StairwayStairways Individual[Swan] stands and just picks a stairwell at random. She turns and blows a kiss to Alex, “See you up top, doll.” Alex returns the blown kiss with one of her own, then studies the paths before her. And so Swan picks one of the moderate paths and disappears from sight. The hinky thing about this staircase is that it ends, Swan nearly tripping from the unexpected ending of the staircase. The transition, for that is what it was, is seamless. The world is black and white, not only because its night, but the world itself looks like it was designed to be monochrome. A look at herself suggests that she herself is also patterned in this strange palette. Puddles on the sidewalk, illuminated by a streetlight, and the smell of rain is in the air. Behind Swan, a man in a fedora pushes past her as he exits the subway staircase that, to all appearances, she just emerged from. Ahead and all around her, the cityscape looks familiar, evocative of many cities in shadow she plied her trade. A zeppelin hangs in the gloomy sky, maneuvering slowly toward a tall Art Deco building in the middle distance. Swan pauses and drinks in her surroundings, a wistful smile curling her lips. She’s been away from the City too long; the rain-kissed concrete, the jaundiced lights, and smell of piss and garbage and possibility. A sensual shiver runs through her body, stirring old memories and desires. Pleased as punch, she even allows Mr. Pushy to keep all his teeth; her little contribution to benevolence and good-will. “Hey, doll.” comes a whistle and a voice. A youngish man stands behind a counter of a nearby newsstand. Recognition of Swan is in his eyes as he waves in her direction. Swan cocks her head, gasper rising at the corner of her mouth like an exclamation mark. She saunters over, all gams and mischief, jerking a nod. “Hays for horses, newsie. So, what’s the rumble?” "I'm here to give you the straight dope." the newsie says with a grin. "Rather than you wandering around the town like some Okie." He reaches under the counter and pulls out two thick brown envelopes. "You got three choices. Choice number one is to head back down that staircase and forget about where you were goin'. You might live longer that way." "Choice number two" he hands the first envelope over. "Is to knock over Miss White. She runs the One Horn Corporation, numbers, gin-running, that sort of thing. Miss White owns about half this city." "The last choice is to take out her main competition" He offers the other envelope."Mr Green. Owner of Fang, Unlimited. Much the same business as his rival. Some say he's been at it longer. They say he lost his right eye." The newsie brushes the lid of his brown irised right eye. "thanks to Miss White, long ago." "Savvy?" he finishes. Swan runs her thumb over the envelopes and smiles. “Savvy,” she says with a cat-eating-canary grin. She already knows how to go at this venture and it won't be pretty. “People better start investing in concrete overcoats, ‘cause I ain’t a beatin’-feet sorta tomato.” She folds the envelopes and sticks them into her coat. Another puff on her gasper, she measures the distance between her and the newsie. “So, what’s your angle in all of this, doll? Why so social like?” "My angle is simple." the newsie replies with a grin. "I'm the one who brought you here, and the one who will bring you back to the staircase once the deed is done, you've run, or you're a corpse." "I know you're pretty handy with those enchanted pistols of yours." he continues. "Shooting me might make your frustrations feel better, but it won't do you any good." The air around Swan’s hand shimmers and then solidifies into her angry-looking pistol. “Never underestimate the benefit of some honest tension release, pal,” she purrs, leveling the pistol at his head. The newsie is as cool as a cucumber, not even breaking into a sweat. Its hammer gives a satisfying click, chambering a round with oiled precision. The dark mouth hovers, hovers, then falls; Swan muttering foully. “My moll would be mighty sore if I fell back on old habits,” she admitted. “Fine. I see you when I see you.” She holsters the pistol and wanders down the street, looking for a gin joint to mull over the paperwork. There are plenty of places to eat, drink, and drink in this black and white city that evokes home. Swan is not wanting for options. Finally, a promising spot lures Swan in. It looks like a typical gin joint, with a bunch of patrons going about the business of drinking, with one bespectacled figure doing a crossword puzzle and a couple of pairs playing a card game with the aid of a pegged board. There is a piano player tinkling the ivories, too. The song he plays sounds, again, a lot like a song she heard long ago called "Don't blame me." As the music plays and Swan gets the look of the land, the bartender, with a white apron, speaks to Swan. "You'll want one of the back tables if you're lookin' for peace and quiet. You want a hooker, or a snort? We also have that green weird stuff from Albion, if you're into that." “One bourbon, one scotch, one beer,” Swan says over her gasper. “Back table. And some grub that ain’t got alley chicken in it.” "You'll have it" the Bartender says. She jerks a nod to the piano man and finds a table at the back with a good view of the door. She opens the envelopes and begins reading up on her new playmates. It feels just like old times; a smile curling her lips. At her back table, within 3 minutes, Swan has her drinks. Within 12 minutes, food arrives. It turns out to be a burger, covered in cheese, on Texas Toast. Within 20 minutes, Swan has a sense of the two jobs before her. As the newsie said, both Miss White and Mr. Green are powerful figures who mask their underworld connections with very public personas. Miss White was once, apparently, a Vice Mayor. Mr Green once headed the City Planning Board, a city council of sorts. Both live in towers that are on opposite ends of a street called Shadow Lane, that runs across the City. Their respective corporate headquarters are nearby to each apartment tower. Neither Miss White nor Mr. Green head out of their towers much, and always with escorts. Miss White likes to spend time at a small waterfall that runs through one of the city's parks. Mr. Green likes to attend concerts of the local Symphonic Orchestra. Swan makes note of their infrequent travel habits, memorizing the cityscape around both the park and concert hall. An old mentor of hers, Moxie, once taught her that fighting people wasn’t as useful as getting people to fight each other. Not only did it provide you plenty of cabbage at the beginning, but it also weakened both for when you finally made your final play. All they need is a little push and they’ll tear up the city like a pair of rumble fish in a bowl. These being highbinders, always a snooty bunch, they’ll be easier to cheese off. She puffs on the next in a string of gaspers, considering her first moves. She decides on Miss White, checking out what rackets she’s into - dope, numbers, pro skirts, gambling, or all of the above. All of the above, and more. She clearly has dipped her horn in a bit of everything. Mainly gambling, but a bit of everything else. After scanning the local rag about the upcoming ponies, Swan decides one of White’s bookies would be the best place to visit. Interestingly enough, the major racetrack is a hippodrome, and the racing here, archaically, is four-horse team chariots. There appear to be four major teams, the Blues, Greens, Whites and Reds. Despite what the names might suggest, neither Miss White nor Mr. Green actually own any of the teams (from what Swan can tell) but they do control all of the gambling around the racing. There is a big race tomorrow, and apparently Miss White's employee Kelevra is a bookie who handles a fair chunk of her racing gambling interests. Swan closes the folders and leaves some lettuce for the waitress on the table. She heads over to the bartender, jerking a nod. “I need a quiet place to flop that’s clean and has a phone. But more importantly, where people won’t ask questions.” "Where people won't ask questions." the bartender says thoughtfully. "I will have to think about it for a moment." the suggestion is obvious, and once Swan provides him with some green, his memory improves. "You probably want a place like The Ash Arms, over on Yigg Lane. Kind of in the center of the city, not the best neighborhood, but its not in one of the high rent districts, and doesn't attract a lot of attention. Also, the proprietor likes it peaceful and quiet, and doesn't try to find out much about his clientele." The bartender gives Swan a thumbnail set of directions to the place. It sounds like its off, not but too far off, the main drag across the city. Swan follows the bartender’s advice, heading over to the Ash Arms in a roundabout way – getting a better feel for the City. She rents a second-story room on the corner end of the building with a good view of the street and the alley, paying extra if she has too. A little extra lettuce gets Swan the room she wants. A little extra lettuce seems to be the rule around the Ash Arms to get anything. The smell of old sex and beer reminds her of the dives in Bete Noir, stirring a sense of nostalgia while she settles. Just like old times. She pays one of the hotel’s bellhops to grab her some new clothes – both women’s and men’s clothing; something elegant, something bullet-boy. He finds a little extra to be quick and keep his mouth shut. The bellhop, suitably bribed and paid, heads off on the errand. She looks through the files for one of Green’s chippies, anyone with a love for the ponies. That's easy. Given the popularity of the racing teams, Swan has a plethora of choices of people working for Mr. Green to choose from. Settling on Diane “the Smile,” Swan phones up Kelevra’s place and makes a generous bet – enough to get your legs broken, but not enough to tip the mark off. The big bet is placed, on an also-ran charioteer from the White team named Gavriel. . He hasn't won a race since the Green faction dropped him over a year ago. Kelevra seems to not have heard of Diane, and so the deception is well put in place. Not long after the bet is placed, the bellhop returns with two sets of clothing. Neither the male nor the female clothes would look out of place back in Bete Noire. "Are you one of those people who, um, likes to dress as a man or a woman?" the bellhop asks, nervously. "Like in one of the bars down Shadow lane?" Swan jerks nods for him to close the door behind him. “Just hand me the dress, kid,” she chuckles and strips out of her traveling clothes. With a waggle of her bare bottom, she slips the dress over her head, pulling it flush with her figure. “Zip me,” she purrs, hands on her hips. Hands shaking like a leaf in a windstorm, he does so. She gives a little spin, “So? Am I pleasing to the peepers?” The bellhop's nervousness has only increased since he delivered the clothes and helped to dress Swan. "Y...y...yess" he says. "Yes ma'am. You're a real Sheba" He manages to reduce his nervousness somewhat by suddenly becoming extremely interested in a spot on the floor between Swan's legs. "With that outfit from Willie's, you could go to the Opera or any high class joint you wanted." the bellhop says. "Puttin' on the Ritz" “Why thank you, doll. Just because I’m a button-girl doesn’t mean I can’t cut up a carpet,” Swan grins. She plants a soft kiss on his blushing cheek. “It’s nice to be looked at.” Said cheek blossoms and blooms a shade of red that would do a pomegranate proud. Slipping into the matching longcoat, she gives it the once over so her guns will lie perfectly without showing. “Why don’t you grab me a taxi, kid?” she says. “Tell them I’m going to the Symphonic tonight.” "Yes ma'am:" he says. "I'll call it immediately." She smirks, glancing over at him while getting a feel for the draw – the gun emerging from her coat, again, again, and again in panther quick snaps. “Unless you can give something else for me to put my mitts on,” she purrs. The bellboy turns just to see her remove one of the two pistols, and his mouth gapes open. Desire mixes with fear in his eyes, in equal combination. Beads of sweat form and drips from his brow in record time. The bellboy turns just to see her remove one of the two pistols, and his mouth gapes open. Desire mixes with fear in his eyes, in equal combination. Beads of sweat form and drips from his brow in record time. "A taxi for the symphonic" he says with a swallow. "As you wish." The bellhop's feet finally find the wherewithal to obey their commands, and so he exits from the room. Swan can hear him stumble on the staircase, still disconcerted by the encounter with her. In short order, though, through the window, Swan can see a figure, presumably the disconcerted bellhop, emerge from the hotel and to the street in front, intent on his errand. Swan checks herself in the mirror, giving a satisfied grin. “You just get prettier every damned day.” Before she leaves, she sets up a small ‘warning’ for herself - an empty pack of matches between frame and hinge, so if someone else opens the door, the book will drop out of sight. With that, she heads downstairs to wait for her taxi. The taxi, a large black with large headlights, cruises to a stop at the signal from the bellhop, at almost the precise moment that Swan exits the Ash Arms. The door is open and waiting for Swan to enter and the bellhop swallows nervously, again at Swan's approach. "Yer looking to hear the performance at the Symphonic tonight." the bushy haired driver, face visible in a long and wide rear view mirror, says, once Swan is inside the cab and the door is closed. "Leastways that's what the bellhop said." he adds. ""Course, looking as you do, if you were really goin' somewhere else, now'd be the time to spill." The bulky black cab starts in motion down the street. “No grift, all straight up,” Swan says, settling in. “I want to make an appearance tonight and I got a fondness for the cello.” She leans forward and slips him a century. Swan can see the driver's eyes boggle as he takes the note and look at it. “There’s another if you cool your jets outside, ‘case I need to make a clean sneak, savvy? That not kosher and you want to dangle, spill it now.” "No, no, I savvy." the driver says. "This is as much as I make in a night, two will keep me in drink and my boy in school for a bit longer." Once she’s got the driver’s yes-or-no, Swam looks through her new purse of the ticket to the symphony – which is ‘coincidentally’ stuck in the zipper compartment along with her compact and burgundy lipstick. Funny enough, the first time she tries this trick, it doesn't work. The ticket is simply not there. When Swan tries again, in a different compartment and a more deliberate act of will, she manages to find the ticket. The ticket is for one of the luxury boxes. If Mr. Green doesn't go slumming, she will definitely be up close and personal. She paints herself up as they mosey, eager to get noticed by Green without waving her arms in the air. By the time Swan is satisfied with her appearance, the cab is pulling up to a gleaming glass cube of a building, quite anachronistically modern looking by the standards of the city. There is a circular drop off area, with a number of limos, gleaming cars, and not a few cabs, too, letting people out. "After I drop you off, I'll pull as far forward as I can here and wait for you there." the cabbie says as he starts maneuvering the bulky large black car into the line of cars and inches it forward as the line moves. "Lucky for me I've got me a copy of Sprunk's latest novel to read while you listen to the Orchestra." “Sounds like a plan,” Swan says, waiting for an usher to open the door for her. “See you in a jiff.” After exiting the cab, she glances around, as if lost. In truth, she’s getting a feel of the crowd, while letting them get a gander at her too. Not seeing Green amongst the rubes, she heads inside and lets the staff lead her to the ticketed seat. The place isn’t half bad, but a little posh for her tastes. Still, always nice to bump elbows with the Ritz. Taking her seat, she pretends to read her playbill, but spends most of the time scanning faces covertly. It takes a while for Swan to spot Mr. Green, and, it must be said, vice versa. Most of the attention of everyone is on the start of the performance, or other people, but a few people give Swan a once-over now and again. Mr. Green, obviously her mark from the photograph in the dossier the newsie supplied, enters his box late, sitting at one end of the box, one box down from Swan. This means that he can't help but now and again see Swan. He is very casual about it, but he can't help but notice and study her, especially during the relatively soft sections of the concert. As the Orchestra comes to a stop for intermission, there is a soft cough from behind Swan. "A message from Mr. Green" the attendant, dressed in a brass buttoned grey uniform with a cap, says a folded piece of paper in his hand. Swan makes it a point to glance around, as if searching for the note’s provider. Her eyes drift over Green, but do not linger. He is playing it extremely cool, not really looking in Swan's direction. Its obvious to a skilled pro like Swan that he is overplaying that hand. She opens the note and examines it carefully while the attendant waits for her reply. The note is written in a patient, exacting script, in ink of the deepest black, on crisp white paper. "Miss Diane, I would appreciate the pleasure of your company for the second half of the concert. O. Green" Swan gives a faint smile and nods. “But, of course,” she says, tipping the attendant. She stands up and crosses the room, making her way over to Green. She flashes a grin, sitting down beside him as if she belongs there. “Got your note,” she says. "Couldn't resist." "Of course you couldn't" Green says, turning and fixing his eyes on Swan. (casting call: Dwayne Johnson) OOC: Oh crap, it’s The Rock! "You must admit, Miss Diane, if I didn't know any better, you were practically waving a flag to get some attention. The only question is if I was the person you were trying to attract. Certainly, if a woman puts on the ritz, she is looking to be seen. The question is, is someone else going to be disappointed tonight." He gives a wide, even grin. Swan takes a puff on her gasper and smirks, “Play your cards right and you won’t be the one cryin’ in his milk tomorrow, Greenie.” "Call me Octavian" Green says. She raises a brow, looking up into his eyes with devilish amusement. Her hand plays along his bicep, “So, tell me, who’s your tailor? ‘Cause, doll, he’s gotta be one highbrowed fella to get you into tails this sharp. Me like. About time I met a cultured man that won’t break easy.” Octavian Green straightens the lapel of his dark gray suit with one hand. The other hand moves to cup Swan's wrist, but not so hard as to take possession of it. Not yet. "I employ a tailor on retainer, Miss Diane." he says. "He is paid well for the work that he does. Very well. I am generous to those I favor, and merciless to those that cross me." Being so close to Green now, Swan can see something unusual about him that the dossier given to her failed to mention. Octavius' Green left eye is not real at all. Its a good facsimile, but it is a facsimile nevertheless. Swan jerks a nod, “Then we play the same game, Green. Good to know.” She lets him have her wrist for now. She has another one after all. The eye interests her. She gives it a quick once-over with her mage-sight before looking back at the main stage. The eye radiates something powerful. More than ordinary magic, it radiates a power able to affect reality. Something...primal. “So, anything else I should know about you before we begin?” In the background, the orchestra has resumed its performance, switching to a more lively allegretto. "The question really is, Miss Diane, is what I should know about you." Octavian replies. His fingers play along the skin of Swan's wrist like piano keys. "I can see you are not as you say." "My question is, are you here with your decision made, or are you looking to be swayed by myself or my counterpart?" She lets out a low purr - a pantheress in fancy dress. The attention is welcome, his fingers strong and skillful. Not a woman’s hand. Not ‘Lex’s soft touch. But it will do for the time being. “I’m a free spirit,” Swan admits. “Never make up your mind until the facts come in. So, until then, I’m keeping my ear to the ground. Haven’t parleyed with Ms. Whiter Shade of Pale, yet. But that bird looks a little overcooked.” She shrugs and then laces her fingers with his, squeezing his hand. "I also expected impulsiveness." Octavian replies, squeezing the hand back. "Making a choice and seeing to it, perhaps stopping to see the Other before the deed is done. Or perhaps a more radical solution, and try and kill us both. It has been known to happen when those such as you enter into this." he replies. His voice is low, modulated so as not to overly disturb the concert. Swan can hear every note even as Green speaks. "If facts are what you seek, then facts you shall receive." Octavian says. "Consider, your mate is bound to my side of the city, as well as those you have established a good working relationship. Their fates lie in my part of the city." "What has my counterpart's side given you, besides life? Perhaps that is worthy of your fealty, I prefer to believe that one should ally with whom one desires, regardless of blood. And the taint of the power you have taken has made you less of her creature, and more of a creature of your own desires. You have the ability to choose." Swan gives a faint snort, impressed that he knows as much as he does about her. Then again, this is all spiritual illusion or some such, isn’t it? She smiles faintly to herself as the possibilities are laid before her, painted in elegant words. With a shrug, she says, “Actually, I intended to fit you both for concrete overcoats. More my style, really. Wanted to check you both out before the day. I like knowing who I pull the trigger on. And nothing beats watching the light go out from someone’s eyes, so I like to be up close when I do it.” A warm tingle shivers through her body and down her arm. Octavian looks into Swan's eyes, as if divining her inner thought. “Or I could just not play the game at all,” she admits. “I’m sure I could throw a serious monkey in the wrench before whatever Highbinder that runs this joint can stop me.” Her head rests on his thick shoulder, "Freedom, doll. That's what I live for." "Lady Death." Octavian says "An agent of the ultimate freedom. The ultimate Siren. You should choose what feels right to you." Octavian says. "Although it would be rather...painful for you to choose to kill me, I admit." His laugh is hearty, and drowns out the concert for Swan and others. No one dares to look in his direction, though. "Although if anyone can make that death seem...appealing, you do." Swan smirks, “I may be as sweet as silk when it comes to the Long Goodbye, but what I can do with the Little Death is even yummier.” Her laugh joins his, more musical and pleasing. “And nil perspiration. I like a little pain.” "You will not find my counterpart so accommodating." Octavian adds with a grin. "Although to be fair, you should meet her before you make your decision." “Sounds like a plan, Stan,” Swan purrs. “But in the meantime, let’s enjoy the show, shall we?” After a moment, she lifts her head. She gives him a cat-eating-canary look. “By the way. I’d intended to make my intro another way, but you beat me to the punch. So, when I lose at the races tomorrow, feel free to send whatever knee-breakers you want after me. I could use the workout.” "Ah, yes, the hippodrome." Octavian says. "The true center of this city's life. It would be disappointing if you did not attend tomorrow. If it is blood sport you are seeking, blood sport you can have, Lady Death." He folds his hands and then shuts up, as the music to the third movement of the symphony swells to a finale, and then leads into its fourth. This one, done in an even more lively style, holds the interest of all of the patrons of the concert hall,ending in a triumphant section brings the patrons to their feet at its finale. "A pity. The composer never lived to ever see this produced." Octavian murmurs to Swan as he, too, rises and applauds. “Decomposers always make the best opera,” Swan says, standing up and clapping in kind. When the audience begins to mill out, she gives Green a friendly smile. “Well, until tomorrow then? Thank you for the lovely evening.” "Until the races." Octavian says, bowing. "I look forward to what will likely be a most entertaining day at the races." He walks away, not looking back, as the rest of the audience files out in quick succession. When Swan gets back to the car, the driver is waiting for her, sitting on the hood, reading a novel. It has a picture of a armed and armored battlebabe on the cover. "Light's Daughter, by Johann Sprunk" "I have been given a note for you, lady." the bushy haired driver says, closing the book. He offers Swan a folded piece of paper with a rampant unicorn seal, in black. "I think you've attracted some attention." Swan lights up a gasper, sucking down the toxic fumes like honey. A little ritz and music were fine, but an hour or two without a smoke was pure torture. At least her fancy dress hadn’t chaffed her fun-bags too much. How the hell had she done this for 80 years of her life? Unicorn be blessed for tank tops and jean. And speaking of the Unicorn. . . She leans in and snags the note with a wicked grin, “I’m a personable lady, gee. What did the mug look like?” "It wasn't a man at all." the driver says. "Rather it was a lady, one of them that attended the opera. Black hair, red dress..." The driver closes his eyes as if in remembrance and grins to himself. "As if she was trying to rival Yourself in the looks department. Didn't give her name, or say anything except. "Give this to the Cainesdottir. I figured that was you, no matter that I didn't recognize the title." Swan frowns, “Unfortunately, yeah, ‘cause you can’t choose your parents.” The smile returns, “Rivals my good looks or surpasses, hrm?” "There is something about you that she could not quite match" the driver says. There is an obvious ring of truth to his words. Swan leans in and gives him a kiss on the cheek. “You’re a doll.” The note, on the other hand is written in an elegant hand: "Swan, You should have a care about flirting with the wrong side of the Tree. Those of your blood should remember respect for your sire and the imprint that you carry It would be unfortunate if it should turn against you. Make your choices with that in mind. We will speak soon" --Miss White" Swan crumples up the paper and fires it into a nearby trashcan. “More chest-thumpin’. When are these mooks gonna learn I don’t scare?” She slides into the front seat and jerks a nod to the driver. “Home, James. Looks like I have a tête-à-tête tomorrow. I need you up front at seven sharp. It’s more lettuce and the pleasure of my company.” "7 in the morning" 'James' agrees. He soon has Swan transported across the city and back at the Ash Arms. Several moments after he puts the big car into park, he gets out and rushes over to open the passenger door to the cab with preternatural speed. "My name is Bledsoe, by the way." he says, as he stands by the cab door. "And I will be here in the morning, as promised. Good night, ma'am." he adds. Swan graces him with a feline grin, patting his cheek. “Bledsoe. Well, Bledsoe, I’ll see you in the morning. I hope you know the best place for a cup of Joe, ‘cause we’ll need it before the day gets rolling. Catch you on the flip-side.” And with that, she retires for the night. The night passes uneventfully, and Swan actually gets some rest shorn of turgid dreams, secret messages or anything else. Regardless of the reality of this world, to be able to sleep in a real bed for the first time since the train is comfort in and of itself. It's needed. By seven am, morning ablutions done, a check outside the window shows Swan that Bledsoe and the shiny black cab is idling outside of the hotel. He's sitting on the hood of the car, the same book he was reading last night in hand. He looks up and gives a nod to Swan's window as she looks out, as if he somehow knew that she was there, looking. Swan slides into the back seat, dressed in a more casual flapper style. The looser, shapeless fit helps hides the guns under her coat. “First things first, Bled. We need bagels, loxs, and some Joe,” she says. “And then to the park. Ms. White will be cooling her heels there until I come to dangle with her.” She smiles at him in the rear view mirror, “And bonus on the punctuality.” She smiles at him in the rear view mirror, “And bonus on the punctuality.” "Coffee and breakfast" Bledsoe says. "I know just the place." Ten minutes later, Bledsoe has brought [Swan] by a place called "Coffeesmith" and she can get both coffee, and a couple of fresh poppyseed bagels, both plied with lox and cream cheese. It tastes and looks close enough to familiar as to be indistinguishable. There is even that slight hint of onion to the cream cheese that reminds Swan of a place back home. Swan moans happily; bagels, coffee, and gaspers… was there anything better in life? "How do you know Miss White will be at the park?" Bledsoe asks, returning the car to the streets. Swan smiles, “Creatures of Order are also creatures of habit. She’ll be there. And she knows I know that, savvy?” "So she will be there." Bledsoe agrees. "Probably at Ramsey Falls. I'll park so that you don't have to tromp halfway across the Park to get to it." Good as his word, Bledsoe maneuvers the big black car onto a narrow road that twists through the park like a demented piece of spaghetti. If he took the curves, hills and dips at high speed, Swan could imagine that passengers of a delicate constitution might return the lovely breakfast from whence it came. Fortunately, Bledsoe seems to have taken Swan's measure as far as that is concerned, and Swan most decidedly does not feel nauseous. Instead, the car is soon stopped in front of a large wooden sign proclaiming the path to the waterfall's overlook. "Just down the path and across the bridge to the Observation deck." Bledsoe says, as he puts the car into park." He pauses and looks at Swan. "Should I keep the car idling for a fast escape?" “May as well,” she says, closing the door behind her. “I’ll be visiting Mr. Green next. So have your dance shoes on.” She jerks him a nod and heads down the path, in search of the incomparable Ms. White. Two days later, the deeds are done. Both Ms White and Mr. Green lay dead thanks to Swan's bullets. Neither of them were easy targets; even Mr. Green, killed in flagrante delicato, was no easy mark for Swan. He very nearly turned the tables and choked the life from Swan before his eyes died thanks to her bullets. But both do die at her hands. Funny enough, as Green died,all roads, all streets returned to the newspaper stand by the subway entrance that Swan emerged into this vision from. There was literally no other place to go. "Well" the newsman says to Swan. "I didn't expect that solution, although perhaps I should have." "Congratulations, you found a third way. I'd say that you were now entitled to be addressed Peregrinus, but I think you'd just never use the appellation anyway." He shrugs. "The staircase back down Mount Fantoom is down the subway stairs." he uses his index finger to point. "Unless you have any more questions." --- Top --- Alex closes her eyes and nods, taking in a deep breath as she does so. "I will," she whispers as Caz disappears from sight. Her eyes have opened long enough to watch his leave taking before closing again. 'Which way do I go?' she asks her soul. 'As much as I want to follow in Swan's footsteps, I know that I can't. I have to forge my own way. But which way is best?' She carefully listens to the beating of her heart and, with eyes still closed, unerringly gathering a stone into her palm. She stands straight, and begins to turn herself in a slow, lazy circle. The pebble rests on her finger tips, with only fate deciding at which point it falls to the ground. As soon as she heard it leave her fingers, her circle ends, her eyes open and she prepares to follow the path that the stone has directed her to. "For good or for ill, there go I," she announces to the quiet mountain around her. And then she takes her first step. The stone points down one of the leftside paths, and Alex, too, disappears... The staircase quickly turns to a smooth ramp, and the surroundings, in a few steps, change from a windswept mountain in Chaos, to a tunnel in some sort of building. The smell of the place strikes Alex at first as she looks out from a tunnel into an open area. The chaotic, enclosed environment is an additional clue to Alex as to where she has found herself. Around her is the Minneapolis St-Paul Arcology. In fact she is on level 3, near the Caribou Coffee. And standing outside of it are Theo Pikul and Ivanova, as if waiting for her. A feeling of home wells in her heart the moment she realizes where she is. It may not be where she was born, but in a lot of ways, it was where she was made. And the two people waiting outside for her helped with that journey. A smile lights Alex's face as she lazes her way toward them. Her full pack rests comfortably on her back, her skirt swirling around her legs as she moves. An incongruity, that is Alex from start to finish. When she's within speaking distance of her old friends, her smile widens more. "Waiting for me, or am I just lucky?" She may not know why they are here - or if, in fact, they really are here. But their arrival must be a key to her succeeding on her walk. And she's ready to find out what that key is. "We're glad to see you." Theo says enthusiastically, as Alex comes into earshot. "Very glad" Ivanova says, waving Alex to come closer. "We thought you had gone off with that strange man who was messaging you. What was his name?" Ivanova squints and then shakes her head. "You are staying here, right?" Theo says. "We need your help. We've got that raid, after all." Alex is momentarily taken aback. The raid, the problems they'd been facing... it felt like so many years ago. Time had rushed on for her. Their fight was no longer the center of her universe. Yet... yet, they were her friends. The people that had supported her when she first came here, who taught her how to fight... and how to win. She couldn't abandon them. But she couldn't abandon Swan or Caz or any of the rest either. Maybe theirs wasn't a fight in the same manner as what she'd been dealing with in the Arcology. Yet... yet... "I..." She paused, her mind flipping between two possibilities. Turn right toward her first friends and the fight she wanted to help them win, or turn left toward being nobility in a very strange land, with a beautiful woman by her side. Turn right. Turn left. Turn right. Turn left. "I can't stay," she finally replies, her head bent and her eyes downcast. "At least, not forever. There's been so much.... so many things." Taking a deep sigh, she raises her head again to look between Ivanova and Theo, certain she'll find disappointment, maybe even anger there. "I can help with the raid, I think. If nothing else, I can makes some of my Nitros for you... give you the formula so you can always make more." "Do we have time for a coffee?" she inclines her head toward the nearby Caribou Coffee, wanting to sit with her friends, to make them understand why she can't stay. "It seems that you have made your decision." Theo says, a disappointed tone in his voice. "Now, Theo." Ivanova says. "We should let her articulate her decision.Getting a vanilla cooler or a depth charge would do just fine." They lead Alex into the faux-wooden caribou coffee and in short order are sitting with Alex at a small table. Ivanova sips a vanilla cooler and Theo stares at a cold pressed iced coffee. "So, time to articulate, Alex." Ivanova says. "Why can't you stay?" Alex takes a sip of her own iced coffee, using the time to find the right words. So much has happened, there is so much to tell. And she's honestly uncertain where to start. "I'm closer to finding my dad," she begins. Not long after her arrival, she'd told those closest to her her story, why that need to find the man who she so resembled was important to her. She her statement now would speak volumes. "The man that was messaging me is my cousin, Cazaril. He was sent to find me, to bring me home to my father. Apparently," she shakes her head with a chuckle, still surprised by the truth, "I'm a princess. And my love of explosions is just a small part of my... legacy, I guess. Including people trying to kill me." Leaning forward, she tells her friends some of what what she's experienced while she's been gone - the train ride, the search for Esperance, the second train ride with the subsequent attack. She doesn't tell them about her impetuousness in following Swan on their little walk, or the powers she gained from it. Not that she doesn't trust them - she does, with her life. But it has become to personal of a journey for her to share right now. For a moment, she debates leaving out the greatest reason that she can't stay. But she knows that wouldn't be fair to her friends - nor would it be fair to Swan. Both Theo and Ivanova have listened attentively, not touching their beverages as Alex has told her story. "And," she takes a deep breath, hands wrapped around her drink for strength, "I've got someone waiting for me. My soul mate. She's been traveling with us and... I can't imagine life without her." She swallows hard, looking between Theo and Ivanova, hoping that they'll understand. "She has more than one reason to leave." Ivanova says. "She does" Theo says, with a resigned voice. he looks at Alex. "It appears that I badly misjudged you, daughter of Dalt." The voice is no longer Theo's. "I suspected a conflict in you between the world you gave up and the world you are seeking." "And yet she must make a striving." Ivanova says. "Merely to say that she wishes to go to Chaos to become a Princess and keep the one she adores is not enough to pass the test." "Not nearly enough." Theo says, looking at Alex. The gaze in his eyes is inhuman. --- Top --- "Lady" she continues, looking at Espérance. "I will choose a path adjoining the one you do. I suspect your bonded demon will do the same." Hugo barks once. "I'll take the middle, then, and make sure there's room for both of you," Espérance replies, and starts up the steepest of the pathways. That way, she figures, nobody else will have to take it. Espérance disappears up the steep middle path. Kolfa takes the one immediately to her right, and Hugo trots up the path to its left. The staircase is steep, and after ten minutes of climbing, she can feel the burn in her calves. Something does seem odd to her, by this point. Mists have grown up around her, mists that she did not remember seeing before, until they were there. The mists mostly but do not completely obscure the fact that there is a sheer drop on both sides of the staircase. Its almost as if she was no longer on the mountain anymore. Twenty steps above her, out of the midsts, appears someone. A tall, lean, skeletal looking figure, male and unclothed, and more distinctly so, four armed. Each of those arms holds a cavalry-type sword. Pools of blackness in place of eyes watch Espérance carefully, assessing her. Espérance pauses and looks up at the creature, catching his what-pass-for-eyes with her own, while with the other hand she unobtrusively loosens her sword in its scabbard. She's never been one to start a fight she doesn't have to, but she's ready for one if it's necessary. "Greetings, sir," she says courteously. "I need to gain the top of this path. I realize that, given its conformation, passing each other may be a little tricky..." "Passing each other is Not Possible." the creature, in a male voice with an accent from Riverside, replies. This accent is clear and distinct despite the gaunt mouth that that has more than a human's 32 teeth. "You have two choices, child of Sawall," the creature continues. "Turn around and abandon the Stair. Far better than you have given up. Far stronger and more skilled scions have abandoned the Path." "You're just saying that," Espérance murmurs. More loudly she replies, "I'm afraid I have people waiting for me at the other end. Going back is not an option." "Then, if you wish to pass me and meet your companions, then prove your resolve to do so." the creature finishes. "To the Yield, will do. I have no wish to die, and would sooner sack the Maze of Art than kill you." "I prefer to avoid deaths I'm not being paid for, myself," Espérance responds dryly. "To the Yield, then." She draws her sword, keeping Draconis Argentum in reserve (as a bracer) for now, and salutes her opponent. "Might I have your name, sir?" she inquires courteously. "Few have the courtesy to ask my name the first time they attempt this path." the creature replies, in a pleased tone. "It is clear, Child of Sawall, that you were raised with a modicum of manners." "Thus, I will honor you by telling you that you may call me K'Anpo." the creature says, saluting Espérance with the sword in his upper right hand. "Espérance St. Vier," she reciprocates, returning his salute. This done, K'Anpo steps back up one step, and settles all four blades into a defensive stance. He is clearly ceding the initiative to Espérance, but with that, imposing the difficulty of getting through an imposing tangle of blades defending her opponent. Not quite like fighting four independent swordsmen, Espérance thinks. These will be, she presumes, perfectly coordinated and will not tend to get in each other's way. On different terrain she would attempt a flanking movement, so as to have to deal with only two swords at a time, but on the narrow stair this is impossible. Or is it? She risks a quick glance above their heads... The staircase is steep enough that Espérance could, if she wanted to risk it, leap over K'Anpo, like the fable of Jack and the Beanstalk, and land on the staircase behind him. Is it more difficult than the jumping and roof-running she is used to? Probably. Does it look out of the question? No, no it doesn't. There is nothing above their heads, either, but clear sky (a powder blue in color) K'Anpo does not replicate Espérance's head motion, instead he is resolutely watching her body movements, tensing for the attack he expects. Espérance thinks Draconis Argentum into a clawed cestus, then advances rapidly to engage K'Anpo. Her immediate intent is to disarm him as much as possible without either of them taking wounds. The cestus should protect her hand even if she grabs a naked blade with it, while her own blade engages the others. Draconis Argentum flows quickly and smoothly into the form of the battle glove, silver mesh with accents of black. K'Anpo seems surprised by the tactic, and he loses one of his swords (his right lower one) to her gambit before he can react. The two swords in his left hands move with a steady beat, trying to break through Espérance's blade. Her sword arm gets more work as she manages to pull free the other blade from K'Anpo and send that off of the staircase as well. Both Espérance and K'anpo have small scratches by the end of this exchange, nothing especially serious or debilitating. K'Anpo does not replicate Espérance's head motion, instead he is resolutely watching her body movements, tensing for the attack he expects. Espérance thinks Draconis Argentum into a clawed cestus, then advances rapidly to engage K'Anpo. Her immediate intent is to disarm him as much as possible without either of them taking wounds. The cestus should protect her hand even if she grabs a naked blade with it, while her own blade engages the others. Draconis Argentum flows quickly and smoothly into the form of the battle glove, silver mesh with accents of black. K'Anpo seems surprised by the tactic, and he loses one of his swords (his right lower one) to her gambit before he can react. The two swords in his left hands move with a steady beat, trying to break through Espérance's blade. Her sword arm gets more work as she manages to pull free the other blade from K'Anpo and send that off of the staircase as well. Both Espérance and K'anpo have small scratches by the end of this exchange, nothing especially serious or debilitating. K'Anpo at this point decides to yield space for tempo and retreats up the staircase quickly,keeping one of the left hand swords in a defensive position as he maneuvers to transfer the other to a right hand. "You wield one of the Puissant Weapons of Chaos" K'Anpo says, a surprised tone in his voice. Espérance grins. "You noticed." K'Anpo's retreat gives her the space she needs for a running start. She charges up the staircase, but instead of engaging her opponent's blades, she makes a flying leap over his head. At the same instant she thinks Draconis Argentum into a grappling hook, casting it in front of her to anchor on the stairs behind K'Anpo. Her own blade is positioned to parry any strike he may make at her as she goes over him. The launching leap starts its execution without a hitch, as Espérance vaults herself into the air above the four-armed warrior. He does try to back up and get a shot in as she flies past. His upper blade is resoundingly blocked by Espérance's own, and his lower blade manages to do little more than get the shallowest of scratches on her right calf before she is out of range. With the hook, she is able to land on her target stair with both feet. She immediately spins to face her opponent, thinking Draconis Argentum into a second sword and assuming a guard position. As he tries to manage it, it appears that turning around on the staircase, for K'Anpo, is at best an awkward task, and so Dara's daughter has a relatively unobstructed line to K'Anpo's back, as well as a free run up the staircase if she should wish to disengage from the encounter entirely. Espérance neither attacks K'Anpo from behind nor runs away. Instead she waits until he finishes turning around and then asks him, "Are we through, or would you prefer another round?" A look of surprise is on the four-armed creature's face as he completes the maneuver, to find Espérance's words, rather than the alternatives. His eyes narrow but his two remaining swords are not lowered as yet. "The nature and scope of this duel has changed." K'Anpo says. "You continue to surprise as an opponent, Espérance St. Vier." He pauses. "However, I am bound by the laws and customs set by the Mountain. You have not yet bested me. Not quite yet." "En garde." He starts up the staircase, blades at the ready. Although Espérance now has the tactical advantage, K'Anpo seems undaunted by this. It may be a redoubling of his efforts, or something else at play, but as he advances toward her, the blades are held a little more skillfully, the blades moving just a little more fluidly and with finer ability than in their first clash of steel. Espérance lets him come on, seeing no reason to lose the steps she's managed to advance. Watching K'Anpo, she effortlessly adjusts her estimate of his skill upwards. Nevertheless, she now has a tactical advantage in a form of combat she's practiced all her life. She lets that hard-won skill take over as she engages her opponent, again seeking to disarm rather than wound, and keeping alert for surprises. While K'Anpo's ability has certainly and preternaturally improved over their first clash of blades, Espérance does have a tactical advantage from their first pass that she can use to negate his increase in displayed and evident skill. And, this time, K'Anpo only has two blades to wield, rather than the more imposing four. Blood is drawn this time, another scratch along the arm for Espérance. She has and had opportunities to do the same, but given her approach, opportunities to return the favor. Instead, the left blade falls away after a masterful bit of swordplay with her blade and Draconis Argentum. Left with one blade, K'Anpo does have one more surprise in store for Espérance. He steps back, giving a bit of retreat. It looks at first as if he is trying to lure her into an advance, but K'anpo has a different trick in store. He grasps the hilt with both of his upper hands, and the blade grows, and enlarges to accommodate the additional grip. In short order, he is wielding a different and larger sword than what Espérance usually sees: a two handed Zweihänder Espérance thinks briefly that under the circumstances she's lucky it's not a Vierhänder. With a grin, the four armed swordsman advances to the attack, arms firmly grasping the enlarged weapon, intent on foiling Espérance's attempts at disarming and cut her down in the bargain. The first thing Espérance does is think Draconis Argentum into a small shield. She's quite confident of the enchanted weapon's ability to take the large sword's blows without breaking; she is not so sanguine about the strength of her usual blade, which is designed for combat with swords more its own size. She then goes mainly on the defensive, but waits her chance for an opening. K'Anpo may have four arms, but he still only has two feet. A grappling hook can also be used to entangle, and with one good yank, her opponent might be headed the same way his other three blades went. The sequence of blows that K'Anpo rains down on Draconis Argentum vary between raw power and what skill one can manage with such an ungainly weapon. As a silver and black shield, the weapon accomplishes the job, deflecting blow after blow. Espérance does manage the occasional small prick of her blade against her opponent but nothing serious. It eventually occurs to Espérance that K'Anpo is trying to simply wear her down and break her defenses that way. [OOC: He'd catch cold at that. IIRC Endurance was one of the Attributes I spent points on. ;)] [Yes indeed. K'Anpo doesn't know that though] Fortunately, for Espérance, this means that K'Anpo leaves her opportunities for her to go on the offense, and finally, she can take one. Draconis Argentum flows into the shape rapidly, and K'Anpo's inexperience with fighting against it spells trouble. Released as a grappling hook, K'Anpo is surprised as he falls backward and down. Hands try to grasp the staircase and fail as he goes careening. His body above the waist hangs out in space, while his entangled legs desperately dig in their heels. Gravity is quickly winning out over his leg muscles. Espérance hauls back on the line to prevent K'Anpo from falling ... for now. "You want to let go of the pig-sticker?" she asks him. "I'll take that as your surrender." K'Anpo lets go of the two handed sword immediately and without preamble. It falls away from him, down, and down, spinning into the seemingly infinite empty space below the staircase. "I yield." he adds, fighting to keep himself from joining his sword on a perpetual fall. Mentally enjoining Draconis Argentum to hold on good and tight, Espérance sheathes her own sword and makes her way hand- over-hand down the line to where she can get a good foothold and at the same time extend a hand to K'Anpo. She is on the watch for him to try something underhanded, though she doesn't really expect it: If he yanked her over the edge at this point, he'd go too. Besides, he has impressed her as an honorable being. K'anpo watches intently as Espérance carefully makes her way down toward him. Its a close run thing, with his mass and size, his stability on the staircase is extremely limited and he nearly does topple over before a hand from Espérance is enough to help get him righted and upright. There is no underhandedness in him at all, he sinks to his knees and presses four hands against the stairs once he is safely removed from danger. "The dis-corporation that would have resulted would have been extremely unpleasant." K'Anpo says, raising his eyes to her. "I thank you for saving me the experience. Less than half of those who have defeated me in a similar manner have been so considerate as to prevent me from falling." Espérance arches an eyebrow. "You've been through this before, then? Including the fall?" "Unfortunately, I have died several times in this scenario, and more in other scenarios facing those who attempt the mountain." he replies "Yet here you are," muses Espérance. "So how much of this is real? If I'd been the one to go over the edge, what would have happened?" "You may have returned to the base of the mountain, injured, defeated, but alive." K'anpo begins. "Aspirants have been known to die in the challenges they face, however. You may have died." "Every journey contains the possibility of death," he adds, as if quoting an axiom. Espérance reflects that that's certainly been true of her journey so far. "As for myself, I cannot permanently die in these challenges until my service has been completed." he adds. Espérance nods thoughtfully, then asks, "Is this a service you volunteered for? If that's not an impertinent question." "It is an honor to serve the Church and the Serpent in this fashion." K'Anpo says. "Even as the service has changed my nature and will change it when it is complete." "What remains now, for you, is to ascend to the top and formalize your victory over the mountain." K'Anpo adds, slowly rising to his feet. "I'll welcome your company," Espérance says courteously. Proceeding up the stairs, Espérance continues, "I have to say I don't count the climb as equivalent to the duel, though. It's -- different, somehow. I don't feel a mountain -- or anything else, for that matter -- is conquered by my climbing it, not the way a person is. It isn't changed by the experience, for one thing." "It is not my place to decide how those who climb the mountain are tested." K'anpo says. The climb up the stairs is slow and arduous, the top of the staircase slowly approaching with each tread. "However, every one who does faces a challenge, or a test of one kind or another. Some tests, like yours, are a straightforward assessment of skill. Others are tests of determination. Still others are a test of personality, to determine if the aspirant is true to their character or to any ideal at all. For all of these tests, however, I am present, as obstacle, guide, participant or observer." "Your guide, having accomplished the test already, faces a different challenge," K'Anpo adds. "And here we are." Indeed, the staircase comes up to a wide plateau of rock. The mists do not quite hide a downward sloping path on the far side of the plateau, roughly the size of a square back in Riverside. "Kneel in the center." K'anpo instructs, those black eyes regarding Espérance. "And we will formalize your victory." Espérance follows K'Anpo's instructions. As she kneels, she also draws her sword and lays it crosswise in front of her, an almost automatic gesture of offering the service of her blade. "By the power vested me by the Serpent and the Church created to serve him, I, K'anpo, Master of the Mountain, certify and witness that Espérance, known as Espérance St. Vier, has completed the challenge of Mount Fantoom. She is forever entitled to the appellation of Peregrinus in recognition of this feat. She is further entitled, if she so wishes, to enter into the Cathedral of the Serpent at the Plaza at the End of the World, should she wish to join an Order." He makes a gesture over Espérance's head, his left hand making a sinuous vertical motion. "It is done. Two of your companions are already making their way down the mountain; you may go and join them now" K'anpo says. Espérance rises, sheathes her sword, then bows to K'Anpo with a flourish of her plumed hat. "I thank you, K'Anpo of the Mountain. I don't know if it's likely that we'll meet again. If we do..." She grins. "...I hope you'll join me for a drink." "It will likely be more than twelve thousand turns of the sky before my service is complete and I might return to the Courts. But I will hold you to your offer, Espérance St Vier, bearer of Draconis Argentum. I suspect that you will not be difficult to find." She then turns and heads for the sloping path on the other side of the plaza. The sloping path is far less severe than the staircase, and in point of fact appears to be the diametric opposite of that steep staircase. Espérance walks down and down the path without much apparent progress thanks to the fog, and sees no one for what seems like an hour. And then, coming back bounding up the mountain path toward Espérance is her loyal four legged friend. Down in the mists out of view, the voice of Kolfa calls in Hugo's and Espérance's direction. "By the Serpent's missing eye, why are you headed up the mountain? We're supposed to be headed down it." "Hugo!" Espérance calls, crouching down to greet the big dog. Hugo is extremely happy to see Espérance, and spends a few moments demanding attention, as if he had not seen her for days, or even longer. Espérance is more than happy to give Hugo the attention, putting her arms around his shaggy neck and ruffling his ears. Then she calls through the fog, "Kolfa, is that you?" "Lady?" comes the voice, and now that she listens to it with more care, it does sound like the Jesby. She emerges out of the fog, up the slope. A brief look of scold at Hugo turns to one of respect for Espérance. She goes to one knee and bows her head. "I am pleased to see that you have passed the test as well as I and your demon." Kolfa says. "I have seen naught of the others." She rises from her one-knee position. "It may be taking them longer," Espérance observes, rising from her crouched position at Hugo's side. She looks curiously at Kolfa. "What did you run into ... or shouldn't I ask? I'll understand if it's supposed to be private." "I was not told it was private." Kolfa says. "And thus, lest I be struck down for impiety, I shall tell you." She looks back up the mountain briefly, as if trying to spot someone, and then returns her gaze to Espérance. "My challenge was a deadly course of obstacles, Lady," Kolfa says. "One that challenged my ability to shift and get through a number of impediments. Much like the sort of training given to warriors in Jesby," she said. "It was difficult but I managed them all." "The real challenge came at the end, when there was a fork in the path. One path led to a gently sloping pyramid that I had to climb, and the other led to a large, imposing black and silver wall to climb." "I think that was the real test," she says. "Pyramids are a symbol of Jesby. The black and silver wall is a symbol of Sawall." she explains. Hugo thumps his tail in punctuation to Kolfa's story. "Yes, I do recall seeing that pyramid," Espérance notes dryly. "The symbol, that is." The first time she saw it was when it turned up as a tattoo on one of seven mysterious attackers who'd erupted into the Duchess of Tremontaine's May Day celebrations. "So it was a test of my endurance as well as a test of personality." Kolfa says. "I think that these tests are meant for character as well as being physically able to survive. I chose,as you might imagine, lady, to tackle the wall. It was a difficult climb, but I managed the ascent successfully." "I then found myself in a clearing with the knowledge I had become Peregrinus, and could now head down the mountain." Kolfa adds. "How was it for you, if I may ask?" "I had a duel to fight, as you might imagine," replies Espérance, "with an excellent fellow by the name of K'Anpo. I was just as glad I didn't have to kill him in order to defeat him, although he informed me that wouldn't substantially change the terms of his employment. Anyway, he was able to pronounce me Peregrinus as well." "That title officiates and lets any and all know of our success on the Mountain. Our pilgrimage is completed" Kolfa says with a nod. "Or at least that is what they told me at the Many Colored Shrine. We are free to continue on toward Chaos, as soon as those of our party who have succeeded finish their own contests." "It seems right and proper that yours would be a martial contest." Kolfa adds. "A test of your strength of arms, for that makes up much of who and what you are." she adds. She looks down at Hugo. "And even your protector here survived some sort of challenge, even if he cannot articulate it well to us." Hugo barks, once, in agreement. "It is an uncomfortable thought" Kolfa adds. "But I suppose we cannot assume that all of us will succeed, Lasdy. We might have to reunite with our companions on the journey or settle in for a long wait." "I'm afraid we'll have to wait for at least one of them to turn up who knows the way to where we're supposed to go," Espérance points out, "because Peregrinus or not, I don't. To my mother's court, that is," she adds. "It is possible that I could navigate you and I to the Fire Gate" Kolfa says. "Certainly, Hugo here could lead us there." Hugo thumps his tail. "Once we were at the Bridge, though, getting you to your mother's court would be something I could not do. I could lead you to Sawall's doorstep, but that would hardly be the end of the matter." Kolfa says. "No, I don't imagine it would," agrees Espérance. "I suppose I could always wave this around," she touches Draconis Argentum, now a bracer again, "but I would really prefer not to. It's better to have a surprise up one's sleeve, so to speak." "How did this K'anpo react to you dueling with the weapon?" Kolfa says. "Even someone on this mountain surely would not see such a blade often" "Oh, we surprised him," Espérance tells her, "though once he saw it, he knew it was a great weapon of Chaos. For that matter, he had a shape-changing sword too, though not as versatile." "Shape changing weapons are not uncommon here, since the shape of the wielder herself is often mutable. However, as you have no doubt seen, your weapon is far more than a mere a shape changing sword." "Far more," Espérance agrees, regarding the black and silver bracer on her wrist with something very like affection. "Well, then, shall we descend the mountain and wait?" Kolfa offers. "Surely people do not spend *that* much time on this quest, success or failure." "Someone who failed might not come out the other end at all," Espérance points out. "But yes, let's finish the course and then wait ... at least a reasonable amount of time." The descent down the slope, once more, is again free and easy. Its a pleasant enough walk, even if it not a particularly exciting and interesting descent. Kolfa engages in some light talk, mentioning bits and pieces of her former life and background in House Jesby. Espérance gets the impression, certainly in line with her previous conversations with members of Kolfa's former House, that Jesby is an acquisitive, greedy sort of House, always on the lookout to bring people, places and even minor Houses into their fold. "Jesby used to be greater." Kolfa explains at one point. "One of the most powerful of the Thirteen, but the War, and the rash of successions and duels revolving around the ascension of your half-brother to the Throne took a toll on Jesby's stature." she explains. Espérance nods. She's seen this sort of tussling and wrestling between noble houses before -- though she's usually been outside of it rather than in the middle. At the base of the mountain, though, the fog is lifted and Espérance can see clearly in all directions except back upslope of Mount Fantoom. Mount Fantoom stands as a lonely citadel of rock and stone, but ahead there are two belts of tall peaks, with a pass or a river valley between them. "I would guess that Orcini would direct us through the pass." Kolfa says, pointing. "Unless he knows a secret way through the mountains." "Possibly," Espérance replies, "unless that's too obvious." Kolfa starts to set up a camp, making a fire and bringing out some of the victuals obtained from the shrine. It is as she is ready to give Espérance some fire-roasted meat that two figures make their way down the mountain. Huttner and Cazaril. "Thank the Serpent!" the former says, with a wide grin as he sees Espérance, Hugo and Kolfa. "We thought we were the only ones to survive." "Succeed, not survive." Cazaril corrects. He looks at Espérance. "No sign of our guide, or Alex, or the Cainesdottir?" "Not yet," Espérance tells him. "Kolfa and I were discussing how long we ought to wait. Alex at least is part of your mission too, isn't she?" "Yes" Cazaril says. He sits down, as does Huttner. The latter looks at Kolfa's food preparation with obvious hunger. Hugo, too, has moved close to Kolfa and the fire. "The operation was to find both of you and bring you back to Sawall." Cazaril explains. "That is why when things fell apart on our way out here, and only Huttner and I survived and separated, we each headed toward the person for whom we had information. Huttner had the message stone in his possession, so it made sense for him to go find you, Espérance, and for me to find Alexandra." "There were thirteen of us, originally." Huttner says, agreeing. "Was it my former House?" Kolfa says, a slightly alarmed and nervous look in her eyes. She has shifted, a millimeter, true, but shifted subtly closer to Espérance. "We're not certain who it was who bushwhacked us on the way out." Cazaril says. "We know the involvement that eventually brought your companions to our attention and you to Espérance's service came later." "The Lady said that she recognized the Jesby house symbol though..." Kolfa looks to Espérance for confirmation. Espérance nods. "A couple of weeks before Huttner showed up, a group of masked riders attacked me and some friends of mine. Since one of the friends in question is the head of a noble House, we originally thought the attack was aimed at her. Now, I'm not so sure. Anyway, we took one of them prisoner and he had that symbol as a tattoo." "And they were killed? Perhaps they were local mercenaries, rather than outright members of House Jesby." Kolfa says. "To have scions of the House cut down by shadow natives seems unlikely." "Not necessarily. Espérance's father hails from the shadow," Huttner puts in. "It's clear that Jesby had something to do with it, and that they knew where Espérance was." Espérance nods and says, "They didn't know nearly enough about me, though, if that was the case. I'm afraid I was the one who polished off the other six." "So they sought you. You *are* the Queen Mother's daughter." Cazaril says to Espérance. "You are important and will continue to be. Although Alexandra mentioned a strange shadow incursion aimed at her, although those clearly were not Jesbys in the flesh. Rather, they were biological-mechanical hybrids." "Still" he continues. "I think we wait at the base of the mountain a day. Regardless if Orcini or Swan shows up, if Alex does not appear. I will go back up and see if I can't get answers on her fate." "That seems reasonable," Espérance agrees. "Though if Swan does show up in the meantime, I can't see her letting you go find Alex by yourself." "Probably not." Cazaril says ruefully. "That is going to make waves in House Sawall, and make no mistake. Taking a full Amberite openly as a lover like that...well, still, Lord Jurt will likely understand a bit better than the Queen Mother." "I suppose nobles are expected to hide things like that," Espérance says sardonically, "like she did." "Well, there is that, but its more that she's from Amber" Cazaril says. "I explained a bunch of the History to Alex on our first train trip. Need to catch you up on some of the History, too." He looks at Huttner with a look of mild disapproval. "I've heard stories The Queen Mother still spies on her son because of his Amber ties." Huttner puts in. "Emperor and all.", coolly ignoring the look from Cazaril. "Really?" Kolfa says, surprised. "Mother's prerogative, she'd say." Cazaril says. "Anyway, standing on this mountain has lost its charm. Shall we continue our descent?" Espérance assents and heads down the mountain with the others, wondering if her life has been spied upon as well. "I probably should explain some things on our journey to the Courts." Huttner says as he falls into a pace with Espérance. Alex has had the advantage of a much more leisurely trip free of incidents and trouble to learn what she, and you, need to be taught." The climb down the mountain, through the fog is without much incident. A few hours later, a camp is established at the base of the mountain, a fire started, water drawn from a rivulet nearby and dinner started... --- Top --- Orcini deliberately held back from making a choice of his own. While he had no illusion that he would be spared a challenge, he felt that as it was the other's first time walking this path, it was more important for them to choose. He would take the path that remained. All too often Orcini felt like he forged his own path but in truth it was almost always a direction chosen for him. This was a good time to remember that. Let their choices determine his. The choice made for him, and knowing that to choose one of the paths already chosen to be folly. Orcini's path is chosen for him. The last time Orcini mounted this staircase, there was a transition to a different place. This doesn't always happen, from what Orcini has learned from his fellow travelers, before and since. But to be seemingly transported elsewhere was certainly a possibility, depending on the test. This time, again, Orcini is elsewhere. After a few steps, the staircase is gone, and instead, he is standing on a flat path in a narrow valley. This path runs down a slope to a green metal hut, and a bridge that spans a yawning chasm. The word bridge is somewhat strained. Its an enormous, plain straight sword, edge up, with the hilt sticking out of the far side of the chasm. To cross the bridge would be to walk along the edge of the blade.It would be a balancing act to walk along that edge, but it looks like it is large enough to make it possible. "Are you going to come in, Knight, or stand out there and gawk at the Tiferet Bridge?" comes a voice from within the hut. "Those are not mutually exclusive options for those with sufficient time and perspective." Orcini replies. "However, I find myself more curious about you than the bridge. I shall enter and thank you for the invitation." Orcini walks down to the hut and peers inside before entering. The hut is spartan, consisting of little more than a stove, bed, two small tables, cushions and perhaps a few other possessions tucked away. The small low table has two cups of tea on it, and a samovar in between them. The cushion nearest Orcini is empty, but the other cup of tea is in front of a cushion that has the apparent owner of the voice. He is a middle aged looking man, with glasses. "You may call me K'anpo, Knight Orcini." the bespectacled man says, looking up from his cup to Orcini. "And you may come in, and have tea. Dragon tea, actually." "I shall do so with pleasure," Orcini nods, "and I apologize for not bearing a gift of white scarf." Orcini refers an old custom of good fortune among certain sects of Chaos. Something in K'anpo's manner has him convinced that he belongs to one. K'Anpo waves a hand. "A gift is not necessary under these circumstances." Orcini sits cross-legged opposite the man and reaches for the cup. "Dragon tea, eh? How literal is that description?" K'Anpo looks at Orcini oddly. The monk leans forward and opens the samovar, to reveal that the tea in the samovar is being heated by a small green dragon, curled up. The creature raises its head and looks balefully at K'Anpo and Orcini before the monk closes it again. "Its quite authentic, if that is what you were worried about, Knight,." K'Anpo replies. He takes his cup up and sips it. "Perhaps you will be so good as to tell me as to why you've come again. Are you seeking enlightenment?" "Not actively." Orcini admits and takes a sip of the tea. The tea is extremely strong and flavorful. Nothing subtle about this tea at all. "Though it is often the way of things for enlightenment to strike without warning. I told myself that I chose this path simply for its expediency and for the best results of my mission. Being here though, I wonder if beneath the surface I felt a need to know if I walked a worthy path or perhaps if I was worthy to continue walking this path." "Bringing your companions along this route" K'anpo says "is a test of you as much as they. The bridge outside will cleave away the old and discarded parts of you, and allow the you who is worthy of walking the path further to emerge. A few, who walk the bridge and cross it successfully, follow a path that leads them to a state like mine. Others who walk the bridge follow different paths, but all are changed. They are the same person, but palpably different for the experience." "You may turn around, Knight." K'Anpo says. "if you do not wish to risk who and what you are upon the bridge. You will need to find your friends in some other way, of course, than upon the mountain." "A more worthy me." Orcini echoes. His hands cradle the tea cup carefully. "I had forgotten how easily this place cleaves to the heart of the matter." He says softly. "I have served the Church faithfully and from time to time have performed such acts that I questioned if serving the Church and serving the Serpent was the same thing." Orcini strokes his beard thoughtfully. "Now you offer the chance to be shriven by a edge of a blade." Orcini drains his tea cup. "There is really no choice. Who I will be in the future is a question but for now, I am still a faithful servant and an efficient one. I will cross the bridge. Have you any advice for doing so?" "Yes" K'Anpo. "Do not hold too tightly on those aspects of yourself that must be cut away in order for you to grow. If you hold too tightly to them, Orcini, the trauma when they are split away from you will severely inhibit your ability to make a successful crossing." He takes a sip from his tea cup before continues. "And, of course, survive the experience. Endure. Show that you are worthy to become something new." "I thank you for the tea and for the advice." Orcini nods to the monk and rises to his feet. He crosses to the door and then turns to face K'Anpo once more. "Do you remember the you, you were before the crossing?" He asks. "Was crossing worth it?" "That is difficult to say, Orcini." K'Anpo says. "For, you see, I completed a third initiation, and have become something else entirely. Even as we spoke now, I see and have met many of our companions. My name might be called Legion, now, for I am many. Nothing so radical will happen to you once you cross the Bridge." "I think it was worth it." K'Anpo adds, reflectively. "I think that Cho Je, as I was once known then, and will be known again one day as, would agree." "Then I shall have the inspiration of your success and the courage of my convictions." Orcini announces. He bows to the monk then turns his back and walks out of the hut and down the path to the bridge. Orcini looks at the bladed path for some time. He gauges its thickness and the keenness of the sword. Briefly, he contemplates simply taking flight and simply ignoring this challenge altogether. Perhaps this is really a test of intelligence and not spirit. It is a good argument but Orcini does not convince himself. "Well this won't be the first time I've walked the knife's edge. Merely the most literal." Orcini takes a deep breath and steps onto the the Tiferet Bridge. There is no pain, not at first. The first, second, even the fifth step as Orcini maneuvers along the sword do not cause any distress, any discomfort. Walking with one foot in front of another is necessary, a balancing act that is as literal as it is a metaphor. On the sixth step, however, the power and nature of the bridge start to come into play. The pain is metaphysical, no blood, no wounds appear on Orcini's feet. But the pain shoots inside of him. The unrelenting, perfect edge of the Tiferet Bridge lances through him. Five more steps, and the paradigm becomes clear, what the bridge is and what it is doing becomes clear, even as the pain lances across his body, from foot to head, with every step. The bridge is seeking to carve him into a new man. To choose what will be removed is not necessary, but if he doesn't, the bridge will choose for him what needs to be removed. A new path is needed. A new way must be forged. And thus Orcini must give a piece of himself in order to finish the journey across the bridge, and make it to the other side. But what will he give up? His vow? His House? Or will he let the bridge make the choice? What will Orcini choose? Orcini will never commission a statue again. Orcini scowls at these suggestions from the bridge. Give up his vow? Never. Orcini is not a being to break his word. Give up his House? One could argue that he already had but then there was Huttner. He could not bring himself to break that bond after so soon a retying. Letting the the bridge decide was unthinkable. He was not some ancient knot to be cut rather than unraveled. Or was he? Perhaps that was the point after all. Why had he taken the path of the aspirant again? What had he sought to recapture? Another wave of pain lanced through him and Orcini saw it. He had faith back then. He believed that he would be doing the Serpent's work not be mired ever deeper in the intrigues of curates and cardinals. So be it then. He will break a vow in order to forge a new one. His allegiance to the Church is ended. Let his allegiance to the Serpent begin. There is something akin to surprise that Orcini feels, as his choice is made. A severance from Mother Church itself. It takes another step or two for the bridge even to respond, to start to cut things away. Orcini's very connection to Mother Church is shorn away. There are not going to be any scars or visible signs of this, but Orcini knows that the Church of the Serpent will know that he has broken from them. It will be as clear as any mark on him. He is...excommunicated from the order. And yet, as he finishes the trip across the bridge, and steps free, he knows something else. The Serpent knows what he has done. And far from displeased...the Serpent summons him to where it is coiled, within the Logrus, in the depths of Sawall. The path down the mountain is ahead of him, and there appear to be no obstacles in Orcini escaping the trial and walking down the mountains to find his companions... --- Top --- Backlinks |
