The conversation has been rounded off and the Trump contact ended. Conner and the two warriors have come through to Brennan together with their supplies.
[OOC: They have a number of things in their hastily-prepared luggage, including some "wonder what that is?" that may be useful to Conner later in terms of conjuring things. They do not have horses.]
Sir Firumbras stands out as foreign by style and weaponry; to Brennan's eyes, he looks like he's almost a little futuristic compared to the Maghee Brennan has been dealing with. The same is true for Conner, but of course the Shadows lie for him. And Regenlief looks like, well, a Valkyrie, so maybe from the next couple of principates or dukedoms or other little places over?
When their goods are handed through, Sir Firumbras comes first, Regnelief comes second, and Conner comes last. And then the contact fades and the four warriors are left standing in the night.
Regenlief does not appear to have immediately recognized Brennan.
Once everyone is through and briefly acclimated to their surroundings-- something like a tent which is by the sound of it on the edges of some fair, market, or other such gathering, and evidently at night-- Brennan gestures everyone to sit, or to make themselves at rest as they please. There are folding chairs of canvas, and cushions. Observant eyes will see three bedrolls, making four seated occupants somewhat cozy, but not uncomfortable. If the other two occupants return, space will become a premium.
"Welcome," Brennan says, "to Avalon.
"If I understand correctly, no single one of us knows all three of the others. Some introductions are in order, then my cousin and I will explain what we're about and you can decide if you wish to remain. My name," he says with some mild emphasis, "is Brennan, son of Brand, son of Oberon. In the past, I've used the name Ramble, but in this place, for the moment, call me Walker."
Brennan is too polished a communicator not to have made eye contact with everyone in the tent, but most of his attention is on Regenlief.
Regenlief clearly understands the import of the introduction and is deferring it for later. Brennan thinks she's recognized his voice now that he’s talking.
Sir Firumbras, either because he's got a penchant for stepping into the middle of awkward situations or because it's a good moment to allow Regenlief to recover her equilibrium, speaks up. "I am Firumbras, formerly of the court of King Carol of Paris, now serving King Corwin. It is his wish that I aid you, and so I shall. Though," he says, looking around, "I expect to need to conceal my features." Because he looks like he has some Altamerean blood in him, or something related to it, or even some Moonrider with the pale silvery white skin, the height, and the slightly inhuman features.
"I'm Regenlief of Asgard," says Regenlief, who, unlike Firumbras, will pass in these parts as a simple warrior. "Walker and I have met before. I'm also in service to King Corwin at the moment."
"I am Conner, son of Fiona, daughter of Oberon. I now bear the Pattern Blade of Rebma and have sworn the oath to be her Knight Protector." Conner states. "And if an alias is needed, refer to me as Rooker." Conner looks over Sir Firumbras. "Where are you from, Sir Knight? Your features remind of the people of Altamar."
"We have. Well met again, Regenlief," Brennan says, and though his tone and expression are mild, they indicate quite eloquently that they will talk privately later.
Oh yes, yes they will.
"And well met, Sir Firumbras. Before we delve into our purpose, let me give a warning: Serve the King as you will, but the names Corwin, Karol, Carolus, and all the common variations are unwise to speak here, and less wise to affiliate with. There is a history in this place-- a man by that name once ruled, and ignited such a fury in his peoples that they sank an island to be rid of him. We will not advertise our kinship with him."
Sir Firumbras looks like he'd like to protest this, but he nods his agreement without argument. He's got enough potential problems without advertising he works for the Sorcerer King.
"That said," he continues, "Some recent history: Some time ago man called Huon of the Horn-- our uncle, in fact-- laid siege to the Realm of Rebma. Its then-Queen, Moire, abandoned the city to find its own defenses. Conner and I played a role in that defense, with three cousins. One assumed the throne and gave her life for the good of Rebma. Another is occupied with other tasks related to that war. The last, daughter of Corwin and Moire, occupies the throne now; you may have met her in Paris.
"The siege was broken, although the damage to Rebma is considerable. Huon currently enjoys the extended hospitality of Queen Celina of Rebma. While out of Rebma, Moire has also killed another member of Amber's royal family, another cousin of ours, and fled further still." Brennan pauses as if to suggest a shrug-- it's a big family. "She seeks to reclaim the throne she has failed to defend, and we would spare the city further violence and destruction."
Brennan turns the narrative over to Conner.
"To this end Rebma has sent out agents, questioned former supporters and asked the family to keep an eye out for any traces of the former Queen." Conner replies. "Her last known sighting was in Paris when she appeared in the middle of a company of Rebmans under service to our cousin Vere. Several of them left with her. Enough to be a bodyguard as opposed to army. There had been no further sightings or leads to her location until Brennan started investigating things here in Avalon."
Conner gestures for Brennan to continue from here.
Neither Firumbras nor Regenlief seem to have any problem following this.
Brennan picks up the tale by reaching for a map tube, opening it, and spreading a map of the surrounding isles on the table.
"Just as there is a road by which anyone can walk between worlds from Rebma to Paris, so there is a road from Rebma to Avalon, although much less known and more securely guarded. My supposition was that Moire would walk that road-- or send an agent-- and come out roughly here," he indicates the area, "on the coast opposite the proper isle of Avalon," another gesture, "ruled by our uncle, the Protector. I spoke with him, explained my suspicion that Moire would use his realm as staging ground for a surprise invasion, and he agreed it was plausible and undesirable.
"Avalon is constantly at war. Activities here, around Methryn's Isle," a gesture toward Montparnasse, "was part of a complex feint to leave this area of the coast-- and the road back to Rebma-- exposed and undefended. That activity has been shut down, although the Protector's allies may feign weakness as part of a trap." Brennan stresses by inflection that this course of action is not certain. "Along the way, I questioned a man who had been put under a geas by Moire to force him to serve her in this regard. Unfortunately, breaking the geas-- which allowed him to identify her-- also ended his life. I've tracked down a second member of this plot, whose mind has also been tampered with, who has identified an agent of Moire's acting in Avalon as an Admiral Stratum. We are stepping carefully so that we might learn more, save his life, and preserve him as an ally. There is a third man whose mind has been clouded, a fleet captain named Jellicoe, still at large." He does not go out of his way to stress it, but neither does he hide it: those who know Brennan can pick up on his contempt for the brainwashing and mind-clouding techniques that are being used, here.
"I also learned there is a second, though more difficult, route from Avalon to Rebma," Brennan says. Which seems like a good place to turn the story back over to Conner.
"The details are still sketchy as the story Brennan was told contained dream like elements similar to those in Tir. But the short version is that the man Brennan questioned, a Maghee wizard from these isles, was brought to an underwater throne room by a group of people that lived in a kelp forest. While there he encountered another cousin of ours Dara and later ex-Queen Moire. It was the ex-Queen that sent the wizard with forces to attack Avalon. More concerning to us is how exactly Moire and this wizard were able to meet in the first place. There is a great kelp forest on the edge of Rebma. Within that kelp forest lives a Dragon and her Sons, the beings known as Tritons. We now suspect that the other end of that kelp forest comes out here in Avalon and represents another path to Rebma that the ex-Queen could exploit in her attempts to usurp the Rebman throne. One of my tasks is to try and locate this route."
Brennan nods emphasis at several points, especially the mention of Tir-na Nog'th and Dara. He also puts the various images he's collected from various sources on the table.
"And mine," Brennan continues, "if warranted, is to cover the direct road on the coast across from the Isle of Apples itself. Jointly, of course, we need to determine if Moire is here in person as I suspect, or if she is working only through intermediaries, and adjust our plans when we get new information. The true goal over all of this is: Capture Moire and turn her over for justice. I will emphasize that: Capture. Not kill. Simply disrupting her plans and spoiling Avalon as a base of operations is the minimal acceptable outcome.
"A few wrinkles, though," Brennan says. "First, We haven't gone out of our way to announce that we know Moire is active here, or even that we're here. That subterfuge is rapidly nearing the end of its useful life-- Jellicoe has no reason to know who I am, but he's seen my face and report it if he reaches his Admiral. Second, we have as yet no writ from our uncle to field an army... although when we can be more precise about Moire's plans I expect that will change. Laying the groundwork seems in bound, though. Third, beware mirrors. Moire and her agents can use them for spying. You won't even find a shaving mirror in this tent."
Brennan looks to Conner-- anything else for the summary before they start actually planning?
Nothing more from Conner. On to planning.
Regenlief has a look on her face that Brennan knows of old: she's doing a lot of tactical considering in her head. Before she can speak, though, Firumbras says, "I have questions about Moire of Rebma; she is not the Queen of Rebma I know of old. The true Queen of Rebma is a formidable foe. I do not understand this about abandoning posts and other Queens. Either she is the Queen or she is not. Can you explain this to me?" His eyes flick from Brennan to Conner, who has the sword, whose power Firumbras seems to understand. He adds, after a moment, "But your cautions about mirrors are duly noted. I shall make certain nothing is mirror-polished."
"I shall try," Conner replies, "but much of the history of Rebma has been lost or reshaped by the Archivists. You may be able to fill in some gaps for me. I presume that the true Queen of Rebma that you remember is Queen Moins. In a time long past, she died on the battlefield protecting Rebma during a time of war. Her daughter Moire stepped into the breach and claimed the Queenship and ruled for long enough that many only knew of her as the Queen of Rebma. However, there is evidence to suggest that while she claimed the temporal authority over Rebma, she did not have the metaphysical ties to the land that mark a True Queen of Rebma."
"Moire has a younger sister, Llewella, daughter of Moins and Oberon. Llewella, ... had, a daughter, Khela." Conner pauses for a moment. "She found the blade I now wear and by this token of rulership rallied many to her side. She marched against the false Queen Moire who fled before her. Khela also repulsed an assault upon Rebma led by Huon of the Horn who came to claim the Pattern Blade of Rebma. The people of Rebma accepted her as ruler and swore homage to her, but Khela wanted to be a True Queen and so sought to bind herself to Rebma. She failed and she gave her life in the attempt. She had named our cousin Queen Celina as her heir. The people of Rebma have sworn an oath to accept her as Queen. By her authority, I was bound to the Pattern Balde of Rebma and made its Warden. The land responds to her as it would a True Queen. So, as far as I am concerned, there is but one Queen of Rebma and it is Celina. Does that make things clearer?"
"Not entirely," says Firumbras, "but clear enough for the work we mean to do."
Brennan nods along as the professional diplomat explains things. He has little to add to Conner's explanation, although he is carefully observing Firumbras when Conner relates the fact of Moins' death. "Sir Firumbras, who were the Kings and Queens in the time of Carol?" A moment later, he adds, "Do not name the Queen of Tir-na Nog'th, please, just indicate if it is this woman," putting the sketch of Maeve and whoever the other person is on the table.
"That is the Queen of the city of my birth, though I do not know who the man is. Moins was Queen of Rebma, Oberon of Amber, and Carol of Paris," Firumbras answers. And now, as I understand it, Random is King of Xanadu, and of Amber--" though Firumbras sounds like he's a bit doubtful on that point, "--Corwin is King of Paris, Tir is broken, and Celina, as you say, is Queen of Rebma. Is there more you wish to know that would be relevant to our current plight?"
"I do have one question." Conner nods. "In your time, how did one travel between the Pattern realms? Were there paths you could follow or did you have to be led by a royal?"
Firumbras answers, "There were roads and gates, but to go quickly, the best method was for a royal to lead you."
Brennan throws Conner a glance at that, but doesn't address it directly.
Brennan lets Firumbras answer that question, then adds, "I would add Avalon to your list. Our uncle styles himself the Protector, but he bears the same relationship to it as the others to their realms. And I do have a question that may prove relevant: Does the name Lir mean anything to you? Either of you?"
Regenlief, who has been enjoying the show and perhaps Brennan at work, shakes her head in the negative.
"Lir was a knight of Rebma, the equivalent of a peer in Corwin's court. He was of the Blood Royal. I never had the honour of meeting him in person, but I was acquainted with knights who had served in Rebma and did know him," Firumbras answers. There's an implicit why? at the end of that.
Brennan is clearly in team-player mode: "I mentioned that this place has a history-- someone named Lir was a part of it. Whether it was the same man of your time, or a shadow of him is not clear, but many tribes and folks of Avalon place a Lir in their histories, far enough past to be more myth than anything else. The Maghee, who we'll meet shortly, credit him with raising the Silver Towers and later joining his kin to fight in a war against sea-demons." Brennan will relate the whole tale as the Maghee tell it if anyone asks.
"Aside from my insatiable curiosity for history," Brennan says, "knowing everything we can about Lir could provide much leverage with the local folk when and if we mobilize them into an army. I'll be glad for anything you remember, but especially his full lineage."
"While you are pondering matters of Rebman history, I would also know of one called Cneve." Conner puts in. "He was the last to bear the Pattern Blade of Rebma and much of his history has been buried."
"Prince Lir was the son of Moins, and I do not know his father. That was the custom of Rebma in those days. Rebma only counts descent through the mother's line." Firumbras is being very clear on that point. "I have heard that he was dead, but not the details of his demise. He was still living when last I knew Rebma. As for Cneve," and here Firumbras seems a bit uncertain of the pronunciation, "I do not know him. He must have been after my time."
Regenlief is beginning to look a little bored.
Conner nods to the knight. "Thank you, Sir Knight. That satisfies my curiosity for the moment." Conner turns to Regenlief. "At some point, I must introduce you to my sister. She is also of Asgard, Brita, daughter of Vidar."
Brennan is slower to respond, turning over Firumbras' statement in his mind. He allows some mild surprise to show on his face, the better to underscore his words. "I thank you as well, Sir Firumbras. I can see now that the subject of Lir may be delicate ground. Suffice to say that, while I believe you, the myths of Lir and Moins-- whom I have heard called the Dido and the Elyssa-- have drifted enough to be not only mutually incompatible, but in some cases mutually offensive." Brennan doesn't bother to explain, because he knows that the details are not important at the moment, only the warning. "When this task is behind us, I hope to spend some time exchanging the oldest stories of Amber for the newest."
Firumbras nods gravely. He doesn't look exactly troubled, but it's clear that Brennan's words have gotten his attention.
[Brennan] gives Regenlief the opportunity to respond to Conner if she wishes, but if not he looks set to exit briefing mode and enter planning mode.
"You're not the first person to mention her to me," Regenlief says to Conner. "I look forward to meeting her.” She turns to Brennan. “What do we do next?"
"All roads lead through the Maghee," Brennan says. "They should be finishing up with Cledwyn by the time we get there, which will inform my next task-- figuring out where Moire is and what her plan is. And since the ones we'll meet include the lorekeepers and magicians of their people, they're as good a place as any to start looking for the sea routes," he glances at Conner.
"Absent any shocking development, I propose we split up: Conner, with Firumbras' ancient knowledge and possibly some local Maghee guides to investigate the water route; Regenlief, Cledwin, Sessile and I to act on whatever else we learn in tracking Moire and organizing on land." He looks to Conner to see if that meets his satisfaction.
Conner nods his approval of the plan.
Then as an afterthought, "The Maghee won't be expecting guests-- we'll have to tell them something. Your call on how you handle your identity, of course."
"I presume this place is remote enough that travelers newly arrived isn't a good enough story?" Conner asks. "We can always lay the blame on me as a magician of your own people who arrived belatedly to your call for magical advice."
"Actually, it's a regional horse fair," Brennan says. "Organized mostly by the Maghee, but large enough that traders come from far afield, as I understand it. I thought it would be a good place to see what these folk would look like as a military force, and to get their hedge wizards involved, but a chance meeting of old acquaintances is plausible enough.
"These particular Maghee to see, though, are the hedge wizards I hooked into a meeting with an historical relic of their tribe, and are the sort of folk who arranged a meeting in the dark, away from the rest of the fair, and came wearing face-occluding ceremonial masks." Brennan gives a rather sour smile at that-- he's not fond of masked cultists, all things considered, but it is what it is. "Nothing we can't handle, I just want to give you enough material to work with." Brennan has nearly unlimited faith in Conner's ability to smile and charm his way past any difficulties.
"That should do nicely then." Conner nods. "I'm no Prince Garrett but I can haggle over a horse convincingly enough. If you can get me into your next meeting with these hedge wizards, I should be most interested. Else the three of us can nose around the fair and see what we shall see."
Regenlief volunteers, "I'm all right with horses. I can negotiate if you're busy."
"I'll need some magic of concealment, most likely," Firumbras offers.
"I very much value your opinion of these folks," Brennan says. "The opinion of everyone here, in fact, but hustling one person in will be much easier than hustling three, so let's see if we can split the difference: Conner, let's see if we can talk you past our hosts for the remainder of tonight's activity. If that goes well, either the nature of the meeting will change, or there will be a second one at a later date. Cousin, perhaps you are something in the neighborhood of an historian or other scholar? Something suitably vague as to your sorcerous abilities, but with enough useful information of other realms to hook their attention?"
It's an off-hand suggestion-- Conner is competent to handle his persona and Brennan will follow a different lead if Conner has a different of better preference.
"That sounds like a reasonable plan. Meanwhile, Regenlief and Sir Firumbras can try to get the lay of the land. Once we tend to his disguise of course." Conner takes whatever time is needed to drape a warp and weft of altered light around the knight's features to let him pass for normal for a few hours while Conner and Brennan are off with the Maghee. Brennan's help with this will be much appreciated of course.
Brennan has no applicable Principles so his help is limited to watching what Conner does with interest, critiquing and otherwise kibbitzing. Maybe this will work better than his own not-entirely-successful attempts at letting the Shadows lie for him.
Conner's spell is simple and temporary. Sir Firumbras appears no taller than Regenlief, which is tall for these people, but not extraordinarily so. They could be brother and sister, and Firumbras says as much. Regenlief agrees and they quickly work out a story of traveling mercenary relatives looking for horses and weapons.
"Shall we count on you to find us again after your sorcerous meeting, or shall we plan to meet here at sunset?" Regenlief looks as if she has unfinished business with Brennan, but is willing to put it off for the moment.
"Best to meet here at an appointed time," Brennan says. "Sunset works. Hard to say how long we'll be here. I'm not planning on being run out of the fair by an angry mob, though, so probably at least one more day."
Speaking of getting run out of the fair, Brennan does have the presence of mind to ask to see their currency, to make sure they're not accidentally passing around shiny, newly minted Parisian Witch-King-Heads. If they need cash for that or any other reason, Brennan conjures some good old fashioned Protectors for them, or whatever currency suits their emerging story.
[OOC: I'm just *assuming* Corwin has his face on his coins.]
Regenlief and Firumbras depart to scout the faire.
Ramjollock is at the entrance to the tent, dealing cards, face-down in a standard layout-of-six. "Welcome back, Walker." He says. He doesn't get up, or stop blocking the entrance to the tent.
"I trust all has gone well in my absence," Brennan says. His tone is fractionally more chill than the words they cover, but only a small fractional. So far, the man is only impeding him socially not trying to do so physically. "I've come back to rejoin Sessile and Cledwyn. I bring with me Rooker, a learned man of my acquaintance. It is a chance encounter to find him here-- I expect him to have some common purpose with the Council."
Brennan begins gather the Pattern to himself, in preparation of a manipulation of probability if necessary.
"I greet you as one keeper of knowledge to another." Conner smiles brightly at Ramjollock. "I see that you seek wisdom from the cards. It is a practice I also turn to in times of uncertainty." Conner crouches down to see the back of the cards closer.
"Oh yes? How interesting. Would you cast for me, Rooker?"
Ramjollock squares the deck and offers it to Conner.
Brennan-- somewhat intrigued by that turn of events, in spite of himself-- metaphorically stands back to let Conner deal with that as he may.
And immediately stops gathering the Pattern to himself, so as not to bias anything that happens.
Conner hesitates for a moment. "In my tradition, it is unusual to cast with cards that belong to another. But if that is what you wish." Conner shrugs and accepts the cards. He begins shuffling them slowly, getting a feel for them. "Do you wish to ask a specific question or just a general read of the future?"
Ramjollock squints at Conner. "If you please, tell the future of our collaboration with you. How do the Maghees fare in such an arrangement with you and yours?"
Brennan is, if truth be told, interested to see how that one falls out, too. But, while he is not at all averse to cheating on his own behalf, considers it a serious breach of etiquette to stack the deck for his cousin. Instead, he merely watches.
Conner simply nods and shuffles the cards until they feel right. Then he casts them in the standard pattern.
The cards turn out as follows:
Bottom row:
The Fool (reversed)
The King
Law
Middle row:
Fearing Shadows (reversed)
Drowning in Armor
Top row:
Overlooking the Diamond
Conner looks over the cards before him and smirks at the straightforward yet ambiguous statements before him.
"The Fool reversed speaks of an isolated past. I know not if this is by choice or circumstance but just from what I have seen here, it clear you keep yourselves apart. The Present shows Authority, and the Future Order which would indicate to me a relationship formed from respect of power deepening to one of respect or even loyalty."
"That brings us to the Twins here: The secrecy and separation between us serves no purpose and may even prove harmful."
Conner places his finger atop the last card with its peasant and shining gemstone. "There is opportunity here in this alliance. If we are wise enough to reach for the Jewel instead of getting lost in the weeds."
Brennan looks over to Conner and says, almost conversationally, "Since I first set foot on this isle, the Diamond has been following me. It has been present in every hand I have cast, every hand I have even witnessed. It would begin to feel personal, except that this cast is not about me," he turns his attention back to Ramjollock, "but about Ramjollock's people. My interpretation is much the same, but in different words."
He begins with the upper trio of cards: "The strength of the Maghee people is not in doubt. That has been tested for generations. But these three cards speak to tests of will, of wit, and of wisdom," Brennan touches the Virtue, the Fault and the Fate cards in turn. "Fearing Shadows is a test of will through a test of fear, and the opportunity to banish fears as decisively as one steps out of Shadow and into the light, while Drowning in Armor is a test of wit, of realizing when old defenses are no longer equal to the tests of the day, realizing when they do more harm than good. And Overlooking the Diamond is the test of wisdom that balances between them. Somewhat banal as an interpretation,but would I be wrong in thinking that they represent facets, or factions, of an on-going debate for your people?"
Brennan waits long enough for Ramjollock to respond, even with a head-nod or head-shake, but continues regardless.
"But these on the bottom, these puzzled me. These are all representations of your past, aren't they?" This time, Brennan's question is purely rhetorical. "Lir, your lawgiver. The king-- not the Sorceror-King, or this would be at best reversed, or likely the Usurper-- is the result of those laws, the kingdom that endured after his departure." Brennan quotes from memory, respectfully, a passage of Cameleopardis' book which equates various of the Silver Towers with various of the virtues which Lir codified. "And the isolation, the scorn suffered even after the sacrifice your people made in ridding yourselves of the Usurper. Viewed as history, they are in the wrong order. But tell me, Ramjollock, do the Maghee people have prophecies of rebirth?"
Ramjollock smiles and moves aside. "Forgive me for testing you, but there are so many who know not the power of the cards. Some who will just attempt to read the subject and apply general principles. You can see how that would lead to false trust in a charlatan. I wanted to know before I sent you back in.
"You, Sir, are correct," he says to Conner. "We maintain a vigil, in case the old harms our ancestors sacrificed so much to defeat return to these lands, in case another Sorcerer-King arises here."
He turns to Brennan. "Rebirth would mean a return to war, or so we have always been told and so we have prepared for. And yet, this is Avalon, and rebirth is central to the land."
"So, too, is war, Ramjollock. So, too, is war. But these are heavy matters best discussed in a council, not in twos and threes."
Brennan enters the tent, and unless there is reason not to, seeks out Cledwyn and Sessile and any who might be with them, introducing Rooker as necessary.
Brennan enters the tent and finds it as he left it. Cledwyn and Sessile are off to the side, Cledwyn is sketching on a new pad. "Are we ready? I am steeled to whatever it does to me."
Conner enters behind Brennan and moves to stand beside him. He gives the two men a reassuring smile and waits for Brennan to make any needed introductions.
Brennan sets an aromatic package on a table (the ground, if need be) near Cledwyn and Sessile, and unwraps it to reveal a fortifying late night meal: The last skewers and pastries of day, some wrapped sausages, some bread and cheese, and fresh skins of water to wash it down with. "Eat," he says, not unkindly. "It's been a long day." There's more than enough for Conner to share if he so desires, but Brennan seems to be-- unusually for an old campaigner-- fueling himself mostly on the anticipation of what they're going to learn shortly.
With the meal unwrapped, Brennan makes the introductions: "This is the man I told you about, Cledyn, and this is Sessile. Men, this is an old friend I had not expected to see here. Rooker is a wise man, and knowledgeable. I trust him, and once we see what we see, he'll be a party to our talks with the Maghee." Then, addressing Cledwyn's question directly: "If the Maghee are ready, we should proceed. No point in waiting. I don't know what you'll experience, but my advice is this: Pay attention to faces, especially the Admiral's mother, Syke, if you can. A sketch of Syke could be even more valuable than of the Admiral. Pay attention to the background, too, if you can. Faces of advisers, servants, whatnot. But especially Syke."
Brennan will motion the Maghee spokesman, Skogen, over and make whatever introductions are necessary.
Skogen accepts Rooker as an associate of Walker's and a magus who will observe the casting.
The potion is ready, and on a poorly-lit table in the tent, with shadows lengthening outside, they begin to cast on it. It is the same pigeon-creole of Thari and something else. The potion lights up, but that might just be an effect.
Eventually, they bring the container to Cledwyn, who smiles, and has a sip.
Cledwyn turns and looks at Brennan. "Captain Mondieu, so good to see you again. Have you considered my offer? I can get your patron the best price in Northport for his goods." He turns to Conner. "A mug of water, if you please. I don't recall being this parched." He pantomimes drinking and then his arm falls to his side. "Admiral, what are my orders?"
Sessile is writing down Cledwyn's words.
Cledwyn pauses, and prepares to drink again.
Brennan turns to look at Conner with an expression of mild non-plussery-- this was not exactly what he had expected-- before turning back to Cledwyn.
"No orders until you debrief," Brennan says. "From when last we met, tell me where you have gone, who you have seen, what you have said and done to carry out my orders."
Conner shares Brennan's look of confusion and awaits Cledwyn's answer.
Cledwyn looks at Brennan, then Skogen. "If I take the next sip, will I do what he says?"
Skogen looks Cledwyn and shakes his head. "It doesn't work like that. If it did it wouldn't be effective as a memory restorative." He turns to Brennan and Conner. "As he drinks the potion, he will regain memories. The replay is new to us, but this is the first time we have magicked thus with memories."
Cledwyn is unsure what to do next. “Sir Walker, should I try to remember more of that meeting, and tell it to Sessile, or should I take the next draught and hopefully free up more of what I saw?"
Brennan scratches the three day growth of scruff masquerading as a beard, thinking. This is enough outside his own personal experience that letting it leak through into Walker's expression is more than appropriate.
"I don't understand the choice, then," he admits at last. "He can try to remember what he saw before or after taking another draught, but what is the draught's effect? Why would he not simply quaff it all?
"Or let me approach from a different direction," Brennan continues. "Based on what I've already seen, I have a very strong suspicion about another player in this so-called Admiral's power structure. I don't want to be too leading or direct about it, because I don't want to fool myself and especially because I want to convince this council. Conversely, if I'm wrong, I don't want to be too limiting. But I was trying to guide his recollection into a situation where this person might be-- is there a way that can happen, or is that futile?"
Skogen looks at the glass and at Cledwyn. "The first bit didn't seem to hurt him. Even if you were to guide his recollection, how would you know if you had merely steered or if you had created something that was not there?
"I think it would be safe to take the rest, regardless. He might pass out, but he might do that with a smaller draught as well. We are all seeing this for the first time."
Cledwyn says "I think I can take the rest in. Let's not debate this incessantly." It's unclear if he's talking about the memories or the potion. He lifts the goblet and drains it. Sessile catches him as he slumps over, unconscious.
[OOC: Time passes however you wish it to pass...]
Brennan has the common decency to make sure he is made comfortable and his condition monitored if he does not show immediate signs of rousing. But once he does....
Cledwyn looks up. "Never relive your past, my friends. You'll see where you were stupid, and you can't change it. I should've suspected you much earlier, Sir Walker." He sits up and asks for water, which Sessile gives him.
"Thank you. Now, what can I tell you about my time working for the Admiral and his witch?"
"You may not be entirely accountable for your own mind or actions," Brennan says. "The rest of us have no such excuse, beyond that we thought we were doing the right thing at the time." If he sounds just a touch bitter about this, let it be said later that he has reasons and reasons.
"Let's concentrate on the witch herself, then-- did you ever meet separately from the Admiral, or vice-versa, or were they always together? Who seemed to be in charge? And do, please, sketch while you tell us. An image of the witch is imperative." Brennan adds.
"They were always together. She never spoke to anyone, She was very strange, as if she was not human, or perhaps as if she were not there. It was like... a different sun shone upon her, and the shadows around her did not match the light in the room. She never seemed to notice the wind, or the cold, or the spray.
"We did not speak much of it, but most considered her Fey."
He picks up his sketch book and starts drawing.
"But, as with the Admiral, I am not sure how much 'is' and how much is 'as I was shown'."
Cledwyn frowns. "I cannot seem to draw her. I recall her, but every line I draw seems wrong." He shows the drawing, and it could be any woman, "This isn't what she looked like. Or maybe it is." He tries again. "This is better, but not much."
It might be Moire.
Conner hums. "A woman not quite there in a world of her own. That has implications I mislike." Conner sighs. Conner opens his Third Eye and takes a look around the room focusing on Cledwyn to see if taking this potion is doing anything but jogging his memory.
"And yet," Brennan says with a scowl, "it makes sense."
Brennan doesn't open his own Third Eye, because he trusts to Conner's skill in this matter, but once Conner does that, he says to Cledwyn, "I'm going to ask a few questions, and they all have short answers, probably one word answers. Don't think about them, just answer as quickly as you can. Ready?"
"What color was her hair?"
"What color were her eyes?"
"What was her complexion?"
"Was she wearing jewelery?" And if yes, "Describe it."
Aside from the actual answers, Brennan wants to give Conner a chance to see what happens as his memory is being exercised.
He thinks very hard. Conner's use of the Third eye doesn't reveal any spells or interference with Cledwyn. He's clearly been influenced by Chaos in the past, but his natural order is reaffirming itself.
"Blue, topaz, white as parchment." Are his answers.
"Now that I think on it, I think she may really have been not there. I'm not sure I spoke to her, or that I recalled seeing her until now. Like a ghost, or phantom. Or an echo or some past event.
He slumps down. "I don't know. It's like someone kicked my head and it's just settling down."
"She probably wasn't," Brennan says, in distinct irritation. "Think of her as a reflection, if it helps."
Then he motions Conner aside for as private a conversation as they can reasonably have by moving off to the side and keeping their voice down.
"It's her," Brennan says, "and that visual effect is probably just a result of her being somewhere else and projecting, I assume with a mirror somehow. But I don't think we're proving it. Unless we want to just put our cards down on the table and hope he recognizes her enough to pick her out of the line-up and that that's convincing to the Maghee, now is the time for crazy ideas. Got any? I do, but it's not just crazy, it's crazy, dangerous, and borderline stupid."
"Well it wouldn't even be the third time I've gone along with such a plan in your company." Conner smiles. "As it is, I am not as convinced as you about the witch's identity. A pale skinned woman floating as though not there evokes another Queen to me. What is your idea?"
"Well, if that's the case," and Brennan doesn't assert that it isn't, "then we're all screwed. But blue would be a more obvious choice of hair color disguise for our quarry-- tantamount to one of us wearing brown hair dye in Rebma. But be that as it may-- proceeding on the idea that it's her-- I'm sure it was done with a mirror. Mirrors have a certain symmetry: What one mirror changes, another restores, unless specially designed. My thought was to set him in front of a mirror and make the drawing by looking at its mirror image. I even still have the one Celina sent me with... carefully wrapped in layers of black felt and stored in a pair of reversed pouches.
"Disadvantages: It's a thin theory. If it doesn't work, we look foolish. Opens us up to surveillance. Could literally explode and put Cledwyn's eyes out or even kill him. Advantage: It... might work. I'm talking myself out of it as we speak, and hoping you've got a better idea. Because as ideas go, that one isn't great," Brennan says. "I would just really like to get everyone in this tent on the same page, and maybe even drop the covert identity while we're at it." His frustration is visible. Then he pauses. "Wait, what was the third time?"
"Exploring the caverns beneath Kolvir." Conner replies. "Not on the same scale as the others but on the list never the less." Conner smirks.
Brennan thinks that over and reluctantly concedes the count.
"Well, if you are willing to drop the secret identity then my idea is quite straight forward. Use Cledwyn as a guide and the Eye as a focus and scry into the past to see this witch for ourselves."
Brennan starts to object, then stops and makes himself consider the idea fully. "The reason I wanted to convince and then reveal identities in that order, is that I don't want them thinking we tricked them, per se. I figured if they managed the heavy lifting themselves, they would have fewer grounds to doubt. And also I'm not really sure what kinds of questions they'd end up asking about uncles and cousins and all that... although we'll have to face that event sooner or later." He blows a long, slow breath out through puffed cheeks. "But I do have a tendency to stick to the plan long after the plan should have changed. Maybe a compromise? Ask the Maghee for the member of their council most renowned for their honesty-- maybe you can phrase that better than I did so I'm not accusing all the rest of being dishonorable-- swear him to temporary secrecy and ask his advice? Ask if he thinks the rest would buy it? Sort of like hiring a lawyer from their side, I guess.
"Or am I still over-thinking it?" Brennan asks.
"If your objective is to win the Maghee to your side, then I will use every power of persuasion I have to convince them based on the evidence their magic has uncovered that the witch is Moire and must be stopped. If your objective is to positively identify the witch, then we perform the sorcery and worry about the Maghee's reaction afterward. If both are absolutely required, then I suggest we do the first now, and the second later on in more private surroundings."
"Both," Brennan says. "I'm convinced, but if you're not then it's reasonable that they won't be, either. The order seems right, though, first convince and then dig deeper if necessary, if they seem receptive. And I have certain... outlines of a plan," he smiles faintly, "for the Maghee when this is all over. Let's just say my personal interpretation of the King-Present in that last fortune spread is a bit more auspicious. None of which needs be said today. But my point is, I really want to convince them and lay the groundwork for a long and fruitful relationship, which means honesty over deception. If that means admitting we can't clinch the case today, so be it."
He nods, almost to himself, decisively. "No more over-thinking it. Let's do it."
"Then make your play. I'll back you how I can." Conner nods.
Brennan looks as though he's having some disgruntled second thoughts about all this, but is good to his word. He scrubs a hand through his hair, composes his face, turns, and motions Skogen over to join them.
"This," he says without pre-amble, "Is not turning out as I had planned. Clearly, there is some additional glamour on the Admiral's witch, beyond that on the Admiral himself. What we've already learned about the Admiral is invaluable, and I'm sure there is more we can learn from Cledwyn on an operational level, and you have my gratitude. But I've failed in my larger goal, to convince you of her identity." He reaches into a pouch-- not the Trump pack-- and withdraws several sketches. "Allow me to ask two questions, more leading than I would prefer to ask: Do you recognize any of these women? And what do you know of realms called Amber, and Rebma, and Tir-na Nog'th?"
The sketches are Folly's non-trump sketches of Moins, Moire and Dara. Then Brennan gives Conner an in-for-a-penny glance and adds the sketches of Rilsa and Loreena that Conner provided.
They don't recognize Dara, but the last-but-one Royal family of Rebma is known to them. And Moins through their legends. They call her Dido.
Amber is one of the three hundred hells: the hell of stasis. It is a trap for the unwary, and the Sorcerer King used to reside there. Rebma is the Hell of Reflection and is hard to escape. They have not heard of Tir-na Nog, but it may be one of the three hundred hells that they just don't know the name of.
Brennan gives Conner a glance when they recognize Rilsa. That is unexpected, at least to Brennan... although maybe not for any good reason.
OOC: Can the GMs confirm it is Rilsa they recognize? The poetic language left me unsure.
Oh, yes. She is a Princess of the Hell of Reflections. She and her kin can sometimes be seen in mirrors, but only if you do not look at them.
They were the ones who trapped the water-dragon of Aramara in a circle of mirrors.
"Having been there with my own feet," Brennan says, "I can say that Amber is not what she once was, and if she is still a hell, she can no longer be the Hell of Stasis by definition."
They nod, in the way that someone nods when an outlander misunderstands the intricacies of native religion.
"And you should never go to the Dreaming Hell," he says. "It is one of the most perilous places in existence."
"We shall take thy word for it. There is no hell that is easy for travellers to leave, and few that are easy to enter. That is only sometimes comforting."
They are also glad that the demons of the three-hundred hells are always fighting amongst each other. They could be very powerful if they fought with rather than against each other.
As far as their knowledge and recognition go, he adds, "I thought you might. I inherited some of Cameleopardis' books, so I have at least a little understanding of Rebma's place in your history." By his inflection it is clear that Brennan does not consider himself an expert by any means. "May I ask how you know the members of the Royal Court? Or perhaps I should say, do you know of them, or do you know them?"
Conner waits for the Maghee to answer.
"The doings of the other worlds, their wars and politics are of keen interest to us, as it affects our world. The Hell of Battles is close enough to almost be of this world, and our people were those who threw down the sorcerer-king. Even the Black Road was a result of the wars of the Hells.
"We know of the First, Second, and Third Queen of Rebma, and of the children thereof. We know of the treachery of the Prince of Cards and his brother who took his punishment, but was saved by a Princess who fell in love with him. She was to give the Hell of Reflections daughters, but chose to give the Hell of Stasis more sons.
"They are not personally known to us. We don't refuse to consort with demons, but we generally let them overlook us."
Brennan hesitates, torn between his natural inclination to follow up those mythological points and his more pressing need of striking this alliance, or at least preparing the ground for it.
The latter wins out, at least for now: "Your intelligence is admirably recent," he says. After all, one man's family gossip is another man's vital intelligence. "Is there contact between your peoples? Let's make we're all talking about the same things: First, the Dido, although we know of her by a different name. Second, Moire," he holds up the Moins and Moire pictures at the appropriate times. "Third?"
Selena, the sky-queen. The songs of her battles to conquer and then defend the Hell of Reflections from her traitorous mother and uncle are new and still evolving, as we learn of her strategies and how she won such a two-front war. No one knows who her duplicitous uncle was in league with, yet all assume it was someone. There are still verses to be written in that song.
This is Benedict's shadow. All wars and battles are made into folksongs so that the people can discuss different strategies and tactics in rhyme.
Brennan heroically resists the temptation to introduce these fine folk to the poetic stylings of the Uxmali Serpent Chants. Mainly because he doesn't want to have to explain it to Benedict, later.
Conner is already composing several verses about himself. The hard part will be fitting "magishark" into a rhyme scheme.
"Well," he says. "why don't you go ahead and read that letter, now?"
Brennan expects that Skogen will have questions, but he allows him to ask them on his own.
Conner continues to drink in the scene.
Skogen reads the letter aloud, and soon has the attention of every one of the masked individuals. They've risen to their feet, and Ramjollock pulls a small square frame from inside his clothes and looks through it at the letter.
There are, to put it mildly, agitated. Skogen and Ramjollock alone maintain their calm. "Walker of Afalon, tells us, please what you know of Camelopardis Findanus, our King," says Skogen.
"He did die, shortly after dictating that letter," Brennan says. "Though I knew him a short time only, I believe I would have come to call him a friend. I regret his death, for which I feel responsible."
Brennan takes a heavy breath, and continues, telling of their brief encounter. "He was a wizard in the forces of the corsairs at the recent battle of Montparnasse, which Cameleopardis called Ynys Meithryn. We captured him in battle and on questioning him it became obvious to me that whoever he was, he was not himself. He told a tale of leading an expedition to the remnants of Maghdeburg under the waves. After some adventures, he reached as far as the ruins of the Silver Towers and entered them, and in the throne room he experienced..." Brennan hesistates, shrugs, and says "...what I believe were a sequence of separate visions: One, of the Sorceror-King fighting the Protector in single combat; a second, of another similar battle in front of a woman on throne, who remained after they vanished. She enlisted his aid against the Sorceror-King and bade him sleep, which he did. A third-- possibly a third-- on his awakening, meeting another woman who claimed to be a Priestess of Lir who bade him lead her fleets.
"This is where it became obvious, even to Cameleopardis, that his mind had been played, for he could not identify this second woman. He consented for the Princess Balen to break the geas, which freed his mind from her limitations. He identified this woman as that second woman, the priestess," he holds up Moire's card for emphasis. "He was also freed from whatever spell of binding was on him to keep the weight of centuries from him. He aged, rapidly, and died after dictating that letter and asking that I deliver it. I took his torc, which I return to his people. I also have his book of scripture, which I wish to keep as it is of personal value to me now."
Conner can tell that Brennan is, unusually for him, genuinely stricken at Cameleopardis' death.
"The battle ended with Montparnasse's victory. Their commander, an Admiral named Jellicoe, was released and is likely compromised as Cledwyn was. I opted to track down Cledwyn on a hunch, before delivering Cameleopardis' letter. Cledwyn knew some of this story, but not the woman's identity. He knew of Cameleopardis' death by rapid old age. Howsoever this night falls out, his courage in facing the same should be celebrated."
Skogen, it turns out, is holding the torc. "So, at long last, not only do we have proof, but the torc is returned. The prophecy fulfills itself. Walker, you have earned a place in the annals of the McGhee forever."
Skogen lifts the torc to his eye level. "By means magical and knowledge of the great history of the Sons of the Ghee, I call upon the land and the King to be bound by the torc of Ghee Mac Alpin, returned to us after centuries."
He drops to his knee and offers the torc to Ramjollock. A murmur moves through the gathered Council. Skogen does not stir at this disturbance, however, and remains as still as a statue, not even seeming to breathe.
Slowly Ramjollock reaches forward and removes the torc from his hands. His whisper carries through the tent.
"Thank you," he says. He places the torc around his neck, and says to the gathered council "I accept your allegiance, my councillors. You may unmask, we have no need of that now."
He turns to Walker and Rooker and seems—- taller, or perhaps more serious, different in any case. "I had never expected this to happen, but I am by right the Ard-Righ. We have heard the word of Camelopardis Findanus, and I will call the Alpinine clans to war with the Corsairs of the Gogledd-Orllewinol and the Rebman Queen.
"Please, keep his book, but allow our historians to study before you go. We have lost much from his time."
Brennan nods agreement, without hesitation.
"And I would dearly like to have you tell us with whom we are allied by going to war against the Queen of Rebma."
Brennan gives Conner a look-- this has gone altogether better than he had expected.
He also looks around the room, at each of the unmasked and unmasking faces-- this had actually been the next point on his agenda. "Faces for a name, truth for truth. This is just, though it will not leave this tent for now. My name is Brennan, the son of Brand, the son of Oberon King of Amber, the Hell-of-Stasis no longer." Brennan had long since ceased trying to have the Shadows lie for him; now, for the hour, he actively thrusts them away. "We have much to discuss."
"I am Conner, son of Fiona, Daughter of Oberon, King of Amber, the Hell-of Stasis no longer." Conner announces formally. "However, I have another title and something I wish to make clear. The Queen of Rebma that we go to war against has lost that title through desertion and duplicity. I serve Celina the Sky Queen as her Knight Defender and assure you that the Hell of Reflection is not your enemy so long as She rules there."
Ramjollock nods. "I was right to assume you were more than you seemed. I am still Ramjollock Mac Ghee Mac Alpine, by these proofs ‘Ri' of the seven royal clans. Two of the three Great Prophecies of the MaicGhee have come to pass, and the third shall prove the binding.
"I name you, the Demons Conner and Brennan, as friends of the Alpinine clans and declare your peoples our allies. Skogens for generations will sing of this day."
Brennan doesn't know whether to be touched, or hurt.
He turns to the Council. "Prepare a song for the people. And commandeer for me the fastest ship in Methryn's harbor. We will sail for Magdeburgh on the tide."
"Let's find out what cards are in our hands, before we start playing them," Brennan says. "One of those cards is secrecy and ambiguity. Until this day, the biggest asset I've had has been stealth: no large movements of warbands, no public declarations or banners raising, nothing has happened against her that could not be explained by bad luck and the fortunes of war." He glances over at Cledwyn, obviously referencing his part in the failed plot against Montparnasse, and gesturing that he and Sessile should join the council. "The worst card against us is that we know Moire's ultimate objective, but not the exact method, although Sir Conner and I have strong conjectures. I propose we finish exploring Cledwyn's new memories.
"And speaking of cards in our hands," he adds, "Does our knowing these three Great Prophecies render them invalid?"
The Righ holds up his hand and his servants stop. "We can wait a moment, but we are pressed for time. We wish to be the first to return when Magdeburgh rises from the sea, which is the third and binding sign.
"Skogen, tell my demon friends the prophecy."
The oldest man present puts back on his mask. "Three are the signs of the Union of the Tribes: The King, The Sorcerer, The Silver Towers. Three are the changes that precede the End Times: A Death, A Return from Death, An Uplifting. Three are the consequences of the Rebirth: A new King, A New Sorcerer, A New Land."
Ramjollock smiles. "Clear as mud, is it not? I am sure you can see why we do not wish to be second to return to our Silver Towers."
Conner once more shares a look with Brennan. "Well we certainly wouldn't want to miss that if it were to happen, would we?"
"Yes," Brennan says after a beat. "Quite."
Brennan looks like he wants to press the point about those prophecies, but he lets it go for later.
"I might suggest that the vessel be chartered covertly, though-- no need to alert anyone else and turn it into a race," Brennan says. "And be that as essential as it may, I'll point out that we lack at least two pieces of information we need to prosecute a war against Moire: Her location and her invasion route or routes. If all this effort," he gestures inclusion of everyone and everything present, "had gone up in flames, my option of last recourse was to let myself be captured by her forces. That's still on the table, I suppose. But we still also have Cledwyn's knowledge to explore and exploit. What other means are on the table? And Cledwyn and Sessile, where do you stand now in all this?"
Cledwyn frowns. "If a new island is rising in the Western Ocean, or an old one is returning, all the plans of all the admirals are for naught."
Sessile nods. "I'd almost wish to stay ashore in the shadow, as it were, of an island, and head out after the tidal wave follows the rising."
Ramjollock looks unsure. "If word of the Torc and the prophecy is out, then all will know soon enough. We can plan as we sail, friend demons." He smiles. "There are enough weather eyes in the clan to make sure the trip is swift.
"And should I not be assured of success in any case, with two such fine magical demons on my side?”
"That ship will either be at ground zero or in the eyes of the storm." Conner comments. "I think I will be on it either way."
Brennan scowls. "Okay, someone show us on a map where Maghdeburg is expected to rise. And if possible what the land looked like before it sank?" Preferably they will have maps of their own showing at least Avalon, Methryn's Isle, and the coastal area where the entry to the Great Road comes out, if not farther. If they don't, Brennan will blatantly conjure one. "And help me out, since I've never heard of any of these propechies before-- where are we in that matrix right now? The End Times? The Rebirth?"
Maps are produced, and the location of Maghdeburg is debated. It is either just north of Avalon, and so close that a man could swim to it during low tide, or else it is further away. It commands the northern approaches to Avalon in the same way Methryn's commands the southern approaches to Avalon.
An army of the northern sea would definitely need to re-plan a southerly invasion with Magdeland (or whatever they call the island) being where it is.
"You’ve heard as much of the words of the prophecy as anyone.” Ramjollock says with a shrug. "These times end, new times are born, or perhaps old times are reborn. We have allied with the demonspawn of Amber before."
Conner looks more closely at Ramjollock. "Really? Who have the Maghee worked with in the past?"
Brennan frowns somewhat at Ramjollock's curiously detailed interpretation of a perfectly cryptic prophecy, but-- for the moment-- keeps it to himself. He instead busies himself with one or more of the skogenate in the background, trying to verify if the original pre-fall Maghdeburg was said to be part of the mainland of (presumably) Avalon or not.
Mostly he listens to Ramjollock's answer to Conner's very good question.
Ramjollock smiles. “Why Corwin, naturally. He helped us raise the Silver Towers and it was to defeat him that we destroyed them. Have you not heard the tale? A skogen can sing you the song."
"We've heard versions of it," Brennan allows. "The endings all agree that the Silver Towers fell with the end of the Witch-King. The beginnings, though... those are different. Witch-Kings, Fair Folk, Lir at the very least. Yes, I'd be pleased to hear it, if not now then soon." Brennan makes a mental note to get one of the skogen attached to his group, if and when he and Conner part ways.
"We can, and probably should, have it sung on the ship. It would be good to remind our people of what our ancestors did, when judging the Gods."
Brennan turns his attention back to Sessile and, especially, Cledwyn. "Cledwyn, let's see what your courage has gained us: Where did you typically meet the Admiral and the War-Leader? And what jobs did they assign to you?"
Cledwyn looks up. "You realize they're going to raise a twenty-island army here, right? I want to make sure you know who we've become allies of." He sighs. "Still, the Admiral is my current enemy. We met at sea, always. I would be directed to take passage on a certain ship, and we'd meet days later. I was not the only one given such assignments. Sometimes, all I did was go back to a certain place and drop off instructions for someone else to take a ship. Only the captains knew the destinations, and I'm not sure they knew where they were going after the meetings until we returned from them."
Brennan is, indeed, uncomfortably aware that the Maghee seem to be scream-and-leap ready without giving much consideration to where they are leaping.
To Cledwyn he says, "Always at sea. That must have been one tremendous geas. Always the same part of the sea? If so, where? Generally speaking-- off which coast of what isle?" Brennan seems have an expectation in mind, but he does not yet share it.
To Ramjollock, and the assembled Maghee at large, he asks, "As far as I understand it, we do not yet even know exactly where the Silver Towers were, or where they will rise again. To where are we planning to sail, and in what force?"
Ramjollock smiles. "The Ard-Righ Camelopardis Findanus wrote it in the book you brought us. He was, after all, searching for it when he was taken. Do not be surprised that you did not note it, it was enciphered.
"The force will be those who answer our call. The Alpinine clans have all known this day would come, and I expect the Seven Sons of the MacAlpines to come, and bring their cousins. Barring supernatural influence such as your Uncle, we will cause great grief in the heart of our enemies homelands.
"Skogen, sing to Cromdale for them. Montrose was Camelopardis' grandson."
The skoggen puts on his mask, which provides a sort of manual amplification (with a bit of reverberation for effect) to the skoggen's song.
He sings of a great reversal on the heights of Cromdale, and it is a typical war-song of the period, naming the clans in battle with the Montrose. There are a lot of names, besides Maghee...
"Tritons, do you think?" Brennan asks Conner.
"Nothing would surprise me at this point." Conner shrugs. "Yet, I don't think so. I have seen only a few standards that Tritons would rally around and this does not seem like one of them."
"Not with us-- against us," Brennan says. "She was apparently not on the ships with Cledwyn physically. If she was there with Cameleopardis, then that was her last known location. I don't think I've heard tell of any Triton fights against surface vessels."
"None of the Tritons that follow the peace accords would follow Moire." Conner replies. "So she would have to find a group ignorant of current events or somehow found a way to find and ally with the Cult of the Dark Mother. I don't count either of those possibilities to be very likely, but cannot rule it out."
"If I wanted a land and a water based invasion, it's what I'd do in her position," Brennan says. "And failing that, a small force for personal protection."
"I concur. It is want one would want." Conner nods. "That doesn't mean she had the means or opportunity to arrange it. For argument's sake let's assume she has managed to acquire some Triton muscle. Are you asking in order to develop a counter strategy should they appear?"
"I am somewhere between being the counterbalance to the Maghee enthusiasm, and keeping my eye on the greater prize of countering Moire," Brennan says, scrubbing a hand through the stubble of his beard. "I don't want to be paralyzed through analysis-- Overlooking the Diamond has been dogging my heels too much since I got here for that-- but I would like to go into this clear-eyed about a few things:
"First, if their literal interpretation of the prophecy is correct and the Silver Towers are rising or already risen, yeah, I think we have to be there. But that water either has to be destroyed or it needs to go somewhere. Second, the possibility that Moire is already there, with an unknown force. I am not unmindful of the resources you bring to bear, but nor am I unmindful of her own token in that regard. Third, that land sounds to be off the coast of Avalon, or the new coast of Avalon. Of the three, parking what could be construed as an invasion fleet in the Protector's back yard is not something I'd like to do on a lark." Brennan hesitates, then adds quietly enough for Conner to hear but not anyone following their discussion, "Especially after I told him I wouldn't raise a force without permission."
He turns his attention back to Ramjollock and the assembled Skogens. "A few questions, if I may: What do the histories say of the other islands, when the Silver Towers fell-- how did they fare? What do you know of Tritons? And what is your peoples' relationship with the Protector?"
It was a calamity of great moment. Crows flew backwards, there was a year-without-a-summer, the map re-drew itself, but the Sorcerer King was evicted from the lands...
We know little of Tritons, those giants of the sea, the dragon-sons who warred of old on our enemy. We only know what we've heard, but if they'll fight against Moire, the Sons are interested.
We seek and are granted no protections. It is why our people are treated so miserably by the city-wretches of this island...
Brennan turns back to Conner, "So I hear that as, potential for tidal waves, check; potential for a large force to be viewed as an invasion, check; potential for Tritons, unresolved."
But if they meet one, they'll be flat-footed in the wrong environment.
"Sounds about right to me." Conner nods. "I think this situation calls for Bleysian tactics. When theory fails to grant you anything useful, stride boldly into the thick of things and have an escape route in your back pocket."
"'Always run toward something,'" Brennan muses, possibly quoting someone. "And people call me the reckless one."
"Of all of those, the one I dislike the most is showing up un-announced off the coasts of Avalon with a fleet. In the best of all possible circumstances, it serves to distract him from other war efforts, in which I am certain Moire has a hand. In the worst, it provokes... an incident. Perhaps a messenger direct to Avalon is in order." He produces a fresh parchment and a writing implement, and produces a short letter.
Lord Protector of Avalon,
This letter is sent in the care of one Sessile of Avalon; please excuse its brevity.
Primus: Conner has joined me here.
Secundus: I have found Cledwyn, the agent of "The Admiral," whose mind has been covered in ways similar to Jellicoe's and Cameleopardis'.
Tertius: With the help of the Maghee Skogens, we have partly broken that covering, but only partly. I now count Cledwyn an ally. Enclosed is a sketch, in Cledwyn's hand, of "the Admiral." We have not uncovered the face of the Admiral's mother.
Quartus: The Maghee are convinced that the Silver Towers are about to rise, and will sail there, possibly in force. Conner and I accompany. Knowing that this will present present a distraction you may be obliged to investigate, I send this message to inform your response.
Sessile has been a witness to these events.
Brennan, KCOR
Brennan does not yet seal the letter, but passes it to Conner for inspection, opinion, and possible improvement.
Conner reads it over carefully and then nods in approval. "It will suffice, one hopes. Uncle Benedict will approve or not whatever we say."
Brennan nods. "If I understand what's happening here, the Protector is constrained in his actions, though perhaps less than everyone else. Having new land off-- or on!-- his coast along with an invading navy cannot be ignored. It simply cannot. He MUST make defensive response, which I doubt our Maghee allies will enjoy, even with our protection. And it throws the rest of his strategies into an uproar, along with everyone else's. Every navy in the region has a stake in and must understand the new geography. Except Moire and us. Whether she engineered this herself or not--" Brennan pulls an expression somewhere between admiration and horror for that kind of foresight, "--she may bolt from wherever she is to the mainland where the Faiella-Bionin leads out, with whatever force she can muster, as soon as the new land rises. It is what I would do.
"So I propose this: I work time and space during our journey to keep us agile and, if I can manage it, bring more men than expected, while you use the Eye to alternately scout for the new land and to watch for activity near the mainland. If we see evidence of my conjecture, we can split the fleet and cover both bases."
Brennan calls Sessile over and explains: "Sessile, I understand your reluctance to sail into the teeth of this event. Instead, I would like you to carry this letter to the Protector of Avalon, and answer truthfully any questions he may put to you. I can put you onto the shores of Avalon without crossing the intervening water, preserving your safety." If Sessile consents, Brennan will Part the Veil and put him inland of the coast of Avalon across from the mainland, along the same path he and Fletcher took some month back. He does not attempt to conceal that display of Sorcery from the Maghee.
Finally, he sends someone to collect Regenlief and Firumbras.
Sessile agrees to the terms, and allows Brennan to send him to Avalon.
[OOC: He very definitely refuses to bring up the fates of Rosencranz OR Gildenstern.]
Ramjollock looks through the breach and is suitably impressed. He wants to know if Brennan would like to help him bring a van of about 200 men to the Towers with this magic.
Conner chuckles. "It is not wise to open such tears lightly or for long." Conner observes. "I think we should sail and save our powers for whatever we find at the journey's end."
Brennan concurs. "Not unless one of us is part of that beach head, I think, and I am not willing to join it."
He thinks a bit more, then says to Conner, "It's worth thinking about sending a message to Montparnasse, though, to set up a tactical reserve. Or just going there myself quickly and coming back. And it's worth thinking about getting word to Celina, too. My gut tells me it's about to hit the fire... sooner, rather than later."
Conner nods. "I can contact Celina via mirrors once we are out at sea. It might be better to have something concrete to report before talking to her anyway."
"Agreed," Brennan says.
Ramjollock MacAlpine MacGhee turns to his Skoggen. "The word is given. Nothing is to be taken from Methryn's town except the ships and the supplies to reach The Land of our youth, beyond fair Avfelon. All the children of Alpine are bade come, to Lir's Tower, to re-forge our lands."
A bell peels over the fairgrounds, and the otherwise raucous fair becomes oddly silent.
"No one of us has heard that sound, yet all know it. Mayhap our enemies do as well." He turns to Conner and Brennan. "Would you prefer to travel with me, or in the van? You might help the people of Methryn's Port avoid unnecessary damage."
"I do want to have a long conversation with our ally the new king," Brennan says, "or at least, barring that, one of his skoggen who is especially learned in this history of this land. But I would say that keeping the provisioning of the Maghee from turning into the the Battle or the Sack of Methrynsport is more important in the short term. I'm for the van."
"Ah the push and pull between diplomacy and the red hair." Conner grins. "I don't want to have the conversation with the Protector about how we elected not to prevent the breaking of his toys. The van it is."
Depending on the feasibility, which is mostly set by the size of the vanguard they are riding with, Brennan will do his best to ensure that they make phenomenally good time on their march, by suitable applications of Sorcery-- nothing as flashy as Parting the Veil again, but subtler contractions of space or expansions of time for the vanguard with respect to the rest of the world. Nothing superhuman, nothing legendary, nothing that will cause rumors to fly across the isles... but a definite probe to see how far that technique might go.
Also, it probably goes without saying, but Regenlief and Firumbras should be sticking with Brennan and Conner. And Cledwyn.
Ramjollock will send a skoggen with the vanguard. His job is to make sure any children of the Seven Clans know of the Threefold Death of Camelopardis Findanus, the return to Madgdeburgh and the need to take and defend the Citadel of Tara for the new And-Rhigh.
Let's just assume Brennan is keeping a weather ear open to make sure this skogen isn't promising to sack Avalon or invade Tir-na Nog'th....
The gates are open for normal traffic when you arrive, just beyond their detection range. Sizing up the town, it certainly has more than five thousand people in it, but not nearly enough of a military presence to stop either a determined 200 led by Brennan, Conner, Regenlief and Firumbras or a vast swirling mob of angry Maghees. This is more true if hundreds of Maghee and relatives join, as expected.
You could secure the gates or the ships in the harbor, or you could do some negotiating. It's noon on Windsday, and the rest of the force will not be here for support until around noon on Thirstday.
What's the plan?
I would opt for negotiating, purchasing, or in general peacefully procuring the ships and provisions they need. Granted, Brennan and Conner aren't Corwin and probably can't find diamonds on the way, but hopefully Ramjollock left them with some idea of the treasury... and Brennan and Conner are not entirely without resources of their own. Including the threat of a determined 200 men led by four capable commanders.
Probably the big question for Brennan is, do they have enough ships-- not merely seaworthy, but in fighting trim-- to do the job?
Finding diamonds along the way might be out of the question, but Conner has quite a few pouches and backpacks that were not packed by him and a certainty that they are loaded with easily carried but valuable cargo. Conner would elect to sweep into the port like a diplomatic force of nature to convince the people that letting the Maghee pass through the town peacefully and onto all the ships they need will net them the win-win of a largely undisturbed city, a good amount of ready cash, and the promise of more in the future if things go well. Pointing to the band waiting patiently outside and describing the group likely coming behind them should be sufficient to point out the lose scenario.
Okay, let us call this the plan:
Brennan and Regenlief to scout the docks alone, since they shouldn't have any great problem getting into the town. They will assess the quality of ships and crews as best they can in the amount of time it takes Conner to complete his negotiations. They can at the same time get a read on the mood of the town as it actually might be, if that conflicts with what Conner's negotiating partners say.
Conner to dazzle and diplome as described. Firumbras and Cledwyn to keep the warband looking artfully and mildly disgruntled without letting anyone cause... an incident... in their zeal or boredom.
The town fathers and mothers are not well pleased with the idea of "loaning" ships to the Maghees, but they are also practical and they are also opposed to being the last town fathers and mothers. There are enough ships, as long as the crossing is smooth. Some of them look dodgy. Either Brennan or Conner could improve the chances for the fleet if they chose to.
There are, in addition to the Maghees who are marching up the road behind Brennan, a number of Maghee and MacAlpines are following the Skogen.
Ramjollock arrives at the head of a sizable force. While they are armed in a haphazard way and don't seem interested in concepts such as "marching" or "maintaining military disciple", they also look tough and capable. They are, after all, Avallonians. Ramjollock inspects the makeshift fleet. "Good work, my demonic allies. We'll take who we can and the rest can follow as ships become available."
Ramjollock has the cousins and their party on his personal flagship, which flies a simple green flag with stylized tools representing farming and manufacture in one corner. "I feel the land rise to meet me," he says at one point.
After some time sailing, the island rises from the waves, a distance, but not a great distance from Avalon. It's raining, and as the water hits the island, it seems to erase undersea features. The towers are cleaned of the coral which blocked the doors, the sand runs into the water, the piers seem strengthened. It's almost as if the island has always been here. It's not sorcery, either.
"Now that," Brennan remarks to Conner, "is just damned unsettling. Remind you of anything, the rains of change?"
Conner does not reply. Should Brennan look over, he will recognize the look of Conner fully committing this scene to deep memory.
As they approach the harbor, Brennan has a good long look at the scene with his Astral vision, trying to understand what's happening. If there is time, he will even make a full out of body projection to see what the ley lines look like, if there are any in the area. Brennan expects there are. And that they are shifting.
Once they're at the harbor, though, Brennan shifts tactics and reaches out with his Pattern-based senses, trying to feel the gradients and basins of attraction, if there are any. It is basically the same technique he has used in trying to understand and locate the Faiella-Bionin.
Ramjollock, or perhaps his advisors, are decent leaders. They secure the harbor and have men left to to help ships come in with more of his kin. With Brennan and Conner in tow, he heads straight for one of the Silver Towers. Not the tallest, or the grandest. Perhaps it's the oldest.
The door has been roughly pried open, at some point, relieving the King's squad of the need to do so. The inside is not well lit in the rain, but the flashes of lightning suggest that sunlight will make this tower a bright and open structure.
The party sweeps directly into a room that may take up half the tower's lower five floors. It's not quite wide enough to house a pattern, but it's large enough that Brennan and Conner have to be significantly into the room to take in the shape and size of it.
One the far end of the room is a dais, with a throne on it. Before the dais is a sepulcher, complete with an open coffin. The coffin lid has large runes cut into it that spell out a name: LIR. There's a figure sitting on the throne, picking at his fingernails with a small dagger.
"Is that y... Who's there?" says Ramjollock, still in the lead.
"Why, who are you expecting?" replies a very familiar voice.
A man in courtly garb climbs out of the chair and approaches the edge of the dais. In a flash lightning, Conner and Brennan find their suspicions are confirmed.
The man is Prince Bleys.
"He was hoping for Lir. I was hoping for Moire, and expecting a tsunami," Brennan deliberately uses a loan word more in vogue in the cluster of shadows in which New Hong Vegas sits, characterized by fractured archipelagos and entirely more volcanic and earthquake activity than the local inhabitants would prefer. "Hello, Bleys, fancy meeting you here."
Conner cannot help but laugh. "Ah, Uncle. Once again, your impeccable sense of timing astounds me. How did you come to be here?"
Bleys nods. "Nephews! I was wondering who was responsible for the dry spell around this tower. To answer your question, your cousin Robin was here yesterday and asked for my help digging into that," he points to the coffin. "Not literally, of course. It was here when we found it. Probably has been since your sword came out of it, Conner.
"Now, if you will please introduce me to your friends? They are either exceedingly polite and patient, or else they are gobsmacked to find me here..."
At the mention of Robin, Brennan glances outside at the rains falling, and shrugs: Seems reasonable.
"The Maghee may never have seen a gathering of three demons before," Brennan says, drily. "Prince Bleys, allow me to introduce the new Ard Righ Ramjollock of the Maghee peoples, as well as Regenlief of Asgard, and Sir Firumbras of the court of Old Paris, and Cledwyn of Avalon."
Ramjollock can introduce prominent members of his band if he wishes, but his attention is mostly on Bleys as he introduces Regenlief and Firumbras.
Bleys solemnly greets Ramjollock in the name of Amber, Paris, and Xanadu. He greets Regenlief in a nordic language that is related to the barbarian tongues Brennan heard in Reme, but not exactly the same. She smiles, blushes and nods. He greets Sir Firumbras in French and asks him about his service.
Ramjollock and his skogen are keen to know all Bleys has learned of the Tomb of Lir, and also if he found any of the thirteen sacred magics of Tara.
Bleys allows that he has not, but that he will be pleased to hear the story of them. "But I must confer first with my nephews, for I have news of great import from the Kingdom of Xanadu, and a summons from the King of All Demons."
He steps down and moves towards the cousins, sweeping them into his arms and inside a quickly-cast spell of some sort. Probably to distort or silence the conversation from outside ears.
Bleys leans in towards Brennan and Conner. “Now, lads is there anything I should know before I give you my news?”
Brennan almost instinctively frowns at the mention of a royal summons, which has never been good news. "Depends on how fresh your news of Avalon is-- we know Montage or some close lookalike of his is masterminding something here in Avalon. Moire is apparently managing Montage, but we're not sure if she's here or not. The obvious thing to mastermind is an invasion of Rebma, which we and our new best friends back there hope to prevent."
He looks at Conner-- did he leave anything out? And back to Bleys, waiting to hear who died.
"That covers the high points." Conner concurs. "Our arrival here at the time of the islands rising apparently is the fulfillment of prophecy of Ramjollock and his people. A curious coincidence that I mislike. The rest is trivialities we can discuss later."
Bleys nods. "There is a political event of some sort in town tonight, followed by a family conclave at breakfast, to which we are all mandatorially invited." He pauses. "Think carefully before you decide such events are not for you, my nephews. You can always catch back up to Moire. I have the reason for the gathering from my sister, who has her sources.
"Queen Vialle bears an heir to the thrones."
Conner's smile is dazzling. "Marvelous news, Uncle! Such a conclave is not to be missed." Conner looks over to Brennan.
Brennan is having premonitions of a long weekend of mandatory smiles, so he wears one himself, if only long enough to gauge how much his cheeks are going to hurt over the next few days. Then he lets his face slip back to its natural resting configuration.
"We'll need to make some arrangements here, before we depart," Brennan says. "The very last thing I need is for Ramjollock, feeling his oats and deciding to launch an invasion of Avalon, at the very moment I am talking to Benedict and Celina back in Xanadu."
He looks to Conner: "Leave Regenleif and Firumbras in charge, do you think? I am debating whether to take Regenleif back to Xanadu with us. She's not Family, but she is family." He looks back at Bleys and just in case he hasn't figured it out or heard from his nefarious sources, adds, "Ossian's mother."
"They seem capable enough to ride herd on the Maghee as much as any not of the Family could." Conner agrees. "If Regenleif is welcome in Xanadu I'd let her decide whether to make the trip. Some family business should not be forced after all."
Bleys nods. "We should be on the same isochronal as Xanadu, so expect that there are festivities tonight in the capital and the conclave is tomorrow's breakfast. Mothers aren't excluded from the castle, but aren't invited to breakfast unless they, themselves are of the blood. Which is well-represented in Asgard, of course, due to my late brother Finndo's preference for... exotic lovers. If there are factions in the court, and there are always factions in the court, then this naturally strengthens the Queen's partisans." He lets any other implications of that stay unsaid.
Brennan nods to both Bleys and Conner-- it's always possible he missed something, but that is what he expected.
Bleys changes the subject. "How long has Sir Firumbras been away from Paris, do you know? He seems like one of Corwin's strange overlays. If he's reliable, I see no reason not to leave him as your agent."
"Brita referred to him as a knight of ancient Tir." Conner replies. "Aside from that I know very little about him. His Majesty King Corwin suggested we bring him along to test his aptitudes and loyalty. I suppose this is as good a time as any for that."
"I introduced him as affiliated with the Court of Paris because it had the virtue of being true, but also because it avoided mentioning the King's name and avoided his birth in the Land of Youth," Brennan says, "neither of which I want to bring up with the Maghee at this instant. He's cagey enough and sufficiently informed of Avalon not to do it himself either, I hope. If I can intuit your real question... I have no idea how old he actually is or how displaced he is from his origins. Old, though, very old."
Bleys looks at the old knight, his lower lip sticking out. "Hmmm. I wonder what he knows of Lir. Still, if you wish to test him here, I see no issue. I'm sure anything you can tell Benedict about this new land and how it came to be will fascinate him.
"As long as they don't re-bury the coffin, I'll be able to complete my studies of it when I return.
"Do you two have a trump to return on, or would you like to come with me?"
"I have Trumps of you and Fiona," Brennan says, "but it seems easiest to go with you directly, if you can spare a few moments for us to settle up with Regenlief, Firumbras, and the Maghee," Brennan says.
Brennan waits for Bleys' answer and won't be offended if Bleys needs to depart immediately. But either way, he is going to talk to members of their group before departing.
Last modified: 4 December 2016