"Alternately, we can let them lug themselves out of here while we move on ahead," Luke countered.  "I think anything there is going to have its hands full with us, and not have to worry about a bunch of injured soldiers."  His lips twisted down into a frown.  "But if you're set on it...I can move myself, only.  I'm not Berd - I can't protect people with me from the places I go.  The Underflow is murder if you don't have the right guide.  At best, I could shift your new friends through the Myriad Worlds in a similar fashion to yourself, but not as quickly.  So we're stuck with you doing it, or not at all."

The dark man cocked his head, a small smile appearing.  "You, Cyan, and James.  The three of you.  It doesn't matter how big the situation, you're always looking out for the individuals.  I suppose that's why you've come so far - it's easy to get dispirited if you're always after the Big Picture, but when you're working on saving that person, right there, it's hard to lose that drive."  He snorted, a disparaging sound.  "I think that's why we've lost others.  This problem...it's so huge that after a while, it probably feels impossible.  Hard to keep the spirits up."

He stretched in place.  "So let's save your men.  You walk them.  I can't help with that, but what I can do is provide one hell of a rearguard, or a distraction if need be."

His fingers touched the broken blade. "There was a time when this blade was whole," Luke muttered. "Before the old man cracked it.  I can't fix it, but I remember that time, and so does the sword."

Crethe suppresses a snort at Luke's assertion that whatever is out in Arden will have its hands full with the three of them, "Are you sure?  Not so long ago something out there gave you a bloody good kick in the head, so to speak.  We just don't know enough about what's waiting downstream from here."

"Going for reinforcements would be better, in my opinion."

Luke turned to study Crethe for a long moment.  "It gave me a bloody good kick in the head because I wasn't expecting it," he finally stated.  "I'm rather certain anyone could stab you in the back if you weren't aware they were coming.  It might be a tad bit different if you knew they were there, and some of their own capacities."  He smiles, the expression as jagged as Crethe's own used to be before her transformation. "Not to say I could take them, but they'll find things a little different now.  Enough to, one expects, keep them busy for a bit, and that's without Aaron doing his own thing with the Great Pattern."

A shrug followed as he turned the broken sword around in his hands, toying with it.  "Whatever that might be."

"Of course, we could go for reinforcements," he mused. "Leave a near-unknown here, unwatched, unimpeded, while we hare off with the injured soldiers to grab a small army.  Wouldn't take more than a few days, unless Aaron has one stuffed up his sleeve.  Or Amber Royalty, I suppose, though we'd have to convince them, and find ones that might make a difference.  Again, leaving this enemy alone, unwatched, and unimpeded."

The sword disappears...somewhere.  "No, I don't think so.  If Aaron decides to shepard these soldiers home, I'll stick around and keep an eye on things here.  At the least, it might give some warning if something transpires.  Alternately, should Aaron come to this decision, he and I can see what we can find out about this group while the soliders hurry back and report.  Then by the time reinforcements do show up, we might actually have useable information.  But that's up to Aaron."

The dark man turned in a slow circle, studying the land about himself.  No, studying the world.  For an instant, he seems to blur, dozens of Lukes occupying the same space, all in slightly different postures.  Then it ends, and he nods.  "For myself, I'm staying."

Smiling a sad smile at Luke's outburst, Aaron chuckled.

"I'm choosing to save these people because they're people, just like you and I. I'd do no less for yourself, Luke." There was no hint of self-righteousness in his voice, only the tone of simple fact. He waved a hand. "I don't know why. Atonement, maybe?" His laugh held no bitterness, surprisingly enough. "No, I don't think so. More like, I'm doing this because it defines who I am as a man. A living, breathing denizen of Shadow."

Crethe mentioned reinforcements when Aaron looked up at her from his crouch. He then measured Luke for a long time after he stopped speaking, finally nodding in agreement, regarding him staying the course.

"You've stated what I was considering anyway. I had a feeling you'd want to stick around." He grinned a feral grin as well, to match Luke's own as he rose to his feet. "Believe me, I'd rather take it to them right now." The grin faded into a simple smile as he shook his head. "But I can't let allies, good strong allies, go to waste. That includes yourself, so be careful."

He held Luke's gaze for a good few moments. "I won't linger in Amber long, but when I return, I'm going to hit them as hard as possible," he said, his voice firm. "Find what you can about them, but beware of the gestalt. I know I don't have to say it, but I won't tolerate it if they get their hands on you."

During the conversation, he had been measuring his position to Amber in the back of his mind, the backs of his eyes aching from the concentration. He could do it, move this group, and in fairly good time, it seemed.

"Gnecht!" Aaron yelled to the group. "Get your men together. We're moving out on the hour."

"It's because you're a good person, simple as that."  Luke stared off into the distance, eyes narrowed.  "Damned few of your kind around these days.  Hang onto it."

He swung back around to face his companion.  "I, however, am not.  Too much of a big picture sort of fellow, and the universe, sad to say, requires both kinds.  So I'll leave you escort these soldiers and your lady friend back to somewhere safe while I pick up the other half of the job.  Seems fair, and keeps the balance going.  Attempts to contact me will likely fail," he warned.  "I'll be messing around with this world if I can, and it'll hopefully put the kibosh on the psychic stuff.  Or dull it, at the least."

The dark man rocked back and forth, balls of feet to heels.  "Of course, nobody has had any way of contacting me for...ooo, eons.  Certainly not in this place."

"And don't worry, my plan isn't to go out in a blaze of glory."  He chuckled. "My plan is to make the other fellow do that.  So I'll stay cautious, work on gathering intelligence, and possible stall them if I can without getting my head turned inside out."  One lip curled slightly, and Luke shook his head. "Things were so much easier when it was just Dorian blowing up worlds in my face."

He shot Aaron a significant glance, returning his stare.  Then grinned.  "And...if you bump into Cyan, might want to cut back on the whole 'Shadow' thing.  Our dear daddy informs me she's touchy about that."

"Looking forward to your return.  Maybe we can figure out a way to hurt these things."

Aaron sniffed, smiling. "A good person?" He shook his head. "One of these days, I'll tell you about my daughter."

He gripped Luke's left forearm and nodded. With that, he turned, caught Crethe's eye and set towards Gnecht and his group.

"Let's go, Gnecht," he said when he reached them. "Your men and mine will share stories of combat in the next few days. Come. Tell me of your battles as we travel together."

Gnecht rises, puts the first two fingers of one hand to his lips and gives a shrill whistle.  Heads turn to face him.

"Listen ye!  These officers are going to be leading us to camp.  They know a true way back."  He raises his right hand, palm towards them and digits spread, "Ye be having five szata, then we go, if'n ye're ready or no.  Take only that what ye can carry easy, and be ready to help our brothers."

There is a bustle of movement as belongings are sorted.  Some picked up, and some cast aside.  For each item dropped on the ground, the men snarl a brief phrase, and then spit on it.  "A curse." Folch explains, "Sickness and death on any enemy what dares to take anything of ours."

Even the wounded get to their feet, insisting that they can walk, even if they'll need help should the way become difficult.

Gnecht's lips have been moving silently as he gathered his own belongings, and suddenly he yells, "TIME!" and all movement in the makeshift camp stops.

"Sir, we's ready to be movin, at yer word."

"Yes. We're moving out." Aaron looked to Crethe to make sure she was in order as well, then raised a single hand to Luke in departure.

Then he began to move, the path in his mind simple and set, assured he could get this group of beleaguered warriors to a proper place. Aaron fell into a deep concentration, feeling the subtle relations between worlds as he began their journey.

"Outstanding," Luke muttered.  He threw a brief wave back at Aaron, then returned his attention to the path ahead.  It wouldn't do, after all, for the man to think he cared.  That might lead to drunken stories, brotherly bonding, and Aaron actually being worried about him.  Irritating, that.  Luke had damned few friends for most of his existence, and outside Aaron, none at all at the moment.

He couldn't afford Aaron doing something insane in an attempt to help him.

"Probably lose another body part," the dark man muttered, with a short chuckle.  His intrinsic power flowed from him like waves on a sea, slowly leeching out into the world around them, twisting and warping it.  It wasn't easy, not this close to the icy pole of Amber.  No, indeed; he wasn't certain he could manage it.

But if he could, it might come as a rude shock to whatever had invaded his mind.

Part of his mind - a small part, for Luke could not multi-cognizance in parallel like his father - focused instead upon cloaking himself, dropping a dim shield over his own conciousness.  It did nothing for his physical form, but physical form wasn't really the issue, here.

"All right," Luke whispered, one eyebrow quirking alongside the corner of his mouth.  "Let's see about holding this place.  Then get suicidal and try to figure out about the enemy."

Aaron starts to walk with Crethe, now carrying her own blade again, a little behind him and two paces to his left.

The injured warriors, the ones who had been laying still for most of the visit to the camp, are limping along a couple of paces further back, flanked by Gnecht and Folch.  The rest of the ragtag band of survivors are strung out behind them.

The path through the forest seems difficult at first, but gradually eases as they progress.

After about half a mile, Aaron looks back to notice that the men are keeping pace easily, so he speeds his own pace, following a trail which seems oddly devoid of obstacles, even minor ones.  It's like walking in a garden, rather than the wildwood.

They make good progress, and then Gnecht speaks, his voice low and urgent, "Sir, we's being follered.  Off to yer right, about fifty paces out.  Can't see who it is, but they's trying ter stay hid."

Back at the makeshift camp, Luke sits quietly amidst the rubble and discarded (and apparently cursed) belongings of the troops...

"A tail?" Aaron frowned, but wasn't overtly concerned. He'd assumed that they would be followed, but was it a single individual alone, or a scout or free-runner from a larger company?

The path was easy and Aaron knew he could continue apace, but he couldn't risk leading Gnecht's men into a potential ambush. Though he kept moving, he gestured to Crethe to approach him.

"We've got a tail. Fifty paces out from my right side." Aaron didn't want to risk her or Gnecht's men in an unknown situation, but there were too many uknowns, and he felt he'd just have to leave it be for now. He nodded to Gnecht. "They have the advantage of having eyes on us. if we move anyone against them, they could bolt, or worse, call someone down on us." His frown remained. "I'll just have to make some adjustments so our tail needs to compensate. Maybe I can force them into a mistake."

With that, he urged Crethe and Gnecht to be prepared, advising Gnecht to instruct his strongest men to be wary of an ambush.

With that said, Aaron kept them moving, adjusting their path to make the surrounding area less and less dense, until the path itself seemed to lazily meander into a fully open field, its short, golden grasses framed very distantly by sparse woodland.

Flexing his hands, Luke finally stood.  "All right," he whispered.  Now, with a stronger hold over the reality surrounding himself, he spun a mental fog, a haziness of static that rendered psychic contact all the more difficult.  A thin smile cut across his lips as he raised his own mental defenses as well, shrouding himself in a fashion similar to Berd.  "Should give me enough shielding...though it works both ways."

The fog would also work upon his own supernatural senses.

"Now.  Let's go see if we can find that enemy," the dark man muttered, walking forward along the path the soldiers indicated.

Aaron steps out into the meadow, startling a family of deer.  For a moment the animals stand and stare at him, and then they break, running for the tree line on the far side of the open area.

Aaron can sense the others behind him as he starts across the expanse of lush grass, following what amounts to little more than a seldom-used game trail.  Gnecht catches up with him again.  "Can't be sure, Sir, but I's thinking as we's lost our friend.  Hasn't seen him these last ten or fifteen szata."

He looks around, noting the position of Kolvir, relative to their own.  "We's making good time, Sir.  Better'n I would've thought."

Back at the ruined fort, Luke sets out along a track which, more or less, follows the river.  He's only been walking for about twenty minutes when he hears voices somewhere ahead of him...

Aaron nodded and kept walking, gesturing to grand Kolvir in the distance. "We'll keep at this pace for another half day, perhaps longer if your group can take it, then make camp and rest for a bit."

Was their tail truly gone? He did not doubt Gnecht's skills, or the eyes of his men, but things were too tight in the back of his mind for him to feel sure of their own safety.

He adjusted their course still, keeping to the meadows and grasslands, for now. Eventually though, Arden trumped all, as its massive size was wont to do. The sun soon shone golden through crisp green leaves that first lined the meadow's edge, then closed in upon them.

Once, he called Gnecht to him, just to confirm that he had eyes out, trusting in his outliers to keep them aware. Yet, he had seen how hard Luke had been struck during their travels, and Aaron too did not know whether he could shield all these men himself, even if he was able to form a bridging of his own, perhaps using Ilse as a medium. He pushed the idea into the back of his mind, for later consideration, pushing forwards and into Arden proper once more.

Gnecht confirms that if the force is still being followed, then he isn't aware of it.  In the open terrain he had spread the men out a little in an effort to see if there were any enemy troops about, but they had reported no such troops nearby.

"Either they's better at hunting than we is, which is being possible, since we's not got a proper look at one of the buggers, or they's gived up." he opines, "Either way, we looks clear of them for now."

The warriors pull in closer again as the forest closes in on each side, and Crethe moves up alongside Aaron.  "I see Kolvir, Aaron, but beyond that I have no idea where we are.  I thought I knew my way around this area, but I suppose I've never been to this part before.  It's a big forest after all."

Back among the trees again, and Aaron keeps moving onward.  Until Gnecht suddenly growls, "Something's ahead, Sir."

The something comes out from the forest.  Scaled, horned and barbed, wearing a simple leather harness, and with the hilt of a sword jutting above its shoulder.  In an eyeblink it blurs, and is gone.

And back an instant later, accompanied by four more of its kind, and a human male, bearded and with grey streaks in his red hair.  The slit pupils of the man's eyes regard Aaron, as his face splits into a broad grin.

"Aaron!  Long time, no see, man.  How's it going?"

Looking somewhat older than when the two had last met, Jonnee Kay strides forward, a hand outstretched in greeting.

The dark man froze; not like a person, but like a statue.  When he ceaded to move, all movement ended.  Even breathing.

After a long moment of listening, he judged himself still too far to understand.  He could, of course, reach out with his mind, but that would defeat the purpose of his alterations to the world about him.  He could slip through the Underflow, but that might alert whomever awaits.

Better to do this the old fashioned way, he decided.

Luke scanned the trail before him, then continued at a slower, silent pace, his mind seizing control of the world close to him, shunting any tiny noises elsewhen.  In two days, that the sound of a twig snapping might disturb the birds.  Four hours ago, the scuff of a footfall might have been heard.  He kept to cover, using his mundane eyes to probe the woods ahead, always on the watch for motion or something out of place.

Luke moves forward, expending considerable effort in not being detected.  Before too long he finds himself looking at a camp ground, but still undiscovered.  The occupants, and by his estimate there are at least a thousand of them, look very much like those Aaron's scout had described - large and heavy-set, with horns, and skin covered with fine blue scales.

There are other details that the scout had neglected to mention.  Every one of them has numerous scars, laid out in intricate patterns of interlocking spirals across its bare chest.  Possibly self-inflicted and clearly not the result of random injuries.

Their faces and arms bear the marks of hot iron.  All of them have been branded, and again the marks do not appear random.

For an army in enemy territory, they don't seem to be making any effort to conceal their presence.  They're almost noisy, in fact.  As if they have no fear of being discovered.  As Luke watches a brawl erupts, amid much cheering and yelling.  It's over in moments, with one of the combatants down, and the other, barely able to stand due to its injuries, but still with enough strength to scream in triumph, its voice echoing through the forest.

Either they have supreme confidence in their ability to defeat any foe, or they're deliberately trying to attract enemy forces.  Neither possibility is encouraging.  From the look of the fight, they're definitely berserkers...

Aaron raised a fist to halt the troupe when the first being appeared, surprised at its sudden speed. Then...

He paused, his focused countenance splitting into a grin to match that of his old comrade. "Jonnee Kay, as I breathe!" He laughed, reaching out to clasp the man's wrist in his hand, grasping his shoulder with the other.

He turned, gesturing to Gnecht and Crethe to approach. To Gnecht he said. "Tell your men there's no danger, here, but to find a spot to rest for a while. After that, join us. I would have you in council."

He turned to Crethe, then. "This is Jonnee Kay, a member of our group of World Walkers, and a man I trust implicitly." He turned to Jonnee, introducing Crethe to him. "My, it is good to see you! What brings you this deep into Arden?"

Jonnee nods at Aaron's companions, before Gnecht moves off to have his troops stand down.

"Took us a while to get here, but I've brought an army to defend Amber.  Brintizzi mostly, plus a few others that we met on the road.  The others don't move as quick as me and the Brints, so they slowed us down a little, but I though the extra manpower would come in handy.  We arrived here yesterday and I was looking for somebody, anybody, that I could report to and get a sit-rep.  I guess that'd be you."

He takes a crystal tipped metal rod from the Brintizzi who stands closest, "We still have these ray guns, and if the Archies had a butt, we'd be kicking it.  Every time we've run into them on the way here, these things have burned them down."

Handing it back to the Brintizzi, he continues, "Brints thought they were dishonourable at first - you know how they like to get up close and personal - but I talked them round."

So, what's been happening here?  The others with you?"

Interesting, Luke considered.

This doesn't seem like the group that had assaulted his mind, and certainly not a hive mind, but appearances could deceive.  Oh, he well knew that.  Or perhaps the group was under the command of said hive-mind, which at the moment had better thins to do than prevent its shock troops from fighting amongst themselves for amusement.

Or, trap.

"Always a possibility," he muttered.

Skulking didn't suit him, no matter what literature claimed.  Luke had to fight the urge to simply walk up and demand an explanation.  Better he watch for a long moment.  Better he try to determine if they were...they were under some kind of leadership that at the moment...at the moment...

"Hang it all," he grumbled, pushing himself up to his feet.  "Chances need to be taken.  I could wander around the periphery of this forever, and still be 'investigating' when Aaron returns.  With nothing to give him."

And he strongly doubted any hive-mind, guiding force would simply allow their army to sit here, fighting among themselves.  Possible?  Certainly.  Likely, considering the differing psychologies?

"Predictions often fail," Luke muttered, striding toward the camp.  "Too easy to see everything from one's own point of view, and thus view the world through blinders."

Even so, sometimes they were all one had to use.

Luke walks into the camp and finds that his concealment holds.  Even so he gets the impression that a number of these creatures might sense him as he gets close.  Some of them seem to stare at him directly, or cock their head in his direction.

More than one asks his companions if they heard a noise, or smelled something.  But none seem to be able to pinpoint his location.  One does, however, grab a spear and hurl it uncomfortably close to the man.

After a few minutes of this, he spots one of Amber's scouts being dragged into the camp.  The unfortunate man is immediately surrounded by a hostile crowd, but not for long.  A voice bellows, "Take the prisoner to Stashil and be quick!  He'll skin you all if this human dies before he gets the chance to question it!"

The crowd disperses, two of them dragging the scout away.  The one who had shouted, a particularly hideous and burly specimen, stands and sniffs the air before peering about suspiciously...

Stashil.

Could be an Archon, Luke mused.  Many Archons had names he recognized.  He wondered if he'd meet one using his own, at some point. Congruency, he thought.

Best not to let that man fall into the enemy's hands.  On the other side of it, this certainly gave him an opportunity to ferret out more information.  He knows this group has sharp senses - hearing, smell, at the least - if they can pick up on his presence.  Frowning, he considered shifting the sounds and scents 'further' from him, but eventually decided against it.  Too much monkeying around with time and someone was sure to notice.

That thrown spear had been quite a surprised.  Reactionary creatures, they were.

He can't stick around, or this one, this...leader, Luke supposed, will find him.  He could try reading the creature's thoughts, but holding up the concealment might be difficult.  Better to just follow.

Taking a wide circle around the one giving the orders, he set off after the troops and their captives.  A rescue?  Perhaps.  Certainly some intelligence gathering.

The captured scout is dragged through the camp, towards a larger tent at its heart.  As he reaches it, he is forced to his knees, and one of his escorts steps forward to stand before the opening (which is closed).  "Commander?  We have brought a prisoner for your attention."

The opening is pushed aside, and a human male, or almost human, steps out, followed by a second.  The first man wears ornate mail of plate and chain, lacquered in red and black.  A two-handed sword is strapped diagonally across his back, and a bandolier supports several assorted knives across his chest.  His skin is reddish, and there are two short horns projecting from his curly black hair, above his brow.

His face is thin and skull-like, with sunken eyes and hollow cheeks, and an immaculately trimmed goatee.

The second man is similar in appearance, though with a full beard rather than a goattee, and clad in a flowing gown which leaves his chest, and the intricate tattoos thereon, exposed.  He sneers at the scout, "I suppose you plan to torture him for information, Hilatavichus?  How often must I tell you that my methods will give faster results."

"Faster results, and less pleasure Igronitiandach.  Now be silent, or leave."  The mailed man gestures to the escorts, "Take him inside and see that he is bound."
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:09, Sun 08 June 2014.

Well, THIS was interesting.

Luke ghosted up to the tent, beside the door, watching and waiting.  He'd get more information from this lot, the dark man suspected.  And if they lacked the senses of the others, far better, though he'd have to stay alert.  It could be a trap.  They might have already noticed him.  They could have sorcerous wards, or access to a Greater Power.

Focusing, he studied the tent itself for a long moment, seeking traces of any Greater Power.

There would come a moment where the tent flap opens for the passage of several people.  All-too-easy for him to slip inside.  Chances, Luke thought to himself, remembering his friend.

I hope you're well, Chance, wherever you are.

Then, the moment he could, he slipped inside with the others.

The scout is brought inside, and Luke follows.  The interior of the tent is moderately well appointed, with all the things that one might expect a high-ranking commander to have with him on campaign.  Rugs, a brazier filled with glowing coals, a desk, a simple, but comfortable looking bed, several wooden stools, a rack for storage of arms and armour.

In the centre is one curious thing though.  A wooden board, four or five inches thick and about the size of a door, lays on the ground.  Two upright metal posts, about seven feet high and three inches in diameter, are bolted to the board, close to each end.  Sturdy chains, with attached manacles, are secured to the upper and lower end of each post.

The scout is marched across to the board, and placedd between the posts, with manacles secured at his wrists and ankles.  Because of the length of the chains, his arms and legs are held out at a most uncomfortable angle.

The escorts leave, and Hilatavichus moves the brazier closer to the captive scout, followed by a small table, which he positions where the man can see it, before retrieving a leather bound wooden case and placing it on the table.  Opened, the case contains an assortment of  knives, hooks and... less easily identified things,

"And now I think I'll call for some food, while our guest considers the instruments before him.  Will you join me?"

"No, thank you.  I have a rite to administer shortly."
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:10, Sun 08 June 2014.