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."