SwanTheTowerTooSwan The Tower IIOn the 16th minute, the same knocking she heard before reveals the same 'plucked chicken' demon. And two of his fellows. And the Chatelaine. "You requested me as a dinner companion, I believe." she says with a smile. "Since I have not eaten, and you are amenable to a trade of questions, I find the offer acceptable." The demons scurry around her. Two of the three demons are maneuvering a floating cart. The third, the demon Swan spoke with earlier and acting as some sort of straw boss, gives low pitch commands in an unknown language to the other two. A table and chairs are repurposed for the dining experience, including large, fragrant bowls of some sort of stir fry (nothing moving or trying to crawl out of the bowl!), plates, a bottle of something, perhaps wine, glasses,and yes, polished ivory chopsticks. "That will be all Anathas." Khalan says to the lead demon. "Return in an hour." she turns, and looks at Swan with an appraising eye before turning back to the demon. "Better, make it an hour and a half." Swan gives the woman a sly smile, “I don’t know if to be insulted or encouraged.” "Khalan laughs musically. "Now, then." [Khalan] says, gesturing to the table. "Let us eat, and the first question is yours." “Sounds like a plan.” Swan settles in and picks up her chopsticks. With dexterous speed, she plucks pieces of intriguing meat and vegetables from the bowls to create a plate for herself. She adds some fragrant rice to the mix, smiling at her companion. “I guess my first question would be, ‘what’s the skinny on Chaos and Amber?’ We kiss and make up recently?” Khalan smiles, doing much the same. The meat is probably not chicken, or turkey or a poultry that Swan recognizes, but it seems like poultry. Similarly, the vegetables are somewhat not quite what she would normally eat, but they appear to be mostly pieces of root vegetables of some kind as well as kernels and seeds and beans. Swan finds her palate – hardened by a century of Bête Noire cuisine – adjusts well to the exotic nature of Chaosian dining. When it isn’t moving, the food is pretty darn good. She could get used to this. "You have revealed much in your first question." [Khalan] says with satisfaction. "Doubtless you know of the Patternfall treaty at the conclusion of the War, which ended hostilities between us. Perhaps it is news to you that since the ascension of Merlin the first son of the Queen Mother and my employer, long may he reign, 7 years ago, The Emperor has endeavored to improve relations between the Court of Thelbane and the Court of Amber." "I understand that he wishes to formally exchange Ambassadors with Amber at some date." Khalan adds. "No doubt given the prestige of the position that Amber would send one of their Royal Family to such a post. I do not know who the Emperor would send although many would wish such a position." Swan jerks a nod to this, “Yay. I’ve been wandering between the Arden and the Beast the last couple decades, so missed the whole war.” She pauses, thinking for a moment. A laugh escapes her. “Yeah, I think my card game with Ingy was the last I saw of Amber.” "So you are non-aligned." Khalan concludes. "And now." Khalan gestures with the chopsticks after devouring a bite. "it is my turn." "If you are not formally part of the Court of Amber, what is your profession? I have my guesses but would like to know." Swan shrugs to this, “Problem-solver. When people have a bee in their bonnet, I swat it. Usually with a lotta lead.” She spears some more food, “Because I stroll in the grey, most of the Family gives me the cold shoulder. Fine by me really.” "Ah, you are a Chiteng?" Khalan says. "Not a professional duelist, but rather one who engages in vendetta on behalf of a client." Khalan continues to speak, working things out aloud, studying Swan. " Lead. You prefer firearms. Perhaps you are a Magus Fulminata instead?" she asks. "A Gun Sorceress?" Swan shrugs, “I work magic with my shooters, so good a name as any, I guess.” She nods. "I thought you did." "But not all of your family, you imply, shuns you, be you a Chiteng or a Gun Sorceress." Khalan switches gears. "I would wager that someone like yourself would aside from your value as a Chiteng would be valuable to know, or even as a trangressive act to befriend." "It is your turn." Khalan says, taking a large hunk of vegetable that looks like a piece of broccoli mated with a wax bean. “What kinda highbinders are we dealing on this side of the pond?” Swan asks. “Merlin seems to be the head honcho, but it ever that easy. You’ve got Families of some kind vying for territory, far as I can glom. And what are they gonna think of the new arrivals?” Khalan considers Swan's words for a few moments. She eats a piece of meat in deep thought. "A complicated question to present to an outsider." she replies. "But let us begin with the large." "There are indeed Families, as you call them, vying for power, territory and influence. And the Throne of course." Khalan says. "There are thirteen among them that stand above the rest. There are always thirteen Great Houses, Swan. If a Great House should fall, or be pushed." she smiles a razor smile "the greatest of the rest would rise up and take its place. There are hundreds of Houses in all." "We are in House Sawall, and since the Emperor, long may he reign, is from our House, it is the current House Royal. It will remain House Royal until an Emperor or Empress from another House takes the throne." "I myself, and the Queen Mother Dara herself, are originally from another Great House, House Hendrake. I followed her when she came to marry the head of Sawall, Duke Gramble. Each of the Houses has its strengths and weaknesses, but all of the Great Houses are alike in one important regard. "As you might guess" Khalan says. "While the Houses play a Game of Thrones to be the next Emperor, in turn, each House has its internal dynamics to see who will lead that House. Thus, your friend, the Queen Mother's daughter, will be seen as a threat to those who seek the Throne, and those who seek to unseat Gramble.” Swan snorts at this, “Ezzy’s a threat to pretty much anyone what gets in here way. I know killing and she’s got a knack for it.” "So it would appear" Khalan says dryly. "The Queen Mother has seen that she has been raised in a shadow suitable for unlocking her talents. "And you, primarily, Swan, will be courted by factions in Sawall, since it is not true I have heard you have found the favor of several members of the Queen Mother's family, and are to be given a Ways here?" Swan gives a vague shrug, “My role here’s still in the works, I gather. Never been one of those skirts that hangs on the line for long. When you get comfortable, you get soft.” She leans back from the table for a moment, wrinkling her brow. “What sort of courting are we flapping on about?” Khalan grins, takes another bite of food with expertly wielded chopsticks, and cocks her head. "For starters, since you are friends with the daughter of the Queen Mother, and friends with the daughter of one of her sons, they will be seeking to curry favor with all four by currying favor with you." "And it must be said for a Barimen to be treated so well, so openly will make you a Nine-Turnings wonder, here in Sawall and likely in other Houses as well." Khalan says. "I have heard a few of your Family have, secretly, dealings with various Houses, but nothing very public." "Most importantly, Swan." she continues. "Once people know of your abilities and profession, your talents will definitely attract much interest. Not every House or every person wants to deal with the messiness of a vendetta directly. Professional services can simplify matters considerably. You might fetch a high price with one or two successful contracts." "The way the courting will be conducted will likely be gifts, requests for meetings, the usual sort of Courts encounters." "Perhaps even seductions, if your tastes are discerned." Khalan's eyes brighten. Swan gives a feline grin, “Oh, my tastes are broad and varied, doll. I might seem like a roughneck, but I prefer the high life. Champagne and caviar dreams. Silk sheets and soft skin. Good food and fine conversation. They’re almost as sweet as the ol’ ultraviolence.” She samples some more of the intriguing cuisine, nodding in appreciation. “But I ain’t no kept pet. No matter how fine the collar. "And playing me to get to family or friends will buy you a concrete overcoat real quick." She tilts her head, eyes sparkling. “Guess it’s your turn, Khalan. Hit me.” She doesn't take up the bait for a minute or so, contemplating Swan in between a few acquisitions of morsels of food and eating them slowly. "You have been extremely generous in your responses to your own questions to me." Khalan says. "Obviating some of the need for some of the questions I might ask. I would gather this is part ingratiation, and part other motivations." Her blue eyes briefly flash to an emerald green and turn back again. Swan feels a happy shiver warm her body, fascinated by those eyes. She sets her chop-sticks down, looking at the woman ~again~, studying her features and flaws. One thing that Swan does notice, studying her, is a small but unmistakable scar. Its thin, something Swan would have eventually seen if she hadn't turned the full bore of her attention on her. In a smooth line that suggests the cut of a blade, it runs from just below her right eye, down her cheekbone, and stopping at her chin. Khalan seems to recognize the attention, and slightly uplifts her head, as if inviting her to get a complete look. Swan smiles, indulging her curiosity. She’s always liked scars. They added character to a face, revealing hardships known. Unfortunately, all her scars are on the inside – those earned now long faded from her skin. She resists the urge to trace the line with a fingertip. When Khalan starts talking, the shared moment passes. "A someone heretical question, thank the Serpent there are no priests here to admonish me."[Kahlan] says, returning the bend of her neck to normal. "I understand that the power the Unicorn has bestowed upon you and yours is the power to seek where and what you wish in the myriad worlds, rather than bringing those worlds to you as the Logrus does." "What is that like, Swan? Where and to what do you go?" “Second question, first,” Swan says, smiling. “I’m a bindle punk by heart. So, I breeze until I find a place to hang my hat for awhile. The Pattern knows me better than I know myself, and gives me what I need. Even if I don’t know I need it. Sometimes it’s all eggs and coffee. More often I’m behind the eight ball. But I’m never short of java or kale or gaspers, and there’s a kitten always within reach if I need one.” She leans back, frowning. “And there’s the problem and the answer to your first question. I may be up to my fun-bags in oyster fruit, but I can’t ever rest easy. ‘Cause if the Pattern shapes the world to my desires, what’s truly Real? Is that doll beside me there because she wants me, or because the Pattern ~made~ her want me? Friendship, love? How do I trust them? Or anyone? They could just be shadows of what I yearn for.” She puffs on her gaspers, and then cuts the smoke ring with her finger. “The Pattern gives you everything you want, but it’s all smoke and mirrors.” Khalan blinks in surprise as the smoke reaches her, wrinkling her nose, not truly in disgust but with a more curious, lack of familiarity. "That is why seats of Reality are so important." Khalan says. "I could go and conquer an Empire in deep shadow. But what would it mean to the rest of House Sawall? What would it mean to the Queen Mother? What would it mean to anyone? I might practice my skills, true, and I believe that you practice your skills in those worlds. But even then, is it a true challenge if the power of the Logrus has brought me there by my will?" "The only true things are those that congregate around the poles of reality. Amber. Chaos. The Minor Poles, too. I've often wondered if I would have the ability to take one of those for myself, if I desired." Swan chuckles, “Doll, one look at you and I know you’d snatch whatever you wanted if you put your melon to it.” Khalan replies with a feral smile. She stubs out the dying gasper. She raises a brow, “So, what is it you actually do around this gin-joint?” "I may spoil your mood slightly in telling you. Or perhaps put you from eating any more of your dinner." Khalan warns. She takes another bite of food. "I run the Ways for the Queen Mother Dara, your relative and patroness. That means I oversee all aspects of her comfort and well being here, the comfort of guests and those welcome, such as yourself, and the deposition of those who have come here less voluntarily." “Well, I can see why they put you in charge,” Swan smiles. "That also gives me the role of chief interrogatrix." Khalan continues. "After leaving the service of the Hellmaidens at the end of the War, I enrolled into the Torturers guild under old Master Severian. The Queen Mother, although she was only the wife of Lord Sawall at the time, bid and acquired my services for a renewable twenty year contract nine years ago, when I graduated with honors. We are also distantly related; I am descended from one of the Hellmaidens from the same brood-clutch as the Lady Lintra was." “I kill people for green and giggles,” Swan says frankly. “So, I’d be pretty snooty frowning on someone that tickles for a living. Besides, I bet it makes your boudoir a squirmy wonderland.” She wiggles her eyebrow and grins all toothy –like before returning to her food. Khalan smirks. “We do what we do,” she adds. “Sometimes we take pleasure from that. Sometimes we just know it’s gotta be done. Sometimes we find a crunchy medium. No need to hide it or be ashamed of it. World don’t give a squirt for apologies.” "Hide or be ashamed of it?" She shakes her head forcefully. "No, no, you misunderstand, Swan. I wished not to spoil your dinner if your sensitivities would be offended. I know you Amberites can be such awful prudes. Why, the time I tried to seduce one of your visiting cousins ended in something of a bothered mess. A pity. Good genes worthy of being added to Helgram. Perhaps next time." Swan guffaws at this, having to set her chopsticks down. With tear-filled eyes, she smiles brightly and jerks a nod. “Truth? They had a looker with a ready supply of whips and nippers at hand, and they passed that up? Not to mention that whole demon-chippie, shape-shifting angle.” She licks her lips at some squirmy thought, shivering happily. Then she just shakes her head, “Doll, that ain’t prude, that’s plain dumb. Geez, what a sap!” Khalan smiles in obvious agreement. "I resolved that if such an opportunity were to come again" she continues "I would make my intentions clear." Those eyes stare at Swan. Yes, there is a building hunger, there. "Very clear." she adds, and then breaks away the gaze. "But I believe I owe you a question answered next." she adds with a smile. Swan gives a low purr, and stands up. She extends her hand to Khalan. “Yeah, I got a question. Why we still talkin? Let’s see what you can do with those… gifts of yours.” Khalan doesn't take Swan's hand. She rises from the table though and considers Swan for a long, lean moment. Swan is preliminarily assessed, and, it is clear, not found wanting. "Your offer is acceptable." She says. "Follow" she adds, turning and walking toward the door. Swan raises a curious brow, and then shrugs. “You’re the boss, doll.” She follows Khalan where she may. "We'll take turns" she says with a smirk. "But I always go first." Khalan's quarters do not look like something out of a furry-handcuffs and plush set. And it does not look like something out of Fifty Shades of Grey, either. It turns out to be a relatively ordinary set of rooms, at least by the standards of Chaos Swan has seen. When Swan is led into Khalan's sleeping chamber, she discovers this is where Khalan keeps her toys. And that she enjoys using them. And many other things, as well. (FTB) When Swan finds herself waking up, she is back in her own bed. And for having slept, she is absolutely tired. And sore. In lots of places. Its probably only her instincts and her cautious nature that has not allowed her to sleep the morning, or whatever it is they call it here, away. She could certainly use some coffee. On the bed nearby is a note on cream-colored stationery. "A return engagement, especially once you learn to shape shift, would be more than welcome." The note is not signed, but rather has some sort of brand, sigil, mark on it, some sort of sinuous looking symbol of some kind. Swan rolls over with the sloth and slinkiness of a sun-drenched cat, running a fingertip over the note. A sleepy, contented smile curls her lips, followed by an equally contented yawn. Unicorn how she’d ~needed~ that. She closes her eyes and replays part of the encounter over in her head. The ache, not just of flesh and muscle, returns with a poignant yearning. Yes, she’ll definitely be seeing Khalan again. She lays there for a time, savoring the feel of her body and the wondrous freedom to do absolutely #$%^-all for a change. No bullets, no stabbings, no explosions. Just silk sheets, naked skin, and the musky scent of a night well-spent. This was living. But when she reaches over to the other side of the bed and finds it empty. . . a tinge of guilt sets in. ‘Lex. What would she say if she finds out about last night? Would she even say anything? Or just give Swan one of those gentle looks that sent sparks from her head to her toes? Damnit all. Why’d the girl have to go and fall in love with me? Why’d I have to fall in. . . love with her? The mood spoiled, she slithers out of bed in search of the shower. She turns it on hot-hot, remaining in there for longer than she should, as if cleansing the guilt from her flesh. Maybe it will be good if ‘Lex finds out what a train wreck she was hitched to. She deserves more than an old assassin with a wandering eye. Probably make her life easier in the Courts too. Ah well, Swan muses. She fetches a towel and goes looking for something to eat before her appetite is ruined by this accused love-crap. SSwan's quest for food takes her out of her rooms (no sign of food within them, after all) and through the tower. The Tower is a well run machine of efficiency, demons busying themselves about. Tracing back the path of a demon carrying a plate of breakfast leads Swan to a kitchen that gleams in polished metal, quite at odds with the medieval look of the Tower. The chef in charge is, as she introduces herself, Second Chef Horatia. She looks similar to Khalan--the eyes are similar, although her hair is a much lighter shade of brown and her body is nowhere near as lean. "The Chatelaine warned us you might be especially hungry, but a demon coming to your door unannounced would be less than welcome." Horatia explains. "We trusted that you would use the bell pull, but we do have a corner here where you might break your fast." Swan shrugs, moving to the corner with a euphoric sloth. “Thanks. That room was getting a little stuffy. And for all my bitching, I prefer the corner of a greasy spoon to frill and flowers any day of the week.” She settles down and lights up a gasper, letting the woman continue. "You Amberites prefer your meat dead and cooked, you have no objections to milk and milk derivatives, and eat fruit with the breaking of your fast, correct?" “I’ll partake of the meat, breast milk, and/or the ovum of any creature with a face,” she replies, stiffling a well-earned yawn. “As long as it’s met its Maker on the grill first. And fruit, sure." "Ovum. Eggs. Poultry and reptile eggs." Horatia says. "Indeed." "But right now. Coffee. Like my old squeeze. Black and bitter." "Coffee?" Horatia looks puzzled, but only for a moment. "Ah, yes, his Majesty the King appreciates the drink and thus the Queen Mother keeps it on hand for such occasions. From some shadow called Kona, I believe. If you will excuse me...?" In a few minutes, Swan does have a cup of coffee in hand. Its perhaps not quite as bitter as she expects, but it is black in color. The kitchen busies itself. Most of those slit nosed humanoids Swan and Esperance first saw when arriving at the tower are here conducting the usual business of a kitchen. None of them seem to speak, to each other or to Horatia. In twenty minutes, and as much coffee as Swan can drink in the meantime, she is afforded at the small table that has become her domain, a plate with a slice of what looks like ham, two large eggs with yolks more orange than yellow, and a glass of milk. And a bowl of fruit. Hinky looking fruit, but fruit. This is delivered by Horatia herself, who munches on a heel of what looks like a cross between fruitcake and bread. "Standing here seemingly gaining input on your breakfast gives me an excuse to rest for a few minutes." she explains. Swan smiles over her steaming cup of Joe. “It’s new, I’ll give it that. But I think I’ll be visiting your greasy spoon every morning from now on. I like the company and the taste. Better than most Noire joints I dangled at. By a mile.” She gives an appreciate nod of the head in response. [Swan] sets her cup down, “So tell me. Besides my hostess, what’s to do around these parts? And not the tourist crap. I prefer grunge to glamour.” "You are speaking of far beyond the ways of the Queen Mother, no doubt." Horatia says. "For all that is here is the Tower, the Canyon, the Bridge and the Endless River of Metal." she explains. "I know not what you have seen in House Sawall." "Given your tastes, Swan" Horatia says. "The region of the Courts to which I would direct you to is the demon-inhabited Lowtown. Not belonging to any House or any Ways, it is a common meeting point that may be more to your taste than the ah, tourist crap. Although I would say, Swan, that all beings should go to view upon the Abyss once." Swan raises a dubious eyebrow, “That’s not what Neitzche says, doll.” Then she smirks, laughing softly. "Who?" she says with a confused look. "Is he some Princeling of Amber?" “Lowtown, huh? Sounds like my kinda of dive. Sorta of liking bumping elbows with these daemon types. Salt-of-the-earth people. . . err. . . thingies.” She spears some more food with her fork. “You live here. If you had a place to gander, what would it be? The Abyss, notwithstanding. They say if you live in a place, there’s always somewhere at home you’ve never had the gumption to see, but regret not going before you croak.” "I will tell you two." Horatia says. "First, Castle Syldoon." she says. "Syldoon was a House of the early Empire and rose to be one of the Great Houses." she says. "It is a long story of its rise and apogee, but it is in its fall that the interest comes. You see, Swan, The Emperor Uryiel The Second, grew fearful, as Syldoon was the next House in line for the throne and he had no strong heirs. And so he had the Royal House war upon the Syldoon, declaring them traitor, declaring them to be destroyed." "The members who were not killed scattered, fled, but they laid a curse, a geas, a promise upon the edifice that had housed them. For when the Emperor sought to tear down the House and take the land for himself, the Castle rebuilt itself. Every stone, every piece broken away was repaired in short time. The Emperor had destroyed the House in its people, but he could not destroy the building. Eventually the Boulevard itself was routed away from it so that it would not be in the procession of Houses of the Empire. But it stands to this day on the Marmell Tor as it did the day Emperor Uryiel the Second declared Vendetta." "It is a place that many fear to approach near, much less enter.. But it is a place one might dare to spend a turning if one was daring enough." she says. "It is not unpermitted to do so--but not all who walk its halls emerge from them." "But if one was truly bold, especially without invitation, it would be to go to the Cave of Suhuy, Keeper of the Serpent, Master of the Logrus, and view upon the entrance. I am not strong enough, nor on the rolls to ever walk across the threshold, and try. But to see the entrance, and know that the creator of the universe lies beyond...who would not want to do that, Swan? Even if it meant the anger of the Keeper, the allure is unmistakable." "Even a Barimen" she adds with a smile. Swan returns the smile, “I like the way you think as much as I like your cooking, doll. You’re a keeper, that’s for damned sure.” She opens her mouth, closes it and finally bows her head slightly in acknowledgement. She puffs on her gasper for a moment, and then shrugs. “As much as I want to see some haunted ruins, I think I’ll pay this Logrus a visit. Besides, I can beat feet over to Syldoon afterwards. Make a picnic of it.” Her feline smiles warms, “You coming?” "...m-m-me?" she says, as if unsure of what Swan said, at first. Her eyes flash color, in much the same way Khalan's eyes do, and then finally return to their native blue. “Why not? You’ve got the gift of gab, and I could use the company,” Swan says. “We’ll make an afternoon of it.” "My shift in the kitchen ends in a few minutes." Horatia stammers, but the idea is now firmly in her head, judging from her face . "First Chef will be here, and then my time will be my own until the evening meal." "You may go *now*." A woman, somewhat taller than Horatia, but in the same build, look and appearance as Horatia and Khalan says, striding up. She looks at Swan. "You must be Swan, Dara's Amberite relation. I am First Chef Caeparius. The Chaetlaine told me to see to your care and feeding, but it appears my second here has fulfilled that duty." A smile of satisfaction plays on her lips. "Doubtless the Queen Mother will wish to see you later, but I have no orders to detain you." she adds. "Go" Swan gives the woman a grin, “Well that’s mighty nice of ya. Thanks. We’ll beat feet then. Headin’ over to the Logrus cave, then made take in some ruins. So, if you – or Queenie – need me, I’ll be bindpunking around there. And Horatia will be back before her shift, you have my word.” "Good. Or else I would be required to report the infraction to the Queen Mother." “Yeah, let’s avoid the off-with-her-head bit for now.” [Swan] nodded to her new companion, “Let’s buzz, shall we?” "Do Let's." Horatia agrees, not willing to lose the chance while it is given. In about 15 minutes of time, Horatia and Swan have managed to extricate themselves from the down and make their way down the large bridge that Swan, Esperance, Hugo and Kolfa climbed to get here, and are back in the main body of Sawall. After another 10 minutes of travel, the passages look different than the trip in, or they are different passages, a series of shafts and tunnels that jag up and down at precipitous angles. The journey is certainly no monolithic in its features. There are ordinary corridors, passages, rooms, too. And other things. A brief stint across a white sand desert with three suns. A brief stint in a lush jungle, with the calls of what sound like birds, and the buzzing of insects. Very large insects. And to say nothing of the pond (lake?) of ice they trek across at one point. The fact that there are things frozen inside of the body of water is one thing. The squid-headed woman caught in mid-devour of a very human looking baby is another thing entirely. Swan pauses for a moment, staring down at the grisly sight. “Wow. I can’t imagine why they don’t list this place in your travel brochures. It’s like Epcot. Only the mascots eat the kiddies. And me without my shutterbox.” "Indeed" Horatia says. "When not actively dangerous, the passages to the Keeper's portion of Sawall are often intended to shock or dissuade visitors" Horatia continues, making the mistake to look down on the tableau. "I would also recommend we do not rest and sleep on the journey, either." Swan gives her an exaggerated look of bewilderment, “Oh yeah, Tia? ‘Cause taking a siesta here was front and center in my noggin. I’ll make sure to add that advice to my ‘No $hit’ List.” She lightly pats the woman’s arm and laughs – a strange sound in this grim realm. “Come on, Doll. I’m sure there’s a concession stand around her somewhere with fruity drinks. I’ll buy.” She continues forward, savoring the weird and unsettling sights. She finds the place has just the right mix of beauty and something-will-eat-your-faceness. Even in endless Shadow, that’s rare. After the cavern and pond of ice, the unsettling sights simmer down...for a while, anyway. The abattoirs are relatively pedestrian, maybe, by Swan's standards, a collection of skeletons trapped in cages both too small for them to stand, and too thin for the victim ever to lean or bend their back. A series of caverns where shadows of what look like giant maggots play against the wall without evidence of what is casting the shadows. A large room filled with marble, polished statues. Each of them is a combination of something relatively human, and something...inhuman. The pride of place goes to a white marble statue of a nude woman whose legs have been replaced with a serpent's body, and her mouth is a mass of carefully carved and polished tentacles. It is the desert where Swan and Horatia, under a single sun of yellow-white, and walking on an endless carpet of pale insect eggs, that both Swan and Horatia hear a voice laloud as they tracklessly make their way toward a distant ridge of mountains. "A dealer of deaths, both the little and the final. And one who prepares meals, both satiating and final. Pleasure and Death, the pair of you. An interesting pair to wander this way. Almost as unusual a pair as the Fish and the Paladin. I see your unusual imprint, child of Barimen. It burns brightly and not with the color I expect, and not in the ways I'd expect." "The Keeper" Horatia says quietly. Swan coughs lightly, and then calls to the air. “Yeah, well, I ain’t ever done anything easy. People say ‘left,’ and I go right. Why do anything simple, when you can do it hard? FDromt he looks of this place, you’re down with that jive.” She glances over at her companion, “Is it all you expected?” "I expected something more...dramatic than a desert." She admits. "But, then, Swan, I am not sure that predicting the signposts on the path of the Logrus was more than folly." "She is correct, as are you, child of Barimen." the voice of the Keeper. "Are you satisfied with hearing my voice in this desert, or are you willing to risk danger in order to reach your destination. Leave now, never return, and leave in peace." "Or step forward, seek the heart of reality, with the dangers and rewards of same. Your choice, child of Barimen. Not the Sawall's." Horatia holds up her hands and turns to Swan. The desire for her to go forward is as clear in her eyes as the fear of the danger in doing so. Swan smiles faintly, but inside her heart is pounding, blood rushing in her ears. The old thrill is back – that razor-thin line between fun and foolishness drawing out in front of her. Her lips purse as she considers the risks, and finds them too good to pass up. “Let’s see where this road takes us,” she says, walking toward the voice. “Ain’t ever been one for peace.” "That is self-evident" the voice says. Swan gets about fifteen steps forward in the direction of the voice before things start to happen. She feels it in her feet first, although a side glance at Horatia shows she noticed it a moment before Swan did. The ground, composed of those tiny insects, undulates underneath her feet, like the ripples in a particularly thick carpet. It then happens again, a larger wave this time, large enough to see it speeding behind Swan and her companion. And then, on the horizon, Swan sees it: a larger wave. A much, much taller wave, rising as it speeds toward them, cresting like the wave of a tsunami, threatening to overwhelm Swan and Horatia when it gets here. Which is going to happen in less than a minute, if Swan is any judge. “Get behind me, doll,” Swan says in a firm tone. She draws her rune-pistols, cocking back the hammers with a satisfying click. Horatia does. Swan is too busy getting her weapons ready, but the shadow Horatia throws across her does change, becoming taller She spends a few seconds to judge the distances and angles – her senses empowered with magick. The image of a rocky barrier forms in her mind, filtering down into one of bullets to fuel it with quintessence. She fires at the ground close ahead; trying to summon a break-water, so the wave will flow around them harmlessly. The bullet in the other gun is reserved for a flame barrier, in case the ‘backwash’ tries to come around and hit them from behind. The bullet launches flawlessly, landing in the 'ground and exploding. The wave hits the barrier a few moments later, spilling around it, and subsequently Swan and Horatia, with textbook physical accuracy. The wave fades out, rather than forming a backwash, giving Swan and Horatia a moment's respite. Swan can now see Horatia is a foot and a half taller, and her skin has turned black and leathery. Her eyes are burning red coals. When she speaks, her voice is like the sound of sandpaper. "The keeper tests our persistence and our fortitude." Horatia says. A tentacle, about the size of a human leg, erupts from the insect strewn ground 5 feet away from Swan, a long suckered black member that flails around in the air, as if trying to sense prey. Even as it starts to descend back into the ground, a second tentacle erupts, this one a little closer but in the opposite direction. Swan nods to her mutated companion, “Mind getting the other one?” Staying back-to-back with her companion, she pumps the first tentacle full of lead – trying to prune it off at the base. If she finishes it off, she turns her attention to the other one – and more, if they make themselves known. Swan quickly finishes supplementing the descending tentacle's circulatory system with a greater than expected daily dose of the vitamin known as iron. The tentacle flops over, stopping its descent, clearly taken out by the barrage. When she turns around, Swan sees, briefly the sight of Horatia's arms and legs wrapped around the flailing tentacle. It might be considered some bizarre form of Chaosian erotica--until she rips the tentacle out of the ground and throws it a couple of feet away. She turns back, those coal-red eyes shimmering. No more tentacles rise out of the ground, but Swan does hear a cry of pain from beneath her. She also sees a shimmering, in all directions, like a mirage or a reflection. This effect extends upward, too, in curving arcs that appear to meet somewhere overhead. As Swan and Horatia look up, a stream of additional pale insect eggs that make up the sands of this wall starts falling from the spot where the two shimmering curved surfaces might meet, landing in a waterfall of the material not far away from where Swan and Horatia stand. It might be Swan's imagination, but the level of the ground appears to be perceptibly rising. Swan reloads her pistols, feeling a dreadful sinking feeling in her gut. The kind of feeling she gets when things go horribly wrong. Things like self-surgery. Junk bonds. Mixing alcohol and sex. Roadside egg-salad sandwiches. Marriage. She shifts her feet to compensate for the rising terrain. “You know, doll. I think this desert is about to go all dragon turtle on our pretty asses. Either that or someone put us in an hour-glass when we weren’t looking.” "We're being entrapped" Horatia rasps. She moves toward the shimmering wall, flailing horn-hardened claws against it. She cocks back the hammer on Muninn – letting her essence flow into the chambered rune-bullet. “Time for something stupid,” she mutters and fires the spell-hardened round directly into the floor. She tried to maintain the Mage-sight connection with it as long as possible, trying to get a gist of exactly what they were standing on - and if she pissed something truly off. The bullet flies into the insect eggs, burrowing its way in. Swan can see the rune bullet racing through it toward its destination. A glimmering surface, just like the curved ones around them. The reaction of a bullet against this surface is explosive, far more explosive than she had any right to expect. The sound of the impact is the first thing to overwhelm her. Perversely, the sound reaches her before the blinding light emitted by the destruction of the diamond surface. No longer rising, Swan feels the 'ground' beneath her now falling, suddenly. Between the noise, the blinding light and the sudden drop, things quickly go white for Swan. When Swan comes to, she's not in a desert. And certainly not in a hourglass trap or whatever it was that had encapsulated her and Horatia. She can feel she's lying on a pallet or bed. Trying to open her eyes leads to seeing a blurry, dark world. Its cool here, wherever here is. Shapes are at best suggestions rather than outright defined. "Swan" Horatia's voice comes from some direction, coming closer. It sounds somewhat distorted, tinny, as if she was hearing it from an AM station.. A hand falls on her shoulder. THAT at least feels normal. Soft. The temperature of the skin is much alike Swan's latest lover. "We're in one of the rooms of the Keeper." Horatia says. “I think I may have just got you fired, doll,” she says with true regret. She tries to blink away the blurriness. . . but realizes this is much worse than a simple hangover. Horatia exhales, a breath that runs across Swan. She doesn't have a chance to answer... "Your eyes are still growing back." comes the voice of the Keeper, as if prompted. It sounds distorted, too. "You may wish to keep them closed somewhat longer." " Your hearing is also likely affected. This will also pass. I have...taken measures on your behalf." Suhuy adds. " Your companion's ability to shift is greater than yours, as well as being further away from, further away from..." the voice stops a moment. "What was that phrase Merlin uses? Ah, yes, Ground Zero. You were much closer to Ground Zero than she was. You are tougher than most, though, Swan, I give you that. Many give up before getting as far as you two did." Swan groans softly, “I knew I should have brought my cane and tin-cup.” A spike of fear courses through her. Losing her eyes. What could more terrifying than that? Wearing white on Labour Day, maybe. But this was definitely pushing it. She gladly keeps her eyelids close, counting her small blessings. At least she wasn’t in a dungeon like her uncle. Not that she could tell, anyway. She curls into Hortia, finding the woman’s presence comforting. She’s unapologetic as she rests her head against the warm skin. “Yeah. I’m a tough, old bird,” she mutters. “And stubborn. Lest we forget that." "Indeed" Horatia says. "Stronger than I expected an Amberite to be." The voice might sound a little less tinny. A little less. Yes. “So. Any other parts of me missing?” Humorous as her tone may be, she half-dreads the answer. "Your kinesthetic sense is betraying you." The Keeper says. "This is likely due to the drugs I have injected you with. You lost your left leg at the knee, your left breast and four fingers from your right hand and the thumb of your left hand." "By the time your eyes regenerate, the other missing portions will have returned to what you have been accustomed to. Sensory nerves take the longest to regenerate." Suhuy adds. "I have accelerated and altered your body's capacity to shift its form." Suhuy continues. "You will still need practice, pedagogy and education, but the basic potential is now unlocked. Permanently." The voice pauses a beat. "You did wish to have the ability to shift your form, did you not, Swan? It was easy enough to see it in your mind." “That had been the plan,” Swan sighs weakly. She’s still trying to process the whole missing body-parts portion of the conversation. Maybe being blinded is a good thing. She’s been beaten up pretty bad in the past, but the laundry list Suhuy had listed made her stomach churn with acid. She doesn’t even want to think of nasty the burn scars to her body are. “What now? How long have I got in this place? Hell. How long have I been out?” "Your mind and your tongue are still functional." The Keeper says. "So, what now, is, to discuss your future, of course. You may have come here for a lark, or to be, what did Merlin call it..." he pauses. "A tourist. You may have wished to be a tourist, Swan, but you have toured yourself into my realm, and that does not come lightly." “Thank for the insight, gee. The whole missing body parts thing sort of slipped right by me,” Swan mutters. “And next time, you might want to mention that in the brochure. It’s a real selling point.” "To come here is to risk far greater loss than merely parts of your body." Suhuy replies. "And as of I?" Horatia's voice comes next to Swan's. "You, you are relatively simple and direct to understand, hellmaiden." Suhuy says. "Perhaps less interesting for it, but that's hardly your fault." Swan tries to find the woman’s hand with whatever remains of her own, “Don’t worry, doll. I’ll make it up to you in spades. I owe you. When I get my Way, you’ll be living high on the hog.” "You wish me to reside on a great porcine?" Horatia says. Swan can hear a sigh from the Keeper. "To answer your other questions." Suhuy says. "In the time of my Chancel, you have been healing here for seven hundred and nine thousand seconds.Eight days in your speech. I expect you to be here another two or three centuries." He makes a sound "Days. I sometimes forget." Suhuy pauses a moment. "The time flows around the Logrus are certainly non-linear and multidimensional. Your exit into Chaosian spacetime from here might yet be negotiated." Swan groans again, feeling the phantom pain of limbs and eyes remembered, rather than possessed. “Better make it a fortnight, gee. I’m good for it. Just ask anyone. . . who doesn’t know me, anyway.” She laughs and instantly regrets it. She finds a flickering spot of muted light to focus on, riding through the druggy haze of pain. “So, am I going to have wings and extra bits when this is all said and done?” she manages. “Still new to this dismemberment and shape-shift stuff.” :"Given your age and the mostly ordered nature of your bloodline, your base form should not change. You will find some additional base variability of course, but you have been in the Courts long enough to see those to know what to expect. But you will not permanently have wings or other mutations, save by extensive and long term effort." Swan gives a relieved sigh, “Well, that’ll cut down on the awkward moments at family gatherings, anyway.” "I did note." Suhuy continues "that you have an unusual imprint of the Unicorn's design within you. I would not be so impolite as to say it is a corrupt, but rather an alternate version that overlays your own. The unusual infusion of that power within you can and does remain intact. In point of fact, the infusion of chaos in that imprint made it somewhat easier than I expected to teach your body to shift, Swan." Swan nods to this, “Yeah. Stumbled over a Broken Pattern on the way here. Still trying to glom what mischief I can get up to it. And what it means. Another spot of luck, I guess.” "Ah, that is what that is." Suhuy says. "A particularly chaos-infused Broken Pattern." he comments. "Perhaps you might sell its location? It seems Chaos-infused enough to be of more than academic interest to the right parties. Your Hellmaiden friend here, for instance, might successfully walk it." He waits for her reply and then continues. “I’ll keep that in mind,” Swan says faintly. “And no. Ain’t for sale. Private members only.” Her voice doesn’t change inflection much, but the unspoken warning is clear. "As you wish" Suhuy says. "We shall speak no more." "As far as what I said earlier" he continues speaking "you might well stay here two weeks longer if that is your wish. My question was, at what point in the timeline did you wish to return to the remainder of House Sawall? That is still an open, undefined variable. You would want to decide, quickly, for if someone were to come visit as you did, the quantum indeterminacy would no longer apply, for they would provide a privileged observer as to the time frame outside of the Ways of the Logrus." "I confess I do not understand three quarters of what you said, Keeper." Horatia admits. "I know, little hellmaiden." he says, his tone suddenly and jarring like that of a kindly uncle. "Worry not. Your friend here chose you for a spirit of adventure than aught else." “Going by what I learned from Morgan Freeman, I’d say he’s going on about relative time,” Swan says. “If you’re feeling spry, you can pop out just after we fall-down-go-boom. Maybe save your job, if you don’t want to work for me.” She smiles weakly, closing her eyes against the muddy light. “I think I’ll just stay here for the fort. See what’s what. Heh heh. See.” she gives a wry snort. “Send me back just in time to be fashionably late. Maybe Queenie Dara has sent out a search party by now.” "If the Queen Mother has a search party reach here in the next moments, that would affix us all in time." Suhuy says. "It sounds, however, that you would wish to return to Sawall not long after your encounter with the last Barrier. Very well." The creepy crawling feeling that Swan got whenever Cazaril used the Logrus is back--amped up at least an order of magnitude, if not two. Swan knows what body parts are fixed and which aren't, just by the *feel* of where her skin tingles and where there is no skin at all. And yet, there is a resonance, a calling between the strange Broken Pattern within her and the Logrus, as if the Broken Pattern was partly a child of the Logrus as well as a child of the Pattern in Amber. This resonance feels like the chill on teeth when eating particularly cold ice cream, and passes in the same way. "It is done" the Keeper says. "Time has been molded so that your exit, in two weeks time, will be within a turning of your arrival here." "We shall have to see about your lessons once you have sufficiently healed." Suhuy adds. "And now, if you will excuse me, I have business to attend to. Your companion of a hellmaiden is ambulatory enough to see to your immediate needs." “Thanks Gee, you’ve been a swell host,” Swan says through closed eyes. “Seriously. Most people wouldn’t have stitched me back together again, so I owe ya one.” "You do." Suhuy says. "But it is a debt not to be collected in a turning, or even a century." His voice trails off, as if he was moving very far away. She lets out a deep sigh, trying to ignore the ‘voids’ where parts of her used to be. But mostly, she fights the overwhelming urge to scream in frustration. Helplessness is ~not~ something she’s accustomed to. And now, here she is, as helpless as a babe in the arms of a virtual stranger. A few minutes of this was hell. Two weeks? She’d go off her rocker by then. “Sorry I got you wrapped in this, Horatia,” she says. "This has been a traumatic experience." she picks her words slowly and carefully. "I think that you have been wounded far more than your body." Her hand moves to rest on Swan's forehead. Its surprisingly cool. "This was a suggestion I made, on the hopes of seeing someone, something that I never would have the opportunity, elsewise." "I do not know if that means I should apologize to you, then." she says. "But I do not regret the experience. It has been 16 years, Swan, since I was a crimson goddess, striding across the battlefield, fighting the soldiers of your homeland. Where love and death were exchanged on an hourly basis. Where the honor of the blade was upheld, and the tempering of women." Swan smiles at that image, curling into the cool hand like a sleepy cat. “Glad I didn’t meet you on the battlefield then, doll. I wouldn’t have been able to decide whether to kill ya or screw ya.” She chuckles at that, grinning. She opens her eyes again testing them, trying to see the woman’s face. Her face looks significantly less of a blur of colors and shapes. Swan can distinctly tell where her face is and where it is not, but the fine details still escape her. At least the lighting here appears to be low. Looking in its direction still causes an itch in the back of her eye that she cannot possibly scratch. “You should walk with me, Horatia. After I. . . heal. . . I’m going to war. Somewhere in Shadow against a bunch of upstarts. Don’t know for how long, or if it’s a one way trip to the boneyard. But I’d love to know you had my back, doll. Think you’re up for a tussle? Get a little taste of the red again?” "Our trip to see the Keeper raised the blood in my veins." she says. The tone in her voice has changed to rapturous. We faced death. I thought I had given it up, thought I was merely a preparer of meals." "I was wrong." Horatia says. "You and your kind may have brought death and destruction during the War, Swan, but you have reawakened a truth inside me. I do wish to go with you, and taste War again." Swan smiles softly, touching Hoatia’s side. “You’re more than welcome to walk the rails with me, doll. I’d be glad to have you there. Most don’t get the ultraviolence. The rush. The thrill. Tweaking death on the beaker because we can. The simplicity of it. And the inner peace it brings.” "Yes" she says with a satisfied tone in her voice, in agreement. "You would have made a good Hendrake." "I would guess" she adds "You have already asked the Chatelaine this same question. Or if you do not, she will take it amiss and punish you for it." There is a teasing tone in her voice. "On the other hand, the Queen Mother may be surprised if her staff enlist en masse." Swan sighs, “Great. Gonna have the two of them on my keister. Though Laine’s spankings are probably more squirmy than the Queen’s.” "But, then, given that nearly everyone who serves here in her Ways not a demon is a hellmaiden." Swan thinks Horatia shrugs. "this may be not unexpected." “More the merrier,” Swan admits. “And if they prove themselves, I might even let them take the Walk.” She gives a wry chuckle, regretting it as daggers stab into her lungs. “The Mandala might get a kick out of a having few more daughters.” "The Keeper may well me listening" Horatia says "And we are near to the Logrus, but the Keeper seems to think this Mandala, this broken Pattern, is a Pattern infused with the Logrus. Might you not tell me more about it?" “I will, doll. Count on that. But loose lips sink ships,” Swan replies. “Just know I’m not the only one that strolled it. And she’s more hell-maiden than most. It definitely gave her a little pep in her step.” She grins despite herself, recalling ‘Lex’s burning skin in ~vivid~ detail. She wonders what delicious mayhem it would inspire in this beauty. “It’ll be our first stop on the road to Amber, Horatia. And you’re brave enough, I’ll let you get a makeover like no other.” "I understand" she says. Swan can see her shift and relax. "This will be a decision made once I see it for myself, and you are free to tell me more of it. And those others you choose to recruit and of those you wish to tell your secret." "If it is infused with the Logrus, then perhaps a Logrus wielder will be able to use it." she muses. "As well as those like me who have as yet been denied higher initiations. But perhaps now we might rest and see to your recuperation, Swan. And perhaps start teaching you some of the forms of the blade, in addition to your shifting lessons." Swan nods lightly, still weak as a truck-flattened kitten. “We’ll get you all gussed-up, doll. Don’t you fret. I treat my girls like royalty. But I’m thinking that sleep thing might be rate.” She yawns and grimaces… slowly slipping back under, in avoidance of the pain lurking behind every nerve. “Then we do the whole furry and fang and tentacle thingie…” A playful smile, then she’s gone again. "It will be glorious" Horatia says, who quickly realizes that Swan is in no condition or position to hear. [Feel free to fill and expand this as you desire, or not, here] The next few days are relatively dull for Swan, although forward progress in recovering is something that she notices. She's much better at bouncing back than she once was. Her hearing is normal by the end of the first day, and her sight is normal--maybe even better than it was, by the end of her fifth. By the time she can completely see, her body is weak, but all of her parts are intact, although her formerly missing breast requires a couple of days more to grow back to full size. The other damaged and missing pieces of her are like that, too. Her new fingers are the size of an infant's, but that does not last. Horatia was definitely much less the worse for wear, and she looks as she did when they stepped out on that fateful desert. Swan tries to ignore the oddity of her regenerating body, keeping to herself when she can. It isn’t out of vanity, but the unsettling vulnerability. Already she wonder what Horatia thinks of her, having seen her at her weakest. It is about the eighth day that Suhuy, in the form of a demonic looking hunchback of Notre Dame, complete with horns, announces that it is time for Swan to learn the art of shifting her form explicitly and deliberately. "We have an important choice." he says. "Especially since we are unlocking the potential within you." he says. "If you are going to be in Chaos for a time, you should concentrate on Chaosian forms, especially your heart forms." Suhuy says. "Barimens are not enthusiastic about the art of shapechange, but react to mundane shapes better than, say, a Satyrix battlemaiden." Swan stretches her arms and legs, trying to ignore their New Limb smell – an illusion she knows, but no less disturbing. She jerks a nod to Suhuy, “If we’re gonna do this, we do it right. That family ain’t done $%#^ for me, you they can stick their delicate sensibilities up their a$$ for all I care. “Let’s do this heart form you mentioned.” "Very well. Then we'll train you to the Chaosian forms." Suhuy says. "It is fortunate that we have a scion of the Courts here to demonstrate, rather than myself. My shaping is not something to be easily emulated." "Oh, me!" Horatia says. She nods and looks at Swan and smiles. "The heart forms, Swan is also called the Primal forms, the first forms. Many names, depending on which House you're in. Its the shapes you can and do instinctively take, besides your birth form. As far as the innermost set, you have your Birth form, your War form, and your Avatar form. You already know your Birth Form. The War form." she grins "is the most fun. In distant shadows, distant reflections of the Courts..." "Near Amber" Suhuy interjects. "Near Amber" Horatia corrects "War forms are often based on animals. I fought such, in the War. Warpwolves, they were called. But around here, the War form is demonic. Like so." Horatia shifts into the form Swan saw before when they dealt with the tentacles. She stands a foot and a half taller, and her skin has turned black and leathery. Her eyes are burning red coals. She gives a toothy grin to Swan. "Thank you Hellmaiden." he says with the tone of an approving Uncle. "The thing is to shape yourself to your personality and proclivities." Suhuy says. "To let your instincts, aptitudes and nature guide you to what you like best, Swan. I could drop you into the desert and let you find them naturally, but we've had enough of that, haven't we? Think. Imagine. Become. You are in combat. What does your body want you to be?" Swan regards Horatia for a moment, staring up at this creature that had been a beautiful woman only seconds before. She appreciates her form’s potential for violence. But it lacks… style. No flash or finesse. She looks down at herself, imagining her body as it moved in combat. Quick, brutal, beautiful, fluid. Like rain, dancing in a thunderstorm. She feels her skin shiver. A low, moan escapes her. The Change is coming, inspired by her thoughts. It passes over her and through her, orgasmic and aching and oh-so welcome. Swan can feel their attention upon her, studying her changes carefully. The flesh turns grey and shadowy – a corset of placoid scales covering her body. It provides her with a shark-like appearance, which is strengthened as her face stretches and yaws outward into a sleek muzzle. Muscles swell beneath this layer of leathery armor, ridges of sharpened bone erupting along her forearms and lower legs. A single kick or back punch could open up a man like tissue paper. This thought only excites her more, eliciting a feral moan. Unlike her companion, her new body is meant for movement and dexterity, rather than raw power. As if someone had bred a Great White with a panther. Deep set eyes flicker with a sea green glow atop her torpedoed head. . . rows of shark teeth glittering in her mouth. Swan flexes her taloned hand and nods. “Oh yeah… this I like.” [And now the GM has an idea for a template for some Exalted beastmen. Well done, Jason!] "A very water based form." Suhuy says. "Dexterity, Celerity, and movement. Speed is life." he says. He looks at Horatia. "Swan's abilities do not run to raw strength." Horatia appraises. "This form is to leverage her ability to use freedom of action." She fixes Swan's coal eyes. "I suspect this type of form you took was influenced by your experience with the two Marid-born you traveled with. I wonder if your elemental form is similarly influenced..." Swan’s nictitating eyelids blink at this, “Elemental form?” "The other major form" Horatia says. "is your elemental form. Again, I do not think those on the close side of order engage in such things, but taking a form based on one of the classical elements or paraelements is traditional as well. Some call this the Avatar or atavistic survival form, but they are..." "Later for that" Suhuy interrupts. "Swan, you will practice this form for the next hour, switching between it and your human form. Make it as familiar to you as your own skin. Make it so that your instinct, when combat is near, to take this form. Then, you will have a true Chaosian war form, like we of the Courts do, and be more like us that way." "And, then, we'll determine your Elemental avatar form. I am going to guess its water, as Horatia suspects. But not necessarily." Swan nods and begins to stretch out her new body. When she’s comfortable, she enters into the dancing rhythm of the ginga – the fundamental movement of capoeira. She learned the fighting style long ago while in shadow, fascinated by its ties to music and movement. Once her pace is set, she allows her new body to attune itself with the liquid movements. Three steps left, she is human. Three steps right, she is daemon. Skin and bones flowing like a wave, back and forth. Back and forth. Human. Daemon. Human. Daemon. The exertion strains her, yet invigorates her, driving her onward. Ten minutes of constant motion. Then with lightning speed, her body switches to the offensive, going from human, then shifting to daemon as her leg sweeps low – boney, heel blades hamstringing her invisible attacker. The momentum carries her back up into the ginga, and she is human once again. And thus, she begins practicing the offensive and defensive movements of the martial art into her shifting… honing her body into reflexive action and reaction. Her body learning its fluidity, until both states of existence are as natural to it as breathing. By the end, she is at the edge of collapse, but can’t help but laughing joyously. Her eyes settle on Horatia, hungry, wanting, teeth flashing her primal need. “Where has this been all my life?” she growls lustfully. "Should I withdraw so that the two of you can mate?" Suhuy states, flatly. "It has been long since I have had the need to do so." Swan flips Suhuy the Bird – and definitely ~not~ the Charlie Parker. The Keeper stares at Swan's gesture, and shakes his head, with a bemused, fanged, grin. "Food and time alone might be appreciated, Keeper." Horatia (now back in her regular form) says, looking squarely at Swan. "I suppose that slaking your lusts and your hunger might be useful at this point, as a life-affirming act." Suhuy says. "You'll have the remainder of the turning. But to answer your question before I go, Swan." Suhuy says. "you have always had this, if you but knew it. Even in the heart of the scions of strictest order, there is formlessness and chaos." Swan shrugs her sinewy shoulders, “Considering how $%#^house rat crazy most of my family is, I ain’t gonna dispute that, Hugh. Still, never seen a one of them sporting this look.” She smirks, “But you’re the Miyagi in this show, so I’ll take your word for it.” "Those in your family who can shape their form likely keep that a secret." Suhuy says. "A deep secret." She sloughs off the New Flesh for the old and sits down in a lotus position. “Brunch and a smoke would do for now.” She waggles her brows at Horatia, “I knew you liked me.” She grins. "I was uncertain as to your mating status with the Chatelaine, or if Barimens are serial monogamists. The customs of each House in Chaos, Swan, can vary widely." "Food, drink, and qataghan tobacco will be provided." Suhuy says, interrupting with a tone of impatience. "My sources in the diplomatic corps tell me you have a taste for it. Until tomorrow." Suhuy doesn't exactly vanish, or walk away in the usual manner. Its as if he walks away in a fourth physical dimension, diminishing and disappearing out of sight. "Ay, where we we?" Horatia says. Swan lies back, stretching out… chest rising and falling. “Exhaustion, I believe.” Horatia nods. "You have learned much for one day. Shapeshifting requires large inputs of energy. Your appetite may be permanently increased." Swan smirks softly, “And not just for grub, I glom. Heh.” She glances over at her companion and smiles faintly. “I live by the day, if not the hour. So, I sort of tossed all the pomp and circumstance out with the bath water. I ain’t no roundheels, but I don’t hang my hat on one door either. If you’re rate with that, then we’re golden. Broken too many hearts not to put that up front.” "I was not seeking an exclusive relationship, Swan." Horatia says. "And if She glances over at her companion and smiles faintly. “I live by the day, if not the hour. So, I sort of tossed all the pomp and circumstance out with the bath water. I ain’t no roundheels, but I don’t hang my hat on one door either. If you’re rate with that, then we’re golden. Broken too many hearts not to put that up front.” "I was not seeking an exclusive relationship, Swan." Horatia says. "And if I implied an undue and unwarranted promiscuity and desire to share genetic material, I apologize." She bows her head. "The last Barimen I met, if you do not call her highness the Queen Mother or his Majesty the Emperor one, was far less interested in mating with me than taking my head off." “Yeah, that sounds like my clan alright,” Swan says with a faint nod. “But nah. I was just making it crystal. I like you. Would love to get to know you better in every sense. Just don’t want it changing our dynamic, savvy?” She gives the woman a soft smile. "Or the dynamic of those who already associate with, like the Chatelaine." Horatia adds, and grins. Swan smirks and makes a gesture like cracking a whip, “Whick-tish.” Then, something Horatia catches her attention and she lightly frowns. “Hey. With this… shifting. Can we see how the other half lives? And if we do. . . can we like. . . put a bun in the oven?” She gestures to her stomach with a great unease. Horatia rolls over, looking for the promised food, and sniffs as it does not seem to be immediately available. She props herself on an elbow and regards Swan. "The vast majority of Chaosians, especially that fraction that cannot innately shapeshift, have a default and defined gender." Horatia says. "Some of the priests of Ambelrash say it is because we came from a people, long ago, that had gender, and we learned to shapeshift from them, just as you are learning now." "Our bodies, our personalities are often uncomfortable in switching genders, even if we are fully capable of it." Horatia continues. "For example, one of my superiors, a Major in the Hellmaidens, during the war, got caught by the spell of spitfire of a Barimen sorcerer and got fixed into a single form, a male form. Her reaction, and I quote, Swan. 'I am wearing male flesh. How unpleasant.'” Swan chuckles softly, not so much at the misfortune but the major’s straightforward reaction to it. She can’t imagine being stuck as a man. Too hard and lacking far too many interesting parts. She scooches closer to her companion, still listening quietly as Horatia continues. "The less facile shifters amongst the Chaosians cannot shift gender at all." she adds, smiling as Swan moves closer. "I don't know how well you will be able to push your ability to shift. You may not be able to change your gender at all. I can do it, but I agree with the Major. I prefer being female. But could I impregnate you if I did? Yes, yes I could. Chaosians have an astonishing ability to interbreed with different species, and you may meet Chaosians with ancestry from unexpected lines. There is a strain of Marid ancestry in certain sectors of Sawall, for instance. Hendrake history says that there is Elder Dragon ancestry in our lines, as well as Lesser Dragons." "House Elvina would know far more." Hortaia says. "They are the best shifters since..." she pauses with a tone of dread in her voice. "since the Lessima left." Swan reaches over and lightly traces Horatia’s hip as the woman talks; her eyes savoring the woman’s exotic features. This realm and its people are just so. . . new to her. And stripping away the limitations of flesh certainly add an extra thrill to the spicy mix. Her experience with the Chatelaine certainly woke her up, and nearly dying. . . well, that always gave her more reason to live. She wonders what it’d be like pitching woo with a dragon; a smile of feline-satisfaction curling her lips. But at the change in tone, she takes notice. Her brow goes up, even as her hand continues its almost-shy exploration. “Lessima? I glom they weren’t a popular bunch?” "You should know about the Lessima, if you are to stay and carve out an empire in bullets and blood for yourself here in Chaos." Horatia says. Swan nods to this, “Yeah. You read my mind, doll.” "You know that Houses in Chaos rise and fall, of course." Horatia says. "The Thirteen Great Houses have not remained constant over time. Once upon a time, there used to be a Great House called Lessima. They were the greatest shifters in Chaos, doing things with their bodies that are indescribable, unimaginable even to the likes of us. Being able to shift their very souls, discard their bodies, forcibly shift others into other forms for their amusement..." Horatia gives off a shudder. Swan raises a brow at this, but says nothing. [Horatia] swallows and nods. "Their sin, though, was not that. It was that they believed their shifting and other assets were such that they refused to offer any candidates to the Logrus. They said that it was foolishness and wrong to offer candidates to the Logrus, for many who try the Logrus die. The Church could not abide such a challenge to their authority." "And so there was something not seen before or since in Chaos." Horatia says. "A Crusade. A Jihad." Swan whistles, impressed. “Holy war, huh? Yeah, those rarely go well. ‘Course, not exactly smart either. I bet trying to bump that family off was like nailing water to a wall. What with their ability to shift. They could go to ground and no one would be the wiser. “Gotta admire their style.” "You would be right about the results of the Jihad." Horatia says. "It was an abject failure. The Lessima fled the Courts and found themselves a place in a very inhospitable spot in the Black Zone. They made a stand and resisted the Chaosian forces arrayed against them. The War petered to an end. "There, the Lessima remain still. In the best of times, its a Cold Peace. In the worst of times, there are incidents. There is, you will not be surprised, Swan, clandestine trade as well. They are supreme shapeshifters, after all, and they do live in a hostile land." Swan smiles at this, almost wistful. “I like these Lessima more and more. Then again, I’ve always had a thing for the black sheep. What with me being one.” She chuckled. “Don’t worry, doll. Not going to run off and dangle with them. Just giving them respect for the size of their marbles.” Horatia nods. "I know not what they think of Barimens, anyway." "And the Church did not do well by their failed war." Horatia continues. "House Ambelrash has never been as strong since, having lost much honor, respect and power. Emperor Orbutteser was assassinated." "It was thought in many quarters that the recent Shockwave that wrecked the Courts and Shadow was their doing." Horatia says. "Instead, it seems to have been the doing of one of the Barimens, and an ancient rogue god." Swan shrugs, “Wouldn’t doubt it. Our lot love to mess about. I couldn’t drop a dime on who it was though. We’re not close, me and the Family.” She stares upward, considering something for a moment. A sigh escapes her. “Liking this side of the pond more and more, frankly. At least here, the ultraviolence has some tingle and rightness to it.” "You are an expatriate. I think that's the word." Horatia says, speaking it as if tasting it for the first time. "Making a way in distant land from your birth home. Such talk in metaphors of ponds, and your War form makes me wonder if there isn't a streak of Marid ancestry deep within the Barimen line somewhere." Horatia speculates. Swan sighs softly, bumping her head against the ground. “I seriously need the cliff notes for this place, ‘cause I’m sure that meant something.” "I wondered if there were water elementals somewhere in your ancestry, dear Swan" Horatia says. "Back when your ancestors were Chaosians of course." At this point, softly and silently, a table gets pulled into existence from somewhere. Swan feels a slight backlash of energy similar to whenever Cazaril used the Logrus, although at a somewhat different pitch. On the table are an array of familiar foods, at least they look like sausages, things that seem like beef ribs, haunches and legs of poultry, roughly chopped root vegetables, and even what might be mashed potatoes. The smell of it all is enough to make Swan's stomach growl On the other hand, there are a few unfamiliar things, such as the bowl of pale yellow rice(?) and the moving white things embedded in it, for instance. "The Keeper has been as good as his word." Horatia says. "I do not recognize most of this food, however, save for the Paete." she admits. Swan sits up and examines the offerings. They’re definitely to her liking. “Old Man did good,” she says, taking a plate. She grabs a portion from each bowl and steaming platter, mashing it all together in mass of textures and shapes. “Yeah, this should do me.” Horatia fills a bowl with the pale yellow rice like substance, squinting at the more familiar foods to Swan but not yet partaking of them. She settles in to gorge, eating and reviving the priority rather than enjoying the tastes. “So, am I going to feel like this after shifting every time?” "Your body is still getting used to heavy shapeshifting, I gather." Horatia says, grabbing one of those little white worm things before it escapes her bowl and swallowing it. "So, your appetite is going to be high for a while when you change and learn forms. In time, your appetite will become less ravenous, as well as other urges." "But I suspect they will both be permanently greater than what you are used to." she adds. She looks at the beef ribs. "I'm surprised the Keeper didn't have any roast zhind, unless he disguised it somehow." her eyes fall on the beef ribs Swan is enjoying. Swan watches the wriggling worm and then finally shrugs. “Protein,” she mutters and pops some of the aforementioned beef-substance into her mouth. It has enough fire to make her smile. “And how about my healing,” she asks. “If we can shift our organs and grunty bits, there’s gotta be one hell of a health plan with this.” "The ability to shift form is the ability to heal oneself." Horatia confirms between bites. "As long as raw materials, food, especially are at hand. Although the ability to heal and recover from wounds is something I understand is retained by your line, your new ability to change shape increases that capability." She puts down the bowl and grabs one of the beef ribs, and tries it for herself without reservation. Horatia eats half of the meat off of the bone before she speaks again. "The art of poisons, of course, is a high art, to find poisons that will injure a Chaosian and not allow healing to occur is a common area of research. In addition, weapons of certain metals, or enchanted weapons, are, ah, useful in trying to dispatch a shapeshifter such as yourself, Swan." Swan nods, munching away as fast as she can raise the food to her mouth. “I’ll need to glom the best coffin work, since I’ll be cooling my jets around these parts. Usually a bit of lead or a solid brick is enough to get things done. Never been high-handed when it comes to killing, though may be time to change rails.” She cocks her head, “There a House or guild specializing in wetwork? Some places you need a member card or you step on toes.” Horatia finishes the rib and reaches for another. "There is no particular House or Guild for Assassins, if that is what you are asking." she says between bites. "There used to be a minor House that was nothing but Assassins, specializing in murder and poisons. However, a group of major Houses decided it was too dangerous to have a House dedicated to such arts, and arranged for its downfall." "You might say that the art of assassination is done by talented amateurs, now. There is much call for 'wetwork', as you say. The number of assassinations that allowed the Emperor to ascend to the throne was prodigious." "You will want to talk to the Poisons Mistress of Sawall." she continues. "She is not a field person engaging in wetwork herself, but if you want weapons and poisons for that art, or even to apprentice in learning their creation, Naiomi Sawall is the person to know. Her sister is Delois Sawall, one of the six Marchesas of Sawall. If the Keeper and I were not teaching you shapeshifting here and now, Marchesa Delois would be the person to teach you. I suspect that is who her Highness the Queen Mother was going to send you to for such training. And likely her daughter, as well." Swan spoons some more spicy rice and meat substance into her mouth as Horatia talks, constantly dipping her head like a drinking bird. “Sounds like she’s as good a fixer as any. Never been one for hitching my horse to one post though. I like the field. More cabbage to be had that way. “So, tell me, how would the Houses react to having a freelancer around? I’d like to make a name for myself. And for those sisters that are willing to dangle with me. Murder Inc, savvy?” "That depends." Horatia says. "On where you are going to set up your operations." Horatia branches out, trying a panoply of the more familiar foods Swan is eating, eschewing the rice and grubs for what must be for her more experimental fare. "You will want to avoid taking contracts within Sawall itself, and restrict yourself to the rest of Chaos." she says between bites. "You probably will also want a base of operations outside of the walls of Sawall...I've heard you are getting Ways in Sawall. You'll want a base In Lowtown, perhaps, or in one of the Black Zone Shadows. " This would give her Highness plausible deniability and avoid the possibility of a House declaring vendetta on Sawall itself for your business practices, especially if you do not formally join Sawall." "You'll want to be declared a citizen of Chaos, though." Horatia says. "And for that, we'll need for you to see the High Judge." Swan wrinkles her nose, “Never been rate with judges. Usually on the wrong side of them.” She shrugs, “Ah well. Guess you gotta jump through hoops to get the ring.” "You would not want to be considered a non-citizen." Horatia says. "In that case, you would have scant little rights, and even your Ways might be under threat." Horatia looks thoughtful for a moment. "Clearly the Queen Mother is expecting to recruit you into Sawall, or will tell you this. She can be capricious, but to grant you Ways only for you to quickly lose them is not her style." [Swan] leans back, rubbing her bare stomach unapologetically. “You’re hired as my administrator, by the way. Got a good head on those shoulders. I like this planning stuff you do. It’ll be better pay than pots and pans. “I hope.” She thinks for a moment then smirks, “Hrm. Maybe a front would help smooth things.” "You may have to ask Dara to allow me into your service. However, given the immediate issue of the Prince General Benedict's War, such a severance may be granted to me, and other sisters that you intend to recruit as a boon of service." Horatia says. "And if I might add, if you did not create a shell of a business, some might suspect your company itself to be a front for something else. But they will suspect that anyway." "But perhaps" Horatia looks at the remnants of the spread. "It is time for rest. We've more lessons in shapeshifting, including your elemental form, before Suhuy will declare your lessons done. He would be loath to leave such a promise unfinished and incomplete before the Queen Mother finds us." Swan gives a light nod, stretching out. “I like you, doll. You’re a keeper.” Backlinks |
