IntoTheLogrusIndex | Time Under Chaos | Game Logs | Into the Logrus [continued from Welcome Back and Trouble Is Our Business- Goran and Tear] The raven-thing turned its sickly glowing eyes on Amba. "Leave me be, Amba," came a raspy, yet familiar voice. "Dream or no, you'll not hinder me this time." The ropy mass of shadows erupted from her dark flesh, dozen of serpentine tongues tasting the air cautiously. Solitaire began to circle Amba, avoiding confrontation, if she could; intent on proceeding farther along her previous path. Amba was somewhat taken aback by Tear's attitude towards her—though they were not in the strictest sense friends, neither did she think that there was any antipathy between them. At least not on her part. But she moved out of the Baroness' way, content to let her pass. "I think that you're the reason I'm here in the first place, so if you're willing to go to it, by all means, do so." This response, in turn, gave Tear pause. She stopped in her tracks, studying Amba's face for sincerity. Whatever she found there, the demon-girl appeared to deflate; as much as a writhing mass of Logrus and feathers could do so, anyway. "Really?" she said hesitantly. "Well, as long as you promise not to throw icky stuff at my face this time. . . you can come along." She cocked her deformed head as she drew closer, "I am puzzled why you're in my dream though. I would have thought Goran would be here. Maybe Merlin. But you and I have only just met. Well. The real Amba, I mean. "She does have a silent strength I envy. Maybe that's it. Wishful thinking. Heh," She shrugs and idly preens her feathers. "Dream?" Amba echoed. "This is no dream. Not on my end at least. I was at the Cathedral of the Serpent, and confronted...something...in Despil to get his eyesight back. I think it was a manifestation of the Logrus, but I don't know much about those things, but it seemed very much to need you. Then I walked towards the Cathedral and was here." "But. But I was sleeping in Amber a moment ago!" Solitaire-Raven squawks. "And then I was in this beautiful place. I started following the Logrus' voice. . . if you can call it that. . . until you appeared just now." Her body began to shed flesh and feathers, melting like tallow to uncover the tiny woman beneath. The shadows remained coiled around her body like a second skin, but at least she appeared human now. She tugged on her ear, perplexed. "If this isn't a dream. . . then are we in the Cathedral now? And how did I get here?" "You'd know the answer to that question better than I," Amba replied, shrugging. "Or perhaps we should continue and ask the Logrus..." Solitaire provided Amba with a bemused smile. "The latter, I suppose. If that's truly where we are." She continued her progression deeper into the structure. A strange giggle slipped past her lips. "You know. Maybe we're its dream. The Logrus, I mean. We could just be projections inside its mind. Our souls summoned to fulfill whatever need it requires. "That might explain why we sorta look like ghosts." Remembering what Lord Torren had surmised about Solitaire's origins, Amba could only manage a sickly smile in reply, bobbing her head faintly as she followed the young sorceress deeper into the darkness surrounding them. Ahead of them, the redness of the Logrus glowed, and they saw the writhing fronds twist eagerly as though in greeting. There was something else, too—a figure standing at the heart of the Logrus. Solitaire paused some distance for the Logrus, recalling her previous encounter here. She wavered unsteadily on her feet, as if caught in a strong wind. After a moment, she regained her composure, but still had a euphoric, far-away look in her eyes. For her part, Amba looked at the figure, trying to make anything out, then as she saw Solitaire saw something she evidently didn't, looked even harder, trying to discern who it might be. She was still very trepid about this whole situation, but her curiosity was winning out over her innate sense of caution. There must be some reason why she was here with the baroness...if only she could figure out what that reason was... "It's so beautiful," she whispered, trying not to break the crystalline moment with the harshness of a voice. With a blissful smile, she removed a set of gold-rimmed spectacles from her pocket and slipped them on. The dark lenses flared brightly with the same ruddy hue as the Logrus itself. The figure seemed to be clothes in the light of the Logrus. Male...yes, male. And his hair was a sunburst of light...but as they came even closer it seemed to settle to a darker red, the colour of the pulsating coils around. "Children," he said—and his voice was rich and clear. "We have sought you so long." And he raised his hands to them, outstretched and welcoming. Outstretched and welcoming his arms may have been, but Amba was raised in too much pain and uncertainty to take that at face value. She looked at the figure skeptically, then back at Solitaire to see what her reaction was. Solitaire stared blankly at the figure, her jaw hanging loosely. Children, he'd said. There were so many possibilities for what that actually meant. But for some nagging reason, she did not believe he had been speaking metaphorically. She wet her dry lips and shivered. She lowered the glasses on her nose, staring up at Amba quizzically. Could this strange woman be a...sister? Considering her recent ancestral discovers, such a thing was not entirely out of the question. "I'll see what he wants," she said. "Watch my back?" Solitaire gulped audibly and began her journey into the man's outstretched arms, her movements almost mechanical. "I'm right behind you," Amba said, even as she paced the smaller woman. She scanned the area intently as they approached, as if expecting something to materialize out of the darkness. He caught her to him, and hugged her tightly. "Favourite child!" he said. "And now you have met the one created to guard you as you remake the universe." Solitaire gasped as she swept up into the man's arms, but found the embrace impossible to resist. Exhaustion ruled her soul, an emptiness that hungered to be filled. To hear those words of affection, spoken so plainly, so proudly, stifled any hesitation or worry. A wistful smile washed over her face as she buried herself into his warm chest, drinking in his presence like a fine brandy. And now Amba recognised him...and yet didn't recognise him. He was the man who had instructed her throughout her children and yet...he was different. For one thing, his hair was now unnaturally Logrus red. That growing up for Amba had been a difficult experience was a understatement to a degree that gross would not begin to rectify. Her mentor had been a hard taskmaster, always preparing her, through creative, and many times painful techniques—ones designed to strip her both physically and mentally of her own self-image. Much damage had been done in the molding of who she was to be, and only after she was left to her own devices had she been able to begin to forge her own life, her own psyche. It had been hard, but with the help of the people around her, she had been able to leave the wreck of a woman she had been behind her. But now, at the sight of him, she was taken back to that dark place, all the changes stripped away in a moment's time. Falling to one knee, her head dropped in submission, a solitary tear the only thing left of who she had been. "My lord Brand. I am, as always at your command." Solitaire's head snapped back, recognizing the name instantly. She stared up into his face, wide-eyed and awe-struck. Prince Brand?! The Mad Prince. Chagidiel—The Bloodstained Patriarch. The Destroyer of Worlds. But... But... The doubts were stillborn, even at the moment of their conception. It all made inescapable sense, didn't it? All those pesky threads she'd been tugging at all her life. The Princess Fiona's 'kindness,' her mother's willingness to kill her, this power burning within her heart, the fear most Elders had of her. Such terrible things could only stem from the man who now held her so tenderly. She'd been born for this moment. Born to murder the Universe. Somehow, saying it in her mind thusly didn't make the proposition as terrible as she would have initially thought. Solitaire rested her head back upon Brand's chest and smiled. "Pray tell me, Prince Brand. Or should I call you, Father? "Am I to remake the universe in your image...or in mine?" "Brand?" said the man slowly. "Brand? Ah yes. That was what they used to call me. Brand the Betrayer." He looked down at Amba, bowed before him, and then down at Solitaire, resting against his chest. "You may call me Brand still," he said. "Although that name...is no longer entirely accurate." He raised a hand and drew it lightly over Solitaire's head. "You must return," he said, "and awaken amidst the Amberites. There you will learn what your task is to be. Await your Protectoress. She will come to you and now you will know her." Another touch on her head...but it seemed to meld with a different pressure, the pressure of a pillow...and Solitaire was in her bed once more, and in Amber. --- Solitaire lay in her hammock for a time, contemplating what she'd witnessed in her 'dream.' It would have been easy to dismiss the dream as fantasy, but a cold truth clung to each ethereal fragment like frost. But despite the initial revulsion and fear, she found herself somehow relieved by this revelation. It explained a great many things and eased some of the pain from her mother's betrayal. But more than that, her 'true' father lived. After all these years, she was no longer alone in this world. How could she not be comforted by that thought? She threw back the covers and climbed down from the bed. "Get up, fuzzball," she said, shaking the furry lump. "We have work to do." --- Alone in the chamber with Amba, the man stretched out a hand towards her. "Arise, my child," he said, "and look into my eyes, if you have courage enough." Was it courageous or folly to look into the eyes of madness? Whatever it was, enough of Amba was left that she did so as resolutely as she had lived these last years. But there was no madness there. What was there was, if anything, far worse. It was the pure power of the Logrus. "Do you understand yet?" he asked, his voice almost a caress. "No matter if you do not. You understand what your role must be now..." He looked away, gazing back at the seething, roiling mass that was the Logrus itself. "And you must bring me Mandor's daughters," he said. "Those two I need as well." At the mention of Mandor's daughters—at the mention of Helena—Amba's will surged to the fore, brushing away with not insignificant effort, the malaise that had taken her. "No!" she said forcefully, and backed up, turning to run. Behind her the Logrus roiled and thundered. Ahead of her a figure loomed out of the mist—and move to seize her. Even in flight, Amba's trained mind ran through the evaluation of options, quickly formulating and discarding plans of escape. But in the end, the simplest option is what she took, as she shoulder charged the figure, grasping for any limb as she attempted to pin them to the ground. But the figure was clutching at her in turn, saying urgently, "Amba—it's Despil! Despil!" At the same moment, she felt the urgent tug of a trump call. "Despil?" Amba said, as if waking from a dream, trying to regain her sense of self. "What...?" She shook her head, wincing at the pull of the call, and would have ignored it, except she remembered that Helena was still out there, somewhere. Making sure that her background did not give away her location, Amba held up a hand to Despil, letting him know she was taking a call as she thought, "Yes?" [continued in And Back Out of the Logrus] |
