Soulriders 5.0: Legend of the Unending Games

The meeting hall is Lord Kevin's office, which looks largely the same.  It's huge, though they've brought in a LOT of chairs.  Tables have been lined up against the desk, to give the area a giant U-shaped table, with Kevin's desk as the base of the 'U'.  There's enough space in the center for a pair of servants to set food in front of all of the advisors there, though a good number of the chairs are empty.

Radagast and Lammermore are in their normal places, on either side of Lord Kevin.  The other priestess, and two of her vassals, are already sitting on the same side of the table as Radagast.  Sitting immediately next to him are Astryd (a female Lorekeeper who looks uncomfortable in her robes) and Devin, who seems more alert now than he was in the courtyard.  There's one more free space between Devin and the other priestess.  Servants direct you to sit between Lammermore and Mirallia, with Breke to your left, between you and Mirallia.

The next seat down on this side of the table is occupied by Dorian, and next to him, with a bench taking up the same space as two normal seats, is a spot reserved for Ekim.  Beyond Ekim's seat are two of the guardsmen that Lammermore had hand-picked earlier.  The next seats contains a pair of vassals that look somewhat nervous, not being allowed to sit next to their priestess, and instead sitting next to Ekim.

Bjorn leads Breke to his seat, placing him beside Lammermore, before taking his own seat beside Mirallia.  Nodding to the priestess, he turns forward in his seat to study the faces of the others.

Quietly entering the room, Ginrai looks around to see if there are any empty chairs.

The vassals all look a bit nervous about Ekim, but otherwise fairly amiable.  Their faces are all pretty similar, actually.  The one closest to the priestess is somewhat balding, and has a bit of gray in his black beard.  The others all have dark brown hair, and neutral faces.  At a glance, they've also shunned their ceremonial armor in favor of the actual defensible stuff.  Lammermore and Kevin have both changed out of their armor and into more comfortable looking clothes; Kevin looking more like a lord than in his armor.  Lammermore just looks relaxed in a comfortable tunic and trousers.

Ekim has lain his sheild and hammer behind him on the ground, but is otherwise wearing what looks like leather overalls, and beneath that, a course blue shirt of some kind of cloth (Linen? Wool?  It's hard to say).  Dorian is dressed in his very shiny looking elf-wear, apparently pleased not to be waring the cloak anymore, though he's kept his bow with him (no arrows).

Radagast is wearing a brown robe, and so are Devin and Astryd.  Since you've not yet met them, Radagast introduces you (Devin studies the Path of Earth, and Astryd studies the Path of Light).  Lammermore picks up and introduces the others: the priestess is named Lindsey, and has forsaken her last name.  Her vassals are named Charles (the balding man) Stephen (the other vassal at her side), Patrick (next to Ekim) and Edgar (further down from Ekim).  Ekim is introduces as Lord Ekim Boneforge, and right after that round of introductions, Parthipan enters the room, neccessitating a whole new round of introductions.

After the round of introductions, Ginrai again looks for an empty chair and, after finding one, waits to see what the meeting's about.

"We all seem to be gathered," Kevin decides, surveying the room.  "What we're here to discuss is the fact that the Dreadmarch is curiously well prepared.  Generals have always been better equipped, that's nothing new.  But the quality of the equipment is cause for concern.  They outnumber us and have better equipment?"

"Aye," Ekim says, lifting a heavy, black-bladed axe from his side, and placing it on the table.  It's got to weigh an awful lot; the table groans under its weight.  "This is no mere axe, either.  It's of dwarven make, and I'll wager there's matching armor to go with it."

This leaves Kevin and Lammermore looking stunned, and Radagast and Devin completely flabergasted.  The others merely look confused, except for Dorian, who looks incredulous.  "But, Lord Boneforge, your kind would never do such a thing.  How could that be?"

"I don't know," Ekim says in his rumbling voice.  "But it was done."

"More to the point," Lammermore says, shaking his head.  "What does this mean for us?"

"A dwarf is a master craftsman," Ekim opines.  "We will make the best quality of equipment we can.  We pride ourselves in things that are well made, will not easily break, and wish to serve their bearers to their destruction, or the bearer's death.  In all honesty, a dwarf is a poor outfitter for an army.  I doubt to see the horde equipped with dwarven gear."

"Right," Patrick mumbles, nodding.  "It's the first day; the ... the traps on the battlefield were terrible, but they didn't even slow the Dreadmarch down.  They didn't seem to be fooled by the guise of the Archon, instead their general attacked the servant of Hammar," he says, nodding at Bjorn respectfully.

"I don't see what you mean," Lammermore says, frowning.

"It's that this was probably meant to warn us," Lindsey says, tapping her fingertips on the table.  "Think of it.  They can't outfit their army with gear like this.  They can only outfit their best and brightest.  But the same token, given Radagast's display, I can't believe they expected to win.  Most likely, they kept their elite guard in the back, and sent grunts forward to clear the field of mi--"  She coughs here.  "Of traps -- excuse me -- then unleashed the general.  They let the general attack, even with its dwarven armor, to let us know that some of their number WILL be that well armed, because--"

"They are the Dreadmarch," Kevin says, grinning.  "They want to put fear into us, and letting us know they have a craftsman on their side with the skill of a dwarf would indeed upset us."

"That's my guess," Lindsey agrees, looking slightly put off by being interupted.  "Nonetheless, this also tells us that they're probably holding the worst they have to offer back, and want us to know it."

"Wardmaster Mattias suggests that someone of their number can hear his messages to me," Radagast adds.  "They've the help of a Loremaster, of skill that Mattias admits rivals his own, and a dwarven smith.  This should frighten us, I imagine, but we have our own weapons."

"The sword of seven shadows?" Lammermore asks, one hand going to where his sword would be sheathed, except for the fact that he's not wearing it.

"Among other things," Radagast says, falling into a contemplative silence at that point.

"Right.  Well, more to the point," Kevin says, shaking his head.  "Is there anything we're missing, here?"

Ginrai raises an eyebrow when hearing Lindsey's slip of tongue.  'I really need to inform the others of this as soon as possible as well as ask Radagast if any of her vassals are also from our world.'

Bjorn coughs quietly to get Kevin's attention.  "My Lord, the General did not attack me -- at least, not at first.  He ignored both the illusion and myself in order to throw something at the direction of the castle.  The question is: who or what was he aiming for, and what did he throw? It was no simple rock."

"That would be because he was targeting us," Devin says.  "Lorekeeper Parthipan's energetic display left the Dreadmarch general a bit unsettled, so he sought to strike the source.  Thankfully, he was also able to shield the tower from the general's attack."

"There are two warnings to be found in that," Bjorn says.  "The first is that the Dreadmarch is hunting for our Loremasters.  Master Parthipan's spell, while hardly subtle, was also quick.  Even knowing that it had come from one of the towers, I find it unlikely that the general could have traced it so precisely unless he had been watching.

"The second is this.  It does not require magic to block a sling stone.  Whatever the general used was magic, and I suppose a powerful one -- which, I think, are not easy to come by.  If they took the time to provide the general with such an item, then there are two conclusions: either they meant for the general to succeed, or they have resources to spare."

Bjorn looks around.  "I must disagree with Madame Lindsey's  evaluation of the situation.  The general was not armed well because they wanted us to know they were well-armed, and strike fear into our hearts -- or at least, not solely.  The general was well-armed because all their generals are well-armed.  They do not aim to defeat us by demoralizing us.  They plan to win by attrition.  We might hold against the best and strongest they have to offer -- but not if our strength has been expended in twelve nights of battles like tonight's."  Bjorn purses his lips.  "If that general has killed even one of Sir Lammermore or Sir Breke, or had Master Parthipan not raised his shield in time, where would we be now?"

"In a much more dire situation," Kevin says, frowning.  "I believe it's a given that their best warriors and their generals will be fearsomely equipped....  What concerns me is what prompted the general to show himself today.  Bjorn is most likely correct.  Why would he ignore an Archon visible and vulnerable, a vassal of Hammar who had scared off half of his forces, and then choose to attack the one who was furthest from the field?  If only we had some way to get information from them ... to know what they were planning."

"And if only we had some guarantee that they didn't know what we were planning," Lindsey poses.  "Radagast, how many people knew of the plan -- the illusion -- beforehand?"

Radagast starts.  "Most of those in this room," he says slowly.  "And, Master Durant, the bard.  I spoke also with a few of the other Lorekeepers about this, so that the fires in the foretrench could be timed with Lammermore showing himself to the Dreadmarch."

"And everyone in the army," Bjorn points out drily, "knew right before the gates were opened.  If the Dreadmarch does have access to someone who can listen in on Wardmaster Mattias, then it would be child's play for them to pass messages back and forth between any spies they might have and the general.

"This in turn presumes that they were forewarned of the illusion, rather than penetrating it themselves.  Lorekeeper Radagast, how likely is it that they might have discerned Sir Lammermore for who he truly is?"

Astryd looks angry at something, and crosses her arms over her chest.

Radagast thinks about this for a moment, and then says, "The creatures of the Dreadmarch see light differently from us.  Still, my illusions have fooled them in the past.  Then again, they were of simpler thinks than an Archon.  It's possible that the illusion itself simply failed, or maybe even that the general was proof against it.

"As far as word getting back through the keep via a Lorekeeper ... or Loremaster ... of their own, we must await the arrival of Loremaster Mattias.  Then we can place wards to ensure that it's no longer possible, if it had been before."

"No," Bjorn says mildly, "we cannot wait.  Wardmaster Mattias may not return for some time to come.  While there are tactics that will be as effective regardless of whether the enemy knows of them or not, we cannot afford to use them.  If the Dreadmarch is aiming to grind us down before they commit their full strength, then we have only two alternatives:  defeat them utterly before they bring their best to bear, or we must conserve our strength as best we can."

He meets Kevin's eyes evenly, and then, in turn, the gaze of all others around the table.  "Tonight's plan failed," he stresses.  "Only Master Parthipan's spellwork and sheer chance prevented disaster.  We can't afford such a risk again.  If there is a spy -- or spies -- we must balk them now.

"Part of this is simple.  No one should know any more of our plans than they must."  Bjorn frowns, eyes downcast.  "There were things that might have been done to keep the illusion from being known to the army at large, and I was remiss in not suggesting them.  Please accept apologies for my failure."

He looks up, then, his face smoothing, but his eyes are hard.  "The much greater risk is that the Dreadmarch is somehow privy to these sessions, my Lord, and this is something we must confront without delay."

Kevin drums his fingers on his desk thoughtfully, and looks at Radagast.  "Is that possible?" he asks.

Radagast looks uncertain, and replies, "It is, though I doubt that they're listening in.  I could be wrong, so...."  He trails off and turns to Bjorn.  "What do you suggest?"

"If someone is listening in, my Lord, they are doing it either by magic or by means of human servants.  I am no Lorekeeper, so cannot help with the former.  As to the latter... I am not a courtier, either.  I am a soldier.  If we are faced with spies, then we should change our meeting place," Bjorn says.  "Perhaps to a room in the cellars of the Keep, if it can be arranged?  A place unlikely to be anticipated, and difficult to approach unannounced.  It would also be wise to institute regular patrols of reliable men through the grounds at large, and in particular around whereever we choose to meet.

"But another possibility is not spies, but traitors."  Bjorn spreads his hands.  "Here, I cannot help you.  If someone in this room is an agent for the Dreadmarch, we are in grave danger, but I don't know how we can know for certain."

Lammermore leans back in his chair and rubs his chin.

Kevin looks like he wants to yell at you, but schools himself after a moment.  "It's not beyond possibility," he says after a moment.  "If a dwarf can forge weapons and armor for the Dreadmarch, and a lorekeeper can enter their service, who's to say that our own court is invulnerable?  It's a dark thought, but a true one.

"Very well.  Who in this room might be a traitor?" he asks, rubbing at his chin, and visibly frustrated.

"Pardon, my Lord, but you mean 'if at least one dwarf and at least one Lorekeeper," Bjorn correct, more or less instinctively.  

"As to your question," Bjorn shrugs, slightly.  "Any of us might be.  One complication is that we don't know what the Dreadmarch has to offer.  Certainly in the past, they were never so seductive.  What has changed that they can draw dwarves and Lorekeepers to their cause?

"Letting that aside, the logical candidates to begin with, obviously, are all the people in this room, and any trusted confidantes they might have."

Kevin and Lammermore are clearly unhappy with this idea.  Radagast looks thoughtful, not eyeing everyone speculatively.

The vassals look like they're ready to leap in front of Lindsey should someone throw an accusation her way.  Lindsey herself merely looks thoughtful, and maybe a bit distracted.  Dorian is pensive, looking at everyone in turn thoughtfully.  Ekim just glowers at nothing in particular.  Breke is completely impassive, and meets no one's gaze.

Astryd and Devin look like they're way out of their depth, and were happier not knowing anything.  Parthipan keeps shooting furitive glances at Lindsey, but says nothing.  Mirallia looks unsettled, and more than a bit nervous.

Bjorn studies the reactions of the people in the room, and then sighs.  "If you're waiting for me to name a name, my Lord," he says, somewhat dryly, "I'm afraid you'll be waiting some time.  I haven't got the resources to answer the questions I've posed.  I am simply trying to point out that the question is there, and it must be answered."

"Something dark and uncomfortable to keep us company until the moon sets again," Kevin sighs.  "No matter.  The revelry in the hall downstairs should keep the worst of the despair at bay.  I'm going to try and secure another meeting place, then.  You are all dismissed, to rest, until I can find such a place."

Lindsey, her vassals, and the lorekeepers start to rise, and then Kevin hesitates, and says, "Bjorn, before you go, there is a question I'd like to ask you."

Mirallia hesitates, as well, and Breke makes no move to leave.  Lammermore says, "Sir Breke, I've been meaning to ask you about your swords.  Would you be willing to show them to me?"

"Yeah, yeah," Breke grunts, dangling a chain before Lammermore.  Lammermore hesitantly takes the chain.  "Guard's are holding 'em," he adds.  The pair heads for the door, followed by Ekim, who's still carrying that massive axe.

Lindsey and her vassals exit, and Astryd and Devin practically flee.

Dorian vanished in that mix somewhere, leaving Bjorn, Parthipan, Mirallia, Kevin, and Radagast in the room.  Parthipan is standing, but looks reluctant to leave.

Bjorn remains seated, attentively watching Kevin.

Ginrai looks at Radagast, wondering if he'll say anything.

Radagast looks a bit curious himself.  "What's this about?"  he asks.

Kevin frowns.  "I would like to speak to Bjorn and Madame Mirallia alone," he says.  "Sorry, Lorekeeper Parthipan, but there is a matter I must discuss."

Radagast looks at Parthipan apologetically.

Ginrai nods.  "I understand."

Turning to the other three, he asks, "Afterwards, if possible, can I speak with you in private?"

Radagast nods.  "Certainly," he says.  "I'll return to my study afterwards."

Parthipan leaves the room.

Ginrai now goes to Moments in the Sun (http://pishoque.net/phpBB2/viewtopic.php?p=34911#34911).

Once Ginrai is gone, it's just Bjorn, Mirallia, Radagast, and Kevin in the room.

Lord Kevin clears his throat, and glances at some papers on his desk before sighing, and turning to look at Bjorn and Mirallia directly, his brow furrowed in thought.

If Mirallia's nervous, she hides it very well.

Bjorn is silent for a few minutes, as he discards comments numbers one through thirty-six as being inappropriate for various reasons.    He settles for raising his eyebrows and asking, "What is it, my Lord?"

"I'd like a little more information on what the 'great sin' the Archon talked about was," Lord Kevin says flatly.  "I've given you the benefit of the doubt ... and Bjorn, I don't question your sincerety or dedication.  But Madame Mirallia ... there is something we must know about what happened here."

Radagast rubs his chin thoughtfully, looking between you and Mirallia.

On the verge of answering Lord Kevin's question, to forestall a response from Mirallia, Bjorn hesitates.  I am making an assumption, he realizes, and that's very dangerous.  Promised to keep the affair secret, so don't want to bring it up.  But if I cover for it, and there was something else...

Keeping his face blank, he finds himself lost in thought for a second.

"That was," Mirallia says very slowly, "my ... indiscretion.  I was not the first choice for the priestess to attend this ceremony.  Therefore, I did not put much stock or ... due respect in my position.  Thinking that I would merely be a healer, and not attendant upon the hope the Archonae would bring, I ... then sinned with Bjorn."  She doesn't meet anyone's eyes, just staring at the table.

Radagast shifts around in his seat, and looks contemplative.  Kevin just looks confused.

"That's a great sin?" he asks, rubbing at his temples with his fingertips.  "No, no.  Don't answer that.  More to the point is the fact that you've done something which could have doomed us all.  Your careless action could have cost us the lives of everyone here.  And may yet still."  Kevin drops his hands to his desk and drums his fingertips across the desk.  "Though, they haven't yet," he says, with a glance at Radagast.

"Well, this is enlightening," the Loremaster muses, rubbing his chin.  "I don't understand how this interfered in the ceremony, though."

"With all due respect," Bjorn says, a touch frostily, "I believe, my Lord, that it would be considerate to treat the matter with more tact than calling it a 'careless action.'  It may have been a grave mistake, but it was not lightly undertaken.

"But Master Radagast's is an excellent question," Bjorn continues, tone softening.  "Madame Mirallia has not lost the favour of Hammar.  Her spells still function.  The -- 'sin' was against Hammar, but he has shown no offense.  All we have, in fact, is the words of the Archonae."  He gazes levelly at Kevin.

Kevin shrugs.  "While this may be true, I'd rather not consider something that could put all of humanity at risk as a deliberate choice," he says.

"Ah," Radagast murmurs.  "My Lord, if I could interject here?"  Kevin glances at Radagast and shrugs again.  "Madame Mirallia was not the first choice to attend the ceremony."

Kevin pauses, considering this, and then turns speculative.  "That does bear thought," he says slowly.  "What happened to the original priestess?"
Radagast looks at you and Mirallia questioningly.

"She was assassinated," Bjorn says, bluntly.

Mirallia shifts her shoulders about uncomfortably, and nods.  "Though, we did not make this realization until after we left," she adds.

Kevin sighs.  "Then I suppose you're just as much a victim as the rest of us," he murmurs, drumming his fingertips across the table-top again.  "Well.  I apologize for my severity, but as I imagine you can tell, this is a trying situation."

"It's nothing," Mirallia says, in a tone of voice that suggests it actually is something, without looking anyone in the eye.

Bjorn is quiet for a second, mulling something over in thought, and then asks, "Master Radagast, do you know who made the crystals of the ceremony?"

"The crystals," Radagast repeats, his eyes becoming unfocused.  "According to legend, they were crafted by the Archonae.  Some say they were created by the gods themselves, though.

"It's ... a matter of some speculation.  The Archonae typically keep the stone of Hammar in their city, which gives life to their oracle.  The stone of Liene is sealed in the fountain of Wellik, far to the south east.  I had thought the stone of Aestock lost ... but then, it's also said that Aestock's wards find themselves where they're needed.  It did arrive, and so did a priestess who could place it, after all."

Kevin looks thoughtful at this.  "What does Aestock think of the Archonae?" he asks.

"Oh, yes," Radagast mumbles, frowning.  "From what I know, Aestock thought little of the Archonae.  There is a balance in all things except the Archonae.  He felt they were ... poorly made.  Why?"

"Just curious," Kevin replies, shrugging.

Bjorn starts to say something, hesitates, and then changes his mind.  "Was there something else, my Lord?"

Kevin sighs.  "No," he says.  "Unless you can weed out traitors quickly and efficiently.  Thank you, Bjorn.  Madame Mirallia."

Bjorn rises to his feet, bows, and then escorts Mirallia from the room.

Bjorn now moves temporarily to Moments in the Sun (http://pishoque.net/phpBB2/viewtopic.php?p=35009#35009).

"My apologies," Bjorn says to Mirallia, as they make their way down the corridor.  "I know you haven't much fondness for Master Parthipan."

Mirallia shakes her head.  "It's nothing," she mumbles.  "But they follow the rule of the Archonae.  Obviously, I find issue with that."

That makes Bjorn blink.  "I'm sorry?" he says, and then remembers to lower his voice.  "The lorekeepers get their power from the Archonae?"

"Their power is their own," she clarifies.  "They merely learn it from the Archonae, which in turn affects the way they think."  She hesitates, and admits, "I should, perhaps, be kinder to Master Parthipan, since he is ... no longer who he was.  But still...."  She shakes her head.

Bjorn grunts.  "Another thing to worry about," he says sourly.  "Thank you for warning me."  

He sighs, thinking, and then glances at her out of the corner of his eye.  "Can I ask what you know of Madame Lindsey?  Under the circumstances..."

"Nothing," she says, shaking her head.  "She serves at a different temple ... though, she is a servant of Aestock, not Liena.  We wouldn't have met."

"Eh?" says Bjorn, confused temporarily, before remembing.  "Ah, that's right.  I knew that, and I just assumed Parthipan made a mistake."  He snorts slightly, amused, before sobering again.  "Hrmph.  I can't think of any way to discover her motives without revealing more about myself than I should."  He grimaces.  "Too early to take that risk."

He walks along a few more steps in silence (generally wandering in the direction of Ekim's forge), before speaking again.  "May I ask you some questions about... Grizelda?"

"Certaintly," Mirallia replies.  "Are you able to remember anything of her?"

"Nothing beyond what you've told me," Bjorn replies.  "But she turned down the mission to the Keep?"

Mirallia frowns.  "This is true.  She was older ... not, I suppose, old, yet.  But she was older than I, and more experienced.  Not very severe, always calm ... I thought her the perfect fit for the role she would have served here."  She sighs, and taps a finger to her chin.  "I thought it odd she would have me sent, in her stead."

"Very odd," Bjorn muses.  "Did she give any reason?"

"She said that she felt I should go, and what would come next would be what was meant to be," Mirallia says, shrugging.  "I ... did not truly understand it.  I still do not.  Perhaps it was some bit of prophecy, and as unlikely as it may seem, this is the best possible outcome."  She shivers at that.  "I'm not sure I'd like that idea."

Bjorn sighs.  "A prophecy?  Or..." he pauses.  "I don't mean to offend," he continues, quietly, "but is there any chance that she became an agent of the Dreadmarch?"

Mirallia freezes, missing a step, and turns to look at you strangely.  After a while, she sighs, slumping slightly.  "It is possible, I suppose," she admits.  "It would explain a lot ... she was the one who asked for you to join the caravan to the temple for the Year of Meditation preceeding the arrival of the Dreadmarch."

"I see," Bjorn said.  "And that is how we... got to know each other?"  

I am not blushing.

You may not blush, but Mirallia does.  She nods, and coughs a bit.  "That was ... yes.  That was how it began."

Bjorn frowns.  "It's hard to say," he mutters.  "On one hand, she might be a cunning schemer -- but as a plan, it lacks certainty.  On the other hand, if she were acting on a prophecy, then she could have acted for either side."  Bjorn's lips twist behind his hatefully unfamiliar beard.  "We won't know for sure until we ask her or it's over, either way."

He shakes his head.  "I can't say I like this sort of thing," he confesses ruefully.  "I think far too much."  Cocking an eyebrow, he changes the topic.  "There's little in particular I need to do for the moment, save for try and speak with Master Radagast and visit Master Ekim.  Is there something you wish to take care of, in the meantime?"

"No," she says, shaking her head.  "Nothing, but thank you for your courtesy."

She remains silent until you reach the forge, which was the general direction you were heading.

From the outside, it's brightly lit, the hammer ringing against the anvil with rythymic regularity.

Bjorn gives Mirallia a concerned glance, but says nothing.  Instead, he steps forward to the door to the forge, and waits for Ekim to notice him.

Ekim is humming to himself, with his deep, dwarven, rocky, grating voice.  The sword ... or more honestly, what will be your sword eventually ... is on the forge before him.  He occasionally turns it, holding it with one bare hand, and tapping against it with his hammer to shape it.

Bjorn waits a little longer, without speaking, to see if Ekim will notice him.  Don't want to interrupt.  Eyeing the hammer, he concludes, Most definitely don't want to interrupt.

He is completely absorbed in crafting the sword, following your directions exactly.  You don't know if it's completely accurate as to how a normal katana is made, but he's following the steps exactly as you explained them to him, so you can't say he's not doing his best.

Bjorn shrugs slightly, and steps out of the doorway of the forge.  "I don't want to interrupt," he explains to Mirallia.  "Anything I might have to say to him can wait.

"At this point, I think I will try to find Master Radagast again.  Would you care to come along?"

"Certainly," she says agreeably.  "He seems different from the other Lorekeepers."

Bjorn smiles slightly.  "That's probably because he isn't one," he says, quietly but amused.   As he speaks, he sets off, leading the way back to Kevin's study, as a place to start.

"What?" Mirallia asks, scandalized.  "How can that be?"

"I'm not certain," Bjorn corrects himself, a bit contritely.  "But you remember what he said about his... origins?"  He frowns slightly, and begins to talk a little more to himself, thinking aloud.  "And then those traps... I thought they were a bit weird, and then Lindsey..." Cutting himself off, he addresses himself back to Mirallia.  "The traps he set, if they are what I think they are, weren't magic, not the way you might think.  I'm betting on that, actually."

Mirallia frowns very deeply at that.  "There's power like that which isn't a lore?" she asks skeptically.  The skeptecism fades.  "Is that a kind of lore from your world, then?"

"So to speak," Bjorn says.  "But it's a lore of tools, not of power or of magic."

"Hmm," she says, looking doubtful.  At this point, you reach the door to Radagast's rooms, but the guards look like they're not going to let you in.  "No weapons beyond this point," one of them says, eyeing you warily.

Radagast is just inside the doorway, which is open, and says, "Let him through."

Bjorn takes his sword off, handing it to the guard, before stepping through into Radagast's room.  "Master Radagast," he says, bowing in greeting.

He nods at you, from where he's poring over some huge piece of paper -- looks like a diagram.  "Master Bjorn.  How can I help you?"

"I have some question, if you have time," Bjorn says.

"Certainly," he says, releasing the edges of the paper, which make it roll up.  He eyes it for a moment, then turns away, and motions to a smaller, uncovered table.  The central table is almost completely buried underneath scrolls, various trinkets -- a bit of wood, chunks of stone, oddly shaped pieces of metal, and so on.  "Make yourself comfortable," he says, pulling out a chair for himself and sitting down.

"Do you mind if I smoke?" he asks, pulling a pipe from his robe.

'Making yourself comfortable,' Bjorn has decided, is something that happens to be people who aren't wearing forty pounds or so of metal.  Pulling out a chair for Mirallia, he sits himself down, shifting slightly.  It's important to stay upright, if you don't want to end up prone -- this is the key.

"To begin with," Bjorn says, "those very effective traps of yours... were they magic?  Or were they explosives?"

Radagast raises one eyebrow as he brings his pipe up to his lips, and clenches it in place with his teeth.  "Well," he says around the stem, pressing his hands against the table.  After a moment, he nods.  "We shouldn't be overheard," he says.

"I know very little of this world's true Lores ... my powers are different.  I speak with birds, and flying insects ... they've always fascinated me.  I do have some other, small powers, but that, those traps ... those were called mines.  I was left instructions for how to assemble a small number of things, and that was one of them.  This is what I asked Ekim to help me make," he explains.  "The others were glass," he continues, pointing to the windows of this room, which are glass, "and a few other tools that allowed me to demonstrate power to the Collegiate, which was required for Loremastery.  I was allowed to not choose a true 'path' because I never trained beneath an Archon, as most other Lorekeepers do."

"I thought as much," Bjorn says, thoughtfully.  "The next question is: how well do you understand the principle of the mines?  For example," he grins, "purely hypothetically, do you think you could make a version that could be thrown by trebuchet, to explode on impact or after a certain time had passed?"

Radagast blinks at this, and rubs his chin.  "The only schematics I was left were for ... it would take some doing.  Impact ... no ... but I could craft timers, I think.  That might help," he agrees.  "I've ... Ekim will need time to make the casings, of course."

"A two part casing," Bjorn amends.  "The explosives in the core, and then around it, small fragments of metal or stone -- gravel, or nails, or the like.  It will make it all the more damaging."  He considers.  "It probably won't hurt if they're not ready for tonight, though it would be nice.  At least we'll have a surprise waiting for them.

"On another note... what can you tell me about Lindsey?  Parthipan mentioned that you'd seen something about her."

"Mmm.  I've plans for a type of mine my creator called a 'claymore'," Radagast says, the English word sounding at odds to ... whatever language you've become accustomed to speaking.  "It used many small beads of metal as projectiles."

"As far as Lindsey," he says, brooding, "I know only that she is not from this world.  Like yourself."

"The 'claymore' is the same principle," Bjorn agrees.  "The shock of the explosion does damage, but only within a short distance.  Surrounding it by small beads of metal -- or anything, really -- makes it act as an arrow-storm, as well."

"So.  An out-worlder, but nothing else?  Do you know of anything of the sort of person she's supposed to be?  What is her role here, as priestess of Aestock, for example?"

"Well, representatives of all three churches assemble -- traditionally -- for the defense of the keep," Radagast says, frowning.  "The church of Hammar provides inspiration to the troops, and leadership and tactics on the battlefield."

Mirallia nods, and says, "The followers of Liena, of course, are the primary healers and combat medics.  The followers of Aestock traditionally provide a voice or reason in conflict.  They work as negotiators and mediators to keep conflicts between any defenders at bay until the work of protecting the keep is finished.  When a soldier is troubled, but his body is well, they often confess their sins to the church of Aestock.  He offers absolution, and peace of mind for the conflict."

Bjorn drums his fingers along the table, one quick staccatto burst.  "I see.  I presume you've never met Lindsey before in any other capacity.  What about her vassals?  Were any of them outworlders?"

"No," he says, shaking his head.  "But I've found a third I couldn't tell Parthipan about, yet.  Hmm.  One of the Lorekeepers -- Serril Dewer, of the Path of Fire.  I think there are five ... as there are five of you."

"Third?" Bjorn says sharply, leaning forward before remembering himself.  Pulling himself back up against the weight of the armour (Goddamn, I'm tired), he says, "Who's the other?  Lindsey, this Dewer, and...?"

"I'm not honestly certain," Radagast says, appologetically.  "He left the keep before the Dreadmarch arrived.  I think he went north."

"North to join the Dreadmarch," Bjorn says, not really a question.  "You have no clues as to who he is?  No, nevermind," he immediately answers his own question, "if you had, you've have said already.  My apologies."

He thinks for a second.  "There's definitely five of them," Bjorn says.  "Presuming there's nothing to strange about the relationship between timelines, anyways.... er, sorry.  Thinking out loud."

Sighing, he continues, "We really need to know more about these two.  If they're working for the Dreadmarch...." He drums his fingers, once again, across the table.  "I think, perhaps, it's time for me to talk with Madame Lindsey."

Radagast blinks.  "You think she's working for the enemy?" he asks.  "She set the stone and performed the ceremony that protects the keep from the dread, though...."  He trails off, and sighs.  "Probably, you are correct," he mumbles.  "Did you wish me to accompany you, or can you handle this yourself?" he asks.

"I don't know she's working for the enemy," Bjorn admits, grudgingly.  "We... if she is who I think she is, then we oppose each other, in our home world.  That doesn't mean we have to be on opposite sides here.

"But if she is... then she is as dangerous as any traitor.  Probably more so."  Bjorn regards Radagast steadily.  "Do you want to come along?  Frankly, I'm probably taking more of a risk than I should.  Do you want to share that... or, alternatively, do you think you can save my as..." he coughs, "save me, should need be?"

Radagast squares his shoulders and nods uncomfortably.  Rising, he tucks his pipe back into his robes, pulling something from one of the drawers in his study and pocketing it.  You don't see it, but hear the clink of metal on metal.

Turning around, he says, "We should go, then."  He pauses, and frowns.  "Madame Mirallia, you may wish to stay here."

She nods.  "I'm already under enough suspicion," she says.  "If something were to go wrong, I'd just be in more trouble.  And I doubt, for what it's worth, that she'd do anything openly, not with all of the extra guards around."

"Very well," Radagast says, turning to you.  "Do you know the way?"

"No," Bjorn says, rising to his feet, "I don't think I do.

"We will probably be back soon, Madame," he says, pausing on his way to the door.  "I think this is likely to be more of a test of bluffing skills, rather than anything else."  He half-smiles.  "Or at least, I hope so."

Nodding his good-byes, he steps outside the door to reclaim his sword, and allows Radagast to lead the way.

You arrive before the door to her room shortly, and apparently she's in.  One of the vassals and two keep guards stand watch at the door, all eyes turning to you and Radagast as you approach.  You think this one is Charles.

"Can I help you?" he asks, as you and Radagast reach the door and stop.  You realize with a start that this is only a handful of doors down from Mirallia's room.

"If it is possible," Bjorn says, politely and gravely, "I would like to speak to the priestess.  I find myself troubled, and seek Aestock's counsel for my peace of mind."

He blinks at that, and frowns eyeing your armor, but shrugs.  "No weapons," he says, indicating the shortsword you retrieved after leaving Radagast's study.

Bjorn removes the shortsword, handing it to the guard for safe-keeping, and waits for him to open the door.

Radagast just shows his hands, and the guard reluctantly lets you both through.

The ante-chamber -- your room, in Mirallia's chambers -- has two of the vassals sacked out on the cot/bench setups, and they don't move when you enter.  The room is unlit, but the doorway to the main chamber is open, and you can see Lindsey there, sitting at the writing table, while her remaining vassal flips through a book at the main table, eyeing you briefly before turning back to his writing.

Without hesitation, Bjorn strides forward to the main chamber, where he stops and bows.  "Mistress Lindsey?"

She looks up, and blinks at you.  "Uh ... Bjorn?" she hazards.  She then turns to Radagast.  "Loremaster Radagast?  How can I help you two?"

Bjorn bows again.  "If you have time, Mistress, I would like to hear your input regarding the defense of the Keep."

She blinks again, and frowns, cocking her head to one side in consideration.  "Why are you asking me?" she asks, curious.  "I'm afraid my tactical input is of less value than your own ... but if you wish, I can share my thoughts with you anyway."

"If you had thoughts, I would appreciate them," Bjorn says, gravely, "but in fact, we seek your advice regarding the possibility of traitors in the Keep.  That is, after all, the domain of Aestock, is it not?"

Bluff the first.

"Er, not entirely," she says while her vassal settles himself back at the table, and turns his attention to his book again.  "Inner balance is the way of Aestock.  Peace of mind.  I suppose finding and removing the traitors would provide peace of mind, but at the same time, I'm uncertain how to expose them."

"I was once told," Bjorn says, politely, "that negotiation is war without weapons.  This matter of spies and of treachery is war, and there are no arms that I can see.  Your thoughts, I think, will be as insightful as any for trying to expose the," he purses his lips and gestures faintly with his hand, as if groping for a word, "cabal we are faced with."

As he says that word, he covertly studies Lindsey's reactions, his intention as much to try and discern if she knows who he is as it is to determine her own allegiance.

Lindsey gives you a funny look, like she's not sure what exactly you're talking about.  "I suppose that's true ... but you've been at the keep longer.  Your own insight is undoubtedly of greater value."

Radagast rubs his chin thoughtfully, but says nothing.

Bjorn pauses, studying the priestess with a faint frown.  "Mistress Lindsey, I do not ask you these questions to discomfit you.  It simply seemed to that me that you, as the servant of Aestock in this place, with knowledge of arcana far beyond myself, would have thoughts that might be of aid.  If you're unwilling..." his voice trails off.

"I'm sorry," she says apologetically.  "If you have a sin you wish to confess, I am here ... but otherwise, I don't know who the traitor is, or an easy way to single him -- or her -- out."

Bjorn sighs.  "Very well, Mistress.  It is unfortunate that you can not be of more assistance, but so it is."  He bows, slightly.  "I hope we may talk again in times of peace."  He places no emphasis on that last word, but still watches for a reaction.  "My apologies for disturbing you."

She nods at you, but otherwise only seems a little confused.

Nodding at Radagast, Bjorn goes with withdraw from the room, reclaiming his sword as he does so.

You're free of the room, re-armed, and know nothing new.  "That wasn't productive," Radagast says slowly.

"Not quite," Bjorn disagrees.  "There were two things that we got out of that.  The first is that I'm fairly confident that she doesn't know who -- or what, rather -- I am.  She might suspect a little now, but she can't know for sure.  The second is that she was very, very resistant to helping us.  Even if she had no confidence at all in her advice, if she was truly working to the same ends as us, I'd expect her to be willing to help as much as she can."

He grimaces.  "That's not much, admittedly, but without being openly confrontational, I don't know how to get more.  She didn't exactly give me a lot of openings."

Radagast makes a thoughtful noise, and leads you back to his study -- where you left Mirallia.  When you get there, Parthipan and two other Lorekeepers are already waiting.

Bjorn now momentarily joins Moments in the Sun (http://pishoque.net/phpBB2/viewtopic.php?p=35268#35268).

Having parted from Radagast and the three st... lorekeepers, Bjorn walks back with Mirallia to their quarters, thinking to himself.

Mirallia shakes her head.  "How do you use these magic words?" she asks, frowning.  "Can they be understood by anyone?  Or....?"

"Hm?" Bjorn says, absently.  "Ah.  In theory, yes.  The words come from a different language."  He frowns.  "Hrm.  Are there different languages here?  Well, it's the same idea as Radagast speaking the tongues of the beasts, anyways."

Shaking his head once, he continues, "On top of that, the message has been... shuffled, so that each symbol has been replaced by another.  Even if someone spoke the language it was written in orginally, they wouldn't be able to read it unless they knew how the symbols had been rearranged -- which means they would need to be able to answer the questions that Nat... Sir Shuker posed."

"How clever," Mirallia says, though she clearly doesn't understand the entire process.  "You can send a message in secret.  That will be invalulable."

"In principle," Bjorn says, somewhat grimly.  "But sending messages in secret does us little good if we end up sharing the contents with a traitor."  He sighs.  "Two suspects for traitors, with no certainty, and no way of knowing if the list stops there.  I don't even have reason to share my suspicions, which means that if I share this message with anyone, it'll likely end up in the hands of the Dreadmarch.  But information not used is useless."  He shrugs, helplessly.  "And so we're back where we started -- we need to find and stop the traitors."

Mirallia nods at that, saying nothing else until you reach her quarters.  Once there, she gives you room to work at the writing table -- or the main table, if you prefer.  She just sits in one of the chairs and starts flipping through the holy book of Hammar you were carrying around.

It takes Bjorn several false starts to decode the message -- false starts not helped at all by various mistakes on Nathan's part.  At the end of it, he has the following message:


ESTOFTHEEMERGENCYENCRYRTIONSYSTEMWERMOUINGTOTGMPLESWIUHESKETOROUNDUPTHESTRAGILERSAFTERTHATMOPLANSYET

WARNINGTHEDWARFWITHTHEDREADNARCHLOOKEDLUKEEKIMBUTWIUHBROOZEHAIRAODANAXEASKHIM

NENTKEOIUSEWILLCETHEDECIPHEREDFSRMOFTHISLGNELAINPOINTOFTHISISQOSEAIFTRISWORKSIFSOWEATLEASTHAVECOMN


The first two lines Bjorn can easily make sense of: the storm-riders have found Eske and are going around to the various temples, with no plans after that.  They've also found out about the dwarf with the Dreadmarch -- and apparently have seen him, since there's a description of him (bronze hair and an axe).  The last line, however, is a mystery to Bjorn, beyond something about establishing communications.

After a moment of thought, Bjorn pulls a fresh sheet of paper over, and begins encrypting his own message, using the key of "the place where Jacob's house is, Nabiki's refuge from idiocy, and the original name of Nathan's ward."  What he eventually produces is (after careful double-checking):


UHBKWKRMYABBWCBGVFLHWSVZFZTNMIEGOLSQNLOMOQLTMUOGCECG
DGAHCGJEUZYNTHRQMPPDEPBBZZXJHHIUAZZEXSSOFYMLSIHCMUJKYHW
YLQEOGYQFHTNFFKIFUBDYFUGQBXFAKUXVZGOHMSSEVMIHOECCSIKKAP
JVTUVUHIMSEJOBDNIYAZMYAB


Studying Nathan's message once more, Bjorn nods, then takes all the papers but the one with his message on it, and feeds them into a candle.  "Well," he says, breaking the long silence, "shall we go?"

"To who?" Mirallia asks, frowning.  "I still can't see a message in that...."

"Ah," Bjorn says, "this isn't the message sent by Nathan, this is a message that I'd like sent back to him."  He grimaces.  "Probably a bit hasty in setting it up, actually.  Might need to edit it.  But it's tedious work, and there's at least that much of it done."  

"As to who to visit..."  He ponders for a second, and then nods.  "Master Ekim first, I think.  After that, either Lord Kevin or Radagast.  Shall we?"

"Lord Ekim," she corrects you.  "Lead the way."

"Lord Ekim?  But I thought..." Bjorn's voice trails off.  "Right."  He sighs.  "Thank you.  The last thing I need is to make a bigger fool of myself."  He opens the door, and sets off towards the forge.

"Lord Ekim Boneforge.  He's a master smith, but he's a lord among his kind," she says, as you walk down the hall.

In short order, you reach the smithy, still singing the same song it was last time you peeked in.

Once again, Bjorn steps inside the smithy, but this time he settles himself down to wait until Ekim deigns to recognize him, however, long it may take.

It takes about twenty minutes before Ekim seems to notice you're there -- one of those periods where the heated metal (and it's already shaping up pretty nicely) is allowed to 'rest' on the coals before the next forging.

"Ooooh," he rumbles, when he sees you.  "Did you come to watch your weapon get built?"

"I am actually here because my duties require that I ask a question of you," Bjorn admits, smiling, "but I will admit that the fact that my duties permit me to watch you work gives me no small pleasure."

Ekim snorts.  "What duty?" he asks.

The smile fades from Bjorn's face.  "The storm-riders have seen the Dwarf who assists the Dreadmarch," he says.  "Sir Shuker said that he was similar in appearance to you, to his eyes, but this Dwarf had bronze hair, and carried an axe.  Do you think you might know him?"

Ekim considers this for so long you begin to think he might have fallen asleep before he answers.  "I know of him, yes," he says slowly.  "No dwarven lord, and no cousin of mine ... but I know of him.  His name is Estin, and he is a Stonewright."  Ekim looks contemplative.  "He is skilled as a smith.  But I do not know what could have bought him into the service of the Dreadmarch."

"A 'Stonewright'?" Bjorn asks.  "My pardon, Lord Ekim, but I'm not sure that I know exactly what you mean by that term."

"His family," Ekim says, shaking his head ponderously.

"Ah.  Of course," Bjorn says, feeling a bit foolish.  Again.  Maybe I need sleep.

"That was all I had to ask of you, my Lord," he says, bowing.  "Is there any way I can be of service to you?"

He shakes his head and turns to the sword, still heating on the coals.  "I've been given enough to think of," he sighs.

Bjorn lingers for a moment, staring almost wistfully at the forge.  "My apologies, then, Lord Ekim.  I will be off, and return before the moon sets."

"Rest," Ekim says, his hammer investigating and finding a tempo he seems to like.  "You will need to."

"Soon," Bjorn says.  "Thank you, Lord Ekim."  Bowing, he leaves the smithy.

Outside, he turns to Mirallia.  "I think I should share some of what I've learned and done with Lord Kevin," he says, quietly.  "And then I should sleep."  Setting off, he adds, "I'm sorry to drag you about the Keep like this."

"I've nothing better to do," she says, shrugging.  "Which is just as well, really.  An idle healer means no injured."

Bjorn snorts slightly in agreement, leading the way to Kevin's study.  "Indeed.  And I hope to keep it that way."

Lord Kevin and Sir Lammermore are not in their study, and you wander about the keep for a few minutes before you find a servant who knows where they are -- currently they're in Kevin's private quarters.  You go there to find that they've set it up as a temporary sub-office, as they're leery of the real office.

Lord Kevin looks up from his much smaller personal desk when you enter.  "Ah," he says.  "More good news, I imagine?"

"Better news, I hope," Bjorn says, gravely.  "Master Radagast has receieved a message from Wardmaster Mattias, with the storm-riders.  The storm-riders have found Gatemaster Eske, and are retrieving those left at the temples throughout the north.  In addition, they've apparently actually seen the Dwarf working with the Dreadmarch -- according to Lord Ekim, it seems to be one Estin Stonewright.  Unfortunately, beyond the fact that he is apparently a skilled smith, Lord Ekim knew little of him.

"Master Devin has set up a labyrinth outside the the Keep, made of walls and concealed pit-traps.  In addition, I have spoken with Mistress Astrid, and she will create an illusion of the moat being magically widened when the Dreadmarch next attacks -- hopefully causing them to first waste their efforts crossing a moat that isn't there, and then to slow to a crawl as they try to find the true boundaries of the moat.  Between these two things, we can hope that the next army will be forced almost to a standstill as they approach, giving the archers and trebuchets ample times to thin their ranks, and help bring the general to the fore.

"Mistress Astrid can also cause the lights of the Keep to flare to match the Sun.  I suggested that were she to do so just as the Dreadmarch was about to make contact with our lines, the ensuing blindness on their parts would provide us with a massive, if temporary advantage."

"These are sound strategies to my way of thinking," Kevin decides, nodding slowly.  "Can Eske bring the Storm-riders back here?"

"I'm afraid that that is something I do not know," Bjorn says, apologetically.  "I can ask Master Radagast to pass on those instructions, if you wish."

"If they're harrying the Dreadmarch, and in no great danger, then leave well enough alone," Kevin decides, shaking his head.  "Is there aught else?"

Bjorn hesitates for a second.  "My Lord... I realize that I may well have over-stepped my bounds, but I, along with Master Radagast, went to speak with Mistress Lindsey regarding the issue of possible traitors.  I thought that Aestock, in His role of negotiator and seeker of balance might well have insights that would prove useful."  He pauses again, somewhat uncertainly.

Kevin looks a little confused.  "And?" he asks, frowning.

"She was... unhelpful."  Bjorn frowns, still rather uncertainly.  "Or, rather, she was very unwilling to even attempt to make suggestions."  He shrugs, helplessly.  "It may very well be that she simply did not trust me, which is entirely understandable, under the circumstances.  But I must admit that I found it... odd, to encounter such resistance."

He studies Lord Kevin's face.  "I realize, my Lord, that the implications of what I am saying are very grave.  I do not wish to make any accusations, for I have no grounds for such.  But I feel I should share this with you, for your own search.  As I said, Master Radagast was there, and can provide his own thoughts on the matter."

Kevin grimaces and chews on one lip thoughtfully.  "That's something to think on," he says after a moment.  "Radagast and I will need to discuss it."

Bjorn inclines his head.  "As you say, my Lord.  Is there anything else that I can do for you?"

Kevin shakes his head.  "No, but thank you.  Your assistance is invalulable, as always."  He seems very distracted by your revelation.

Bjorn bows again.  "Lord Kevin, Sir Lammermore," he says in parting, and then, well, parts.

As you lead Mirallia to her chambers, you get the distinct impression that you're being followed.  It's not merely an odd sensation, of unease, or just paranoia -- you're positive that there's someone behind you.

Somebody who knew what they were doing would probably try to reverse roles, and follow the follower.

I'm tired of being subtle.

"Try and stay with me," Bjorn says, in a low, conversation tone to Mirallia.  "If things start going wrong, run like hell back to Kevin's office."

Without waiting for a reply, trusting her to trust him, he wheels in place and starts running back the way he came, trusting his combat senses (and his normal senses, including common sense) to tell him who was following him, and where that person is.

The hallway behind you is completely deserted, except for yourself, Mirallia, and a blonde serving-girl carrying an armful of sheets, and seems a little scared of an armored guard with a grim expression bearing down on her.

You have no idea where your pursuer went.

Bjorn screeches to a halt.  "Did you see someone else around here just now?" he demands of the serving girl.

She shakes her head quickly, eyes wide.

Bjorn's jaw works, chewing back frustration, before he finally relaxes.  "I see," he sighs.  "My apologies for frightening you."

Working on rather pro forma suspicion, he studies the serving girl carefully, trying to remember if he's seen her before, or if there's guilt in her face as well as fear.

She looks genuinely terrified, and like she'd like to run away, now, if it's all the same to you.

Bjorn sighs again.  "I am sorry for upsetting you," he repeats, a bit sadly, and sketches a bow.  "Please don't allow me to disturb you any longer."  

With that, he turns his back, and continues escorting Mirallia back to her quarters.  As he does so, he reaches out with his combat sense as best he can, trying to find the presence of the shadow again -- though with little hope.

The girl runs off.  Once she vanishes, you're not aware of anyone else (aside from Mirallia) in the hallway with you.

Bjorn heads back to the quarters in grim silence.

You reach them without further event.  They're empty when you get there, the guards standing at attention as you enter.

Bjorn closes the door, nodding at the guards.   "I think I need sleep," he says to Mirallia.

"A wise plan," she says, muffling a yawn.  "It has been a long day."  She frowns, considering something.  "Did you give your message to Loremaster Radagast?"

Bjorn sighs.  "No," he says, "I forgot.  I should probably do that now."  He grimaces.

"I'll wait here," she says, going into her private room, and muffling another yawn.

"All right," Bjorn says, and then hesitates.  "I'd suggest barring your door," he adds.  "I'll let you know when I return."

She nods, and shuts the door.

The guards say nothing when you leave.

As you're plodding through the quiet corridors in your nearly-silent armor, you catch the sounds of footsteps in an adjacent corridor.  It sounds like more than one person walking towards you, though you haven't drawn up to the corridor yet.

Bjorn frowns slightly, but continues to walk on, not changing his pace -- but shortening his stride, so that he is moving much, much slower than his footsteps and habits might indicate.   An ambush is an ambush, until the victim knows -- at which case, it's somebody else's ambush.

Standing at the ready, you're in good position to attack your opponents before they realize who you are -- assuming you want to attack Linsdey and two of her vassals; she seems pretty surprised to see you, and her vassals don't look like they're ready for a fight.

"Mistress Lindsey," Bjorn says, in polite greeting.  "Have you been counselling the troops, then?"

"No," she says, frowning.  "I was looking for you."

Bjorn raises an eyebrow in surprise.  "Well, I am at your service," he says.  "What may I do for you?"

"I had hoped to speak to you of your past," she explains.  "It's troubled, and may cause trouble here, as well.  I feel that it would be best for you to unburden yourself of what has gone before, and focus instead on what you can do for the future."

"My past?" Bjorn says, in confusion.  "Mistress, I am a vassal of Hammar.  That is my past, my present, and my future.  What do I have to be troubled about?"

"Your home lands," she clarifies.  "Which I gleaned from the tale your bardic friend tells in the hall."

Durant, what the fuck did you do?

"Bardic tales," Bjorn says drily, "should generally be taken with a grain of salt, Mistress.  I've heard Master Durant's version of what I supposedly did in Hadrick's pass, and I can assure you that I've never even seen a three-headed firing-breathing dragon, let alone killing fourteen of them.  What tales has he been telling now?"

"Now, there's a turn of phrase that I've never heard before," she says, smiling slightly.  "'Grain of salt'," she repeats.  "He told many stories, but I'm interested in one he did not tell.  A story about a time you were imprisoned, in a land to the west.  A place that was consumed in a pillar of flame that reached the heavens.  And in the service of a little girl with a pocket full of lies."

"Ah, that story," Bjorn says, with a faint smile.  "That's not quite as good as the story of a man with a thousand faces, though, and the time he scorched the valley of glass."

"Oh, him," she says, distastefully.  "I do not like him.  But we both know these stories, and therefore, there is something I would like to discuss with you."

Bjorn nods, slowly.  "Perhaps it would clear some of the troubles on my mind to speak with you, after all," he says, thoughtfully.  "I am afraid that I am first required to deliver a message to Master Radagast.  Is this a discussion that we might have while we walk?"

Lindsey hesitates, but nods.  "There is some that should wait until we're in a more private location," she warns, then following you.

"That seems likely," Bjorn agrees, walking off towards Radagast's study.

The other two vassals just walk on quietly, saying nothing.

"How long have you been here?" Lindsey asks, attempting to make conversation.

"That's actually an excellent question," Bjorn says.  "It's easy to lose track, what with days and nights being the way they are."  Bjorn eyes her vassals.  "It's good to see that you have faithful servants," he notes.  "I greatly miss my brethren.  Have you been working with these men for long?"

"As long as I can remember being in Aestock's service, they've always looked out for me," she answers.  "How well did you know your bretheren?"

"We were all cut from the same cloth," Bjorn says, shrugging.  "Perhaps we did not talk as much as we might have, but then, between us, words were often unproductive.  True friends, unfortunately, are few for men such as myself.  And, I imagine, for priestesses as well?  I'd guess you have few acquaintances, and of those, not many here."

"Very true," she says, sighing a bit. "You had a friend who died in that prison you escaped, yes?"

At about this point, you've reached the door to Radagast's study, the guards still standing there and not letting anyone through with weapons.

"Ah, if you'll pardon me just a second, Mistress," Bjorn says apologetically.  Handing his sword to the guards outside Radagat's room, he raps briefly, and then steps inside.

Her vassals remain behind, and she follows you in.  Radagast is currently muttering to himself and poring over his schematics.  "Oh," he says, looking up and seeing the pair of you.  "How may I help you?"

"A return message, Master Radagast," Bjorn says, drawing out the piece of paper.  "Lord Kevin would like it delivered at convenience."

"Ah," Radagast says, taking the slip of paper, and studying it.  He frowns, and concentrates for a minute.  "Done," he says, then, handing you the paper back.

Bjorn waves the paper away.  "Please keep it," he says, half-laughingly, "I have no use for it." Sobering slightly, he says, "I believe there were matters related to this night's defense we had to discuss, but Mistress Lindsey wishes to speak with me, first.  After we are done, I shall return, if you find that acceptable."

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather have your discussion here?" Radagast asks mildly.  "If it's personal, I understand."

Bjorn looks at Lindsey and raises an inquiring eyebrow.

"I think a greater degree of privacy would be more warranted," she says slowly.

"I think you're most likely right," Bjorn says, shrugging.  "Very well, Master Radagast.  I'll be back within two hours.  We'll be near Lord Ekim's forge."

Bowing his good-byes, he leaves and reclaims his sword.

The other vassals follow you, as you leave.  Lindsey says nothing until you're outside of Ekim's forge.  Her vassals linger, remaining within visual range, but not earshot.

"So," she murmurs, once you find a spot to stop.  "Now what?"

"Another excellent question," Bjorn says, keeping his tone low.  "At the risk of seeming puerile, you started this conversation.  What are you looking for?"

"Do you know why you're here?" she asks, answering your question with another question.

"There are several levels to that question," Bjorn points out.  "Broadly speaking, yes.  You?"

"Of course," she says, relaxing.  "And now that that's settled, I'll trust you not to get yourself killed while we take care of things?"

Bjorn looks at her with a raised eyebrow.  "I should point out," he says, with more than a touch of irony, "that while I know why I'm here, I don't know why you're here.  Or rather, I have my suspicions, and if I'm right, then no, I'm not going to let you 'take care of things.'"

She rubs at her temples, and looks like she's trying to hide a lot more annoyance than she's letting through.  "It's fine if you actually don't know why you're here, too," she says.  "Now, I'm going to say some things.

"These are things you've suggested that you already know, so it's all going to be old news.  But I think it's for the best that I say them anyway."  She gives you a challenging look.

"Please do."  Bjorn shrugs.

"Right," she says, slightly put off.  "You got here first, and threw up such a freaking smoke-screen of exposure that the Seventh Cabal was forced to withdraw all of their checks and security measures from around Gibraltar.

"Because of that, and the fact that everyone in the area who works for the Seventh Cabal is now trying to cover up whatever you left behind in France, there's a huge mess.  You slip in, and enter the dream of Earth.

"You got there about a day ahead of us.  And, this kind of sucks, but you also get the 'good' goal.  Which is just as well -- you'd fail abysmally if you had our job.  This world is doomed -- the Seventh Cabal saw to it that it would be crushed behind them.

"So your task is obvious.  You have to reverse that.

"This world can't accept someone trying to reinforce an existing fate, though.  So our goal isn't to help the Dreadmarch.  Our goal is to make sure you stay alive long enough for fate to be averted, and to see the Dreadmarch destroyed."  She blows out a puff of air, not quite a sigh.  "And if your oracle wasn't lying to you, you'd know this."

Bjorn crosses his arms, looking off into the distance while Lindsey speaks.  He's silent for a while after she finishes, lost in thought, before he nods, and turns to face her again.

"Well, then," he says, briskly, but still quietly.  "Let's try some honesty.  Our Oracle was not very informative; her imprisonment wasn't easy on her.  We've been working on what she could tell us, plus what we learned from the Guardian.

"But, frankly, from what they have told us, it doesn't quite line up with your version of the story.  And so I have to ask: why should I believe you?"

"You're not a trusting person.  I doubt you even fully trust your own allies.  And I'm reasonably sure that any investment I made in trying to win your trust would be a wasted effort.  In all honesty, I don't feel the need to get you to trust me -- not knowing that.

"Since that's the way it is, all I need is for you to stay out of our way, while we stop the Dreadmarch," she finishes, shrugging, and eyeing you calculatingly.

Bjorn snorts.  "Don't be stupid," he says derisively.  "And try not to assume I am, either.  If I don't trust you, I'm hardly going to 'sit back,' especially when the main thing I don't trust is your motives.

"I repeat: why should I trust you?  This isn't antagonism, it's a flat-out, reasonable question.  I know you know more than me.  I'd be an idiot to pretend otherwise.  But what I do know, in the end, is that we're opponents.  We're not enemies that you take seriously, of course -- hell, Pax Arcana plans to use us, don't you?  But we're not allies.  And I'm supposed to simply believe you when you say, 'We're going to help you?'

"The Dreadmarch is the sort of thing, frankly, that I could very well see Pax supporting.  A scourge cleansing the land, which only the chosen, the strong would survive."  Bjorn shrugs.  "So.  I'm hardly going to sit back and let you have free rein.  And if I'm acting to oppose you, and you happen to be telling the truth, I would badly fuck things up for both of us.  

"If you really want to win this, then you'd better bloody well want me to trust you.  And because I want to win, it so happens that I'd really like to trust you, too.  Now, having said all that, I ask again: why should I believe you?"

"What do you want as proof of trust?" Lindsey asks.  "What can I do to make you trust me?"

She shrugs.  "Pax Arcana works in very specific ways, but every agent of Pax Arcana does not bear every trait that defines the organization.  We were chosen specifically for our adaptability.  And destroying this place would mean nothing.  This place is, literally, a dream.

"A dream that needs to survive -- Ourobos shouldn't be awake, because his dream is a layer of insulation between our reality, and the Enemy.  The last thing I -- or anyone else in Pax Arcana -- wants is everyone to die."

"Openness would be a good place to start," Bjorn says, uncrossing his arms  "For example, where are the other four?"  He starts ticking off items on his fingers.  "What do you know of what the Cabal set up?  And what plans have you laid to try and stop the Dreadmarch?"

"Liandral is watching over Nathan and Bloom.  I met him."  Lindsey looks like she's concentrating.  "I'm not sure where Serril is, but I'm sure he's around ... probably incarnated as one of the Lorekeepers.

"I haven't actually gotten in contact with Anton or Sam yet," she finishes with a shrug.  "Did you actually all arrive together?

"As far as we can tell, the Cabal set everything in motion ... I haven't got any proof, but as far as I can tell, they arranged for all of the heroes of this world to be disposed of before the battle, and then messed up the leaders of the regular armies.  Except Lord Kevin, anyway.  Everyone else -- like Bloom -- got deposed, or replaced with people who the Cabal already bribed or otherwise convinced to work for them.

"Our plans for stopping the Dreadmarch involve...."  She trails off, and frowns.  "How much do you understand about what happens to you when you actually enter the dream?" she asks.

Bjorn grunts.  "I didn't know about Liandral, but Serril is, in fact, one of the lorekeepers.  Yes, we all arrived together.  Not long before we had to make it through Hadrick's pass.

"As for your question... let's say I don't know anything.  Probably safest."

She nods, relaxing a little bit.  "Okay.  Well, you've probably already figured out that you can access your hosts abilities, if not memories.  But the thing to remember is that while you've got their abilities, any ... power you had from your own world was left behind.  But the ability to pull things ... it goes both ways.  As you gain more willpower, you'll learn to take what you need from your real self, and bring it here.

"We've got some useful tools for dealing with low tech armies," she says.  "Though, I will admit, we need some time, and I don't know where Liandral is.  Or how close he is to being able to bring what he needs."

Bjorn frowns.  Pulling things from... I wonder...

Turning inwards, he clears his mind, and examines the edges.  When he first arrived in this world, he remembers, he felt for his mindboard, and couldn't find it.  Now, though, he concentrates.  The mindboard is there, he tells himself.  It's simply a matter of making that certainty into a reality, of focussing on the memory until it crystallizes.

It takes a lot more effort than you remember -- you have to shove aside a lot of the things you were hanging onto from your ... host's? ... abilities to do it.  But you can.

Bjorn touches its surface, surprised at how comforted he feels to have it back.  Didn't take me long to get used to it...  Pushing aside the feelings that elicits in him, he quickly scans it to see whose smudges are present.

Well, you've got all the smudges you left on it from before.

Interesting.  Bjorn mentally eyes the Lazarus-smudge, but decides to leave off experimenting with that one.  Instead, he reaches out for the Dracos and Nathan smudges, linking the mindboard into their minds.

"What are you doing?" Lindsey asks, frowning at you.

Bjorn holds up a finger.  "One second, please," he says, with a distracted tone.  "This is a bit more difficult than I remember."

Linsdey looks at you with a raised eyebrow, but says nothing else for the moment.

With a sense of near-relief, Bjorn relaxes and lets the mindboard disappear again, feeling the knowledge and combat-sense of his other-self rush in to fill the void.

"Liandral is with Nathan and Philip," Bjorn says to Lindsey.  "They've been harassing the supply lines of the Dreadmarch, and recovering the stragglers in the temple with the help of Eske.  They've also determined that the Dreadmarch has another million troops on the way, and that they're being led by an Archon."  He grimaces.  "Anyways.  You were saying?"

"Aren't you full of good news?" she asks, frowning.  "Okay.  At any rate.  Given enough time, Liandral's tools will be sufficient to overcome any opposition we'll find outside the keep's gates."

Bjorn grunts.  "What, exactly, are Liandral's tools?"

"Weapons, of course," she says, smiling slightly.

Bjorn eyes Lindsay, and then smiles coolly. "Fair enough," he says.  "Trust has its limits."

A sudden thought strikes him, and he frowns.  "How long before we ran into each other were you looking for me?"

"I wasn't," she says, shrugging.  "I just suspected you would end up revealing yourself sooner or later."

"I wasn't quite clear," Bjorn corrects himself.  "Today, right before we met in the hallway -- how long were you looking for me?"

"About ten minutes."

Bjorn frowns.  "Then it probably wasn't you," he says.  "I was being followed earlier.  Couldn't see who it was, though."

Lindsey looks thoughtful at this.  "So, in addition to traitors, we've got ... what, an assasin?"  She glances across the courtyard, which is still empty, except for the chickens, which are all huddled in a corner near the keep, and her vassals.  "Well, I'm not exactly trusted by Lord Kevin anymore, so I'm fairly restricted in what I can do at this point."

"You can try to join the other side," Bjorn points out.  "People have turned traitor for less reason that being rejected by their commander.  If you can even find a name that we should be suspicious of, we're better off than when we started."

He speaks a bit abstractedly, still thinking things through, and then, cocking his head, looks sidelong at Lindsay.  "So that's your entire strategy?  Wait around until you have enough power to pull through tools to dispose of the army?"

"Of course not; but you already seemed to have well enough in hand.  Why show our cards before we were forced to?" she asks, smirking.  "As long as you didn't die, then there would be nothing to worry about.  But now that Lord Kevin doesn't trust me anymore, and I'm willing to bet Serril, either, we've got to make sure you don't completely exclude us from whatever's going on.

"And Liandral is hardly the only one of us with an ability to deal with this menace."

"I didn't say Liandral was," Bjorn says drily, "but if you have no plans on how to hold the Dreadmarch back until you can access your abilities, you're bigger fools than I thought.  All the more so, depending on what advice the Cabal left behind."

He purses his lips.  "Kevin might be wary of the Lorekeepers in general, but not Serril in particular.  Hrmph."  He looks Lindsey in the eyes.  "You knew I was Order of Symmetry because I told you, I'd guess.  But you also knew who I was in particular.  How?"

"I infered it from your bard friend," she says, shrugging.  "Your behavior fit the record we have of your profile, after that."

"I need to shut him up," Bjorn grates.  "Any Cabal agents shouldn't be able to do the same, but better safe than sorry."

He crosses his arms, fingers drumming across his bicep, before shrugging one shoulder.  "All right, then.  You need time to access your abilities.  We have traitors and possibly an assassin or two running around.  You don't know where most of the rest of your allies are.  We need to find the traitors, and hold back a depressingly powerful Dreadmarch until you can bring your guns into play.  So.  What now?"

"You seem to be handling things pretty well with the Dreadmarch," she says, after a moment of thought.  "I can handle an assasin.  Besides, I was sent here to make sure you didn't die."

Bjorn snorts faintly, amused.  "Fair enough.  Any questions for me?  Fair is fair."

She looks thoughtful.  "What are you going to do if you actually win?" she asks.

"Hold a party?" Bjorn suggests, cocking an eyebrow in amusement.  "That's a rather open-ended question.  Win which, exactly?"

"The Contest," she clarifies.

Bjorn shrugs.  "I will restart evolution," he says, simply.

She raises an eyebrow at this.  "I liked the idea of the party better," she says.  "But I suppose I can find that in the hall.  Alright.  Take care of yourself, and you know where to find me if you have anything else -- I'll keep an eye out for your assasin.  I'd also appreciate it if you can try and remove some of the suspicion that Lord Kevin has against me, now.  But if not, I'll have more time to hunt down your assasin."  She shrugs.  "Anything else?"

Bjorn shrugs.  "Keep an eye out for spies and the like," he says.  "If nothing else, that'll be the easiest way to get Kevin to stop suspecting you.  His eyes narrow in thought.  "Do you speak English?  That's  probably a relatively safe code, under the circumstances, if we need to get messages to each other.  Other than that..." he shrugs, and extends a hand to offer a handshake.  "I'd say we have an understanding."

"Very well, then," she says, accepting your handshake.  Her hands are pretty small, but then again, so is she.

Releasing her hands, Bjorn nods.  "All right, then.  I'm going to go have a word with Master Durant, and then some sleep."  He grins crookedly.  "Try not to get in too much trouble."

With a slight bow, he turns, and begins making his way back to the Keep.  And as he does so, he runs mental fingers across his recently re-summoned mindboard, looking for the Lindsey-smudge.

You now have a Lindsey smudge on your mind-board ... how useful.  Inside the keep, you're quickly directed to the main hall, and from there, you can find Durant.  He's currently sitting to one side and nursing a mug of some drink, watching someone on the stage tell a story about seven stars that fell from the heavens.

The room is pretty full, and fairly noisy.  There's empty seats here and there, but none close together.  A few people glance at you when you come in, but you don't make any proclomations or anything, so they quickly turn their attention back to the story already in progress.

Gotcha, Bjorn thinks, looking at the mindboard, before putting it away and letting his combat senses and knowledge of this world fill its place.  Might only get to use it once, so better make the most of it.

"Master Durant," Bjorn says, respectfully, from just behind Durant's shoulder.  "Might I speak with you for a moment?"

"Huh?" he says, blinking at you and looking up.  "Oh, yeah.  Sure."  He gets up from his seat.  "Where to?"

Bjorn studies the room.  "This will do, I think."  He takes a seat next to Durant, and says, in a soft voice meant not to carry beyond his ears, "Pax is here."

He blinks at this a few times, and then nods.  "Yeah, I know," he says, looking at you kind of out of the corner of his eyes.  "You just found out?"

Bjorn's eyes narrow.  "I knew they were likely to be here," he says, flatly, keeping his voice low with an effort. "I did not know who they were, or exactly where they were.  Are you saying you did?"

"Nah.  I knew they were around, though.  Radagast said so," he explains.  "You figured out who they were?"

"I had a good guess," Bjorn says, with an iron note in his still-quiet voice.  "I found out for sure when she guessed who I was, on the basis of your fucking stories.   What the hell have you been doing down here?"

"Jesus, don't go all fucking aggro," he says, somewhat reproachfully.  "I'm doing all I can -- you didn't get shafted and stuck as a fucking singer and musician, and even if you did, you knew how to fight beforehand.  So I'm keeping people from running around like chickens with their heads cut off, because that's all I can do."

"Then tell other stories," Bjorn grates.  "Recite Stephen King.  I don't care.  But if you knew Pax was here, why the hell did you decide to post a big 'Hello Here I Am' sign?"  He controls himself with an effort.  "Pax, it turns out, is on our side.  But I've got an assassin stalking me, and there's good odds it's because you managed to get us pegged as what we are.  Watch your back."

He goes to rise, and then checks himself.  "One more thing.  This," he waves his hand around the room, "is useless.  There are other people here who can tell stories and keep people's hopes up -- ones, in fact, that can do it without blowing their cover.  On the other hand, you have an excuse to be talking to a lot of people.  If you actually want to do something, find out who the Dreadmarch agents are."

He stands, then, preparing to leave.

"Yeah, sure," he says, climbing to his feet and eyeing you dourly.  "Since apparently even with everything you got, you can't handle your own job."  He storms off, leaving a small book at the table where he was sitting.

Bjorn starts to say something, and then shrugs.  Pax'll probably save his ass, too, worst come to worst.  And I got enough to worry about.

He reaches over, and picks up the book, flipping through the pages.  With my luck, he thinks sourly, he's been writing out bloody notes on the story he's been telling.

Actually, the book appears to be stories and songs.  There's a few handwritten notes in the margins, especially towards the end of the book -- then, there are doodles, and hand-drawn maps between shorter stories, and notes for music.

Bjorn frowns, and closes the book.  Maps?  That doesn't make much sense.  Need to look at it later -- not here, though.

With that thought in mind, Bjorn returns to his chambers, intent on studying the book rather more carefully once he gets back.

When you get to your room (the one added on to Mirallia's room), you study the notes and maps in greater detail.

The maps are hand-drawn maps that look to describe a large building, with smaller buildings inside it.  There are also lines to indicate routes -- one of them is labeled, 'morning guard'.  Another is 'path to altar in morning'.

The notes are observations on temple life, such as: 'Priestesses all gather for morning prayer -- cross "garden" to reach it.'  'Always a guard in kitchen -- lazy?  Hungry?  Paranoid?'  (The 'lazy' is heavily crossed out, but still readable.)  'Two parts green fungal mix, one part distilled spirits.'  Then: 'long sewing needle.  Hot metal will sink through snow?'

The others are difficult to understand, or maybe just random garbage: 'Two strings in harmony, and the third breaks.'  'If I cook, I don't like the taste so much.'  and 'Harvest will be poor this year.'

Flipping back through to the earliest map reveals a detailed (if not at all to scale) map of Storm-wall Keep.  The notes indicate a side-passage on the first floor, midway between the servants stairway, and the kitchen.  'Fletcher leaves money here when job is complete.'

Bjorn stares at the maps and the notes for a while, thinking quietly.  Then, keeping a finger in the book to mark the place of the first map, he goes over to Mirallia's room and raps on the door.

She only answers after a few minutes, and looks very sleepy when the door opens.  "Yes?" she asks, rubbing at one eye.

"I'm very sorry to wake you up," he says, quietly, "but could you take a look at this map, and tell me if it looks familiar to you?"  He holds out the book, open to the map of the place he doesn't recognize.

She squints at it for a few long minutes, and finally says, "That's the temple of Hammar.  Why?"

"Well."  Bjorn hums thoughtfully.  "This book belongs to Master Durant.  And between that map, and some of the notes, that his former self was the one who assassinated Megan."

Mirallia says nothing immediately, though her eyes harden, and she looks less sleepy.  After a minute or two, she softly says, "I see.  Your ... that ... the one who inhabits that body now is ... trustworthy?"

Bjorn snorts.  "He's a fool, but the way you mean it, yes, he's trustworthy.  He hasn't had time to make contacts with the Dreadmarch -- and just like me, it'll be death or worse for him if the Dreadmarch succeeds."

Flipping through the pages, he adds, "On the other hand, I wouldn't trust him with chasing down whoever else might have been involved, either.  Hrm.  Notes on daily routine are obvious.  Fungal mix and spirits -- the poison, I presume."  As he goes through the notes again, he becomes absorbed in the problem, losing track of where he is.  "Probably injected -- under the eyelid, maybe.  Did it with a sewing needle, heated the sewing needle, threw it in the snow."  He frowns at the gibberish phrases.  "These, here, are probably pass phrases.  And then there's this... Fletcher.  An alias?  Probably.  Also our best lead.   How to draw him out?"

"I don't know," Mirallia says in a quiet, tired voice.  "I ... I need to rest and think about this for a while."

Bjorn starts, startled to be reminded that there's someone else in the room with him.  After a second of staring at Mirallia wide-eyed, he closes the book, face softening.  "I'm sorry," he says, as gently as he can manage.  "This wasn't very considerate of me, to simply dump it all on you like this.  Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she says.  "It's just been a very trying month."

Bjorn exhales, slowly.  "Yes," he says, a bit sadly.  "I'm sure it has."  With a crooked smile, he tells Mirallia, "Sleep.  Tomorrow will be long enough as it is."

She nods at you, and her door closes.

Bjorn returns to his own space, and sits down, flipping through Durant's book again.  Too much here, he thinks, stifling a yawn.  Don't even know where to start.  Fletcher...

And, thinking that thought, he eventually dozes off to sleep, book still open across his lap.

You're woken by a knock at the door, and a summons to Lord Kevin.

Bjorn thanks the messenger, and then wakes Mirallia.  "Time to meet Lord Kevin."

This thread now moves to: Crossfire Sequence (http://pishoque.net/phpBB2/viewtopic.php?p=35823#35823).