Cold fire washes over you. Slowly it returns... It begins with sensation. Light... coldness.... roughness... It is followed by perception. A dark flat plain, mountains in the distance. Sand at your fingers, under your nails. The moon and stars casting what little light there is. It is followed by memory.... the Pattern.... the girl.... a cell... ages lost... a woman in shadow..... Corwin.... a baby....
Your body aches as though beaten by a group of frustrated children with clubs. Every bone and muscle feels strained and sore. The pounding beat of your heart fills your head – worse than any headache you can remember. You feel as though you have been through a clothes wringer, or perhaps a meat grinder.
Rest – your body cries out for rest. What little energy remains is being leeched away by the cold of the desert air. Remnants of clouds and storms twirl in the distance. Above you, all is clear, all is calm. Sand coats your body, rough on your bare skin. A few rags still cling to your frame, faint remains of clothing ages old.
The air, though. The air is clean. You breathe, you live. Freedom.
Rest... his body calls, the Others he carries picking up its call. On instinct more then thought, cupped hands scooping out sand till he has a foot deep hole. Tired hands, ripping off the cloth to wrap about his face before covering his legs, loins and torso with sand after he rolled into the depression he just made. Covering himself with sand, for both to conceal, and protect against the cold. Sweeping the sand till its up to his neck, leaving only his cloth-covered head exposed before pushing his arms into as well. Like some desert animal, Conall seeks rest hidden under the sands. The Beast howling, in its desire to stand watch, as the Other, with a mother's tenderness, leads Conall to sleep, as if to tuck him in.
The sand envelops, comforts, protects. Sleep envelops your tired mind, and the exhaustion from your recent ordeals reveals itself. Under the clearing sky and glow of the moon the specter of sleep comes.
A castle, high upon a mountain. Stairs zig zagging back and forth up the perilous slopes. Up the stairs, step by step, a lush valley below. Climbing, stair after stair. At last you reach the top, a grand arch ushering you forth. The mighty fortress stands proud and defiant ahead of you. You look back at the valley behind. A fire spreads among the boughs, leaping from tree to tree. A great black stain comes across the land, spreading until the valley is a dark fiery wasteland. The castle crumbles, fires raging through the windows. Whispers like the clamor of insects rise up, their words melted together until no meaning remains. The city lies dead, not even fires burn anymore. Slowly the land turns to waste, until nothing remains, only you, watching all.
Figures wrapped in cloth surround you, silhouetted by the moon. Cold. Wind. Water. Warmth.
Laughter. A young girl under a tree, playing in the grass, a white dress billowing in the wind. Grass blooms. A new city, grander and more magnificent than before. The valley regrows, the castle is rebuilt.
You wake in deeper darkness, but in warmth. Fur on your skin – blankets. Instantly you become alert and aware, veils of sleep and dreams torn away. No wounds, no bonds, just blankets. The smell of cooking... spices long forgotten. Cold ground, natural rough walls – cave, dungeon, cellar – cave. A blue-green light illuminates the cave ahead. Voices echo, their words are indistinct. Four, no five voices, so far. Four male, one female. The source of the light and the voices out of sight, around the next bend of the cave. Your lips are slightly wet. Images of blood from long ago crawl like bugs from your memories. No, this was water... the feel of it reminds you of your thirst. Your muscles still ache, but strength returns.
Lips get the last of moisture, sucking it in as he cast his eyes about the dark cave, and cock a ear to try and figure out what the voices are saying. Not trapped yet, but still a wary animal called Man.
Straining your ears you hear them more clearly. It is not the distance or your condition which impede your understanding, but their language. Whatever tongue it is, and you think you may know many, it is unknown to you. You study the syllables, the stress patterns, the diction. Most languages possess some remnant of Thari, but this one feels unique - different. Their tone is still perfectly understandable though. Mostly they are calm, though one of them seems slightly agitated. Nobody else is rising up to confront him, but seem to calmly soothe him instead.
Studying the cave is less informative. There doesn't appear to be any path of escape, except through the strangers. There are several broken rocks, several of which would make good bludgeons or projectiles. One rock looks sharp enough at the point to make a half-way decent stabbing weapon - small enough to conceal under the blanket as well.
The Beast growls, causing Conall's eyes to flicker towards the stone dagger with dark desires. But the Gentle Voice urges caution, bidding her host to study the dynamics of the people before him. Is the one upset, ally or enemy? 'Wait,' she says.'Even if they pose a threat, you're still too weak to overcome so many.' Advising as the Beast growls his displeasure at such weakness, already deciding the order of death. As the Pair argue, Conall just lays there and waits... agreeing that its best for now.
You lay down, and wait, listening. The conversation continues on for a few minutes, and then you hear footsteps approaching - a single person.
The man who turns the corner isn't very tall, but neither is he short. His physique is hidden under layers of robes and clothing, but you would guess he has a narrow agile body. His skin is almost pitch black and thick red, matted, hair rests on his shoulders. From both his ears hang two large gold hoops. Two undrawn curved blades hang from his side. The darkness conceals his expression from you, but it likely also conceals you - he may not know that you are awake. "Smerigliatie loa zappatori, aveta unito las vivta anchora?" His tone is inquiring, and not overtly hostile. You recognize his voice as one of the speakers, but he was not the argumentative one in the group.
Conall to the dismay of the Beast remains un-threatening, acknowledging the arrival of one of his Hosts with a respectful tip of his head. Politely listening to the man's words as the Beast growls its hate in Connall's mind. Waiting till the man is finished to say."I'm sorry, but I don't understand you."
The man listens, apparently not understanding your words either. He calls out to the others, not in alarm or upset, but with some jubilation. "Ei sveuglio! Ei usa stranieri fretta!" He never turns his attention from you though. Two others come quickly round the corner, dressed similarly to the first man in layers of ragged clothing.
One is a taller man, with dark skin, a bald head, and a pair of goggles hanging around his neck. He has a skinny, bony face, with a white scar lining the right side. Several decorative looking holes have been cut into his left ear. The other newcomer is a woman, skin slightly lighter than the other two with braided multi-colored hair, dyed orange, green, red, and a rainbow of other colors. Her face seems slightly too wide, and her nose looks like it has been broken a couple of times - healing somewhat crookedly.
The bald man crotches low to the ground, reminding you of some wild jungle animal. He smiles. "Saluai... eee, hello?" He pauses for a second and then repeats himself with a bit more confidence. "Hello." His accent is strong, and unfamiliar, but he is clearly knows at least one word of Thari. His hands are on his knees, and he appears to be armed only with a knife you see slightly protruding from under his garments. Inadvertently you calculate various paths of reaching him and subduing the man before he could draw the blade. The two though would prove much more difficult. The woman, in particular, though she stands behind the other two, has one hand underneath a fold of her robe, most likely grasping a weapon.
Tis the Gentle Voice that takes control of his words, his body as both cage the Beast for a instances that hangs between beats of one's heart. Easy in both words and gestures, that is Her gift, this Gentle Voice that inhabits his mind. "Hello..." Conall responses, his voice echoing Her friendliness and empathy."I am Conall." He points to himself, a smile on his lips."Friend!" he declares.
"Conall?" The man replies with a smile. He points to himself, "Name be Outher. Ow-thur." He pauses and adds, "friend." The other two exchange some quick words in the unknown language, and from the tone and body language involved, you'd guess the woman is dominate over the man who first spoke to you.
Outher stands. "Feed." He gestures to his mouth. "Feed." He points around the corner he came from, and gestures for you to come. He takes a few steps back, and the other two strangers make way for you. The woman stands against the wall, her gaze full of increasing malice. The first man, stands against the other wall, so that to follow Outher, you'll have to walk between them. His hands have slipped closer to his blades, and you doubt it is by chance. Outher takes another step around the corner. "Feed. Conall. Feed." The Beast howls in anger, but a soothing note seems to calm it somewhat. If these people had wished to kill you, they could have easily done so while you slept.
"Outher..." Conell says, all smiles and politeness. Standing, his movements speaks of weakness and helplessness. One that could never pose any threat to those around him, as he nods in happiness and relief at the mention of food."Feed." He parrots, all smiles and friendliness as he follows Outher, passing between the man and woman without a thought. Saying hello to both, thankful for the rescue. The Gentle Voice now in charge, as the Beast gives a barely audible growl as it slinks about in the shadows of Conell's mind. His time will come, as it always does. And Conell? He merely watches, as they stroll towards the promise food. He knows the threat is there, yet seeing the reality of their charity. Cats may play with their food, but humans in deserts don't have that privilege. And if he is wrong and it is a game, the Beast that even nows shows his hatred with a gleaming fang, and the promise that he will not go easily in to the Final Darkness.
The man and woman do nothing as you pass between them, but quickly follow on your heels, half a step closer than you would prefer. Three new strangers await around the corner, two men and another woman. A large rock near the center of the room appears to be serving as a makeshift table - three abandoned bowls resting on it. The blue-green light seems to be coming from several organic looking orbs, tied to various spots throughout the room. They resemble balloons but with blue veins running just under the surface.
At the far end of the chamber is a small pot above a woodless fire. A dark skinned man with gray hair tied in a pony tail is tending the pot, each turn of the ladle bringing forth an aroma of spices. He glances at you briefly, but then returns, disinterested, to the food. Outher says something to him in the foreign tongue and then tosses him one of the bowls from the table. The man scoops a small portion of the stew within the pot into the bowl and then passes it back to Outher, who hands it you.
The other two inhabitants of the room are dressed differently from the others. Both wear fine black cloaks, made of a lighter material than Outher's clothing. Under the cloaks you can see the outline of some sort of plate armor. Both of them have pitch black skin, although the woman has a pale splotch on the left side of her face that you suspect is a birthmark. Both have short, slightly curly black hair. The woman's attention on something on the ground, blocked from your position by the table. The man's eyes are narrowed, focuses solely on you. 'Enemy!' cries the beast, only to be soothed by a more tender voice. Unlike the others, these two have completely undecorated skin, free from any visible tattoos or piercings.
Outher hands you the bowl, which smells better than anything you can ever remember eating. Sometime, long ago - before your imprisonment - you know you ate fine foods. "Feed." He picks up a flask that looks to be made out of tanned hide, and puts it on table. He struggles to remember the words, and then says happily, "Wha, whater. Sand whater." He sits at the edge of the table, a look of pride on his face. The two strangers who had followed you, move to the other side of the chamber from the armored pair, and exchange some hushed words.
As you take the bowl from Outher, you see what the armored woman is tending to. A man lies on the ground at her feet, his skin twisted and bare. A bizarre patchwork of colors and textures substitute for what should be skin. In many ways he resembles a grotesque Frankenstein monster. Boils cover the left side of his face, and his right arm is wrapped in a black cloth. His chest rises and falls slowly, indicating the faint signs of life.
Conall takes the bowl from Outher, taking a taste before the offer of water draws his eyes and hands away. Eyes not meeting the one staring, as he takes a short drink before nodding his thanks to Outher. Smiling as the others of his escort, take their places within the cave. Returning to the food, something that even the Beast agrees they need. Barely a bit in his mouth before he sees the body on the floor, sees the man... causing Conell to give Outher a confused look, then those who where his escort, then the black skinned man, and finally the woman tending to that.. thing on the ground.
Outher tries to give you a comforting look, but can't seem to find the words to express what he wants. "No. no... ai, good feed. feed good? Sand whater good?"
The menacing man says something to his female companion, and you recognize the angry voice from before. The language sounds different than that which the other were speaking, and then you hear the familiarity. "... storm ... man ... drag Shadow ... suffer ... must to die ..." He speaks only to the woman, as though expecting nobody else to understand. Something in your memory is stirred. You knew his language once, or something like it. It isn't Thari, but something else.
The woman nods, but says nothing. The Beast roars. They will destroy us! Tear them! The Beast's angry stirs something. Memories of black armor and magnificent steeds under the glowing moon. Moonriders. Ghenesh.
The Lost Man, with Beast and Lady, returns to his bowl. The food before him, and his body's need. Feels.. feels comforted by the Beast's demands. Indeed there is, a danger here for him. But its a danger that existence for him, anywhere he goes. His eyes, stay focus on the food and Outher but he still watches the man who recalls, those unpleasant memories... of dark armor and moonlight, the word 'Ghenesh'. As if a curse, this word. His memories, if any are pleasant, he asks himself. Watching, yet not watching those before him. Waiting for the next piece to reveal itself, the next thread of this story to untangle from Fate's web. Watching, as he shovels in the food and smiles at Outher in thanks. A tiny man, with growling Beast protesting, and charming Lady watching. A tiny man, no threat to any, taking comfort in a few words with his Savor, and the food before him.. but watching, watching all that goes around him with more then just his eyes.
Outher smiles back at you, and says some words to the others in the unknown language before turning his attention back to you. "Conall. Name be family." He points to the gray haired man who served your food. "Name be Jafit." He names the man and woman who were with you before as Kruin and Panthera, but does not name the two who remind you of Moonriders. "Name be Conall family? Name be... dia... name be home? Q'ua? Marbok? Amber?" Outher queries.
Golden spires and marble halls fill your mind. Songs and whispers, temples and armies, a parade of images and senses. The smell of the woods, the stone of the mountains, of mighty Kolvir. A hallway... a throne room... a false king and a false queen... a cell....
The menacing man shifts his attention ever so subtly towards you. Even without looking you can feel his eyes appraising you. There is a new tenseness there, not a threat, but perhaps an unease.
He gives a friendly nod to each, as Outher delivers their names. Pausing long enough between the scoops of food to answer the question his Host has given him."Valatar" He says with some pride, a small fishing hamlet far up the Northern shore of Amber. A memory given him the name, the feel of a ship under heel as a question was answered, as he stared at a number of lonely huts hidden amongst gray stones and cold waves."Valatar!" He says again, hitting his chest. Proud of his village, his people, as any would. Living on rock, barren and cold, sailing the sea for food and coins. Fishermen all, who call no man king. But then, far enough up the coast, and far too small... to be much concern to anyone.
Outher smiles, nodding. "Vala..tar.. Valatar." Too distant and far for him to even know the name. A nervous tension quietly dominates the room. Outher and his people quietly watch you eat - their manner on edge, waiting for something. The silence is broken by a soft moan from the twisted man on the floor, and then by the heavily accented voice of one of his caretakers.
"How come you to the wasteland?" The menacing man's Thari is distinctly accented, but his fluency far exceeds Outher's. "Naked but unharmed. Luck favors you." There is an intensity to his voice - a sense of a beast of his own waiting to let forth. His companion, the woman, faces towards her charge on the floor, but her eyes focus only on you.
Conall pauses in his eating to answer."I do not know... we where in a terrible storm. Dark and as fierce as Gorntar, the great shark who guards the sunk ships of the sea, who feasts on their dead." His eyes take on the far away look... of terror before he shakes his self free of those unpleasant thoughts. Looking up at the man who asked him the question."I do not know why I survived and landed here but... but I fear all others of the ship I was on, are dead." His features, his eyes speak truth.. and of guilt, for living when so many others are dead. Conall goes back to eating, knowing there is nothing else he can say.
Yet in his mind, Conall can hear a soft praise and caress from the Lady, and a very opinionated growl from the Beast.
"The fates must guard you, or curse you. You come from vast riches into the wasteland, stripped bare of all possessions - like Teric upon his exile. Yet you are blessed as well - I have seen those taken by the storm. Its touch rends the body and mind.... it is...." He pauses unable to continue. Instead, his eyes go to the twisted man on the ground.
The silence grows as you finish the last of the food in the bowl - your shrunken stomach quickly full on the hearty food.
TAP. CLICK. Metal on rock echoes faintly. Outher opens his mouth to speak, but only emits a single sound, "foo-", before the noise alerts him. The menacing man is quicker, his hand moving to his blades. His female companion is his equal in speed and martial training. Their reactions are clearly honed by years of expert military training. The others in the room are also skilled, but in a far lesser league. Reflexes of your own outspeed all of theirs, despite your long imprisonment.
The clicking and tapping continue rhythmically, almost mechanically. Footsteps, heavy - armored echo behind them. Alone, the sounds descend towards the entrance on the far side of the room.
Conall glances to Outher, the eyes of the Beast reflected within. But that is his only reaction, besides surprise and fear. Knowing if any threat comes, he could be the first they blame with betrayal. Waiting for a cue from Outher, as his eyes dart for a way of escape. A pawn, only a pawn on the board, for now...
Outher yells out orders in his native tongue, and Jafit douses the fire with a small metal cup. Panthera and Jafit then take up positions on either side of the entrance, swords drawn. At same time, Outher and Kruin proceed around the room, touching the glowing orbs gently and whispering words to them. As they do so, the organic seeming light slowly fade to darkness.
"No words." Outher whispers to you - urgency in his voice.
The menacing man's voice is barely audible as he whispers something to his female companion in their half known tongue, "...guard... take them into the deeper path...". You see her nod as the room slides into darkness. The man's voice speaks with a hint of sarcasm to you in the dark. "Fear not, Conall. They are.... capable."
The positioning of Outher and his men seems to be a reasonable defensive plan if the enemy force is small in number. Outher's position seems a bit distant from the doorway, however. Hunger accompanies the Beast's council, 'Coward or wise to fear those here'.
Almost unheard, metal is drawn from concealed sheathes on the unnamed man's person - daggers or knives. You can sense his positioning as you sit wrapped in your blanket in the dark. He is positioned to defend not against the doorway, but against Outher, the others, and you. The woman crouches over their fallen companion, weapon undrawn.
The darkness is heavy for several minutes, and then you hear it: heavy, clumsy footsteps in the dark. A blue glow of unnatural light flows through the entrance passage. A man's shape in the enters the room, and immediately Panthera and Jafit have their blades on him, one at his gut, the other at his neck. Something holds them back. A hideous grin on a metal face. 'Valshi!' Jafit cries and he draws back a step. Panthera moves back slightly as well, but remains poised to strike.
Blood. Suffering. You can feel the magic wrapped around the stranger. It is strange mixture whose essence is unknown to you. It feels corrupted and twisted. Great skill and even greater power went into the crafting of the magic. Tears... flesh... and power... a power that can be born only of reality - of Amber.
(Public portion continued in 'Ch. 1: Lost and Found (Conall and Laughing Boy))
Whatever was said by the silver stranger, seems to cause a great stir of reaction in Outher and his men. The four of them seem shocked, and Outher turns his eyes on the menacing man on the other side of the room. "Yu harkyo!," he cries in anger, raising his sword.
Before he is even in position, a knife flies from the hand of the menacing man at your side, cutting along the Outher's neck. You see the motions, and while his skill is great, you feel you could best him in any fair fight. The wound is intentionally nonlethal, but a few inches to the right would have killed Outher. "Pera ila vostri aiuto, peradonari questi," he threatens in Outher's tongue. Already another knife is visible in his hand. "Ili mia temamenio conosci i domito." Outher steps back, sword fallen to the ground, and hand at his neck, covering the wound. His allies all look to him, and lower their swords slightly.
The menacing man rises and faces the silver man. He eyes the orchid shaped jewelry, and speaks in Thari. "Guildsman, I do not know what deal you have struck with my Lord, but your arrival is welcome. I am Ariaric, and this," he says with a slight nod to his companion, "is Elisyin. Our third companion is badly injured. Any supplies you have brought would be a great help."
The medical supplies seem more advanced than you would anticipate given primitive technology around you. Technology out of Shadow perhaps; some of it appears more sophisticated than you find even in Amber. All of it seems relatively familiar to you though, but even given these supplies there may be little that can be done to save the ailing man.
The Beast still howls, and the Lady soothes... and Conall watches. This 'Thing' has both armor and blood that would burn, a interesting way to defend. Cut him, and you would probably be burned severe. A mace would be a better choice but then, it could be likely the creature doesn't have the proper bone or muscle structure for such a weapon to be effective. A thrusting or cutting weapon seems best, even with the possibly of dangerous fluids squirting about.
The Thing's skin has cooled, though the casing still appears formidable. The sun... the heat.... you remember... knowledge from unseen past... from someone else. A sun that kills all who remain beneath it. A cursed land.
Another magic... an energy in the Thing's eyes.... in just one of its eyes.
The figures in the cavernous room seem to move almost in slow motion. Laughing Boy's reactions seem slow, but showing of some training. The two armored warriors move quickly, but may be too slow to prevent the metal man from utlizing the Trump he has seemingly conjured. You watch the two warriors move to stop him, their intent is clearly to stop him from departing, and note that they both have their backs to you, enabling you to strike at either of them with ease. Outher and his fellows appear to be debating whether to enter the fray - the words of Ariaric seem to move them to attack, although they hold back. You get the distinct impression, however, that their target would be Laughing Boy and not the warriors.
A hundred paths open before his eyes, between beats of his heart. Conall could join the battle and kill the Lord, wait like Outher and see which way the coin falls. Or he could join the Lord, and leave this place.
Decision make... Even the Beast agrees. With inaction, his life is at risk as a witness to their crime. So better to jump now, when his option are so much better.
Time to leave this place...
He needs to time it just right, take-out those two warriors attacking and join the trump contact before his future Host can get away. Even with the Beast growling, Conall believes he can take out those men without killing them. There is a debt, that should be recognize. They did dig him out of the sand, give him shelter and food. Would be a poor guest, and the Lady agrees, to pay them back in death when its not necessary or civil.
You shatter the bones of the woman's leg in a single blow, striking at an opening in her armor. Their plate armor slows them, but gives few points of attack. Immediately you strike at Ariaric, striking at an oppurtune weakness in his armor. Were it not for the element of surprise you doubt you could overtake the two with any arms.
The metal man moves with surprising agility. You ponder for a moment the construction of such armor that enables such freedom of movement. He appears to be on par with the black armored warriors in skill at arms, but is still your inferior. You see no weakness in his armor to exploit however.
The others in the room watch the ballet of combat, but do move to interfere. Outher seems surprised by your sudden entry into the fray, but you sense that he will soon move to join. There is a tension about him, an inner battle that seems about to tip, but to what side you cannot tell.
Conall falls back, trading space for the lost surprise. With a almost playful grin on his lips that borders on the feral, he says."I could have killed her, as well as you." His body low to the ground, balanced on his heels."Snapped her neck like a chicken's." Conall growls, hiding the disappointment that this fool who was suppose to be his way out... decided to stay."Best we just end this here before someone truly becomes hurt." He suggests.
(If you want to attack before or during LB's speech, its fine. We can easily backtrack a little. I just wanted to keep things going.)
In Ariaric's hesitation, there is an opening - you see it - a single move for his weapon and his life.
There is a glimmer of energy again behind the metal man's eyes as he sings/speaks. Just a touch, but enough for a taste.
'Other ways of escape.' murmers the Beast. 'The Shadows are soft... too easy to escape in darkness.'
Conall listens to the Beast, as does the Lady. Indeed he may not need this strange metal creature, pretending to be a man after all. He hears the Lady's sigh, and understand her desire for the lack of any more violences on these people. Yes, he has the desire to leave.
They all agree, all three of them... tis time to leave. And so, without word or explanation, Conall simply turns and proceeds to walk out of this once lair and back into the world.