"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."