"Chy-an agho tsochak?"  He moves his hand across the the images, two fingers pantomiming a walking motion, from the triangles, past the fish, to the horned man.  "Chy-an agho tsochak, agho doka dacht, agho [click]-ogok?"

Circle.  The cave.  Her host within it.

Mountains.  River.  The fish...spirits of the west, the fish.  How does he do this?

Did she come here through that way?

"No."  Leaning back, Cyan frowns, shakes her head, waves her palm back and forth toward the picture.  "Not like that."  How can she...without her pack...

She has her palanqueti.

Leaning forward, Cyan snags a branch of her own.  Sand.  Time to cool.  Then she crumbles the charcoal and moves to the rock.

The horned man, in a circle.  "[click]-ogok," she murmurs, drawing to match his style.  She draws the river with the fish - hers does not live, sadly - but further away.  "Dacht."  River?  Ocean?  She's not sure which.  Doesn't matter.  Then Cyan draws herself...on another boulder, further away.  "Cyan."

She glances over her shoulder to him.  Nods.

Then Cyan draws a thin oval next to 'herself' on the boulder.  With fingers, she mimicks his 'walking' action, to the oval.  "Walk," she whispers.  With a brush of her hand she erases herself.  Moves to the other boulder on which she draws, inscribes a thin oval close to the 'cave' with [click]-ogok.  Fingers 'walk' from the oval.  "Walk."  Another whisper.

Then Cyan draws herself where her fingers end their walk, next to the cave.

"Cyan walk.  Across the worlds."

Stained fingers fumble at her belt, withdraw the palanqueti.  Fanning them, she shows them to her host, then plucks out the palanquet of her home, the small cabin in the Outerlands.  A moment's concentration, and its image swims before their eyes, gaining reality.  A bird flickers across the card's face, and Cyan makes her fingers walk to the card.  "Cyan walk.  Across the worlds."

Cyan's explanation brings a puzzled expression, followed by a dawning realisation.  Her host raises a hand to point straight up, "Chy-an agho bokt!".

He moves to draw a long curved line which forms a cap above the images already drawn.  Then a bird shape, possibly a duck, above the others, but below the curve.  [click]-ogok taps the curve with a finger.  "Bokt.  Chy-an agho bokt."  A smile and banging of an open palm against the ground.  "Chy-an agho bokt."  The bird flies upward, escaping the boulder...

Then the palanquet comes to life, and the primitive falls silent, an expression of rapt attention on his face.  When he speaks again, he points first to Cyan, and then to himself, "Chy-an aku [click]-ogok aku."  Using the un-charred end of the branch, he first makes sure Cyan is watching, then taps at his chest before starting to scrape marks in the dust.  "[click]-ogok togh."

A gesture towards the painted wall, before a sweep of the hand erases the fresh marks in the dust.  Then he makes more, as he repeats, "[click]-ogok togh.  Chy-an aku togh."

He holds out his empty hand, palm up, towards the palanquet.  "[click]-ogok nojk?"

"Flies," Cyan whispers, watching the bird escape its stony confines.  "Not quite, no.  But in a way."  She waves toward the bird.  "Bokt.  No.  I walk."  Again the miming of walking.  "I walk between worlds."

Then the palanquet.

"We."  She points at both of them.  "Cyan.  [click]-ogok.  We.  We aku.  We togh."  Artists?  Shamen?  To paint?  To do magic?  She doesn't know.  But it's probably something along those lines.

"Yes.  I will let you see."  This is the careful part.  She can't have him just vanishing from this world with the card, never to be seen again, probably to die in her own, unfamiliar world.  But it's not my world, an errant thought comes.  I don't have one.

The bard reaches out with her card.  "Careful."  She makes slow, cautioning gestures with it, while allowing its forces to quiet.  Shuffling slightly, she puts herself more easily within reach.  "Careful."  Again, the cautioning gestures.  Then she holds the card out.

But she does not release it if he touches it, instead maintaining both her hold on it and her control over the power it summons.

He leans forward, examining the card.  Sniffs at it, then pinches it between thumb and forefinger before looking at the digits, pressing them together.  "Adcho ajod." he murmurs, smiling in wonder.

The palanquet shimmers, and trees sway in a gust of wind which does not blow in the cave, and [click]-ogok laughs, slapping his hands against the ground, but he makes no attempt to take the card.

"Chy-an agho?" and a gesture towards the palanquet.  "Chy-an naka-[click]."  The walking motion with his fingers.  "Chy-an deku."  And a wave of the hand to encompass the whole cave.

"Chy-an nok aku [click]-ogok."

The deer steps closer to the fire, and daintily lays down just out of Cyan's reach.  It doesn't look at her, but one ear, stylised and painted in red, black and yellow, turns in her direction.

The rabbit stops washing itself, and watches Cyan instead.

More words, some she has heard before, some she hasn't.  Cyan squints her ruby eyes, concentrating.  She's not quite getting his point - possibly he's talking about her making the palanquet, possibly about walking here, or using it to walk here?  Or coming to see him?

Hard to tell with such a limited vocabulary.

Sometimes, it's easier to show than tell.  Cyan waves a hand to get his attention, then freezes as the animals show interest in her.  She carefully holds out her fingers toward the deer - no threat, no attempt to touch - then pulls them back and eyes the rabbit for a moment.

Then, reaching out, she grasps her pack.

Drawing it to herself - carefully, carefully - she opens it up and withdraws her book of blank paper, followed by her pens.  Pulling out a black pen - its reservoir already filled with ink - she shows it to [click]-ogok.  "Cyan...agho?"  A finger points toward the palanquet.  "With this?"  Is that it?

And she opens the book and uncaps the pen.

"Cyan draws palanequeti, [click]-ogok," she whispers as her pen dances over the page.  "Cyan draws palanqueti."  A sweep defines a skull's outline, then a quick series of lines shows the edges of a face.  It has a magic of its own, this work - no beasts step forth, no creation occurs, but something comes to life on the page, lines and scribbles coming together to form a visage.

[click]-ogok.

"[click]-ogok."  She points at the picture, not even close to completed but definitely a man.  The pen begins again.  "Palanqueti," she singsongs, then breaks into the language of her oldest friends - the Heavy Handed and Cúthalion, dead years past for her, milennia for them.  "Av-'osto, êl síla erin lû e-govaned vîn...."  A sigh follows - she has spoken this language only once in years, and misses it dearly.  "Do you sing, [click]-ogok, I wonder."

Will he believe the picture cursed, she wonders?  Doubtful.  A man who brings art to life should not believe a spirit imprisoned by a drawing.

The deer doesn't flinch.  It watches Cyan's hand with one eye, and the ear flicks in that direction, briefly.  The rabbit seems to relax, and lays down on its creator's shoulder.  And [click]-ogok nods, "Chy-an agho." and he too points to the palanquet.  "Chy-an naka-[click]."  Again the walking movement with his fingers, and then he points to the palanquet once more, "Chy-an agho deku." and finally he taps his hand on the floor.

Something wanders past on the edge of the firelight.  Large, and rendered in red and black, with a long nose and a pair of curved tusks.  It moves silently, for all its lumbering gait and great size.

[click]-ogok ignores it as he watches Cyan open her pack.  The pen interests him.  Then the bard starts to sketch, and he picks up the burned stick in his left hand, and uses the right to point to the stick, then to the pen.  "Aku." he declares, then "Aku [click]-ogok aku Chy-an."

Then he falls silent and watches as his own image starts to take shape on the paper.

Deku.  Here?  Arrived?  Agho Deku.  Agho.  What is Agho?  The sky?  The world?  Or is that 'to come', and Deku is the place, with Bokt the sky?

Naka-[click].  Walked?  Travelled?

Aku.  Artist?  To draw?

As yet, he does not feel the drawing to be a threat.  Good.  Cyan wonders how he will react.

The drawing continues to take form.  Bright eyes, laugh-lines.  All in intricate detail, thanks to the pen and her skill.  "Aku," she whispers, drawing.  She's relatively sure about that one.  A wave to the charcoal and the wall.  "[click]-ogok aku.  Cyan aku."  Yes.  A nod of the head for agreement.  With a small smile, she includes the rabbit on his shoulder, a head and paws, the body 'fading' into the page.  Descriptor - something to personalize the sketch, make it more real in her mind.

"Bokt?"  She takes a moment to point straight up.  Then to the birds, and she joins her hands at the thumbs to mimick flapping before pointing up again.  "Bokt?"

Back to the sketch.  Everything is coming together now, down to the markings on the skin of his upper chest.

"Juchak!" [click]-ogok says, as the rabbit appears, and he grins as he slaps his hands on the ground.  On his shoulder, his own rabbit sketch sits up, puzzled by the sudden disturbance.  Then a finger points to Cyan's version of the rabbit, then to the one on the man's shoulder.

"Juchak aku aku juchak." and an urgent nod.  "Aku [click]-ogok aku Chy-an."

"Bokt" brings another nod and a smile.  He finds space on the boulder and starts to draw again.  A roughly-horizontal almost-straight line.  "Denok."  Two people appear, standing on the line.  "[click]-ogok aku Chy-an."  Then something that looks like a tree.  "Guchod."  And finally a curve which forms a shallow arc above all of them.  "Bokt."

Then, as an afterthought, a circle appears, bisected by the arc, and with lines radiating from it.  "Dahach."

And all the while, Cyan's sketch moves closer to completion.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:57, Wed 20 Aug 2014.

Rabbit, now.  Some vocabulary is forming.  She watches as he outlines the ground, the sky, the trees.  "Ground.  Cyan, [click]-ogok.  Tree."  A smile appears on her sharp features as he completes the vista.  "Sun."

Amethyst eyes return to her sketch, ensuring no errors transpire.

She keeps the background simple - a cave wall with some of his sketches, including the deer and the bird.  A suggestion of firelight.  Her pen fairly dances across the paper now; she's in her own element, something she hasn't done for so long, and Cyan finds herself falling into the sensation.  Fine details continue to take shape.

She wonders if he knows of the Archons.  Or the war.  Doubtful, but people have surprised her before, and Cyan is experienced enough to know that 'primative' doesn't necessarily mean 'ignorant', even of the Myriad Worlds.  No, not at all.

There's power in simplicity, and oftentimes the most discerning eye.

Aku...there's something more to that word than just art, she suspects.

Cyan keeps sketching, and as she does so the image of [click]-ogok seems to move.  An actual movement?  Or a trick of the light?  The page doesn't feel cold, so likely just the dancing of the flames...

The man leans a little closer to study the image, and laughs.  Then he suddenly pushes himself upright, and Juchak leaps from his shoulder to the ground.  [click]-ogok hurries through the narrow opening into the other chamber.  Juchak moves across and presses up against Cyan's leg, where he appears to settle down for a rest.

[click]-ogok returns a moment later with an untanned hide bag and a dark leather bowl.  Seating himself, he pours some water from the bag into the bowl, then ignores it.

"Juchak nongodo Chy-an." he says, smiling.  Then, he looks at the bowl of water, leaning over it to peer into it, before looking at the sketch, and back to his reflection.

He nods, pointing at the bowl and the sketchbook.  "Aku aku."

And Cyan feels the page grow cold beneath her hand...

"I want to do you credit," Cyan whispers, still working on the sketch, pleased at his laughter.  For a moment her hand drops and she runs a finger over Juchak's ears, then the bard returns to the sketch.  The icy feeling begins beneath her fingers, but still she continues - it's important to capture enough that she can finish the sketch later.  And she will.  This is one she does not wish to lose.

"Just like the reflection," she murmurs.  "Only not."

Good enough.

"[click]-ogok," the bard murmurs, gesturing to the page.  "And now...we shall see if this works."

With effort, she focuses upon the sketch.  Cyan doubts she will be capable of actively speaking to him - he thinks in his tongue, after all.  But it's possible that conceptual communication can occur, allowing faster transference of knowledge and learning of his language.  If he speaks and she gains any kind of empathy or imagery, she'll have a better idea of his point.

And...she wants this.  A page of her history, such as it is, now graven into an image.  An image that might allow more complete communication.

Again the small man laughs and points to the sketch, "[click]-ogok adcho deku!" and Cyan hears the words, but her mind tells her their meaning - [click]-ogok is here.

"Chy-an aku [click]-ogok aku.  Aku aku toch." - Cyan and [click]-ogok same.  Same same make picture.

And then he stops, peering at the sketch, and taps a finger against the side of his head, "Yai!  [click]-ogok nojk Chy-an... deku.  Adcho djok."  Aah!  [click]-ogok sees Cyan... here.  It's good.

And the language becomes clear.

"Yes.  Aku Cyan, aky [click]-ogok."  She smiles.  It has worked, and [click]-ogok accepts it without fear.  "We two are the same."  She points to the sketch, which now begins to move and shift with his motions.  "[click]-ogok adcho deku.  [click]-ogok is here.  And also..."  She points to him.  "[click]-ogok is here.  With me."  A touch on her chest with a small smile and a bow of her head, then a touch on [click]-ogok's shoulder.  "I am happy to meet you, [click]-ogok.  I am happy you think it is good, seeing and hearing me."

That hand rises to touch her forehead.  "Here."  Just as he said.

Then, with a broad motion of her free hand - slowly, so as not to alarm their companions - Cyan paints an arc over her head.  "But [click]-ogok.  Where is here?"

A smile, and [click]-ogok says, "Deku adchu Naka-[click]-Nedj-Dahach-Gon-Aku-Bokt." - This place is Walk-Ten-Suns-Under-Same-Sky.  Then he slaps the ground and adds, "Aku deku adchu [click]-ogok denokag." - And this place is [click]-ogok's cave.

The rabbit makes a strange noise, and then Cyan realises it is actually a quiet laugh.

And it brings a smile from [click]-ogok.  "Aku aku Juchak denokag." - Same same Juchak's cave.

Naturally, [click]-ogok is specific.  She can't guess whether or not he's fully cognizant of other Worlds; it's quite possible he is, but knows them in a different way.  She's certainly not going to fall into the trap of 'not polished means ignorant'.

"Juchak lives here as well?"  She touches Juchak briefly.  "Clever Juchak."  A wave of the hand takes in the cave.  "Juchak denokag, [click]-ogok denokag."  Then she frowns.  How to explain this?

"I walked here.  Cyan naka Juchak denokag.  From the sky."  She mimes walking down with her fingers.  "Bokt.  But not alone.  I came with other people."  She fans out her palanqueti, slipping out James' and holding it out for [click]-ogok to see.  "With James.  James," she states again, pointing at the image of the tired soldier.

"Then they vanished."  She waves as if blowing something away.  "Gone.  And I was with [click]-ogok and Juchak.  Here."

Her lips thin, and she takes up her pen and ink.  A rapid sketch follows, the picture of a blazing wheel, very specifically not the sun.  A bladed wheel.  A wheel surrounded by arcs of electricity, highly stylized.  "Archons.  Nephillim.  Seraphim.  Do you know of them?"

Interesting.  The grammatical structure of the language resembles her own, even if the words do not.

A finger almost brushes the palanquet.  "Ja'ez deku-juk." - James isn't here.  For a moment he frowns, but only for a moment, then his face breaks into a grin, showing broad flat teeth, proportionately larger than Cyan's.

"Ja'ez deku-juk.  Chy-an deku-juk.  Juchak deku-juk  [click]-ogok veknojk!" - James isn't here.  Cyan isn't here.  Juchak isn't here.  [click]-ogok dreams!

He takes the sketch from Cyan and gazes at it, turning it from side to side as he tries to puzzle it out, "Nojk-juk.  Koge adcho?" - Not seen this.  What is it?

Cyan leans back in surprise, then purses her lips.  Does he truly believe he dreams?  Or is this something else?  Is it both of them who dream, and have come together in that dream?  Or has Cyan entered another place, another world, closely linked with the one in which they stopped?  A spirit world, of sorts.

"Well.  I am here.  Cyan deku.  Is this a place of dreams?"  Another arcing wave around the cave.  "Deku vekonjk?"

Her attention turns toward the picture of the Archon.  "Good.  They are dangerous."  She doesn't have the words in his language.  "Archon."  She taps the paper.  "This is an Archon.  Some are friendly.  Many are not.  All are dangerous.  If [click]-ogok sees one, stay away."

More sketching.  This time, it is of a stick figure and several archons.  "Cyan," she states, pointing to the stick figure.  "Archons.  We travel together."  Agho, she thinks is the word.  Maybe.  "But dangerous."

"Deku adchu [click]-ogok denokag." he repeats - Here is [click]-ogok's cave.  "[click]-ogok vek.  [click]-ogok veknojk." - [click]-ogok sleeps.  Same same [click]-ogok dreams.

He pushes himself to his feet, "Chy-an agho.  Nojk [click]-ogok vek." - Come Cyan.  See [click]-ogok sleep.

He beckons urgently for Cyan to follow him, and starts towards the narrow fissure in the back wall of the cave, muttering as he goes.

"Nojk-juk Ach-un.  Gocht-juk nojk." - Haven't seen Archons.  Don't want to see.

He sleeps.  Maybe she's correct, maybe this is a dream.  Cyan slowly pushes herself up to follow, keeping her attention mostly on the palanquet in her hand.  It wouldn't do to break the connection.

"I may have to leave," she mutters, "if this is only your dream and you are still in your home...where myself and my companions now are.  There are Archons."  Better to avoid exposure as much as possible.  The Archons need to learn, need to see new things...but at the same time, she doesn't fully trust all of them.

Some?  Certainly.  Others?  Less-so.

"Please show me, [click]-ogok.  Cyan nojk [click]-ogok vek.  I want to see."

Through the fissure, and into a smaller chamber.  Juchak perches on Cyan's shoulder, tutting and squeaking quietly, and he noises sound almost like words to her ears, faint and indistinct, but there all the same.

[click]-ogok points, "Nojk Chy-an.  [click]-ogok vek." - See Cyan.  [click]-ogok sleeps.  Where he points though, there is only a faint impression in the dust, partly occupied by a few shreds of long-dried fur.

Oddly though, across the chamber another person sleeps.  Cyan herself lays on her side, half curled, and breathing quietly.

[click]-ogok can not, apparently, see this doppleganger...

Oh.

Oh, no.

Cyan slowly nods.  "Yes.  I see."  No lie, that.  She may not see [click]-ogok, but she finally understands.  A gulf does separate them, the gulf of time.  For [click]-ogok, time ended long ago.  Now, they meet in a dreamtime, a place without such limitations.

They dream, and they dream together.

"Ah, if only I had met you long ago," she whispers, rubbing Juchak on the forehead.  Like Berd, he is, in a way - a Berd-That-Was, not the father she has now.  And [click]-ogok, like her in his own way.  Her lips tighten - she will lose him, lose him forever; another friend, another helpful soul, lost on the road of this quest.

To time, this once, and not to the quest itself, but still lost.

"[click]-ogok."  Turning to face him, she holds up her book.  "Would you like to learn?  Learn what I do?  Learn this?"  Cyan indicates the palanqueti she holds.  "I do not know how much time I have with you.  I cannot say how long I will stay.  But I can try - try to teach you this, if you wish."  Tears stain the topaz of her eyes.  "Please?"

[click]-ogok turns to study Cyan, then points to the palanquet, and to Juchak.  "Aku aku.  [click]-ogok gocht nojk duga Chy-an toch." - Same same.  [click]-ogok wants to see how Cyan draws.  "Aku aku Chy-an nojk [click]-ogok draws" - Same same Cyan sees how [click]-ogok draws.

A trade then... to teach each other what they each know.  And more?

"Chy-an aku Juchak adcho nongodo.  Chy-an aku Juchak naka-[click] aku aku denok.  Aku aku bokt.  Juchak gocht." - Cyan and Juchak are friends.  Cyan and Juchack walk same same ground.  Same same sky.  Juchak wants this.

"[click]-ogok veknojk aku aku Juchak nojk." - [click]-ogok will dream same same Juchak sees. 

Cyan bows her head, nodding.  She remains still for a long moment, then brings her head up with a sharp intake of breath, her ruby eyes shining.  "I will learn from you, [click]-ogok.  I am pleased to name [click]-ogok and Juchak friends."

Same sky?  Will dream what Juchak sees?  Does Juchack see differently?

Whatever the case, this will be an experience.

"Through this -" and she taps the palanquet "- [click]-ogok will feel what I feel.  Experience what I do to draw it.  [click]-ogok already holds dreaming skill, I see.  This...may be easy for [click]-ogok to learn."  There could be crossover.  And if [click]-ogok's mind is already open to mysteries, to things beyond the norm, it will certain be more flexible.

"In turn, I hope to see what [click]-ogok wishes me to see, to understand what [click]-ogok wants to show, to feel what Juchak sees."  Her smile is shaky, but it holds.  "My friends."

The lessons start, with exchanges of basic ideas, aided by the palanquet.

Shapes,colours and lines are easy.  Other ideas, not so much.  [click]-ogok's mind and eyes, it seems, work differently.  Realism to him is more stylised.  Simpler forms which give the impression of more complex ones.  Colours too... a brown antelope appears on the wall in shades of red.  Yes, these are the pigments that he has available to him, but they also show how he sees his world.

His eyes do not see in subtle shades, instead they provide approximations of them.

And gradually it becomes clear that only animals live when he draws them.  Men and plants and water are just dead marks on stone to him.  But animals... they are the reason behind his work.  It is important that their images should live, even if only in the mind of the viewer.

Hunters come to him and ask that he ensure the success of their endeavours.  So he will give them a pebble, marked with a tiny image of a bison or an elk, and the power bound into the work summons the animal to the hunters.  More than that... the image pleases the spirit of the animal so that it will die easily and quickly.

And for many pictures, like Juchak and the deer, life extends far beyond the viewer's imagination.  [click]-ogok does not know why it happens, but he can tell the difference in them as he creates them.  From his description, he can feel a "fire" within them.

Those animals he never gives to the hunters.

But this, this Cyan understands.  Setting aside the idea of technique, the differences in style, there is a base similarity between the palanqueti she creates, and the powerful imagery that [click]-ogok fashions.  Living imagery is important.  He creates a link to the spirit of the animals with his power, and their spirit responds.  A synechdoche, as it were, or possibly sympathetic magic.

Either way, it is not so far off of the palanqueti.

The imagery Cyan creates is imbued with her impression of a person's spirit.  The exact details of the palanqueti are not so important as one might think.  If her perspective on reality were different, it's not impossible that she might use complex symbols to represent places, friends, and other things.  The images she uses, that most people use, are exact because that is primarily how people remember other people - visually.

Then that image is empowered with a matrix containing elements of the person - their spirit, their personality, who they are from the perspective of the creator.  Similarly an area.  When psychic energies are applied to the matrix, vibrations echo through the Underflow...and reach the recipient.  With sufficient connection, portals can be opened directly.

The two forms of art are not the same.  Cyan may never manage to create life, like Juchak or the deer.  [click]-ogok may find it beyond himself to make something capable of opening a portal.  But the bases of each art?

Cyan throws herself into study with [click]-ogok, feverishly working to absorb as much of his art as she can.  Stylization she can grasp - her training in art at the college of Cattashford was not all about 'photorealism', and some of her own personal artworks have tended toward the abstract through the years.  Simultaneously, she seeks to draw parallels between hers and his, and guide him toward some kind of realization of how her own art functions, and how he might replicate it in his own way, for an exact copy of her style is not only unnecessary, but would be a hindrance to him.

Trump.  Palanquet.  Likely there are more names for an art carried out in slightly different ways through the Myriad Worlds.

It is possible that one more will join them, untold years before.

It is possible that [click]-ogok's art will live on, in Cyan herself.

Hours pass.  Days.

Food appears in the cave, from time to time, and Cyan can not recall where it comes from.  Fruit, berries and nuts, for the most part.  Some fish.  Sometimes there is a faint impression that a third person is there, bringing the supplies, but they are no more than a quickly moving shadow.

But Cyan learns.  There are ways to create the image of an animal, techniques for drawing out the essence of a beast and bringing it to you as an animated form.  Create the image of a creature as it feels in the heart, not as it appears to the eyes.  Only when the spirit approaches does it need a familiar shape to inhabit...

And [click]-ogok learns too.  His eyes and mind see things differently, but he learns to produce likenesses of people and places.  And eventually Cyan can feel the reality behind his images.  The icy chill when she lays her hand on the stone, and the sensation of moving towards the person, or the location.

Days pass.  Weeks?

[click]-ogok produces a portal to a nearby hilltop, and the two of them travel there.  Then realise that they have no way back, other than to walk for a mile or so in the light rain...

Cyan summons the spirit of a fox, which promptly steals the food she had been saving for dinner, and runs off...

Weeks?  Months?

The work is long.  The work is exhausting.  The work is exhilarating.  Success for Cyan buoys her desire to continue.  Success for [click]-ogok is pure pleasure.  So she pushes, pushes hard for understanding, for both of their understanding, never knowing how much longer she might have in this dreamtime.

Time, it seems, turns out to be very, very elastic.

Friendship grows, but friends already exist.  She misses Left.  She misses Berd.  She misses James.  This is important, though, and Cyan perseveres.  Both of them have learned something important.  And time being what it is, perhaps there is a need; perhaps Cyan needs to carry this spirit-imagery forward, so it might not be lost.  Perhaps [click]-ogok needs to learn of palanqueti in order to create the future.

Perhaps it is merely the friendship that is needed - a small star glowing in a very dark universe.

There is frustration.  There is laughter.  There is...success.

She picks at her food one night, staring into the fire, then shoots a smile at [click]-ogok.  "We have come a long way," Cyan whispers, then switches to [click]-ogok's tongue.  It hasn't been difficult to learn, not at all - languages are one of her specialities, and here she has insisted on immersion whenever possible.  "Cyan and [click]-ogok have come a long way."

Her gaze flicks to the cave mouth.  "Cyan wonders if fox-spirit will return.  Probably without food."

Run free, she thinks.

"Chy-an gocht, aku Doch agho."  Cyan wants, and Fox comes.  "Adcho veknojk, aku Doch adcho Chy-an nongodo."  It's a dream, and Fox is Cyan's ally.

"Chy-an aku [click]-ogok agho dooj.  Naka-[click] aku aku degokada.  Nok aku aku, nojk aku aku."  Cyan and [click]-ogok have come far.  Walk same-same trail.  Sit same same, see same same.

He lifts a finger to tap at the side of his head, still adorned with the deer antler head dress.  "Magd aku aku."  Know same same.

Really?  Now, that much she hadn't known.  Cyan squints, working it through in her head.  Doch is her ally...well, then.  She'd best get to know him better.

As well as once can know a fox, in any case.

"Agho dooj indeed," she whispers.  "Aku degokada.  Cyan aku [click]-ogok magd.  We know."  'We' has proved a tricky word to explain, but Cyan felt fairly certain she managed.

Her sapphire eyes gleam in the firelight, and she stares at the cave mouth.  "Doch.  Cyan gocht."  Her lips twist into a smile, then her voice carries a hint of command.  "But...Doch aku Juchak naka-[click] aku aku denok.  Aku aku bokt.  Juchak aku doch nongodo."

Same sky and earth for Juchak and Doch.  Allies.

"Cyan gocht," she whispers.

Yhere is a movement at the cave entrance, and the fox is there, standing just outside.  His vulpine features almost seem to be smiling.  Then he walks forward, into the cave.  And sits, almost (but not quite) directly in front of Cyan, and almost (but not quite) looking at her.

It does, at least, seem to be paying attention, and makes no attempt to attack Juchak.  Instead it looks at something just above Cyan's left shoulder, head tilted to one side...

"Aha, Doch.  One hopes you understand this, as well," Cyan notes, raising one eyebrow.  Inside, her heart beats rapidly; she has drawn this forth, brought it here.  She hasn't created it, but for the first time believes she can begin to understand Berd's obsession with such things.

Berd.  So long since she has seen him.  James.  Left.  Harbonah.  Any and all of them.

She doesn't reach out - the fox is a fox, he'll will allow her to touch it when it chooses.  Respect is important.  Only...what's he looking at?

Slowly, Cyan turns her head to regard her shoulder.

Cyan's gaze finds only empty space above her shoulder.  And then she sees it - a pale flickering shadow of a slowly turning circle, all but invisible, and no more substantial than the first suggestion of heat haze on a summer day.

And then she hears a voice, a woman speaking softly, "General?  General?  Wake GeneRAL! +

At the end, it bears the harsh, metallic tones of an Archon's voice.

+ GENERAL, YOU MUST WAKE.  WE WILL BE LEAVING SOON. +

The cave is dark and cold, and Cyan is sitting against the wall, faded paintings forming a mandala around her.  Left hovers close to her ear...

"No," Cyan whispers.

She stares blindly through Left for a long moment, then shoots to her feet (with care not to contact the Archon).  For an instant she studies the mandalas surrounding her, studying them.  Then without further hesitation, she hurries to the back of the cave.

"I was...here.  But not.  In a dream, my conscious slipped to another place," she stammers as she searches.  "Another time, where the painter lived...he was here."

And she stops at the back of the cave, looking down at where her host's remains had lain in the dream.  "Right here," Cyan finishes.

Now: There are only a few ancient fragments of bone scattered in the dust on the cave floor, their type unrecognisable.  Nothing to identify their source.

Left comes into the chamber, moving hesitantly towards Cyan.  + WE MAINTAINED OUR GUARD WHILE YOU SLEPT, AND DETECTED NOBODY ELSE HERE OTHER THAN THOSE WHO TRAVEL WITH US. +

+ THE OTHERS SEEK FOOD FOR THE JOURNEY, AND SHOULD RETURN SHORTLY. +



Then: [click]-ogok awakens to find a young man standing in the cave.  The dream, and all that he learned from it, is many hands of days in the past, but every detail is still fresh in his mind, and the new visitor's clothing is similar to Chy-an's.  A friend, possibly.  There is only one way to find out, he taps himself on the chest.  "[click]-ogok."

The young man bows, and smiles, then mirrors the gesture.  "Dworkin.  I have heard that you know the secret of pictures that speak.  I would learn from you."

The smaller individual beckons, and moves across to the wall, with its bright, clear paintings, where he uses a fingertip to describe a circle around a group of men engaged in a hunt together.  "Nongodo."  Then he points at a lone man, "Gonchok." and back to the group, "Nongodo."
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:18, Thu 04 Dec 2014.

Slowly kneeling, Cyan nods to Left.  "It was...a dream," she murmurs.  "Only not.  This man?"  She waves a hand over the fragments of bone.  "I was here.  In this cave.  Long ago, with him.  For months."

She glances over her shoulder at Left.  "It was no mere dream.  I experience things.  Learned things.  We were friends."  Her voice shifts.  "Cyan aku [click]-ogok adcho nongodo."  Her lips tremble for a moment, and the bard swallows thickly.  "And now he is gone.  Has been for milennia."  Fiercely, she rubs the back of her hand across her eyes.  "Lords of the West!  I pray his life was all he desired."

There's no sense in wishing he yet lived; [click]-ogok died thousands of years before Cyan had even entered this cave.

"Juchak?" she whispers.  "Juchak agho?"  Are you here, Juchak?  Will you come?

Her lips thin, and she moves to the cave wall to where Cyan herself had painted.  Slowly Cyan passes her hand over the designs, searching for something familiar.  Something she, herself painted.  Something she watched [click]-ogok paint.

There is a howl of metal scraping against metal, and Left expands, almost doubling in size, in response to a sudden movement in the cave.  One of the faded paintings has come to life.  Lacking the vivid, vibrant colours that Cyan remembers it is, nonetheless a rabbit.  Juchak hops from the wall, and onto Cyan's arm, a pale shadow of his former glory, but definitely still here.

There are other shapes that Cyan remembers too, ones that she herself had created - an eagle (Boktnojk), three deer (though only one of them - Denokad - had ever lived, the others being mere practice pieces), and more.  A raccoon (Vadchok), a loon (Gratag-nuk) and something she had never been able to identify, a sturdy creature with a long neck and legs and a short, flexible trunk (Hokod).

And off to one side, separate from the others is [click]-ogok.  That image had never moved, but had functioned as a palanquet, only a few minutes ago in the distant past...

"Juchak!" Cyan cries, ecstatic, even as Berd wings into the room.  "Wonderful!"  She doesn't care that his colours have faded with time.  And if he exists, so do the others.  "Left, there is no threat - this is Juchak.  Juchak naka-[click] dooj.  Walk far, through time," she whispers, rubbing behind the rabbit's ears.

Berd perches on her shoulder, considers hissing.  Decides against it, and chooses to study instead.

"Oh, Juchak.  I'm so sorry you've been alone," Cyan whispers.  "I left you and [click]-ogok.  I hope you've kept each other company."  A wave of the hand encompasses the others, there on the wall.  Her gaze falls upon the final picture.  "And [click]-ogok, as well."

Suddenly the bard sits in place, Berd struggling to keep his balance.  "Lords of the West, Left.  Again and again I leave people, lose people.  When will this end?"  Gritting her teeth, Cyan shakes her head, her eyes a deep ruby.  "Ah, Juchak.  What would you do?  Would you come with me, or remain here?  I could brighten you again, I am sure.  Make you splendid.  But perhaps you would wish to sleep.  Sleep with the others.  Or perhaps the others would come with me, as well?"

She sniffs, brushes fiercely at her eyes with her free hand.

Jushak inclines his head for a moment, then moves up Cyan's arm to rest on her shoulder, opposite Berd.  He sits up and starts to wash, ignoring Berd's scrutiny.

Other animals are moving on the wall, and some - Boktnojk, Denokad, Vadchok, Gratag-nuk and Hokod - seem to move towards Cyan, clustering close to her shadow on the wall.  For these, at least, the decision has apparently been made.

The eagle, Boktnojk, launches itself into the air, peeling away from the wall and gliding across to Cyan's wrist.

Left circles around to hover close to Juchak, then swings towards the eagle.  + THERE IS NO THREAT FROM THESE CREATURES?  WE SENSE POWER IN THEM. +

Laughing aloud, tears on her cheeks, Cyan slowly turns in a circle, Juchak on one shoulder, Berd the other, Boktnojk on her forearm held before her.  No tresses for this mighty bird.  "No threat, Left!  None at all - these are the spirits of this land, given form by [click]-ogok and myself, in the dream we shared!"

Finishing, she faces the Archon, her free hand rising to brush a lock of hair from her visage, clearing her burning topaz eyes.  "They are my allies and friends, just as you are.  And they have agreed to assist us.  They are cunning, clever, and resourceful; I have no doubt they will prove their worth in our venture"

Berd hrumphs once, a sparkling cloud of smoke erupting from his nostrils, and settles down upon Cyan's shoulder to study the creatures intently.  But his eyes glitter with hidden pleasure and pride.

"I need only a short time," she promises, hurrying to where the dried-up muds and old charcoals sit.  "Berd...if you could renew these, I will bring the colours back to my friends, restore them to their glorious selves."  Her fingers itch to return her allies to their pride-worthy state; not merely for them, nor for herself, but for [click]-ogok, gone these long years.  For his memory - to keep it bright.

Pausing, she raises her free hand.  "But where is dokt?"

OOC - Berd will use his ability to renew the colours in the old muds and charcoals used by [click]-ogok, allowing Cyan to use THEM to renew the colours of the wall-paintings.

Berd sets to work, performing Cyan's bidding.  Juchak pushes against her cheek, and it is as if a voice speaks in her ear, though there is no sound.  A tale, of sorts.  The story of an animal who can not be tamed or trapped due to his cleverness, nor held in one place...  But he will come when called by a friend who knows the secret.

Cyan need simply recreate the vanished image, faded during the long years, partly due to time, and partly as a result of its subject's cunning.  Then she just has to speak to him to bring him back.

There is a cough behind her, and James' voice says, "You're awake.  And you've made some new friends."

Well then.  Clever, clever dokt.  Of course he would find a way.  "Well, then," Cyan whispers.  "I shall need to call when I need him, eh Juchak?"  Bending, she picks up the pigments Berd has restored and dribbles some water into them.

But at James' voice, Cyan spins, one hand full of colour, her emerald eyes bright.  "Ah, James!  Yes, indeed - new friends, but old ones at the same time.  Here is clever Juchak, upon my shoulder.  Sharp-eyed Boktnojk sits upon my wrist.  Swift Denokad paces hither, adventursome Vadchok rolls at my feet, Gratag-nuk swims upon the seas of the stone, there, and this?  This stalwart fellow is Hokod."

Her face grows more serious for a moment.  "And this..."  Her hands indicate the scattered bones and dust.  "This was [click]-ogok.  He painted most of these walls, though some of the images are from my own fingers.  He taught me to speak to these spirits through the pigments, to ask for their aid and friendship.  Juchak was one of his friends, indeed."  She tries a smile; it's a weak one, for the sorrow is still new.  "He was my friend as well.  Long, long ago for him.  Last night's sleep for me.  We met in dreams."

She cocks her head to the side.  "I can show you, if you wish.  I can - and should - show all of you.  Left?  Would you wish to see and understand?  Should we call the others?"

"Is it dependent on being here?" James asks, concern creasing his brow, "We should move on, there are important matters we must attend to.  If necessary, we can come back here when Amber is saved, and the Archons have their new home."

Then he notes Cyan's eagerness, and his expression softens, "Though I'm sure we can spare a little time.  Malkia is isn't back from her hunt yet, and without her we can't go anywhere."