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."