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January 23, 2004 |
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| Amber | Trump Deck | Logs | RL Pictures | Main |
Trump call ...
You have established contact with Lisle.
The image of the picture comes into focus. Rich flaxen blonde hair, awash with pale spring colors of life, falls to the small of Lisle's back. In the background: A wide, well-worn room is floored in old oak.
To the image of Lisle, Yosannah sits amidst a collection of research carols, stacks of texts in the background. Her hands are clasped and resting at her midsection, "Lisle." A light smile, "I hadn't heard from you, I began to worry that you had changed your mind about helping me."
The image of Lisle says, "Yosannah," smiling, "I am pleased to see you. I have not changed my mind at all, but I've been so busy helping my sister I've hardly had time to look up. But now is a good time to speak on this subject. Will you not join me?"
To the image of Lisle, Yosannah extends a hand in anticipation, "Please."
The image of Lisle offers to pull you through.
Salon, overlooking Amber...
This wide, well-worn room is floored in old oak. Glass in many panes, some colored but most not, looks out from floor to ceiling upon Amber itself. The furniture is creaky, eclectic and comfortable; a velvet fainting-couch rubs shoulders with a hulking leather armchair, and a series of seats around a low table could pass for dining space were the participants not too choosy. Whitewash skates thin over plaster facing, punctuated at intervals by glass-fronted cabinets - some crowded with precious things, others nearly empty and awaiting their contents. Paintings in a variety of styles depend from colored sashes high upon the walls.
Lisle is sitting near the front window that faces out over Roses, but of course there's snow everywhere outside. In fact, snow is falling thickly out the window. There is a lavish breakfast spread, surely far too much for the willowly Lisle to have herself. "If you are hungry, our steward, Madeline, has once again brought far too much."
Yosannah slides her hand from the lady's, gaze first going out over the expanse of property through the window. And then, "Breakfast, then. Of course." She sits adjacent the woman, sliding her chair forward. "Lisle, it is so beautiful here. For a moment I'm wondering why I stay in Banished Sun."
Lisle retakes her seat, indicating, "There is coffee and tea, and enough pastries to sate the entire town. Therefore, help yourself." But she smiles more generously then, glancing out the window. "Amber is fair, aye. But you have a standing invitation. Ben lives here sometimes, you know, down by the warf."
The auburn haired woman leans forward slightly, crossing her arms atop the table before her, "I've seen it. Once or twice I believe. I've also heard that your sister has allowed Spade to take up a regular residence here as well." She exhales, "With all do respect, Lisle, the further from that man I am, the better."
Lisle says, "Well, if he is here, then I do not see him. In fact he is never here. He lives in a shadow of pornography. Though I suppose he could show up, but in fact, Yosannah, he is nearly powerless here, except what his arm's strength has to offer."
Yosannah raises a doubting brow, "Powerless. It comforts me some to know that you are certain but I remain rather remiss at the notion of having any confrontation with the man." She reaches for the teapot, lifting it to the woman before filling her own cup as if offering to fill Lisle's mug first if she so desires.
Lisle has coffee, and tilts her cup to show it to Yosannah. She reaches for the other pot to refill it, but is still smiling, "Aye, he's powerless. He cannot command anyone here. However, I cannot blame you for I am afraid of him myself," but she doesn't sound afraid, her voice warm and confident. "But let us not think on him. Let us go forth with this idea for protecting you and your colleagues. And our friends."
Yosannah smiles warmly at the woman, greatful for her friendship it would seem, and fills her cup. Steam billows forth as she offers, "Right. For that is what this is about, isn't it. Protection from men like Joshua. And the Heirophant. I am not a confrontational person by nature." The tea pot is set aside, "I suppose that is why this disturbs me so. Utilizing both our talents, I imagine we can rise to the challenge, as they say."
Lisle says, "I, too, am not pleased by confrontation, and in other circumstances would be content to look after myself and let others fend for themselves, but there is nothing more important than friendship. And further, I am determined not to allow bullies to win the day. But let us think about this. Let us imagine a collaboration in a place where motion comes together. What think you of this? And of the objects we spoke of some months past?"
Yosannah lifts the delicate tea cup to her lips and sips, considering. "I have been considering the issue since we last spoke, certainly. I am an artist, Lisle, and so I think along those lines. We four are faily formidable collectively. I worry that I will not be present if the others should need me. Or that I will not know of their need as they do not all have the same talent as I." She sets the mug before her and cups her hand over the rim, seem mists through her fingers, "Are there ways I am not familiar with that might utilize your skills as well as mine to address these issues? I do not know."
Lisle's cup pauses, half-way to her lips, her blue eyes intensely thoughtful, "Well, as to that, I believe there are. I believe we should make an object for each of you. Four, then. Each should have attributes to augment the skills of the wearer if the other is not there. Such an object would be composed of strands, strands of metal or fibre imbued with powers sublime and gross. One problem with this strategy is that there might be interference. You know..." she lifts her eyes, still thoughtful, free hand making a coil in the air, "A coil of strands."
Yosannah watches, "I'm not entirely sure that I follow you. A coil of strands. What is that, exactly."
Lisle concludes, "Well, it must be a necklace. Or a ring. Here, I should, and could draw it for you. Four strands each symbolic for each horseman. Each symbolic for something else, too. Each with four names of power. Each bound, perhaps by a home stone."
An indulgent light twinkles within Yosannah's eyes. Her chin dips in nod, "Yes, I see what you mean. I have done this before but on a minimal scale with shadow stuffs and skills I have acquired from the creature I host. Though I have to admit, I have yet to see an artist imbue their skills within an item in this way save for the cards we often work with. Alayne, who I believe is a cousin of yours, attempted this once in her palace of mirrors. I don't know if she was successfull."
Lisle says, "Indeed, this is what I propose. Am I not a master of this? I am, in some regards, though there are others who are better. I will show you what I mean, at a later date, for I need to ask my uncle if we can use his, well, laboratory. Meanwhile, we need words, Yosannah. Powerful words and symbols. They mean much for this kind of thing. Otherwise, there will be no myth, and that is important. Our ideas are our own, their ends none of our own."
Yosannah allows for a moment to pass as she digests the woman's words. Then, as if in a moment of lucidity. "Yes. Yes, we will do this."
Later, at The Plain at the Mouth of Chaos...
A weather-worn plane opens before the endless, churning maw of the Abyss. A fading remnant of the Black Road winds its way along the nearly barren earth, like a long-dead river bed, where once, strange beasts lived. Large rocks and boulders are strewn about across the plane, their surfaces taking on a damp, oily colour. To either direction rise foothills, and then mountains, thrusting upwards into the chartreuse sky.
A thin, gauzy expanse of bridge stretches out from the edge of the yawning chasm, its far end reaching the very edge of a dark and mighty city. Tiny lights dot the blackness of the Courts of Chaos like pale starfire in a blanket of night. The city seethes with activity, spidersilk filmies threading their way between points, and great winged beasts taking flight above. Parapets and towers stab ambitiously into the sky, as though daring to challenge even the mountains to surpass them.
In the distance something may be seen to move. It looks like an angular tree, though it moves. Then it gets closer, slowly and inexorably approaching. Eventually Magnus is standing upon the Bridge to the Courts, pausing to root in the middle.
This demon is narrow and angular; it looks to be close to seven feet tall. Ivory white skin is a matted material not unlike petrified bark. It's face consists of a few obscure features. Dark knotted sockets appear in the right spot to serve as eyes, occasional flickers of bright light within the voids. A stout 'nose' which is nothing more than a small stump of a branch, broken open at the sides. Mossy undergrowth below the stump seems to writhe when it speaks in a deep hollow timbre. It's limbs are full branches, long and willowy, ending in sharp jagged twigs.
The woman's gaze is an empty vortex of dark swirling cumuli-nimbus, devoid of their usual color and fervor. Pallid, with movements and gestures that are notably deliberate - right down to the very acts of breathing and blinking. As if these normally instinctive actions would not occur but for her will that they do so.
She dons shirt of fine-linked chainmail, snug-fitting black leather boot cut pants, and black leather steel-toed boots. A silver ring adorns her left ring finger and clasped around her right wrist is a leather bracer. The plain silver collar, which is usually clutched at her neck, is absent having been replaced by a necklace, or more appropriately, a pendant bearing two red gems each no larger in diameter then a dew drop. Upon further inspection, a large scar, in the very late stages of healing can be seen running down her neck.
The woman seems also to be just arriving to this place on the outskirts of Chaos. Her place is steady and even. Following along beside the woman are two large, lithe, feline-like creatures, mottled and charcoal-gray. The threesome pauses in unison as the image of the tree-creature comes into view.
The Hierophant does appear to have come to this place by himself, rooted as he is upon the bridge. His branches sway as the wind passes through and around his petrified figure, something of a whistling may be heard.
She waits and, as she does the two creatures begin to paw and prance at the bridge, their noses dip, sniffing, though their milky grey eyes peer up at the tree being with obvious interest. After a rather long moment, the woman calls out as if in greeting, seemingly sure of the thing before her, "Hierophant." Her voice is multi-tonal. An echo.
"Serpent's Greetings," Magnus says to her, his voice a mere whisper upon the wind. Hollow and echoing out from the base of his trunk. One of the larger branches twitches, perhaps this form's equivalent of a little wave.
She offers the man a nod and sweeps a hand before her. As if on command the creatures settles themselves, sitting back on their legs though their tails twitch rhythmically. "I can only venture to guess the purpose of this meeting," she intones, her natural voice twining with that of the Rider within. "Perhaps you would be so kind as to enlighten me."
The whisper resumes, as Magnus says to her...or more aptly to -them-, "I had thought it would be an obvious thing by now. It is in our mutual interests to reach an understanding. Despite all of the strife that Saint War...or perhaps more Ryker than he...has brought to us, the facts remain the same as before."
She blinks. It is a deliberate movement. Perhaps the first time she has done so since her arrival. "Mutual interest." She tests the notion, "Apparently, our leader has made his choice and, as such, has made our understanding clear."
"You are very old, my Saint. Far more so than you realize or remember. That is why you have been struggling to come to grips with reality. That is why you perhaps fear a repeat of what occurred with Dalt. For you know it was an aberration, things are not what they were meant to be. You have been on the run ever sense." The tree-like figure whispers to her. Another branch gestures, creaking as the petrified wood is forced to move, as the Hierophant adds: "You have been running away from yourself. From your own true nature. Your leader does the same, for he is -afraid- to confront the past." There is something of a hollow chuckle now, and the trunk rumbles. "Though getting that one to admit it may cost me a fair bit of additional blood. He does seem to enjoy attacking my person."
The woman's bland expression offers no indication or reaction as she listens to the man's words. One might think it is beyond her ability in this state to render emotion. She appears a stoic and cold mistress. "Afraid. I see your mind, Magnus. You seek to tempt my host with these notions for I have not the ability."
A branch reaches into his trunk, and then the Hierophant removes what appears to be some parchment. Then his whispery words are heard again, "I have taken the liberty of copying down something you may find of personal interest." Then he begins to read a portion of it, branches smoothing the parchment to make such a task easier for him, "...he has stolen it. I knew immediately that the consequences would be dire, should he ever use it, so the four riders were dispatched. They failed..."
The fingers of her right hand begin to roll over one another as she listens. Should he look there, she seems to toy with a tiny iridescent glass sphere. Her empty gaze narrows as she listens, belying her professed lack of sentiment. Rider and host inquire, "What is this..."
Magnus ceases to read, and replies to them with a whisper: "The written word of one of my predecessors. It describes how -you- and your fellow riders were sent on a critical mission to save Chaos. You never came back, after most of the Courts were sundered and destroyed. Your mission, it was a failure, yes."
Her jaw works for a moment as she considers the gravity of his words. "This changes nothing," is her only response.
"You do not...remember. How much have you forgotten, I wonder? To have seen, with your own experience the Courts at a time before there was even the concept of such a thing as Pattern. What else might you have seen and done, before the catastrophe, I wonder." Magnus whispers, as the parchment is rolled back up again.
The animals beside her remain intent on the being as he rustles. To her right, the feline creature licks and bites at its claws. She peers down at her pets, "What would you have us do, Magnus. This knowledge does little to change matters. Your Chaos remains a catastrophe. She is divided. As is your church." And then, "And we have more important matters to contend with outside the borders of this place."
Within a branch the rolled parchment rests. It wiggles a bit, as the Hierophant whispers to her: "You may have this copy. If you wish it. That is...unless you wish to continue running from yourself. I am but a teacher, here to train you and the others in recovering your own true natures. Mine is not an ambition to turn you into slaves such as Dalt did, but rather to assist you in regaining your own potential." Branches sway, as he whispers, "I would have us reach an understanding. There is no reason for us to fight. You are all Saints of the Serpent's Church, regardless of your memory or not of it. You have a home in Chaos, you shall always be welcome to return to it."
She dips her chin in a subtle nod though she seeingly has no desire to bridge the distance between the tree and herself to secure the parchment. Instead, she extends a hand and intones softly. In the space of a breath the parchment begins to lift off his branches. She pauses, waiting for a final indication that she may retrieve the item.
The branch opens up, releasing the parchment to her care. Magnus is content to observe as she recovers the recorded history, as he whispers: "You and the others know how to contact me, should you wish it. So long as you agree not to be violent, your safety is assured within the confines of the Church. Even Saint War."
The item floats over the distance between them and settles into her clutched fingers. She lowers the thing to her side and offers, "I am the possessor of partial truths and disease." The creatures beside her rise and begin to pace, rubbing against her legs the way felines often do, "And I am nothing less then the false prophet." A pauses, "Train your people, unite the lands of Chaos. Do not waste your efforts on me for I know what I am, Hierophant." A tightness begins to form around her eyes - perhaps the tell tail signs of trump light.
Magnus whispers to her, soft and gentle: "My lady. You only scratch the surface of what you are. Remember that my charge to train the Serpent's Children is also extended to you, and the other riders. Any effort which assists the Four of you, is surely not a waste. Of that you may be certain." Having said this, there is a pause before the tree's voice echoes: "May the Serpent Guide your varied path. We shall speak, anon."
The woman and the animals about her begin to shimmer, slowing fading from his view...
A trump call...
To the image of Dai, Pestilence regards you cooly, through the dark empty pits of her eyes. Her visage void of expression or greeting.
The image of Dai is sitting on a couch smoking a cigarette. He blinks when he sees Pestilence. "Um, hello. Did I dial the wrong number?"
To the image of Dai, Pestilence intones "Your trump of us would not have worked if you had, Dai." Her voice is multi-tonal, an echo, yet void of sentiment.
The image of Dai ohs and rubs his jaw. "Okay. Actually, I was just thinking about you. Well, both of you actually. I came up with a few theories on the Four actually. You are well I trust?"
To the image of Dai, Pestilence dips her chin in a single nod, indicating that she is well. As if in response to his comments, she extends her hand through the contact, offering to bring him to her location...
She offers to pull Dai through.
Vrokk, shoreline...
The woman stands along the shoreline, wind gusts about her face. Beside her are two large, lithe, feline-like creatures, mottled and charcoal-gray. They sit patiently, one licking at it's paw as such creatures are prone.
Dai slips your trump into his pocket and looks at the outfit. He gives a low whistle and then notes the feline-like creatures. "I take it things are not all that well. Has it begun then?"
She turns her empty gaze out over the ocean, the tide rolls eminantly close to the companions, surf illuminated by starlight and moonlight. "I have heard nothing of Spade during these last two weeks." Her true voice a soft whisper behind that of the Rider, "I spoke with Magnus a short time ago. It is only a matter of time."
Dai frowns. "What did Magnus have to say?"
The animals eye Dai curiously, crimson cat eyes wide in the night air.
She offers, "Little that was of any use to me at this point. He spoke of teaching and guidance. And was rather insistant that we learn of the old ways before we stray too far from our nature." She spats, "He is like a father lecturing his children."
Dai snorts. "He is a fool that has no idea what the Four really are. I think the 'old teachings' are something he has pulled out of his ass. He is not smart enough to make any plan work against Spade and will only be useful as a diversion in my opinion." He hesitates. "I have been giving a lot of thought to the nature of what you and the others truly are and think I have an.....interesting theory."
The woman raises a brow, curious. It is the first expression of emotion that has crossed her visage since your arrival, "Theory," she tests. "Does your theory offer any insight into addressing the division within the Courts. Will it help me deal with Spade."
Dai shrugs. "That I am unsure of. I do know that you, War, Famine, and Death can never be truly destroyed. The hosts, yes, even this manifestation. But you would only rise again more powerful than before if I am right. Which makes Spade's war a little pointless." He grimaces. "I don't want any of you to be destroyed in any which however. Unfortunately, I do not think that I will be allowed to actively help you in this matter. I can plan, advise, but I do not think that I can get involved in the actual fighting."
Pestilence nods as he offers his insights, "These things I know. My previous avatar parished yet I lingered." And then, "As for Spade and your involvement. Tell me more on this." Auburn hair flutters across her face though she makes ne effort to remove it.
Dai smiles slightly. "I have not told you my second theory nor all of my first as to why I think that is. Another time perhaps." He sighs and clears his throat. "I need to speak with Riva first, but my take on the situation is this; Spade has called off his war against Riva and I. And she is pregnant with triplets. I do not think that she will get involved or allow me to do so directly."
"Naturally, your choice to involve yourself or not to is your own. I take it you've spoken with Spade then."
She slides a hand to one of the creatures, running her fingers behind its ears. It is an absurd gesture, mechanical and lacking any warmth.
Dai shrugs. "Not really no. Basically, he bit off more than he could chew and went around making amends so that he can concentrate solely on you and the others in my opinion. As for my involvement, I am not skilled enough to make much of a difference in a fight really. He almost killed me the last time. I would be more of a detriment to you and the others if I became directly involved. I will support you in any way I can however."
Scott comes walking up from the shore.
She notes, "It is typical for him to speak first and think second. But do not trust to his sincerity for it will fail you. As it has failed me..." She turns her head, looking over her shoulder at Scott when she catches sight of him. The two feline creatures that sit at her side rise. Their low, rumbling purrs go quiet as their muscles tense.
Dai glances over and nods to Scott. "Uncle." He turns back to Pestilence. "I never said I trusted him. Nor will I let my guard down. He is too unpredictable to trust. And a fool to boot."
Scott grins, "Nephew..." Then he looks at Pestilence. "Ah, shit. You."
Dai, the woman and her pets stand near the shoreline. It is evening here and the waters are lit by starlight and moonlight. The tide appears to be rolling in.
She lifts her brow at Scott's form of greeting, "Scott," her voice echos, Serpent's Rider and avatar intoning together, as if they speak in unison, "I have no intentions this evening that warrants such a reaction. Be at ease, sir."
Dai winces at Scott's greeting and nods at what Pestilence says. He remains silent however.
Scott looks over at Dai, his gaze less than happy. "What the hell are you doing with her?"
Dai's eyes narrow. "Talking. I did not know that I needed anyone's permission or endorsement to do so. What the hell is your problem anyway? What has she done to you?"
The two feline animals begin to fidget, their mottled grey forms thin, backs arched much like a greyhound. As they pace before the woman their attentions remain on the newcomer.
Scott holds up both hands in a submissive guesture. "Alright, okay. Calm down, Dai. You're a grown man, you can do what you want. But she's notorious for messing people up. Trust me on that." He shrugs, "Just keep your guard up." He then looks at Pestilence. "And you. I got no beef with you at this moment. But you mess with my man, here, and you'll be hearing from me." He frowns at the animals. "What the heck are those?"
Dai let's out a sigh of relief. "Sorry uncle. Pestilence and I are friends. I am not worried about her turning on me." He seems a little amused at that thought for some reason. He looks to the animals with curiousity as well.
She blinks. One might note it is the first time she has done so during the entirety of the conversation. "Notorious for messing people up," she repeats, testing the phrase. She ignores Scott's question and poses one of her own, "I'm curious as to the source of your information. I don't go about messing people up, sir."
Scott sighs, "Ok, it's like this." He begins to pace back and forth as he speaks. "Despite the way that I dress and speak, I am a scholar at heart. When I first arrived in Choas and realized that it would be my new home, I started researching the history of the place. The legends, the religion. I spent a lot of serious man hours locked up in the Stacks of the Royal Sorcerer's Society. That's why when you and your three buddies began sending plagues upon Chaos, I already knew what was going on." He stops pacing and walks closer to Pestilence. "Do you remember when you were trapped in that one guy's body along with the rest of your pals? I'm sure you do, I heard it was more than a little crowded in there. But you got out. And you can thank me for that. I was the one that researched the spell that freed you and allowed you to seek out a new, stronger host."
Dai arches an eyebrow in surprise and folds his arms, listening with interest.
The creatures at her feet begin a low throaty growl, their eyes narrow, pupils little more then a vertical sliver of black amidst a field of crimson red. The woman seems mildly interested and wonders out loud, "Is that what you believe happend? Interesting."
Scott says in a low voice. "Call off the kitties before they end up barbequed." He does take a few steps away from the lady though. "I wasn't present when they did whatever it is that they did to you."
The animals remain fixed and she makes no gesture at withdrawing them.
Dai takes a seat and makes himself as comfortable as possible. "Where exactly is all of this going?"
"Fair question." To Scott she offers, "Let me suggest you return to your research. It is misinformation such as this that is the basis for the disaster that is Chaos and the reason you have all fallen so easily into the whims of my partner's ways."
Scott says "Where this is going is that she can pretend to be whatever it is she wants to, but I know at heart she's a killer and bringer of destruction. Make 'em sick and watch 'em die, right?" He chuckles. "Our patron Saint." He snorts. "Right."
Pestilence notes, matter of factly, "You know nothing. Half truths and lies. None of which were spread by me and mine."
Scott clenches his jaw. Makes a fist with his right hand. "I hate you all. Especially War, for talking the body of my friend."
"And do you think Ryker has not chosen this way willingly. As we have." She suggests, "I am just as much a part of Yosannah as she is of me. You judge with little insight into the matter's Scott. And you do Ryker a disservice with these tantrums."
Dai seems content to let the kids bicker as he can't get a word in anyway. He leans back and laces his fingers together behind his head.
Scott smiles coldly. "This isn't a tantrum. It's taking all my willpower not to attempt to take your life. Which would do no good, because you would simply move on to another host.
Pestilence is obviously bemused, "Take my life. I have neither the time nor the interest. Take your anger to that pathetic World's End. I am certain you'll find some rable to throw down with."
"Well, I'm not in the mood to watch you two tear each other's throats out over an arguement about absolutely nothing." Dai pulls a trump out of his pocket. "Have fun. I'll check on both of you later to make sure you're both still breathing." Dai concentrates on his trump and vanishes, leaving behind a rapidly fading afterimage.
Scott spins quickly, going airborne. He goes just high enough to execute a spinning jump back kick, aimed at Pestilence's chest.
The felines, interposed between the woman and Scott, wait not for a command from their mistress. Quick, lithe and agile they too spring forth in an effort to supplant Scott from making contact with her. The nearer of the two recieves the full brunt of Scott's back kick. It wimpers and is sent flying several feet to his right. The other pounces squarely at Scott's form, fangs posed for his throat.
Scott barely manages to get his hands up so that the animal couldn't get to his throat. He attempts to simply break the thing with his immense strength. Of course, he does not notice anything Pestilence is doing for his attention is solely upon the animal that is attacking him.
The creature that was thrust aside rises from the sand, tossing its head this way and that in an effort to correct it's bearings. The animal atop Scott struggles in his arms, fangs biting at his arms though, clearly, it is no match for the man's strength.
Pestilence withdraws a tiny iridescent globe and holds it before her, hands clasped at either side. She thrusts her hands together, shattering the thing in the processes. Shards fall to the sand in a shimmer and a thick white cloud billows forth.
"Wooosh"
Scott tosses the animal aside just in time to see her smash a globe thingy. When the white cloud comes out, his eyes go wide. "Ah, shit! I've heard about this." He backs away as fast as his legs can carry him. His hands rummage around in his coat, looking for a card, any card.
The cloud wafts forward gushing over the animal that is tossed aside by Scott. A final wimper escapes lips and then there is no sound forthcoming. However, the fog does not wash fast enough that it will overtake the man as he hurries away. In the event he had any thoughts on returning the second animal has since regained it's bearings and turns in his direction. Behind the mist the sounds of the woman's voice can be heard... chanting...
Scott finds a card and looks at it. He moves forward and vanishes, leaving behind a rapidly fading afterimage...