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Part 50c: The Sea Song
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50c - The Sea Song by Dworkin (GM)
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Dorian wastes no time. He knows that he is in danger in Drusilla's home. As soon as he has his belongings back, he says his farewells, and leaves.
Later, at a comfortable inn, he relaxes a little. One advantage
of his method of travel is that it can be cursed hard to follow
him. After all, much of the time he is unsure of his own route,
although he generally knows the destination.
The inn, the Sea Song stands upon a clifftop, looking out
across a broad channel which connects to open ocean. Across the
channel from Dorian's window a lighthouse burns in the gathering
dusk. He has excellent food, a damned good wine, and he is away
from Drusilla. If he can keep his head down, she might never find
him.
Not that he fears her... it's just that she can be so annoying.
For the moment, though, he has other concerns.
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Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
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Keep his head down was never Dorian's specialty. He leaned back almost
sulkily in the comfortable chair by the fire. It was the kind of chair
that let you sink into it, feeling like you'd never be able to extract
yourself. A warm fire crackled nearby.
His hand rested on the base of the wineglass, rotating it slowly and
thoughtfully. His thoughts kept lingering on another in and another
room. His eyes were grew bright with moisture as he remembered her
buoyant smile as she gracefully balanced the tray above her shoulder,
waiting for him to lead the way downstairs. Oh, how he'd fallen into
that trap.
No more traps. From now on, he set the traps.
He slid the wineglass over by the plate of eaten food, the bones
already drying in the warm air. He had asked for the fire to be stoked
a little warmer than needful. He felt cold, today.
Work needed to be attended.
His hands came together in front of him, fingers touching in an arch
before his chest. His eyelids drooped as his focus left the inn once
again.
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Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dworkin (GM)
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The old man hobbles closer to the fire, and gestures to a chair opposite Dorian, "D'yer mind if I sit, son? I'll try not ter disturb yer."
He is thin, with silver-grey, collar-length hair, and a neatly-trimmed
goatee. His eyes are a brilliant green, clear and bright.
He is dressed well, his clothes, while clearly old, are well cared for
- a dark grey jacket and breeches, and a shirt of white cotton.
The breeches are tucked into knee-length white stockings, and he wears
good quality black shoes, with brass buckles. A matching cravat
and cummerbund, both in a rich plum colour, complete his dress.
There is a large book tucked under his left arm, bound in red leather.
Before Dorian can answe he sits, places the book on the table to his left, and signals for the innkeeper, "A glass o' yer best cider, please. And some cheese and bread, if I may?"
As the innkeeper goes to fetch his order, the man lays his hand on the cover of the book, and druns his fingers briefly, "Who d'yer think'll win the race, then?" he asks, gazing at Dorian.
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Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
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Dorian barely moved an eyelid as the man approached and began speaking. He did his best to ignore him completely.
The race. Another race was on his mind, along with older quotes
from acquaintances. The Archon's advantage was time. Luke had said
that, and how much difficulty could have been saved if they'd had the
full story on Luke from the beginning. However, that statement was
correct. The struggle with the archons was pressing, but not his
priority for the moment. Things needed to be set in order so they could
advance.
"I apologize," he says, his eyes straying to the man. "But, I am not sure to which race you refer. I am a stranger here, and I don't keep up on such things,
generally. Moreover, I have much on my mind this night. You may sit,
but I ask you to not disturb me with attempts at conversation. You'd
find I am poor company, in the end."
In many ways, the struggle against the Archons was a race, indeed. Interesting.
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Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dworkin (GM)
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"I'm sorry, son, sometimes I talk a ways too much. I'll not 'dturb yer again." He smiles apologetically, and turns his gaze to the fire, stretching out his hands to warm them before the flames.
The innkeeper returns wuth his drink and the requested food, and the
old man thanks him effusively. When the innkeeper moves away,
though, he ignores the simple snack, instead running the tip of his
right index finger over the embossed leather cover of the book which
lays beside him.
Finally, he picks it up, opens it at a marked page, and starts to
read. It is a large book, perhaps fourteen inches by eight, and
three inches or so thick, and he holds it up before his face as he
reads, peering closely at the pages. Although his expression is,
thus, mostly hidden, Dorian can hear him whispering to himself from
time to time.
"No. Kesselrich don't agree with that... "
"Because yer needs quicksilver, fool!"
"Easy enogh ter say that now!"
He is silent then, for some time, until he suddenly laughs, and exclaims aloud, "Ha! I knew yer'd have to admit that! Fågelmann indeed!"
Startled by his own words, he lowers the book, resting it open on his lap, "I'm sorry, son, I gets a bit carried away sometimes." he apologises to Dorian, then he reaches for the cider and takes a sip of it.
The book sits open upon his thighs, and the left page holds tiny,
crabbed handwriting, the right though holds an illustration. Even
viewing it upside down, as Dorian is, and from some little distance, it
is recognisable.
Four men stand before a pyramid, their hands raised in fear, or
possibly in worship. Above them, a circle hangs in the sky,
wreathed in flame, and caxts fire down upon them.
An Archon...
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Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
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Dorian's eyes narrowed as he caught pieces of the man's words. He felt
like lashing out verbally, but held his tongue. He wouldn't let some
imbecil corrode his concentration.
Then, something else catches his eye on the book. He smirks at the man's apology, and his eyes are placid. "No, no," he urges in a small whisper. "Go ahead and read it."
He met the man's eyes and his will gleamed like a scalpel in the sunlight.
"Read it all."
He gestured to the serving girl for more wine, for both of them. He
also asked her to bring whatever his companion desired. He settled
further into the chair, prepared for a long night.
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Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dworkin (GM)
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"Surely, if yer that interested." he replies. smiling, and goes back to the start of the book. "It's an old book, mind ye, nigh on two hundred years since it were written, and much of it's known to be nonsense now... "
He reads, and the book is very dry for the most part. The light
in the Common Room fades through the afternoon, and into dusk, word
comes that somebody called Harriman won the race, and holds the tea
contract for the next year, but the old man is so interested in his
reading that he doesn't even notice. His food dries in the heat
from the fire, the edges of the bread curling, and the cider stands
forgotten, even though the man's voice grows hoarse.
The book seems to be a treatise on alchemy, mostly, with side notes on
geography and nature. It is clear that Dorian's companion
disagrees with much of what it says, though he does not explicitly
state this, simply adopting a somewhat scornful tone when reading those
parts.
And finally, as the smells of cooking drift through the inn, towards dinner time, "...
that there are truly angels in Heaven is not doubted, and if the
Heavenly choirs exist, then so must the hordes of demons in the lower
place. Though none have presented proof of the existence of these
demons, it must be remembered that it was only seventy years ago that
savants and scholars were foolish enough to disbelieve the existence of
angels."
"Vordeman himself denied the angels, and espoused a belief in natural
philosophy, claiming that all things could be explained without
invoking the Hand of the Almighty in their workings. The fact
that Vordeman was among those who saw the angel showed that, not only
does the Almighty exist, but he is possessed of a most excellent wit."
"Upon that Sabbath morn, when Vordeman, together with his assistant
Kronis of Pontus came to the Cathedral at Koln, as was their custom, to
dispute the existence of the Almighty with the priests, and to heckle
and jeer at the believers, was surely a major day in our history."
"The angel, which named itself Gerviel, or Cerviel according to some,
proclaimed its presence, and spoke at length, declaring that it was but
the first of three comings which would herald the end of
Creation. It spoke of famine and death, and of the world, ravaged
by disease. And it foretold that the second coming would be soon,
in the counting of angels, and that the third would be shortly after
that, at which time all would have but a single year to make their
peace with Heaven."
"Though the second coming has not yet occurred, it cannot be denied
that an angel came to the Cathedral, and if it spoke true, then it
sleeps there still, for it passed inside and did not emerge again."
Dorian's companion turns the page, "It is
said that on the southern landmass, there exists a creature, which is
like a man in form, and yet it bears its face in the middle of its
belly, to speed the consumption of food... "
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Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
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"Stop."
Dorian gestures at the food and drink. "Please, eat and drink
a moment. I have a question. Do you know of this cathedral at Koln of
which the book speaks? Does this angel still sleep there? I would like
to see this place."
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Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dworkin (GM)
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Taking a bite of the dried bread, and a large drink of the now-warm cider, the old man regards Dorian with a little confusion, "Surely
everybody has heard of Koln. It's the biggest city in the land,
after all. As fer the Cathedral, aye, that still stands, though
it's changed a bit, got bigger, since the book were written."
"The angel now, that's a different thing. Koln is called the
Angel City, in its honour. There's a great slab, in the floor o'
the Cathedral, maybe three paces on a side, covered with writings from
the scriptures. It's been there since the Cathedral were built,
an them what believes says the Angel of Koln went beneath it ter wait
fer the right time ter show itself again."
He looks towards the darkening windows, wondering where the time went, "Course, that's nonsense, I reckons."
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Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
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Dorian smiles. "Luckily, it isn't your reckoning that matters," he says. "How
far is it to Koln, from our present location? I happen to have some
experience with the angels and their counterparts, both. This is a
matter of great importance."
Though he hates to use any sort of power with Drusilla waiting for him,
time is essential. He can always disappear again, shortly, if needed.
He is, he hopes, far enough away to make the risk.
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Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dworkin (GM)
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"How far? To Koln? Lessee now... it's
at least a day ter Hansbeyrn by coach, an' Koln's about another half
day 'yond that... say... " some quick calculation follows, with a certain degree of counting on fingers and movement of lips, "'bout twenty-six, twenty-seven leagues. By road that is, though. Probably only 'bout twenty by luftschiff. Course, nobody round here can afford ter go by luftschiff."
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Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
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"A luftschiff will be made available if we need it. Please, explain to me what a luftschiff is. And, for an appropriate cost, would you be available to guide me to Koln, tomorrow."
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Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dworkin (GM)
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"Me, go ter Koln? By luftschiff?
Heheh, I'd do it fer free. Not like I've anythin' better
planned. I could do with goin' ter a couple of book vendors over
there though, get somethin' new ter read." the old man is smiling. A broad smile.
"Yer wouldn't be havin' a joke with ol' Abel now,
would yer? I've been ter Koln afore, but mostly by coach.
Once I borrowed a horse, an' it rained all the way back, the books were
ruined. Ain't never flown afore though. Heard tell that a luftschiff can do the trip in two hours, an' they serve tea while yer aboard."
He is openly chuckling now, "I seen 'em, of
course, glidin' over, but never rode in one afore. Met lots o'
folk who can tell me what it's like, though near as I can make out,
most o' them never rode in one either. They say it's like bein'
on a boat, but in the sky."
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Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
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"Good. If I supply money, will you be able to secure us passage for
the morning. I have work to attend to, tonight. Do you require anything
else for the journey: Food, clothing, anything?"
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Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dworkin (GM)
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"No, Son, I've all that I need. I'll see yer in the mornin'. The luftshiff comes by at about ten, so I'll be here 'fore then." Abel stands, thanking Dorian with a nod, and a very formal bow, before taking his book and turning to leave.
Morning comes, wrapped in a shroud of sea fog. The lighthouse is
invisible across the channel, though a great bell can be faintly heard
by those at the inn, tolling out a warning to ships.
Abel arrives as Dorian finishes breakfast, clothed in a similar fashion
to yesterday, but with the addition of a heavy greatcoat and a muffler
of green wool, "Got
ter keep wrapped up in weather like this, at my age. Don't want a
flux on me lungs, now, do I? My brother Daniel, he got a... ah...
listen, the luftshiff is coming!"
There is a faint humming in the air, like the droning song of a fat,
slow bumblebee. Gradually it grows, accompanied by a tingling
across the skin. Abel leads the way outside, though there is
nothing to see for the moment, except the blanket of fog. The
humming and the tingling grow... there are a dozen angry wasps flying
around Dorian's head now, and gooseflesh slithers and crawls across his
skin.
And then, suddenly, the luftshiff is there. A vast,
copper egg, dripping condensed moisture in a continuous drizzle as it
slides through the mist, revolving slowly around it's long axis.
Closer now, and there are windows around the widest part of it, and an
array of thin, mast-like towers at the narrower top end, seeming
ethereal in the fog, as blue lightnings sparkle up and down their forms.
The luftshiff descends, sparks leaping to the earth now,
as it settles upon its broader end. A door, ludicrously small in
comparison, opens in the surface, just below the row of windows, and a
narrow catwalk extends from it. A moment later a man walks out,
to the end of the walkway, which sways beneath him. He leans on
the rail and gazes down at the approaching ground. A hand is
raised to his mouth, and great lights flare to life above him, on the
surface of the luftschiff, conical beams of brilliance lighting
the ground like the summer sun, sweeping to and fro across the small
crowd which has come out of the inn to watch.
The flying device halts its descent at last, the lower end seeming to
rest upon a cushion of blue fire, perhaps a foot from the ground, and
the wasps, a hundred of them now, are in a frenzy of rage.
Another door opens, larger than the first, and much lower, close to the
ground. A staircase rolls out from it, and a man strides down it,
wearing a uniform of dark red and carrying a megaphone.
Stopping on the bottom step, as if touching the common earth would
taint him in some way, he pulls a watch from the pocket of his vest,
studies it, and waits. And waits. Another look at the
watch, and he raises the megaphone to his lips...
"ALL ABOARD!"
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Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
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Dorian scowls at the abomination. Somehow, there had to be better, more
efficient ways to fly than this. At a glance, he couldn't even tell if
it was magic or technology was in use. He could find out easily enough,
but he didn't bother. He could have used sorcery to transport them both
to the cathedral, but he needed a low profile. No doubt, Drusilla would
be looking for him. The cathedral was only one destination. He had
other leads to investigate after this stop, and not on this world. The
cathedral was only a curiosity and he could continue his work while he
traveled.
"I will pay your for your services, of course," he says to his companion. "Name a fair price."
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Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Abel (NPC)
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Abel takes a pace towards the lowe step, his eyes filled with child-like excitement. "Yer'll
be more than payin' for any service I could give, just by takin' me
along fer this ride. I've watched these things all my life, but
I'd have ter scrimp an' save fer a year ter travel in one. By the
time I could afford a ride to Koln, I'd still have no money ter spend
there."
He places a foot on the lowest tread, and starts to climb. Above him the entrance to the luftshiff is filled with a soft, white light, and clouds of steam roll out into the foggy air.
The staircase sways and creaks with every step. Dorian, too,
starts up, and behind him the uniformed man checks his watch and calls
out through the megaphone, "LAST CALL!.
The air inside the luftshiff is warm, and humid, and the
two men find themselves standing in a short passageway lit by globes of
crystal. It is bright there, and at the far end, perhaps thirty
feet away, is a desk where rwo armed men wait behind another. All
three men are in the same uniform as the one on the stairs.
Abel stops at the desk, "We're goin' ter Koln." he says, struggling to keep the excitement out of his voice. A
price is named, which causes Abel to draw in his breath, but Dorian
simply passes over the fee, not even hesitating when the other adds the
word, "each."
And then things change. They are passengers now, no longer intruders.
They are led up a long, curving ramp, and into a vaulted chamber, all
polished wooden panels and gilded metalwork. Part way up the
walls of the chamber is a circular balcony, reached by curving
staircases, where windows look out. Everywhere there are
white-jacketed waiters serving other passengers at their tables.
Abel climbs to the balcony, and takes a seat near the windows, even
though there is only rolling fog to be seen outside at the
moment. And then, with no sensation of movement, the fog is
suddenly below, and the luftshiff is travelling above a world of whiteness below a clear blue sky.
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Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
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Dorian takes a seat across from Abel, looking out the window with some interest. "Order what you will. Money is not a concern."
He settles himself, quietly arranging his cloak over his lap and finding a comfortable position.
"I would be interested in anything you can tell me, while we travel, of the appearance of angels and the cathedral."
His eyes droop slightly, gazing far off and concentrating. He'll give the man's words only passing interest.
He had many problems. Among them was his counterpart, a murderer in
some sense of the word. Genocide was a little better word. His lips
curled at the thought. And yet, he'd been ready to murder Drusilla
based only on suspicion and conjecture. Berd had been, too. What had
turned Berd aside from his course? What had Drusilla said to him, or
had she somehow managed to subvert the complex hydra mind. Even for
her, that would be an impossible task.
Two Dorian's was a rogue strategy. He needed to unite with his other,
but how to do it still perplexed him. The other would dispose of him as
useless. He would rather see them... merged.
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Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dworkin (GM)
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The journey continues, the fog clearing gradually fro below them as the luftschiff moves inland, away from the moisture filled air along the coast.
A patchwork of forest and field moving by perhaps three hundred feet
below.
Abel gazes out of the window, pointing out cattle, sheep, running
horses, and, on one occasion, a small group of deer moving through a
lightly-wooded area which glitters with the shallow pools scattered
wetland.
The old man is like a child in his enthusiasm for the scene, and
repeats severak times how odd the houses look from this angle...
He also has a little more information on the presence of angels.
"Course, there's been people claimed ter see angels
'fore an' since, but never such a well-documented case, an' none so
public. That one appeared ter a couple o' hundred people,
including a senior bishop, several priests, an two well-known atheists,
one o' which turned back ter the church soon after. A little hard
ter deny it happened with that many witnesses."
"The cathedral's been there for centuries. Maybe a thousand
years, I'd guess, an' nothing like this happened any other time.
It were founded two centuries after a woman called Esmilla had a vision
on the spot. She saw a door open, and the Lord stood there
surrounded by angels. He spoke to her too, told her there was a
plague comin', an' that she should be ready for it. So she
started making preparations, put food by an' such, an' told any that'd
listen to her."
"A lot did listen, so when the plague began two years later, more
people lived through it, an' the famine that came with it, than
might've done otherwise. The Church 'ventually named her Saint
Esmilla, and built the cathedral on the spot."
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Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
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Dorian nods absently at the man's stories. So far, it mostly made sense
to him. What bothered him is why the Archon would bother to warn people
of the coming doom. Looking back, they had used people as
builder-slaves, such as on Cargach's world. Perhaps they had, once, had
such plans here. On the other hand, maybe that Archon had been a rebel
like Metatron. Given the centuries that had passed, the tale was only a
hint at what might have happened there. He would have to deal with the
present, only.
He had already studied the cathedral from a distance; the trip was a
mere diversion while he complete his other work. However, seeing it
firsthand might yield additional clues.
"Interesting," Dorian mumbles to the other man. He's lost in his own thoughts and work.
He notes with some detachment how vulnerable he felt without the others
nearby. That could be due to Drusilla's present hunt for him, of
course. He shouldn't be surprised, though. He should have known the
group could only stand together for so long. He wondered at how Cyan's
death seemed to be the start of the end, as if she had singly been some
soft of bonding agent to keep them all together. In truth, she probably
had been more than they ever realized.
Would Jonnee erect a grave or memorial for her, back on that world? She
deserved it. If not, he would construct one of his own somewhere,
someday. He'd make sure the people revered the site until the end of
time.
He glances at the man before him.
Why not?
"I will tell you a new tale," he begins, his voice now louder
and stronger. He wants others nearby to hear the story. He's no
storyteller, but the story will still be told. "It is a tale of the
war in the Myriad Realms of Heaven and Hell,,, and this is the first
time it has been told among men on this world...."
The story focuses on Cyan's deeds and roll in the struggle so far,
leaving out many details that would merely confuse the people and
complicate things too much. Rather than make the distinction between
worlds, he paints the impression of infinite realms of heaven and hell.
In the end, it's more allegory than fact, but the plot and details are
based on the real thing. He didn't feel safe giving out real
information to mere mortals.
For him, it is enough. Someone will remember and speak her name, even if the end may not be far away.
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Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dworkin (GM)
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And so the journey passes, as tales are told, and the land rolls by far
below. By the time Dorian finishes, there are perhaps a score of
people at the nearer tables who have listened to his story of Cyan's
part in the Shadow War. Most will remember it, and considering
her profession as a bard, a tale makes a more fitting memorial to that
particular fallen comrade than any statue of mere silent stone ever
would.
Eventually she may become part of this world's folklore - Cyan, true to
the end, never swerving from the path, even when all others fell around
her.
But now the luftshiff is descending towards Koln, the
great sprawling metropolis, all the buildings low, except for the
great, towering mass of the cathedral.
Finally the great sky ship reaches its landing place, an open square
between the Market Place and the Cathedral Road, and the passengers are
allowed to disembark.
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Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
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Dorian steps off the strange craft, the luftshiff,
and scans his surroundings. The place was a bustle of activity, but he
guessed that cathedral road would lead him to his destination.
He turned to his companion, "Let’s have a look at this cathedral. You have time." He extends a tiny bit of will to make sure the man has time. He would compensate the man before leaving this world.
As they walk towards the cathedral, he feels ahead with Broken Pattern,
seeking any clues that might indicate a trap, ambush or other dangers.
Other than these few diversions, his mind was busy with the details of
spells and preparations, seeking that which was lost and making new
plans for the future.
He decided that it was well the group had separated. They could achieve
more this way. They had only been slowing him down up to this point.
Things had gotten better.
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Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dworkin (GM)
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The roadway does, indeed, lead to the cathedral itself. A broad
processional cutting through the heart of the city, and at its far end
the massive bulk of the tallest building in Koln. Stone and grey
steel, it stands alone, surrounded by open space. The great
pyramid stands at its heart, surrounded by a network of interlinked and
interconnected buildings, and surmounted by a tall mast which supports
a burnished copper hoop, blazing in the sun like a living Archon.
Abel cheerfully leads the way towards the cathedral, crosses the empty
space around it, and makes his way through the labyrinthine mess of
outbuildings, until he stands before the great door to the pyramid
itself.
High overhead the copper hoop burns with the reflected light of the sun, almost painful to look upon.
Then they move inside, passing through a small door to one side of the
main one, which Abel assures Dorian is only opened for grand occasions
and important visitors.
The interior is a froth of flying butresses, arches and pillars, and
there are at least two score people present, praying to an image of a
gentle-faced elderly man which stands at the far end of the chamber, or
simply sitting in meditation.
And in the centre of the smoothly-polished marble floor lays a slab of
rough-hewn sandstone, perhaps eight feet on each side. It is
inscribed with thousands of words of text, each letter painstakingly
inlayed with gold leaf.
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Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
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Dorian stands before the sandstone slab. His eyes sweep across its surface, ignore the words. "I forgot to correct one detail," he says. "The
angel is no longer within the slab. It passed into the slab and then
out of the world. There is something of a tear there- perhaps it used
the tear as a portal to its home or another place."
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Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Abel (NPC)
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"Not there, yer say? Well now, there's a thing I'd keep quiet about fer now." Abel looks about, somewhat nervously, and lowers his voice, "Father Church doesn't much like them that question his word, see?"
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Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
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"Then I would do well to keep silent," Dorian smirks, seemingly amused by the caution. "It matters not, mere speculation."
Father Church, he mused. He'd love to correct a few things here, but he
had little time. Other things pressed down on him, and it would do
little good to stir up more trouble.
"Your advice is appreciated, Abel."
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Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Abel (NPC)
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The two men stand, studying the slab for a while, moving aside once
when a procession of children led by two priests in deep red robes
passes by. The priests bow thier heads in greeting to Dorian and
Abel, and the children, mostly boys, imitate them, each bowing as they
go by.
The group move down to the front of the cathedral, where the children
take positions on the fromt row of benches, and the priests walk back
and forth, speaking to them, pointing out the features of the building
to them.
Abel suddenly looks up, meeting Dorian's gaze, "Not
sure I believe yer anyhow, Son. If the angel could appear in the
air outside, just like that, why would it need ter find a hole ter get
out o' the world again."
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Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
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"Yes, indeed," Dorian nods, somewhat surprised at the statement. Yes, indeed. It didn't mean what Abel thought it meant, but he hadn't considered it
that way. He'd been so occupied with the exit that he hadn't looked at
the entrance.
Where was the archon going? Where did it come from? Why give a speech to these people before going.
"Forgive me my fanciful thoughts, Abel. Tell me, is there a place where one could meditate or pray?"
He had gleaned what precious little clues he could here. It was time to continue the work.
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Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Abel (NPC)
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"Ye're in a church, albeit a very grand one. Just grab yerself a seat." Abel gestures towards the nearby pews, and then makes for one himself. "I needs ter sit down too, my ol' legs're getting tired."
He settles onto the hard wooden bench, sighing contentedly as he does so.
"If ye're interested in what happened here, maybes
yer'd do well ter speak ter one o' the priests. The least they
can do is confirm the story from that book."
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
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Dorian's smile is small, in response. "Thank
you, Abel, but I have confirmed all I need to confirm, now. I have
other matters to which I must attend. You may stay if you wish- there
might be something interesting to see later. Otherwise, I owe you
payment for your services, though I am loathe to exchange money in such
a holy place." He wasn't at all loathe to do any such thing, of
course. The place was far from Holy to him. It was merely interesting.
The statement was a question of propriety. It would be a poor time to
draw the ire of the church's keepers.
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Abel (NPC)
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"Now, I already told yer, bringin' me along fer the
ride more than compensated me fer my time. Fer the first, and
likely the last, time in my life, I got to ride the luftshiff." the old man chuckles.
<Green>"When my gran'kids comes ter see me in a couple o' weeks,
I'll be able ter tell 'em all about it, an' show 'em this."
He reaches into his pocket and extracts a linen napkin, embroidered with a small image of the luftshiff and the words Neubayern Luftshiff Samfund, and carefully wrapped inside it is a menu, displaying the ridiculous prices charged aboard the great flying contraption.
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
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"Fine, then you should present them each with a gift when they arrive, as well." From beneath his cloak Dorian produces a small velvet pouch and hands it to Abel. "A
gift- and offer a small donation to the church on our behalf, while I
prepare, would you? Now, I have wasted enough time. I must be about my
work."
He finds a seat nearby where he should be relatively undisturbed for a
while. He concentrates on establishing a slight aura around himself
that will encourage those of weaker psyche to give him space and keep
quiet.
Then, he returns to more serious matters...
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dworkin (GM)
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"Well, I suppose I should be off ter buy them books
I've been promising meself. I'll be seeing yer, stay out of
trouble, now." Abel says, then holds the velvet pouch out, "An' many thanks fer this. I'll see it gets a good home."
He wanders off, leaving Dorian lost in thought.
Time passes, people come and go, but Dorian is left alone.
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
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Dorian continues to sit and wait, lost in thought. His plans revise.
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dworkin (GM)
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Dorian's meditation takes hours, and the cathedral is almost deserted
now, a mass of still shadow and whispering echoes of sounds filtering
in from outside.
And then another Dorian enters the building...
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
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Dorian stands, but doesn't turn to face his counter part. For a moment,
both dark-clad figures seem to freeze, as if sensing some subtle
danger. There is a struggle, a contest of wills, and then a relaxing of
both figures.
The newly arrived Dorian smirks and strides forward, slowly and reverently. He sits next to the other Dorian.
No words are spoken as they sit side by side and meditate. Now, a
jointly woven psychic aura emanates encouraging all who would intrude
to keep their distance. So complete is the merged psychic aura that it
would be difficult to tell where one ended and the other began,
especially considering their nearly identical sources.
Time continues to pass in slow, measured sips as a delicate process
takes place between the twins. The process is handled with the care of
a brain surgeon and the dexterity of a juggler.
Then, there is movement. Both Dorian's lift hands to their mouths, in
perfect unison. Both cough lightly. Synchronized, both hands return to
their laps, mirroring each other. An even more careful observer would
notice they breathe and blink in unison.
Then, they are still again, and the process continues.
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
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In a nearly sentimental way, they wished Abel had been here to see
this, no, perhaps not sentimental, but needy. Yes, that was it, the
desire for Abel to see that they were something more than a mysterious
stranger and a fat purse. It was the desire to have their name be
legend wherever their footsteps fell.
They should send a messenger for Abel, but no, they had wasted enough
time on foolish games. They had told the story of Cyan, perhaps that
would be legend enough.
No, they thought, a witness is appropriate, but dangerous.
A tendril of thought wanders out from them, seeking the nearest minds, encouraging them to be somewhere else when this occurs.
As a single entity, the pair stands, turns and walks to the stone slab.
They study the cramped words for a long moment. They don't read; they
just look deep into the slab.
Cyan
They want to reach out and reshape the stone slab, erase the words and
write her story on it. But not, what they really need is closure. That,
they will not likely have for a long time. They will not deface this
stone, which is sacred to them. Cyan would not have wanted it like that.
They sigh, as one. Yes, they think, closure.
The minds reach out with forensic detail and begin to scrub the area of
their psychic imprint, in hopes of leaving as little trace as possible.
The effect of the gate strengthens the area. Others will probably find
it, with time.
Then, one of them walks forward onto the slab, booted foot clacking
against sacred words. He turns to face his twin. They both bend their
heads in concentration, and Dorian sinks downward into the stone slab
and he vanishes.
The cathedral is left in silence, as one Dorian remains gazing at the slab for a time, concentrating on the final details.
Finally, the remaining Dorian steps forward onto the slab. Again, he sinks into the stone and vanishes from the world.
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dworkin (GM)
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There is a beach of blue-grey sand, deserted save for small yellow
crabs searching for food. The sky is a shade of green, the exact
colour of Drusilla's eyes, before her fall from grace. A large
orange sun sits low on the horizon at Dorian's left, and two moons have
just risen to his right, small and fast-moving.
There are no birds, but there are moths as big as gulls, flapping out
lazilly over the ocean and gliding back in to the beach, rising on the
thermals along the low cliffs which back the strand. They cry out
as they climb, their voices eerily like those of the missing birds,
filled with a strange mix of mockery and sorrow.
Dorian ignores them, perched on a boulder as he thinks.
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
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Dorian sighed a sigh of both relief and fatigue. He'd been through so
much lately - two lives worth, it seemed. Many roads lay open before
him, and he needed to choose his next step carefully. Before that, he
needed to rest and prepare his weapons and defenses. Things had been
escalated.
He looked out over the sea. He liked it here. He liked the solitude and open air. He hated the sea; it reminded him of Drusilla.
And what of Drusilla? Would she try to kill him if he presented the
chance. He suspected as much, so long as she could hide the murder from
Berd. Berd trusted her too well, and that was a mistake. The drake just
wasn't used to her duplicity and manipulations. Still, it was
disappointing. He should know better. He should trust Dorian's
judgement in such a personal matter. He'll learn, in time. As with most
of her playthings, he'll learn too late.
Charyk: no more than a single word. It was a hint, a clue, full of the
unknown and hope. Had the others already followed that particular lead?
And what of his other plan? That required research.
As he sat on the rock, a tent appeared behind him. Inside, sat a
welcoming cot and warm blankets. He guessed the night would carry a
chill here. Outside, a guard dog curled next to the campfire. It wasn't
a large or powerful canine, just alert and loud. That was all he needed.
He turns and heads towards the tent wearily, using the last of his strength to conjure a few simple comforts.
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
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The couch appeared, old and worn, but repaired and patched with
meticulous care. A handful of people in the Myriad Worlds might
recognize the couch from its twin in a cozy cabin somewhere far away.
Comfort and bit of nostalgio were essentially.
As if it were a mantra, he reminds himself that the time is gone, and
he can't go back there. Whatever he was looking for, it wasn't there.
He couldn't bring Cyan back. He couldn't go back to who or what he was,
back then. He missed many things, but he had to accept they were gone
now, and he couldn't bring them back, or go back to them.
He rested comfortably on the couch, gazing up at the clear sky and the
strange fluttering creatures. There was work to be done. He couldn't
waste time bird-watching. He closed his eyes and let the world sprawl
before his senses as he began to weave some spells.
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dworkin (GM)
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Dorian reclines on the couch, gazing at the darkening sky for some
time, before he hears the first voice, almost a whispering, which
shouldn't be there, in a world without people... then a second and
third voice intrude, further disrupting the peace...
"What do you suppose it is?"
"I don't know. I've never seen anything like it before. It's coloured like one of the chalionne yet it isn't one of them."
"I don't think it's alive, I think the wind makes it look as if it lives. Makes it move like waves."
"That one is alive," this voice older, and male, not speaking quietly, "And I think it hears you. Come away before you disturb the creature."
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
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So much for a deserted world. A lightning bolt should shut them up,
Dorian sardonically thinks as he sits up to study the speakers in the
water. Three of them, and they are at least keeping their distance, so
far.
Well, perhaps it was best for a quick and honest conversation to keep
the natives calmn. He stepped down the beach to the edge of the water.
"I live," he confirms. "My name is Dorian and I have stopped
here to rest before I move on. I'll be here no more than a day, and
I'll leave no trace of my passing. I mean no harm to you or anyone else
here. I only wish for quiet so that I may rest."
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dworkin (GM)
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The male figure rises, waist deep in the water now, skin glinting in
the fading light, with the texture of fine mail. His hair and
eyes are green, and there is a fluttering movement along his
collarbones, two slits, lined with red, which open and close rapidly.
"I am Setran. These two are my daughters, Nerei
and Menai. I am sorry you were disturbed by their presence.
We will return now to our home and leave you in... "
"Wait! Stranger, will you answer a question for us? And then we will go."
"I too have a question."
Neither girl stands, they both stay low, hidden in the water, and Setran gives them an annoyed look. "It
is impolite to ask questions when Dorian has requested solitude.
However, I have always encouraged curiosity in my children.
Dorian, will you answer two simple" (a glare at the two girls) "questions? You do not have to answer, and I will forbid further enquiries."
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
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They seemed to be fascinating creatures, to say the least. He felt some
relief that the older of them had a sense of propriety to leave a
person alone when they requested it. He could forgive the ebullient
curiosity of youth.
Staying on the side of calculated caution, he responds, "If I
am able, and the answer reveals no secret, I will answer on the
condition that I may ask an equal number of questions in return-- that
is to say, if I think of any questions before you go."
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dworkin (GM)
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"Agreed, we will answer your questions. Ask your questions, my daughters. Nerei first."
One of the females rises partly out of the sea, and points towards the tent, "What is that? It moves as if it were a living thing, but I don't believe it is."
Setran also settles back down into the water.
Menai stays low, and sounds nervous as she asks, "And my question is this... how long can you stay in the dead world, and how do you breathe if your arain are covered?"
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
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Dorian smiles. The first question was easy; the second easy, but
touched on a delicate subject that he'd hoped to not touch. He glances
for a moment at the tent.
"You are correct, Nerei. It is not alive. It is moved by the wind,
the same as the waves are caused by the wind and the way the seaweed
moved because of the currents."
"Menai," he bows his head in the direction of the other daughter. "The
answer to your question is more complex. I could not completely answer
it in a short time, but I shall reward your curiosity with such an
answer as I can give. I am from this world, in a sense. You call it
dead because of your experience and knowledge of it, but it is far from
it. Many things here are alive.
However, I am from far away from this place. There are many Myrian
Worlds, and some of us can move between them. However, there are some
worlds that cannot be crosses. I live in this world and you live in
yours, neither of us could survive long in the other, I suspect. I do
not have aral to breathe water with, I breathe air with a different apparatus. As I said, you have nothing to fear from me, I will only tarry here a short time."
Now, looking back to the father, he says, "I have answered both questions as honestly and completely as I can. May I ask my question, now?"
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dworkin (GM)
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"As I promised. You have answered these questions, so now we will answer yours." Setran replies, staying low and allowing the incoming waves to wash over him.
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
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Dorian nods. "You
may not have an answer for this question. I've pondered its meaning for
some time. It is a riddle that was presented to me, which unlocks a
secret. Because your perspective is from a different world than I am
used to, I thought perhaps you might have some insight into the riddle.
You don't have to answer if you don't understand it, of course. Many of
the parts may be things you have little experience with.
Here is the riddle... "
He didn't expect them to have an answer, really. He had pondered the
riddle so long, that he was probably incapable of seeing past the easy
answers. That was the way of riddles. If the answer was easy, you had
to see it quickly, or you'd likely never see it. In any event, he
hadn't thought of any better question to ask them while answering
theirs. They wouldn't feel cheated of the chance to answer.
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dworkin (GM)
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All three of them vanish beneath the surface, where they stay for
several minutes, until finally one of the females (Menai?) appears
again, "The thing you spoke of that rides the air, a berd? Does it swim, like the chalionne, through the air?" Her hand rises to indicate one of the large moths.
With Dorian's answer, she dives again.
Again several minutes pass, this time even longer, and then Setran
returns, standing waist deep in the ocean, while his daughters wait
close by, nervously staying almost entirely submerged.
"We are not sure if we understand all that you spoke
of. We assume that the man would be one of your kind, and we do
not know how he could walk on the waves." he says, apologetically, "But some of the others we understand. If riding the air is like swimming, then the berd, and the chalionne must, like a swimmer, balance the movement of currents, its weight, and
the lift of the water, or air, to move in the right direction."
"We do not know what holds the sun in the sky, but we do know that
reaching for an object requires that we, like the swimmer, balance our
motions. Based on our limited knowledge, we think that is the
answer: Balance."
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
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Dorian nods. Perhaps he had looked at it a little too logically or
scientifically, after all. Whether or not it was the correct answer, it
was a new perspective, to be sure. After some thought, he nods a second
time.
"Thank you for your answer," he says. "I wish I could say if
it is the correct answer, but it is a new perspective and that makes it
a good answer. It will help me, and for that you have my thanks."
He looks around a moment, unsure if they will really leave him alone, now. Finally, he says, "I require rest and solitude, now."
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dworkin (GM)
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Setran clasps his hands together before his face, and briefly bows his head. His daighters follow suit. "As
you wish, Dorian. If our little wisdom was of any help to you, I
am glad, and my thanks to you for satisfying my dughters' curiosity."
"We will leave you now, to your solitude." He signals, one hand raised and clenching into a fist. Nerei and Menai, turn and dive out of sight.
"Our home is at the deep wall, there, where the waves fall." he indicates a place perhaps a quarter mile from the beach, where long,
slow waves rolling in towards the land shatter against a hidden reef
beneath the surface.
"If you need to speak to me again, stand at the
land's edge and place one hand in the water, then call my name. I
will hear you, and come as fast as I can."
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
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Dorian looks out to sea, in the direction indicated. He can't help but
note what an excellent hiding place Setran's home would be should he
find a way to breathe underwater-- not a daunting task, really.
"Thank you, Setran," he says with a bow. "I will remember."
He regrets that he can't give Setran a similar way to contact him.
Sure, he could spend some time to locate something in the Myriad Worlds
that fit his needs, but he was in a mood to leave things as they were,
rather than constantly stir them up, as was his nature.
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dworkin (GM)
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Alone now, save for the crabs and the giant moths on the otherwise deserted beach, Dorian continues his work.
Finally, long after sunset, as a chill begins to seep down through the
air, falling like a cold rain from the voids between the stars, he
decides that he has done all that he can here.
Standing, he starts to walk along the sand...
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
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His footsteps mashed sand as he casually walked along the beach. He was
alone now, but it didn't feel good. For so long he had felt he could do
so much better on this quest alone and unhindered by the others, and
yet here he was wishing they were nearby.
Too much had done the wrong way lately. Emotion had ruled too many
decisions, and damage had been done. Perhaps he could say there was no
help for it; it was an emotional time. He made a conscious decision to
avoid excuses. The past was what it was. He mourned, he raged and he
felt sorry for himself, but such things shouldn't rule him like a
childish king over a toiling nation. The past should remain in the past.
So, what now? Charyk had been his next thought, whatever that was. Of
course, it was reasonable to expect the others might pursue the same
course, if they had not already done so. This was where things got
complicated. He needed to rebuild bridges. On the same quest, the
chances of running into the others were too great. Not only that, but
it was illogical to work on the same goal without coordination.
It was an unfortunate conclusion, but it was the only one. He had to rebuild bridges. Where to start-- Berd or Drusilla?
That was a tough one. Drusilla was an enemy one who could not be
trusted. She might not kill them all, but eventually she would use them
all for her own purposes. Berd had plenty of reason to mistrust him.
There was no avoiding it. It was only a question of how and when. He
thought on it for a while and decided he would contact Berd first, but
indirectly. He reached up and plucked something out of the air, a fleck
of dust. He squeezed it and it grew. Berd had been through much
recently. If Dorian's guess was correct, his trust was low and his
defenses would be high. He needed an identifiable icon-- but not
threatening.
The dust in his hand began to sparkle as it grew, his conjuration
working to add the talents the thing would need. Soon a faerie creature
stood in his hand, small and delicate, but powerful enough to deliver a
message. It wasn't a replica of Berd's fae; such might be an insult. In
fact, it had black hair and wings that shone with a black-purple light.
He whispered it a message, and then tossed it into the air where it
quickly spiraled and zipped off through the worlds in search of Berd. A
trail of ultraviolet dust sparkles marked its passing. It would take
some time to locate the drake, but that was acceptable. Time was needed.
The more difficult part would come next. He took a deep inhale of
breath and began to walk faster, focusing on speed and stealth. His
sent out probing tendrils in search of Samhain, a place he knew well.
Drusilla, can we talk?
He didn't identify himself. Either she would know which one he was, or she would guess it.
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Drusilla
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Hello, Dorian. We can talk, yes.
I must warn you though, that your friends have engaged the forces of
the Archon enemy, not far from Samhain. I would not recommend
your coming here at the moment. There may be Archons still close
by, and as a result of the battle, they may be... less than friendly
just now.
Dorian finds a path which climbs away from the beach, and passes into a
grove of sycamore. The horse is drinking there, at a place where
a shallow stream flows through the shade of the trees. The rider
is nearby, quite dead, having fallen, head first, onto a large stone.
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
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"Their friendliness concerns me not, only their wellbeing. I have
sent an indirect message to Berd, which will arrive after some time. He
will know it by its appearance.
I will give you the same message; Dorian has been dealt with.
How fairs Samhain?
He glances at the rider for a moment, before grabbing the reins. He
likes this place. It is peaceful. The path ahead will not be peaceful.
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Drusilla
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For the moment, I have managed to conceal my
location from the Archons. Berd destroyed all that he found, and
prevented them from contacting their allies. I believe that all
the Archons know is that something fought them on Nairans, but they
cannot know whether the thing that defeated them there was native to
Nairans.
The destruction of Metatron, here, probably went unremarked, since that one was not affiliated to the Archon leadership.
Still, it implies, perhaps, that there are things that can destroy
Archons. If so, then they may be used to occasional
setbacks. I am observing Nairans, hoping to see how they deal
with the situation.
There is a brief pause, then, Regarding Dorian... are you at liberty to define "dealt with"?
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
-----------------------------------------------------------
Dorian slipped his foot into the saddle and swung up onto the saddle,
giving the animal a moment to adjust to his weight and presense. Then
he tugged on the reins to turn the beast in the direction he wanted to
go and gave its ribs a quick squeeze with his knees, to urge it forward.
I'm sure you know the Archons are cunning. As with all cunning foes,
you must think many moves ahead when you deal with them. They primary
weapon is the time they've had to prepare. Of course, I have faith in
your ability.
Regarding Dorian, while I cannot roll back his actions, he is no longer
a problem. He is no more. Let's say he did two things that I regret;
that I would change if I could. I cannot, so I am proceeding with the
quest against the Archons at the best of my ability. I will see the one
known as Charyk.
But he isn't headed for Charyk. He has learned through trial and
viscious error to not trust at a glance. He must test everything.
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Drusilla
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</Blue>Charyk is not a person... it is a place. One of
my agents was able to determine that much, though I have not been able
to locate it yet.</Blue>
There is a pause then, brief, and the impression of voices, whispering.
The Archons are not having everything their own
way, it seems. Your allies went to visit them, after Berd
recieved a report that somebody named Cyan was held captive by
them. My information is that they were able to rescue several
hostages from their clutches, and stole something of value from under
the very nose of their General.
Farewell, Dorian.
And the contact is gone...
Dorian rides, following the road westward, head bowed to shade his eyes
from the sun as it slips down towards sunset. The road runs along
the floor of a broad valley, raised on an embankment and taking as
straight a line as possible. Three times it crosses the
sluggishly meandering river on long bridges, before finally swinging
briefly north to the valley side, and then west again, to follow the
slope into a town.
There is traffic now... strange noisy vehicles which run under their own power.
Dorian rides into the heart of the town, and finds what he seeks (as he knew he would).
It is dark inside, and loud. Flickering lights pulsing in time
with a staccato rhythm, played at deafening volume. There are
hundreds of people, all moving, apparantly in time with that rhythm, so
it could, technically, be called "dancing"...
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
-----------------------------------------------------------
Murderous thoughts coiled within his brain as he walked through the
throbbing crowd and rhythmic, senseless music that seemed to derive
value simply by being gut churning loud.
Cyan, how dare she utter that name.
The crowd parted before him like chaff before a black wind that bears
news of the season's first bad storm. His black cloak trailed out
behind him like a widow's veil and when he passed, the kids stopped
dancing to stare.
How dare she utter that name. She had found out somehow. She had
slipped the name in just to anger him, an attempt to prove herself
superior. A thousand scenarios and images of her death and destruction
flashed through his mind as he struggled to calm them, rein them in to
some semblance of a plan, some reasonable thought. His mind was as
chaotic as the music, as muddled as the aura's of the would-be adults
giving him space.
The place had all the charm of a burned out warehouse. It was the kind
of place only tragedies like these could appreciate. Lights flashed
neon green and blue from the steel rafters, occasionally punctuated
with red or purple. Green was predominating, tonight.
He leaned on a bar, ignoring the underaged tender gazing at him, trying
to gather the nerve to speak and ask him if he wanted anything to
drink. He didn't.
How could she have found out? Berd, being too talkative? Maybe James? Meredith.
His knuckles whitened on the steel rail of the bar.
No, it couldn't have been Meredith. She hadn't trusted Drusilla, either. She wouldn't have told.
Berd.
Fine. So Berd had talked, told her too much, and she had used that
against him. So what? He wasn't the old Dorian. He wasn't Dorian. There
was no Dorian.
Let them do what they would do. Let Drusilla play her games. Let Berd talk.
He would ignore this. He would plan and execute with cold precision. He wouldn't bow to such petty games.
Cyan was dead.
Dorian was gone.
He closed his eyes and let the music-- music you could feel in your
stomach-- wash over him. He extended his senses gently passed the murky
psyches and waited. Someone was following him.
It was time to be found.
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dworkin (GM)
-----------------------------------------------------------
Two motes of light, one bright, one dim, entirely unnoticed in the
strobing darkness... circling in, seeking Dorian. High up, near
the ceiling, moving through the tangled maze of struts, cables and
chains which support the club's light and sound systems,
Occasionally an upturned face looks directly at them, but they remain
unseen, until they reach their goal and sweep down to hover at each
side of Dorian.
One is his own sprite, returned to him, the other is a new one. One of Berd's.
It speaks to him, in Berd's voice.
Dorian, it is important that you rejoin us as
soon as you can. The situation has changed, and not for the
better. We will be moving again soon, but I am unable to say
where to, for fear that the enemy will find out.
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Cyan
-----------------------------------------------------------
Dorian is a sleek black raven in the midst of a murder of bedraggled
crows. The attraction is there, the black-clad teens eyeing him
surreptitiously and whispering in small eyes of the deafening musical
storm - around corners, in small huddles, near the far end of the bar
on which his spare body leans.
A small change to the music, and a low, pulsing beat claims the air of
the club, pressing aside the violent dischordance of the previous song
as the doors open to admit the hunter. Cleanly focused, she
nonetheless pauses at the club's energy washes over her, rancid with
sweat and the desperation of youth. Adjusting the tinted glasses,
the hunter smiles, and slips into the crowd like a blade into oil.
Something ugly this way comes
Through my fingers sliding inside
The post-adolescents around her gyrate wildly, and the hunter grins at
their motion - it speaks of life, at least, if not balance, focus, and
confidence. One has to start somewhere. Laser-light winks
across twin, jagged earings, dances along two silver bracelets on her
left arm. Music, as always, drags at her spirit with golden
hooks, and she closes her eyes, swaying for a moment, heedless of the
young woman who stumbles into her. The girl rebounds as if
bumping bamboo - the hunter's body flexes slightly, absorbing then
thrusting away.
All these blessings all these burns
I'm godless underneath your cover
Dancing now in her own way, smooth movements that take her into the
music rather than against its flow, the hunter searches the club from
behind the olive-tinted lenses. Her clothes are similar in shade
to those of the children around her, but tighter, more
servicable. She blends, but is not a part of the mass surrounding
her, in her form-fitting, arm-baring top and low-slung black
pants. Utterly lacking tattoos, her pale skin is almost
luminescent in the strobing darkness. Much like the man at the
bar, she pulls at the young crowd even as she repels them, something in
her stance a clear warning.
These children understand warnings, if nothing else.
Covered eyes seek out a similar whirlpool in the ocean of the club; they find it, and the smile widens.
Search for pleasure search for pain
In this world now I am undying
I unfurl my flag my nation helpless
Now she begins to move with purpose, but not quickly.
Uninterested in ambush, the hunter slowly cuts her way through the
throng, a well-fed red fox pacing amidst a horde of lemmings desperate
for the cliff. His instincts, she knows, are well-honed; while
his spiritual senses may tell him nothing, that dead spot she occupies,
the moving emptiness, will cry out to him where it might simply vanish
into the life-forces around her to any other watcher. And even if
he misses that, she trusts his paranoia, his careful watchfullness; he
won't keep his eyes closed for long. And she wants him to know
she is coming - slowly, without threat.
This time the hunter comes to talk.
The dancers hit the connection almost immediately; the raven at the bar
has been the talk of the club, so to speak. Something new,
something dangerous, something that, in some odd way, they aim for with
their pretentions and in so doing utterly miss the mark. Given
the dark man's presence, and this new stranger among them, it's not
difficult to see the path of the hunter, nor to make an extrapolation
of her course.
Black black heart
why would you offer more
Why would you make it easier on me
to satisfy
Clearing the crowd, the hunter pauses for a moment, her head cocked to
the side in a dreadfully familiar way. A hesitation, as if she
communes with something deep within; then her eyes fall upon the man's
other visitor and a spasm of fury touches her pale features, there and
gone. Laser light diffuses through her long, copper hair, and
then she steps up to brave the space around the dark man as no other
has done this evening. The woman sighs once, barely audible over
the music, and turns to face the crowd. A careful observer (out
of the entire bar, only the man beside her might qualify) would note
that despite the illusion of her stance, her weight remains on her feet
rather than the elbows rested on the bar behind her.
Ignoring Berd's sprite, Cyan turns her head and smiles warmly. "Hello, Dorian."
I'm on fire
I'm rotting to the core
I'm eating all your kings and queens
All your sex and your diamonds
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
-----------------------------------------------------------
He noted and tracked the hole in the world as it approached him, a gap
in the muddy psyches that surrounded him. He'd chosen such a place for
exactly this reason, to spot such anomalies. He didn't bother trying to
penetrate the cloak; it would be useless anyway. He noted the approach;
it wasn't an attack.
He had wanted to be found. He'd had the hunch that someone was intent
on tracking him, suspecting the archons, Berd or Drusilla. The sprite
above his head eliminated Berd for practical purposes. Drusilla was tied up and wouldn't be here. It wasn't the archons; no one was screaming.
"Hello, Dorian."
He turned slowly, eyes narrowed. His black eyes swept her body up and
down quickly, wildly. He suppressed a shudder that ran through his
body. This was a trick. Was it Drusilla?
He pressed his lips tightly together and swallowed, trying to decide on
which of the thousand things running through his mind to vocalize first.
Who are you?
Who sent you?
How dare you…
Is it really you?
He let a small, thin smile finally find its way to his lips, more of a
smirk than anything with warmth in it; but the warmth in her own smile
made his heart do gymnastics in his chest. His eyes stung with the
promise of weeping soon. Perhaps the smile was warmer than he had
intended.
He wanted to focus on the scene where she died and try to fit the pieces together, but he couldn't. He was back at mum's,
he was in the upstairs inn room watching her graceful movements, he was
so many other places but at her grave where he should be.
Of all the things he wanted to say, the one thing he didn't want to say came out. "Cyan," he whispered. "I've missed you." The sound was probably lost in the music.
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Cyan
-----------------------------------------------------------
Under the tinted glasses, Cyan's own smile grows more uncertain; it
quirks, and the risen corner trembles slightly for a moment as the
music swirls around them, caught between verses. It's obvious she
didn't miss his words - her bard's ears are sharpened to filter sound
quite effectively. Whatever greeting she expected, this certainly
wasn't it. It unbalances her, pushes her off her stride. A
weak point - she has been alone, in spirit, for a long, long time.
Why do his eyes shine so, in this dim, laser-pierced light? Why
does his smile hold a strange hint to it, one she cannot quite
recall? One hand rises toward his face, stopping just short of
its goal.
The bartender makes a hesitant motion in their direction, and Cyan
takes that opportunity to turn his way. "Brandy, if you
would. Two." Polite enough, even here, in this place.
When she returns to Dorian, her smile has relaxed again, even moreso
than before. Her head cocks, chin dropping, and she meets his
gaze over her shades with eyes as obsidian as his own.
"I have missed you as well," she whispers in return, the old cadence
entering to her voice as the lyrics roll into the second verse.
As I begin to lose my grip
On these realities your sending
The drinks arrive then, and Cyan's outstretched hand drops. Her
smile is a little rueful, now; she picks up both glasses, carelessly
dropping a bill on the bar to cover them, and offers one to
Dorian. "To unexpected meetings." The tall woman brushes
her copper hair back over one ear nervously, and settles against the
bar again. "Unexpected...and welcome. I was fortunate to
find you." A sip of the drink, and she winces. "It is the
thought that counts." The glass goes back on the bar, where it
will no doubt ring a bright circle into the stained wood. The
bard reaches out a second time, touching Dorian's wrist in a quick,
nervous gesture.
"I would ask how you have been, Dorian, but I know something of
that. From what I have heard," she finishes, "and what I see
graven in your eyes." She studies his hawkish face, his slash of
a mouth and dark, dark eyes. Her own lips thin and worry shadows
her features as she draws off the glasses.
Taste your mind and taste your sex
I'm naked underneath your cover
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
-----------------------------------------------------------
Beneath his cloak, a tremor of quiet panic is running through him, a
feeling a being trapped and guilty all at once. He inhales deeply, his
disciplined mind working to hammer the terror into a molded shape he
could wield. She reaches for him, briefly, and the breath catches in
his throat. He has wanted that touch for so long, but he's denied once
again. She pulls back.
Still, the questions rage within. How did this happen? Why is she here? Is it really her?
Is it really her?
She turns to the bartender and he uses the moment to compose himself,
turning to look out over the crowd. He bathes in their roiling psychic
cocktail of youth, alcohol, narcotics and lust. It calms him, somehow.
For a moment, he submerges into that collective buzz and forgets
himself.
He turns his head upward and notes the sprites dangling above. Anger
rises like vomit, and he focuses it into a battering ram of psychic
force at Berd's fairy.
Be gone!
She returns and he accepts the drink. His eyes move from the rich
liquid in the glass to her dark eyes, and he sees himself reflected
there, for the first time. It frightens him, but he doesn't shy away.
He understands, he accepts, she has been through something. He'll
accept her in whatever form she is available. Something is wrong, he
knows it now, but it is Cyan. That is enough. The rest is just details;
details he doesn't want to know right now.
To unexpected meetings.
He drinks heavily and grimaces. He doesn't drink alcohol nearly often
enough. He should drink more. The usual thoughts of paranoia-- poison,
drugs-- are absent.
His pulse skips a beat as she touches him. He wants more. He wants to
be held. He takes it as an invitation and moves closer to her, looking
deep into her eyes, searching for answers that she isn't giving.
He should be doing so much right now. He should be getting answers. He
should be trying to penetrate that psychic cloak. He should take her
back to… no.
Never!
It was enough that she was here.
"No, the days have not been easy with me, and I think they have not been so easy for you, either."
He'd listen, if she wanted to tell him what has happened. He has
questions, but he won't ask them. He needs answers, but he denies
himself.
"So, what happens now? I get the feeling this is just an interlude."
And I don't want to lose you, again.
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Cyan
-----------------------------------------------------------
He is tense, and not in the same way as the old Dorian, the one she
knew...a year, two years now? He hides it well, but trained as
she is to read such things over swordspoint, Cyan picks it up.
Still, he certainly makes her work for it.
And now with a sip of his drink, he moves closer. They stand at
the bar at cocktail party distance, and she sees something in his
eyes. Acceptance? Of what? Tension is a cliff wall
between them, but it is slowly crumbling. Now his gaze rises
slightly, hardens - not coldly, but with determination.
Uncertainty is swept away as Dorian makes some kind of decision; what
that might be, Cyan does not know, but the set of his shoulders, the
shift in his face, they strike a chord within her and a knot in her
abdomen loosens.
Then he speaks, and she wonders how much she has changed. He looks the same - well, not quite, now that she compares with her
(fragmented) memories. Has it been two years for him? Less,
she would guess. And another change - his words are for her,
concerned with her 'days' rather than dwelling upon his own.
He...bridges between them, reaching out with his words as she did with
her hand, moments before. The bard mute, and the dictator
empathic. Were the irony any thicker, Cyan fears she might laugh.
But there is no laughter within her at the moment. Her face is solemn, covering the emotions roiling within her.
Covers lie and we will bend and borrow
With the coming sign
"Interlude?" she replies to his second, unwilling to touch the
first. Memories of fire dance behind her eyes for an
instant. "Perhaps. Now interludes may be all we have
left." Her 'we' encompasses far more than the two of them.
"But I...I have been looking for you, Dorian." She glances away
for a moment, out into the crowd. "I had lost hope of finding
you. I knew you would have hidden yourself well, after...."
After he annihilated a world. Suddenly it comes to her, a
possible reason why he might have done so. Especially since it
has obviously been less than two years for him, possibly much
less. Perhaps it was not simply another strategic salvo in the
war.
And her eyes snap back to his. "But I did."
The tide will take
the sea will rise
and time will rape
"Dorian," she whispers, close enough to him that despite the music,
despite the dancing throng, it remains audible, "I need help."
This is not how she expected things to go. He swept the rug from
under her feet. Again. The words she had planned to say
catch in her throat, and suddenly she feels small again, young and lost
amoung these immortal giants who stride through the Myriad
Worlds. Now it is her eyes that shine in the dim, laser-lit club,
unshed tears welling up. "I fought James, hurt him." The
voice in her mind is strong, now, and she sees the cut, the
blood...only to wound, but still. It hurts to see, that vision,
and her fingernails cut into her palms.
Damn Aaron for bringing them to that, with his twisted smile that
confused her so. Damn James for being too stubborn, that she had
to risk hurting him, one of the people she couldn't bear to wound.
Damn Dorian for doing this to her, for throwing her off track and
opening her up. She thought that was impossible, after her
Reclaiming.
"I do not wish...please, do not fight me. Not you, too." Desperation lies in her whisper.
Black black heart why would you offer more
Why would you make it easier on me to satisfy
I'm on fire
I'm rotting to the core
I'm eating all your kings and queens
All your sex and your diamonds
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
-----------------------------------------------------------
Perhaps. Now interludes may be all we have left
The words touch him, and the confirmation softens him even more. He
feels a desperation to grasp at this moment with all he has and extend
it into eternity. He senses something isn't quite right, but he isn't
sure what it is. Her eyes are black like obsidian shards and her
features are lined more than before. Is she in danger?
Something else strikes him them, taking him out of the moment.
Drusilla's words said that Berd had received intelligence that someone
named Cyan had been held captive, but he had taken it as some barb of
the Witch of Samhain aimed at weakening him. Now, she was here. But
Berd was not-- save only a sprite that mentioned nothing of his
daughter.
What the hell was going on? There were too many questions now, and they
were beginning to blind him. Answers would only burst the ephemeral
bubble, send it all crashing down, somehow. He had to hold on to the
moment or she would slip away. She had left him once. He wasn't sure he
could handle losing her twice.
"I wanted to be found," he says. "I had a hunch someone was trailing
me, but I had thought..." He had thought it Berd or Drusilla, if not
the Archons. One report said she was a captive. Another said she had
been searching for him for some time. And she had been expecting him to
be hidden well after... what? One Dorian had been hiding from the
Archons, another-- more recently-- from everyone. Did she know about
the breeding world, somehow? Did she know about Drusilla? Why is she
cloaked?
"I came here to be found."
For a moment, she seems to become something else to him, something
alien, and something that isn't Cyan. He doesn't fear it, though he
becomes more cautious. He wants to know, to understand. Still, the
desire to hold on rages within him. He doesn't dare speak more for fear
of tearing down the curtain and seeing the reality beneath. He didn't
want the reality; he wanted the dream. Still, he could not escape the
rising feeling of wrongness.
"I need help."
The alien Cyan fades and the real one is back, and is attention is once
again on her fully. He knew of no boundaries if she needed help. He
knew of no barriers that would stand against him to save her. The
desperation in her tone tugs at him, embraces him and he returns the
embrace. Help her indeed he would.
Then there is something else. A fight and James is wounded. He had been
out of touch with the others for so long. Cyan had been a captive, but
also searching for him. They had gone to rescue her and James had been
wounded.... by Cyan? Perhaps, she had not been a captive. Perhaps they
had misunderstood. He began to sense that so much had happened between
that world, that crater, and now, that he was out of his league. He
sorely lacked information. he wanted desperately to help her, but he
couldn't fathom what was going on.
Don't fight? Why would he fight her? He would help her. Why would James
have fought her? Had she tried to go back and they thought her an
enemy? There is a sense of impending danger, but who is in danger still
eludes him. He sends out a tendril to his creation, the black fae
sprite, and sends her higher to circle and look for danger. Her pschic
sense was keen as was her cloak. His mind reaches out through the club
in a sweeping gesture, preparing for a fight-- but not a fight with
Cyan. He prepares for a fight with anything that would molest her.
One truth remains at the core, like a rock-hard seed in a tender fruit.
"I won't fight you, Cyan. Tell me how I can help. Tell me what is going
on."
His features are now like cold iron with the determination that nothing would harm her.
For Cyan, he would destroy worlds.
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Cyan
-----------------------------------------------------------
Now the music swells, the lyrics fading away for the moment, and Dorian
is very close. Too close to be safe. His words reverberate
in her mind. He wanted to be found. He thought it was
someone else. He hadn't known she was alive, from the look of it.
They didn't tell him. He doesn't know.
She can guess why. A planet destroyed. Would any of the
others countenance such things? Aaron, perhaps. Berd?
She would not put it past him. Unlikely, though.
James? Never, she suspects - his conscience might well be the
heart of the questors. Devlin? Oh, she suspects the dark
traveller would. Serena? Probably never. So there was
a disagreement, which could be why Aaron, Luke, and the other man
showed up, with James and Berd as a separate rescue party.
Supposition. Clinical analysis. All carried out by that
terribly bright and sharp slice of her mind that always watches, always
hunts for the weak points and seeks out the narrow paths.
But that is not the whole of Cyan. It is only a very small
part. The rest of her finally begins to give way to the
desolation she feels within. Even though she knows it is right,
even though she knows it must be done, even though she knows she serves
the best chance for a free universe...
...no, no, cries the quiet voice within...
...what Cyan must do for the Purpose enervates her. Weary, sick
at heart, she does not know what she will do if Dorian refuses her.
And then he straightens before her like an onyx pillar, shoulders squared against what might come.
"I won't fight you, Cyan."
Her knees buckle, and she steadies herself with a hand on the bar.
The bartender glances over, shifting nervously. These two
customers disturb him, standing far out of the crowd, but he does not
dare approach them to offer assistance or order them to leave.
The woman is intimidating enough, but now the man...
If the lost youngsters in the crowd could come face to face with the
things for which they wish, the creatures of the dark night, their god
might very well be carven from the same stuff as the tall, razor-faced
man. His spiritual presence spreads out, shadowy, hidden, but
felt in hairs of the arms of the nearby dancers and bargoers.
They shift away, the instinct of their animal minds gibbering under the
smokey wave of psychic force.
"Tell me how I can help. Tell me what is going on."
Cyan's hand closes on the dark man's forearm, and she stares into his
eyes, basalt set in winter granite. The unshed tears burn
in her own, and she swallows hard to hold back a sob of relief.
Her voice is raw when she speaks, thickened with her throat.
"Thank you," she manages. "I will tell you everything."
He deserves it. He needs to know. And more - she wants him to know, and she desperately wants him to understand.
As the final chorus begins, Cyan speaks.
Black black heart
"All the Myriad Worlds lie under the yoke of the Logrus and Pattern," she whispers.
why would you offer more
"Their inhabitants are not free - they are slaves to the masters of these forces." Tears are held at bay by her urgency.
why would you make it easier on me to satisfy
"They will never be free, can never be free from the meddling." Her voice rises slightly, still a whisper, but growing.
I'm on fire
"Their very destinies have been altered, and can never be
recovered. Just like mine." Grating, that last phrase, and
full of old pain. Her fingers tighten, and her other hand grips
Dorian's hand, tugs it.
I'm rotting to the core
"I will no longer allow the lords of Chaos and Order to play their
games." Her tone is sharp, now, and burns with her desperate fury.
I'm eating all your kings and queens
"They have ruined everything. And one cannot build upon a flawed foundation."
All your sex and your diamonds
One palm comes down over his heart - not suggestively, not trailing
fingertips, but carefully, tremulously placed. Cyan feels the
pulse echoed in his wrist and draws comfort from it. She pulls
herself closer, her feet almost touching Dorian's, her eyes locked on
his. Eyes of deepest night, as they used to be when hatred laid
its taloned finger upon Cyan.
Her voice is a desperate whisper, touched by something that might be a deeper understanding. Or perhaps mad obsession.
"The Myriad Worlds, the Pattern, the Logrus, all need to be burned to
ashes and swept away, so that something new, something free can grow."
Her heart aches with fear. For once, both of her inner voices are in accord with their words.
Please. Please understand.
Please. Please understand.
But the desire behind one plea bears no resemblance to that of the other.
All your sex and your diamonds...
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
-----------------------------------------------------------
The music has become a distant thunder for him, now. Their proximity,
shared warmth is like a baptism. It's a renewal of purpose and
strength. He'd left the sea people aimless, unsure of his next step.
He'd reached out to Berd and Drusilla distantly, testing. Now, she is
his purpose.
For her, he would destroy worlds. In a sense, he already had done so.
For a moment, she seems week, about to collapse. His concern reaches
out for her, wants to support her, but she supports herself. He doesn't
want to overstep any invisible bounds. What weakens her? Is she
wounded? Her features betrayed something else, but he couldn't decipher
it. His brow furrows with care. He waits her words.
Her hand touches his forearm, and he wants more. This touch, however,
is different somehow. This touch, he wants more for her, not for him.
He wants to hold her up against whatever it is that haunts her. Her
black eyes glisten in a way he's never seen before.
"I will tell you everything."
Relief washes over him. He had suspected, even feared, that she would
not tell him anything. He had so many questions. He is ready to hear
whatever she will say.
She begins to speak and the beginning sounds somewhat familiar, like
fragments of things he's heard before. Chaos and order, the universe,
he's sampled some of these things before. Though his pattern is a
twisted rendering of the master, he uses it as his own and wields it
with great skill. It's become a part of him.
Her hand is on his chest and she is closer now, closer than they have
ever been-- almost as close as he's wanted her to be for some time. Her
touch isn't suggestive. It's comforting and drawing comfort all at
once. He finds it hard to breathe.
Then it ends in fire and ash.
"The Myriad Worlds, the Pattern, the Logrus, all need to be burned
to ashes and swept away, so that something new, something free can
grow."
Is she serious? She intends to destroy it all? So something new can
replace it? Does she intend to beat the Archons to the…. No! His face
tightens and he can feel it fill with heat as he looks down upon her.
She didn't intend to beat them to it. She is one of them.
Suddenly, they're very distant. For her, he would destroy worlds. For
her, had destroyed one already (in a sense). But… destroy them all?
He lets himself fall away from her. He pulls away from her touch. His
eyes refuse to look at her, instead looking out over the crowd. His
vision is dazzled by the dancing laser lights.
"The Myriad Worlds… burned to ashes… swept away… something new…"
"They will never be free, can never be free from the meddling."
"They have ruined everything. And one cannot build upon a flawed foundation."
He turns to her again, sharply. He must make her understand. She
doesn't know about him. She doesn't know about Dorian. She must
understand. This time, his hand reaches out for hers. He tries to form
a calm, persuasive exterior.
"No," he breathes. "You're wrong. There's something you don't know about me."
But how to explain it all. He hesitates, suddenly unsure. His calm is weak. His care for her too great.
"I am not Dorian," he says abruptly. "When Dorian went… "
As a dictator, he'd delivered countless speeches. He'd negotiated with
the best and worst of diplomats for treaties, embargoes and
unconditional surrenders. Why couldn't he speak so eloquently now?
"Dorian, when he thought you had died. He went into a rage and struck
out, destroying an entire world of the Archons. He didn't want the
others to follow, so he left me there to deceive them, a clone-- a
programmed clone, meant to do his bidding."
Don't you see? I was a created being; a puppet.
"But I couldn't let him do that. The consequences… I broke free of the
strings and warned the others, but it was too late. We couldn't stop
him. He had too much of a head start."
Please, please see what I'm saying. He is trembling, trying to suppress the urgency he feels.
"Later, I was able to catch up with the real Dorian. I fought him; I
had become something more than what he had created. I was no longer
Dorian. In his pride, the one trap he never expected was from his own
creation. I assimilated his memories and buried my body in the
underflow-- only to awaken should anything happen to me. You can be free from the meddling, Cyan."
What had happened to her, to bring her to this point? Had the Archons
brainwashed her, or had she simply suffered so much at their hands,
that this was her reality?
For her, he would destroy worlds-- but only a few-- not all of them, not even for her.
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Cyan
-----------------------------------------------------------
For a long moment she can hope. Heartbeats to dream, to feel a rising tide of wonder that he will see.
And she will no longer be alone within the Purpose, cold and hard, her
memories reassembled like a half-stitched child's bear, frayed and
overlapping with pieces missing.
But she sees it in his eyes before his body even begins to move, and
hope crumbles. Stricken, she seeks to hold his gaze, but his eyes
break the contact, and his hand pulls away from her suddenly icy
fingers. His face is bleak as he stares into the dancing throng;
Cyan hugs herself, tears drying in her empty eyes.
But there is more to play out - Dorian turns toward her, reaches for
her hand. His is warm and dry as it clasps hers, and she lets him
pull it between them, away from her self-embrace. He fights for
control, finds it, and begins, stumbling through the explanation, his
eyes beseeching.
Truth of the heart rarely comes smoothly.
The words fall like hammers, and Cyan cringes beneath their brutal
weight. The Dorian she knew, she thought she knew, the disgusted
man who stared at Berd with such loathing for his crimes...she never
would have thought he could commit the same.
This one. This...clone? No, this Dorian.
He stood against his master, his creator. He is more like she
thought the creator was, himself. And he won. He seized his
life from his enslaver. Her thoughts whirl as she tries to make
sense of revelation piled upon revelation. A world destroyed by
rage for her. Lies and controls. Freedom from
purpose. And the final, crushing knowledge Cyan hears in his
desperate plea - he will not help her.
And a shadow in her spirit weeps bittersweet tears. Tears of relief, and of sorrow for the dark man.
She cannot listen to this. She will not. "You knew what you
were." Her words are broken glass, dragged along the
ground. "You could make the choice to fight from
inception." Whispers in her own ears, the voices of memory,
reminding her of the Purpose, their orders carved into her mind by
blade and seared in place by flame. "I never knew, and everything
I am is built upon lies." Her own voice rises, and she points
onto the dance floor. "They don't know, and their lives are
lies! They are not what they could have been, Dorian!"
Bouncers glance their way now, and people begin to move back.
Something within gnaws at the root of her spirit, telling her to listen to him, to try to accept what he says, to break the circle of rationalization, but the
whispers of the Purpose keep getting in the way. Anger flares,
the result of sick confusion, and Cyan jerks her hand free from the
dark man, stepping back. "I did what he wanted, and never
knew! Could never choose! I would go back and live it
again, see what I would have become, but I cannot! And neither
can they!" She stabs another pointed finger at the crowd.
"And they will be ever vulnerable - they are slaves, and not only can
they not break free as you did, but they cannot even comprehend what
they have lost!"
Her hands fist, then open again, hysterical energy building in
her. The conflict inside feels like claws trying to tear
free. She breathes hard, and then further realization strikes
home. She has not considered the cost to him.
"Oh, spirits," Cyan moans, and seizes both his wrists in a lightning
quick motion. There is no threat, though. "You...what you
have suffered, the pain in your heart." Now there are tears
again, but for him. She wants to help him, hold him, shield him
from the biting wind of his past, but the Purpose roars hungrily in her
mind, and Cyan knows she cannot.
All she offers is oblivion.
One hand reaches up to touch his forehead, gently brushing back a lock
of hair. The tears have left tracks on her cheeks that shine in
the light. Inside her the battle rages, but her face is
porcelain. "It is the only way," the Purpose whispers to Dorian
from between her lips.
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
-----------------------------------------------------------
They have this, this brief fleeting contact as his hand grasps hers;
but then it is gone, her hand stolen from between his. Her words come
and they are like shards against his flesh. He glances, following her
gesture towards the crowd. He listens, he tries to understand the point
she is making about their fate. He studies them, their faces turned
this way, confused, shocked and uncertain.
What has she been through that sees things this way? There is truth in
her words, but the counter-truths are missing. Again, he suspects
something has tampered with her mind, but could it be she has simply
been torn by her experiences. Was this Cyan? Was the Cyan he remembered
still in there, somewhere?
Then, she seems to change. She softens and weeps for him. She cries the
tears he never let himself cry. This is Cyan-- and now he sees the
creature before him for what it is. She is torn, split, disjointed. She
is Cyan and she is something else and they struggle within her psyche.
He doesn’t need his talents as a magician to see it. He sees it with
his own eyes, this time.
While she is soft, crying, he reaches out for Cyan, the real Cyan. He
blinks back the wetness that threatens his own vision. "Dammit, Cyan,"
he whispers to her. "Don't leave me, again. You don't know what it will
do to me to lose you this time-- but where you're going, I cannot
follow. I made that choice a long time ago and so did you."
He could say so much, and give so many speeches, but his stomach
churned at the decision. What could he say to reach out to the real
Cyan?
"I know what its like," he continues in a rough whisper. He wants to
reach out for her again, but he's afraid of further inciting her. "For
a while, I was both Dorians. They struggled in my mind, one wanted to
destroy with reckless abandon until the Archons finally caught him and
destroyed him-- the other, me, wanting to move on and do what needed to
be done."
Was he reaching her? Was he making things worse? Was she coming closer or fading away?
"We always have a choice, Cyan. Even the old Dorian knew that. In one
of his campaigns, an old man was locked away in the worst of
concentration camps. I won't go into the details, but Dorian couldn't
break him, no matter what he tried. One day, the man said to him that
Dorian could take away every freedom and privilege he had, but he could
never take away his choice of how he reacted to Dorian inside himself.
That choice always exists. It was at that moment that Dorian began to
change, when he started to realize he couldn't take away choice-- he
never fully realized it, because that was the mistake he made with me.
He gave me strings and he pulled them, but the choice remained. I made
the choices."
He is growing calm now. He can tell its going to come to a decision,
soon, and it will be over one way or another. He still accepts her for
what she is, but he sees the split in her soul. One is the friend. The
other is the enemy. Dorian had built a career on ferreting out ally
from enemy. When an enemy became clear, he struck without mercy.
"Listen to me. All sentient beings are created with strings, from the
Amberites to these here with us, whether in a womb, an eggshell, of
sorcery and underflow or of dust and sunlight, all things are created
by other beings. And there are always strings, meddlings-- a child
inherits his father's temper-- a daughter learns her mother's patience
and kindness-- a chick learns to fly from its parent-- it doesn't
matter if its nature, nurture, magic or something else. It never takes
away our choice to be what we choose to be. Don't think that a free
universe will be born. It is the general inclination of all sentient
beings to seek power after power until death. Something will rise up
and meddle. You will have achieved nothing. Your goal is an illusion.
It doesn't exist."
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Cyan
-----------------------------------------------------------
Her head is splitting. His words pound against it like ocean
surf, and Cyan winces. Her fingers encircle his wrists, his are
on her shoulders, and she feels the pulse. Like a whirlwind, her
mask cracks again, and she tugs futilely at his hands, not trying to
pull them away, but simply...what? She doesn't even know.
"I don't want to lose you," she cries helplessly. "But-"
And it hangs before her eyes like a poisonous drop of honey, Harbonah's
golden plans. The Purpose. His words still batter against
her, but it holds her gaze tight. An illusion? No.
This is real
So much wisdom in what he speaks. Part of her acknowledges
it. Another part rejects. Abruptly her dark eyes are hot,
and she clenches fingers more tightly around his wrists.
"Choice? What choices? When the strings are stronger than
steel, and so light upon you that you think their push and pull is your
own decision, Dorian? Where do the choices lie there?" Her
voice is hard, grating; something whines in the distance, and for an
instant the scent of burned wood drifts across the club.
Cyan wavers, uncertain. "Perhaps whatever rises up will be
cleaner than this," she whispers. "Creatures who can alter the
very souls and spirits of those around them...." She trails off,
glancing about the club. A streak of silver in the laser light,
there. Gone, now.
"I did not wish for Dorian to die, Dorian," she murmurs, unmindful of
the possible confusion. "I did not want to hurt James. But
Aaron would only come because he had nothing left. The others did
not listen, and you...." The corners of her mouth drag, and she
slumps, now holding herself up on his wrists. "You are so wise,
Dorian - why can you not simply see?"
The the possible answer to that question hurts to even consider.
The whisper at her core, in the shadows of broken memory is louder,
now. It speaks to her, desperately, pleading with her to listen
to him, to believe Dorian. Is it hers? Has he done
something to her? The Purpose shines before her, darkened only by
Dorian's shadowy form. His obdurate silhouette is the chisel, his
words the hammer; they split it down the middle, crack it in twain,
make it imperfect. Pain spikes her head, and Cyan hunches,
releasing Dorian to raise her hands to her temple....
A blurred, silver dart - almost too quick to be seen. It explodes
up from amidst the dancers, twenty feet away, through the concrete
floor.
"NO!"
One hand thrusts Dorian against the bar as Cyan spins around him,
putting herself between him and the tiny, hovering form. It looks
like a small, silver coin, perhaps the size of a dime - a dime forged
of countless dancing blades. The Archon hangs frozen before her
hand, blocked in its killing attempt. Then it opens, slowly, into
a bladed ring that slips over her fingers, her palm, to dance around
her wrist.
+ HE GAVE YOU PAIN + The Archon's clashing words are edged with savage, unconditional fury.
Cyan slowly turns back toward Dorian, her gaze flicking over him,
searching for wounds. "Thank the spirits," she gasps, and puts
her hand, sans archon, on his chest.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 06:32, Fri 22 Sept 2006.
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
-----------------------------------------------------------
He can feel it. His words affect her. He doesn't know how much. What
struggle broils behind those tears? He's afraid. She might snap
suddenly, retreat from emotional overload and leave him standing here
with the alien one. His fingers flex and grip her shoulders tightly. He
wants to shake her-- as if the act might dislodge the alien from her
mind and give her back to him. She tugs at his hands, and he's not sure
what to do with them. He doesn't let go.
"I don't want to lose you, but--"
He feels relief at that. He doesn't want to lose her. He's fighting the
battle of his life, tooth and nail, but the weapons are words and
unspoken gestures that pass between them. He's lived a life of taking
and conquering. It's uncharted territory for him. He's never even
courted a woman. His relationship with Drusilla was one of ambition and
alliance. Love had been an accident. He keeps speaking, unrelenting.
He's watching for any sign of the alien.
And there it is--
"Choice? What choices? When the strings are stronger
than steel, and so light upon you that you think their push and pull is
your own decision, Dorian? Where do the choices lie there?"
She did not wish for Dorian to die. Her thoughts must be muddled. She
slumps now. He tries to decide if it's Cyan or the alien. He supports
her weight, pulls her closer to him. He wants to speak now, but there
is something else going on.
There is movement, and it happens too fast. The silver dart like a
mercury bullet explodes through the concrete and aims itself at him,
but she stops it. He stares at it. He's not surprised to see one. They
had to be near her. The form, the size is different than he expected.
"Thank the spirits"
With those words his path is clear, though it may kill him. He's has to
give everything to her. He has to put himself completely in her hands.
He has to trust her.
"Do you see, Cyan? You just made a choice to save me. That was your
choice, despite the strings they have tried to lay on your soul. Why
save me? You seek to burn away the Myriad Worlds in fire, purge them
and all things in them-- yet you save me. You would see everything
dead-- yet you regret simply wounding James. We will die in the fire,
Cyan."
Her hand is on his chest, and he can feel his heart beating against it.
He looks deep into her, searching for the young woman in the upstairs
room. Where was the smile that melted the iciest of hearts with an
invitation to dinner, a tray balanced on her hand and a flourish of
something he couldn't explain? He steps closer to her, soaking up her
pain and softness. He doesn't want to hurt her, but he has one final
javelin to throw. This one will strike them both. He opens his mouth,
and it's dry. He inhales. The words are hard to speak. He's not sure
he's ever said these words before. He's never said them to her. He
never meant them before, no matter whom they were spoken to. He told
Berd, but he meant something not quite so…
"I love you, Cyan."
A shudder runs through him. He feels weak, vulnerable. He's given the
enemy his battle plans, his generals and his supply lines. He has
opened wide the gates to his capital city and sent his infantry home.
"I promise I won't fight you. I won't hurt you. I'll never manipulate you."
Now, his knuckles go white with ferocity as he grips her hand. The other pulls her close.
"I give you everything; all that I am."
Then, his voice lowers to a hiss, a coiled snake. His lips curl into a
sneer. "Now," he whispers. "You want to destroy everything-- then start
with me. Slay me now. End me. And while you do it, tell yourself you're
not meddling! Slay everyone in this room, Cyan. It'll be easy for you.
And tell yourself you're not meddling in their fate. Tell yourself that
you're somehow better than the Amberites-- that you're better than
Berd!"
She's stronger than he is, but his hands are like iron. She could kill
him. At this proximity, he has no defense, no prayer. He's put himself
in her hands without reservation, without backup plans. His features
are hard, demanding, but his eyes are accepting. He will accept her, no
matter what she does.
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Cyan
-----------------------------------------------------------
Too close. Right had struck like a bullet, and only her glimpse
of an Archon (which? Right or Left?) earlier had put her on her
guard. She isn't certain how strong Dorian's protection was, but
it was possible...too possible....
And Dorian, somehow, has recovered nearly instantly, pressing home his
point. He doesn't understand, he doesn't understand. The
things he says don't make sense. The room spins for a moment, and
she's too close to him; his dark robes have a dry, almost spicey scent
to them. She opens her mouth to explain that he has missed her
point, that he does not comprehend -
- though she, herself, is uncertain what her point will be, only that
the Purpose is the truth, and the answer to all of his arguments -
- and his face clears, the lines of tension falling away as he speaks.
The music is far away, and she stares with wide eyes as he lays down
his arms. Inside her head a silent roar springs up, doubts and
fear pressing forward. He lies! This is Dorian - he will do anything to win a battle! The glittering Purpose and screaming uncertainty are opposed only by one tiny whisper from the shadows of her spirit.
...this is Dorian. Look at his eyes and tell yourself he lies....
Under the weight of his clear gaze, a road to Dorian's heart, Cyan
chokes on her denial. She lets go to stumble back, but now his hands are on her; they drag her in. Right lets out a dull,
grating snarl of fury, but keeps his position as a what had appeared to
be a beer-bottle cap slowly rises from the concrete floor; it catches a
laser, refracting it into a dozen thin threads off the tiny, spinning
blades.
+ INTERESTING + Left's voice has taken on a curious tone.
By now those in the bar are aware that something is going
on; people have begun to back away from the scene, and the hovering,
glittering Left is attracting pointed fingers and shrill cries.
The music, a dull, throbbing dance beat, continues unabated.
Thoughts askew, Cyan can only stare at Dorian, her face pale, arms
trembling in his grip. The dark man's intensity cannot be denied
- he has silenced her protests, and part of her scrambles to find some
way to deny, some way to prove that he lies.
Another part begins to sing; despite everything, she is not
alone! Her palm slides up his chest, touches his neck, and her
fingertips graze his jawline. Her other hand, shackled in
glittering, spinning blades, is kept well clear of him. "Dorian,"
she begins. She isn't even sure what she will say.
But he isn't finished. And his next volley of words, so carefully
chosen and aimed by the brilliant mind behind his dark, deep eyes,
drives home with appalling precision. And he waits, all defenses
down, for her decision. For her to...for her to...
...choose.
Oh, clever, clever Dorian. For the greatest weapon of all is the truth.
The Purpose roars forward in her head, the reminder of her task giving
it strength, but something called up by Dorian's revelation, rises up
from the depths of her spirit. Once only a weak whisper, it grows
second by second, fed by Dorian's trust and love. The two grapple
within her, finely balanced on a razor's edge, and her spirit quakes as
they war. For an instant, the Purpose gains a foothold and
presses; Cyan's hand shoves, hard, driving her from Dorian's iron grip,
sending them both apart as her other hand comes out from Right's
grasp...no longer alone.
Cries become screams as the black sword, tongues of faint, astral flame
flickering on its burning edge, slides forth from within Right, and
Cyan's smile is as wintery as the chill of deep space. The crowd
wavers, but is held by the force of the personalities before it.
"Be careful for what you ask, Dorian," she whispers. The music
stops suddenly, but the titanic struggle continues within her, the
Purpose suddenly losing ground as its opponent doubles its
effort. It holds, though, barely hanging on as Gurthang comes up -
A bright speck flashes between the two, expands into a spinning disk
the size of a platter. Now it is an Archon blocking Cyan's
edge. Gurthang's tip wavers. + NO. YOU WOULD HARM YOURSELF, GENERAL +
A surge within and Cyan's eyes bleed darkness, now catching the light
like hematite rather than obsidian. She stares at her sword and
drops it like a burning iron - Right, in an astounding display of skill
and bravery, darts in to encompasses the falling Deathiron. Hands
trembling, Cyan takes a step back. "You do not understand!" she
cries at Dorian as her fingers work, blindly gripping the air; one
last, desperate attempt. It fails, and the truth spills out.
"I do not understand!"
Then she's gone, sprinting with shocking speed for the emergency
exit. The door almost explodes from its hinges from the impact,
and Right scars a deep line along it as he follows in her wake.
For a moment Left hangs before Dorian -
+ VERY INTERESTING +
- and is gone, shrinking to augur into the concrete floor, a smoking hole left as signs of its passage.
The spell is broken and the crowd stampedes for the exit.
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
-----------------------------------------------------------
The struggle ended; the catharsis no better than he had hoped. He
watched her retreat, knowing better than to follow. The final reaction
had shown how strong the alien still was. The proximity of his own
death was not lost on him; ever so clear in her wintry smile.
The archon hovered close for a moment, and he braced. He doubted Cyan
would let him die at this particular point, but she had left. Would
this thing eliminate him in her absence? No, one of them had prevented
her from moving closer. The sword she had pulled puzzled him. He had
never seen it before, but the archons seemed to handle it with much
care.
It left. What exactly was so interesting, that its brainwashing had not been as complete as it had thought?
He was alone in the club now. Silence and concrete dust swirled in the
half-light, as he leaned against the stained bar and thought. He had
wanted to be found, and she had found him before he could erect the
defenses he had planned. Lucky that was, perhaps, for his defenses
tended to be automatic in situations like this. It may have had
disastrous results.
Cyan was not dead, not in body and not in mind. He was sure he had seen
her in between the cracks during the conversation, towards the end.
The strange club had suffered damage, and a loss of business. He could
only assume this was a business, but it could easily be a temporary
meeting place. No, business would perhaps flourish after this. None
would speak of the two strangers, the sword and the glittering wheel of
blades openly, but it would be whispered in secret for years.
Still, the place had suffered damage, as much as it blended with the
décor. Perhaps, he merely needed to satisfy some internal need to make
recompense outwardly for inward damage. He began to work a simply
adjustment to the world.
He caught a hint of movement from behind the bar, and turned to see the bartender there, mouth agape and nervous.
"I require another drink," he says laconically.
While the bartender fumbles with the alcohol and the tumbler, he
reaches in side his cloak in a businesslike manner, his exterior wooden
and perfunctory, and his gaze distant.
After he finishes his drink in thoughtfulness, he produces a roll of
local money and places it on the bar. "This is for the owner of the
establishment-- for damages. I would not be pleased to learn if did not
reach that individual."
He turned to survey the vacant club. No, the damages were negligible in
a place like this. With a heavy sigh, he begins to walk from the club.
Leaving a trail of black sparkles, a dark faerie descends from the
rafters and hovers near the hole left in the concrete by the archons.
It cocks its tiny head to the side curiously, and then darts off after
its master. Perhaps he will have another message to deliver.
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Cyan
-----------------------------------------------------------
Cyan staggers through the alleys of the strange city, her head a
spinning cascade of thought-shards. All she knows is she has to
get away, and quickly. It is her -
- Dorian's -
- best hope. Finally she comes to rest in a dead-end alley,
miraculously free of any watchers save for a drunken man in a
vomit-soaked trenchcoat. She ignores him and leans against the
wall with both hands, head down as if she were vomiting herself.
She isn't - at least, not physically.
+ GENERAL. MAY I ASSIST? +
Cyan shakes her head, hair before her face. Right's voice is an
anchor that slows the wild spinning in her mind. Mental
exhaustion has begun to set in, with both sides of the battle enervated
and moving to neutral corners - the Purpose back to the forefront of
her mind, the whispering shadow to the depths of her spirit. But
stronger, now. More confident.
More knowledgeable.
A thin scream cuts the night - blade through brick - and Left appears
through a smoking tunnel the size of a large coin. The danioti moves to hover next to Cyan, opposing Right. + HE IS UNHARMED, GENERAL + The archon's voice is diffident, but with an almost imperceptible eagerness.
+ WHY SHOULD THAT MATTER? THE ENCOUNTER IS CLOSED. AND WHY.... + Right stops, and though the danioti does not seem to move, there is the sense that it regards Cyan.
+ YES +
"Good," Cyan whispers hoarsely. She turns and slowly slides down
the wall to sit, her feet out before her. The depth of her relief
is astonishing; the man is going to die anyway, when the Purpose is
fulfilled. What matters another year? She hugs herself
again, leans forward. It comes to her mind that she should ask
Left why the archon interfered, but the Purpose calls to her, tears her
mind away from the difficult memories of the encounter in the club.
Still, she remembers. Faded. Grey. But the memories
are there, carefully preserved in their true shape by the shadow in her
spirit.
"That," she admits, "did not go as I planned." The General wipes
her eyes furtively, glances about in embarassment. "Well."
Her lips thin - there doesn't seem to be much else to say. Her
shameful behavior, her loss of control, her deviation from the
Purpose. All of that would best be forgotten.
Reaching into her pocket, she draws out two small earpieces, fits them
in, presses play on the small, electronic device clipped to her
belt. The beat that greets her is heavy, quick and deep, and Cyan
slowly stands to run fingers through her hair.
Someone take these dreams away
That point me to another day
"We need to return to the army," she reasons. "It isn't my
responsibility now, not fully, but it would be best...it's possible
this was a feint. Nothing more."
Something within her laughs scornfully.
A duel of personalities
That stretch all true reality
The archons spin around her for a moment, like two dogs chasing each
others' tails. This size, they seem almost comical. Unless,
of course, one knows of what they are capable.
+ IF SO, WHAT ARE YOUR ORDERS? + Left's voice is slyly curious.
Cyan observes her with a jaundiced eye (how she can tell the difference
by sight is a question for wiser people), and shakes her head. "I
still believe some of them can be turned, or at least tricked into
doing our work for us. Alive. Driven off. But only if
it is one of the ones of whom I have spoken."
Dorian. James. Devlin. Serena. Aaron.
They keep calling me
Keep on calling me
They keep calling me
Keep on calling me
+ OF COURSE. THOSE ONES ONLY, AND ANY OTHERS TO BE SLAIN + There is a note of odd comprehension in Right's clashing voice, and Cyan switches her inquisitive gaze his way. + AND WHAT OF THE ONE NAMED MEREDITH? +
Blunt, and to the point. As always, with Right, even with touchy
subjects. Left stutters in the air, draws back a touch, but Cyan
does not explode. Instead, she draws out her shades, checks them
in the dim light of the alley. Her eyes are black pools once
again, dark and fathomless.
"I do not know her. Meredith. Is she another creation of Berd's? Why did I not think to ask?"
+ YOU WERE DISTRACTED? +
Cyan ignores Left. "She could be...anyone." Her ignorance frustrates her.
When figures from the past stand tall
And mocking voices ring the hall
"Best that we be going," she concludes, rolling her neck. The
shades go on as she strides toward the street. "Begin
preparations for travel. We shall return to the Army of the End
of Time, and deal with any problems that have arisen there. Then
we will continue with our new task. Harry," she says with a grin,
"will be expecting results."
Both archons snicker, sparks jumping from clashing blades.
Imperialistic house of prayer
Conquistadores who took their share
Her booted foot falls on the sidewalk, and Cyan glances in both
directions. In the distance there are sirens, growing
louder. Gunfire echoes far away. Somewhere a man screams,
long and drawn out. Pain? Pleasure? Both? She
shakes her head. "Would it be like this?" the red-haired,
dark-eyed woman wonders.
"I love you, Cyan."
"I promise I won't fight you. I won't hurt you. I'll never manipulate you."
"I give you everything; all that I am."
She wavers, reaches out to place one hand on a lamppost. Lies. He tried....
But even the Purpose cannot believe that. He was open.
Defenseless. He could have died, many times. He might have
attempted to strike with magic, with the vast power of his mind - her aegis might not have been able to protect her against that.
Dorian would lie, if need be. But, she thought, not to her. He
tried to save me from Berd. He was different to me. He
destroyed a world. He...would have done anything, save destroy
everything.
He missed me.
Some of that was the old Dorian. Some the new. But what did
it matter? The one assimulated the other, were it to be believed.
They keep calling me
Keep on calling me
They keep calling me
Keep on calling me
Dorian, who always took what he wanted. Dorian, who never wavered
in his own goals. Dorian, straightforward and hard, seeking his
objectives.
"Don't leave me, again. You don't know what
it will do to me to lose you this time -- but where you're going, I
cannot follow. I made that choice a long time ago and so did you."
And yet, he would have walked away, or let her do so. And he
did. That proved his feelings a lie, did it not? So the
Purpose would argue.
Or did it prove the truth in what he had said? That she was wrong?
Keep on calling me
Keep on calling me
It's too much. Too much tumbling through her thoughts, her
emotions, her spirit itself. She makes a sharp gesture with her
hand; Left and Right move in response to hang above her head.
Slowly, they open, then slide down her body. Left drops to her
knees, Right to her shoulders. With lethal blades whirling mere
inches from her skin, Cyan feels a sudden surge of relief.
"I am exhausted," she says. "Take me to the army, now."
As the three of them begin to fade, the words echo in her mind, her ears.
"You will have achieved nothing. Your goal is an illusion. It doesn't exist."
They keep calling me
They keep calling me
"You want to destroy everything-- then start with me. Slay me now. End
me. And while you do it, tell yourself you're not meddling!"
...I cannot.
They keep calling me
They keep calling me...
===========================================================
Re: 50c - The Sea Song by Dorian
-----------------------------------------------------------
Why did it have to be like this? We shared a drink. Why did we have to
spoil that with conversation? Curse this place for all its noise and
bedlam, humid with its strange concoction of lust and angst. We could
have found somewhere quiet, shared a drink and said nothing; but we did
not. We spoke. I said too much. I should not have said… that.
I should be leaving, but I sit here cross-legged in the middle of some warehouse-turned-purgatory, feeling sorry for myself.
"I do not understand"
Neither do I, Cyan. The pain I saw in your eyes tonight makes me want
to claw the eyes from my skull in frustration. By the drakes of
Samhain, what did the do to you? I swear, I'll….
Did I do any good? Did I say anything that mattered, or did I make a
fool of myself standing before you pleading my case like some desperate
apprentice barrister. Did I really think that last final attempt would
work? You almost killed me.
"Be careful for what you ask, Dorian."
I think you did kill me. I saw it. Only the Archon stopped you. In that
moment, you were dedicated to my execution. You really meant to do it.
I didn't really think you capable. What damage would that final stroke
have caused? Two of us would have died, if not for that Archon-- both
of us. And yet, we both had replacements that would have filled our
shoes, striving to kill each other. Would you have killed me twice?
Yes, I think so. But I would not be so easy to kill the second time.
Why?
I've been given the pieces to a puzzle, but they don't fit together.
One piece is a crater on a dead world. Another piece is an alien
thrusting for my heart.
"I did not wish for Dorian to die, Dorian…"
Did you mean it? You are a mystery, a mask that is laughing from one
angle and then crying at another. You're two people in one body, and I
couldn't tell which one spoke at each moment. Are you like me, a
composite of two people who once were a single thing?
Yes, I am Dorian. I still live. I lied. I made it seem I was dead, and
another remained. You saw that, I think. At the end, the words
calculated and placed like troops on a battlefield, carefully chosen
for their ability to disable and break the enemy. That was a mistake. I
gave myself too much time to think, to plan and execute.
I ache at the thought of you. I can't chase these visions from my mind.
I can't make myself do what I need to do, what I know I should do. I
sit here and gaze at a concrete floor.
"Interlude? Perhaps. Now interludes may be all we have left."
"I do not wish...please, do not fight me. Not you, too."
"…please, do not fight me…"
How could I fight you? And yet, how could I not fight you? I didn't know who I was speaking to. I thought you Cyan, not… Cyan.
There are too many of us.
But as long as I still believe you are in there, trapped behind those
abyssal eyes of crystallized coal, I will tear down the suns and stars
in search of a way to bring you back to me. I won't lose you again.
Once, you were my salvation. I won't presume to be yours, but I'll not
give up on you. I'll slay this demon that has taken you over. I'll
behead it and spread its ashes from the mountaintop. I won't stand for
this defilement, this blasphemy, that something so pure should be
consumed by something so vile.
I will….
There are too many of us. I feel heavy, but it is time to move.
I feel heavy.
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