Time to Murder and Create - Amber Diceless

[Voshkod]

There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands . . . .

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, T.S. Eliot

On the Geneology of the Royal Family of Amber

- Oberon (believed dead), King of Amber
by Cymnea

-- Benedict
--- Dara, great-granddauther, princess of Chaos
--- Joan, mother unknown

-- Osric (believed dead), no known issue

-- Finndo (believed dead), no known issue

by Faiella

-- Eric (believed dead)
--- Balthous, by mother unknown

-- Corwin (missing)
--- Merlin, by Dara

-- Caine
--- Forbes, by mother unknown

-- Dierdre (believed dead)
--- Peven, by father unknown

by Clarissa

-- Fiona
--- Orick, by father unknown
--- Zahava, by father unknown

-- Bleys
--- Jaime, by mother unknown
--- Flare, by mother unknown

-- Brand (believed dead)
--- Dyson, by mother unknown

by Lady Moins of Rebma

-- Llewella
--- Pearl, by father unknown

by Rilga

-- Julian
--- Julia, by mother unknown

-- Gerard, no known issue

by Dybele

-- Florimel
--- Rose, by father unknown
--- Tyler, by father unknown

by Paulette

-- Random, King of Amber
--- Martin, grandson of Moire of Rebma
--- Roland, by mother unknown

Divers others unknown may exist.

[Voshkod]

Some invitations cannot - or at least should not - be refused. And when the King of Amber calls for a ball to celebrate peace in the Kingdom, those that choose not to show up may be considered enemies of that peace by some.

So, in wisdom, you have arrived at the Great Hall of Amber. The place is decked out in autumn colors, browns and muted oranges, colors of the King. Several large tables groan under the weight of food, and a somewhat confused looking man in a tuxedo stands behind the bar, making drinks for all comers.

A band - guitar, bass, drums, piano, some brass, a singer with a lovely voice - plays in one corner of the hall, tunes the King enjoyed from his time on shadow Earth. Right now, it's a little song called Sultans of Swing.

They don't give a damn about any trumpet playing band
It ain't what they call rock and roll . . . .

The fireplace of the Great Hall is roaring with massive flames, keeping the autumn chill back. Above, on the mantle, a massive tapestry of a unicorn, rampant and facing the sinister, white on a green field.

Before the fireplace are two thrones. To the right sits King Random, snapping his fingers in time with the band and speaking to his son Martin. To the left, Queen Vialle, head slightly cocked to one side, to hear all that is going on, her ears acting as her eyes in the busy room.

Between the fire and a window, from which the sun setting on the sea far below, stands Florimel, her hair catching colors from flame and sun. She had a goblet in one hand, and she's laughing at some joke told by Bleys, whose face is lit by a broad smile.

On a couch, a bit apart from the others, sits Fiona, talking quietly to her daughter Zahava. The younger woman, her brown hair tied back tightly, looks at the older one with a fixed expression, impossible to read.

Gerard's laugh booms out across the room and Llewella smiles. Their discussion continues quietly, on the other side of the fireplace from Florimel. Llewella's daughter Pearl, with milky white skin and hair like ice, glances over with her odd red eyes, and then turns back to Forbes, son of Caine. Darkly handsome like his father, there's a note of distance in his eyes.

Caine is speaking with Julian over a drink at a table near the King. Both seem quite engrossed in their discussions. Julian's daughter, the inconvienently named Julia, sits quietly with her father, looking bored.

Standing uncomfortably by a door is Benedict's daughter Joan. Tall, thin, and ill at ease, she has chosen a place easily defended, or a ready escape route. When Tyler, Floramel's son, approaches, perhaps to offer to dance, he is quickly rebuffed. Undaunted, he grins, bows, and turns to Flare, the daughter of Bleys, red-haired and beautiful. They fall into conversation.

As you all enter, Rose, Florimel's daughter, perhaps the one person in the room who can outshine her mother, daintily goes to a knee next to the Queen's throne and takes Vialle's hand.

And some are notable by their absence. Benedict, off in some shadow. Corwin, missing for months. Merlin, whereabouts unknown. Eric, Brand, Dierdre, all thought dead.

And then there's Oberon. His portrait hangs across the hall from the fireplace, glowering down at the new King.

[lvl 1 fighter]

Balthous

Shadows within Shadows, it seems. Of the more than double dozen worlds I have visited and studied there appear to be within each people that have been the point at which the balance of change rests. The actions, inactions, presence and absence of these fulcrums have served to change and propel their world in a manner that suggests enormous power. Balthous pauses as he dips the pen into the inkwell before continuing. Yet it is apparent that the power rests not within the people; not as an inherent aspect of their makeup, as it is with those of the Blood of Amber.

Instead it appears as if the power had been accumulated and gathered by circumstances and channeled through the person of importance. The potentiality created by sets of circumstances and chains of events builds until more and more possible outcomes are discarded as the power of change grows, as this seemingly unconscious force is focused through an individual.

The results are always world shaking, yet very rarely well executed. Often the person does not recognize their power, or does but has no idea of how to properly harness this energy and wield their influence correctly. Some outcomes seem preordained by the set of circumstances leading to the current situation, like a causal law or the certainty of water freezing at a given temperature. In one Shadow a single assassination sparked a world wide war, caused in part because of treaties established well before that event.

If one were to learn how to recognize the chain of events that lead up these fulcrum points then one would be another step closer to learning how to harness these moments in time; learn how to gently direct the channeled potential energy into the direction of one's choosing, like erosion changes the course of a river.

Sighing, Batlhous replaces the cap on the inkwell and sets his pen off to the side. Rising from the rolltop desk he stretches and twists his neck, trying to work out the tension from sitting cramped over the black leather bound journal. Glancing at the grandfather clock on the far wall, he runs his hands through his black hair, pulling it back and holding it in place with a red band.

Striding over to the coat rack near the door, he takes a heavy black cloak off one of the pegs and puts it on. The longsword Libertas, resting in its scabbard of stiff black leather and silver etchings, is taken down next and Balthous buckles the black leather swordbelt around his waist.

The sharp crease in his black trousers is barely disturbed as he walks back over to the desk. Double lines of thin red piping run down the sides to the cuffs above his black leather boots. Blowing gently on the almost dry ink, he glances around the room, his green eyes scanning over it contents. With a satisfied grunt he turns back to the desk and closes the journal, wrapping a band around the covers and placing it in a deep pocket on the inside of his cloak. The silver buttons on his garnet shirt sparkle in the light from the fireplace as he pulls out a small case from within his cloak.

Opening the case and fanning the cards he selects one; the drawing is a grand entranceway to some noble hall. Focusing his will upon the picture, the world around him fades as the picture takes on an unnatural clarity. Soon the picture is more real than his room and he steps through.

The guards in the foyer to the main hall of Amber snap to attention as Balthous trumps in. Returning their salute, he adjusts his cloak and walks through the doors into the Great Hall. Crossing the threshold he pauses a moment to regard the portrait of Oberon. With a slight nod of his head he continues in, black cloak flapping behind him, his boots striking out a cadence on the floor. Stopping before the throne he bows deeply to Random. "My King. As you have summoned, I am here."

[Tackyhillbillu]

Peven

Peven stands, looking about the Throne Room. Many of these people, his family members, he has never seen before. He'd spent his life in one of the many Shadow's cast by Castle Amber. It was familiar to him, yet vastly different. This is Amber, after all, no reflection of it's brightness. The place where the Pattern itself was inscribed.

And where you now stand.

He bears the mark of his Mother on him. Those that knew her well would recognize him. His hair was the same shade of Dark Black as hers, and his eyes held the same blue, piercing quality. However, there were differences. He lacked her fair skin, his tan a gift from his father, or so he believed. He is tall, but slight, lacking some of his Uncles' bulk. He is dressed in dark blue, accented with the Silver that was his Mother's favorite. At his side he carries his Sword. An ordinary Blade, but he was used to the weight of it. He had uneasily decided to leave his bow in the rooms that had been put aside for his use. He wasn't here to make war, and the Bow wouldn't be needed. However, he was not here for merrymaking either. He still had his own grief to deal with, even if he had overcome it for the most part.

Enough...

Peven had been in Amber for several days. He had walked the Pattern into Arden Forest, and then settled into his rooms, not moving until the invitation arrived. And now he was here. And one of his Relatives was kneeling before the King. Peven walked off to the side, to see how this went, taking a Glass of Wine from the Bartender, and sipping it calmly.

[Lost Demiurge]

Dyson

Half a second through the door, and Dyson knew that the first plan wasn't going to fly. The people in the room, for the most part, were arranged like sprites in an artscreen, the majority of them posed in JUST the right seemingly unintentional way to make a statement, to not only the casual viewer but each specific guest. Given time, he could interpret them one by one, but he didn't HAVE that time. Let alone the time to frame his own general response. The elders were playing a game they'd had millenia to master, even the younger ones had decades or centuries on him with this kind of stuff...

I'm frakked. No, no, calm down. The elders can smush you socially, but they have no need to do so, nothing to gain. Just don't aggravate them. And the younger ones might have a go, but hell, you're sharp. It'll be even odds, and no damage done here will be permanent unless someone gets really stupid. Don't get stupid. Keep the poker face up.

He turned to remove his long brown coat, placing it along with his hat on a nearby rack. He used the motion to examine himself in the mirror, one last check for sanity's sake.

He was a thin young man with reddish-brown hair pulled back in a short ponytail, green eyes looking through round-framed slim silver glasses that he didn't need. His frame was wiry, and his skin had a slight bronzed tint to it. He wore a waistcoat of silver with diamond patterns sewn into it, simple blue slacks, and a neutral white shirt. No cloak. A simple, black belt with a turquoise buckle held an odd-looking shortsword, with what appeared to be nonmoving gears embedded in the hilt. It was peacebound.

A black-hilted dagger with emeralds in the grip adorned the other hip, a gift from Uncle Caine. It was also peacebound.

There looked to be a few bandoliers full of slim pouches under his vest, but they were fairly well hidden by the cut of the shirt. They weren't concealed, just tucked into unobtrusive lines, and a trained observer would be able to tell they weren't in a good position to draw a weapon from, if that was what was in there.

Okay. Good.

He moved to the throne, resisting the urge to adjust his sword as he went. It was fine. He let his eyes flick over Martin and Random and the cloaked stranger who was doing his best to examine the floor, and he nodded to them, before stopping next to the man and bowing.

"King Random." He said, letting his eyes rise with the rest of him as he straightened. "Thank you for inviting me."

And as the band hits a high note, he grins in spite of himself. NOT the kind of music they usually get around here, I think.

[chilepepper]

Orick



In trying to turn a sharp corner into a dark alley, the sprinting young man crashes into the far wall. Deflecting his momentum as he leaps over the refuse piled there, he quickly regains the lost speed. The shouts of his pursuers were echoing down the streets; they were keeping pace.

'Ah well, it's time I be getting back anyway' he thought to himself. Reaching into his jacket pocket the man pulls out a large card, brown with a green symbol on one side. As he turns a corner and skids to a halt near a tall fence blocking his way, he turns and waits. Focusing on the card as several large men barrel around the corner, he says simply "Sorry lads, maybe next time." He takes a step to the side and as if walking behind an unseen wall, disappears.

Now in a small room well adorned, the man looks to the clock on the wall as he removes his coat and shirt. He comments to himself, "Fashionably late, with not a moment to spare." He dons a brown silk shirt so loose it hides his trim physique. He then throws on a green suede overtunic and draws it tight with a unremarkable leather belt. Pulling a pouch from his doffed coat, he replaces the previously drawn card and stows the pouch within his shirt's breast pocket. He runs a comb through his tattered dark brown hair with unavailing results, noting the image in the mirror's obvious need for a clean shave.

He steps out of the room and walks with a quickened pace down the hall. With a wave of his hand, he kindly dismisses the salutes and gestures of each guard he passes. As he approaches the Hall, he slows his pace and calms his breathing. He steps through the Grand Arch, turns, and approaches his Fiona. "Mother, sister, always a pleasure. I must pay respect to our host, but I endeavor to speak with you further."

Approaching the throne and taking a sweeping bow, "Lord Random, I am honored by your summons."

[Voshkod]

Dyson and Balthous

King Random turns away from his son, who walks over toward the bar. "This is a family event, Balthous, not a royal summons. So get up, please. Last thing I need is people kneeling a groove in the floor there."

Dyson approaches the throne. Random smiles. "Hey, good to have you here, Dyson. Uh, listen, between the two of you?," he says, motioning to Dyson and Balthous. "Don't let what happened to your parents poison you, OK? Easy to say, I know, but you've got an eternity to live. Better not to stew over the past."

Orick

Fiona says to you as you pass, "Yes, do stop by, Orick." You approach the throne where Random speaks to Dyson and Balthous. "Glad you could make it, Orick," the King says. "You've met Dyson and Balthous?"

Random seems quite at easy and not terribly regal. More of a kind uncle than a king.

Peven

As you sip your wine, Martin, son of the King, approaches the bar. "Stout," he says, and the bartender pours a thick black beer. "Peven," he says, turning to you. "How's it going out there?"

[lvl 1 fighter]

Balthous

Rising from the floor Balthous sweeps back his cloak and throws it back over one shoulder. "Of course, Uncle." An easy smile spreads on his face. His eyes glance over to Peven for a brief moment. "I just feel there is something to be said for a certain amount of decorum when called on by your King."

Turning towards Dyson, Balthous eyes him up and down for a moment, taking his measure. He faces the thin man but speaks to Random. "I believe that we all are alone responsible for our lives. I hold no grudge against a man for what his father may or may not have done."

Balthous looks over at Orick. "We've not yet met officially cousin. I am Balthous, son of Eric." He nods his head briefly at the brown haired man.

[Gorgondantess]

Jaime
Fashionably late, Jaime strides into the room. Anyone watching the entrance would see a surly, aloof, repelling countenance, but as soon as he crosses the threshold it all changes; he flashes a charming grin, transforming into something amicable, though still retaining a kind of distance.
He wears his fiery red hair shoulder length and straight, no facial hair. Simple green clothes and a lean, sallow look offset a dazzlingly handsome face and features.
He gives a nod to Random, bowing slightly, and a curt one to his father. He then steps over to where Fiona sits, and grins. "Auntie," he says, addressing her, "Always a pleasure." His voice rings deep and sonorous, though there is a sly, light hint to it. He gives little regard to the others aside from meeting looks and slight gestures.
He then retreats to a chair apart from the others, studying the family and fingering his deck, studying those he hasn't yet made cards for.

[Lost Demiurge]

Dyson tones the grin down to a small, close-lipped smile, and nods at King Random. "Thanks, I appreciate that. Never really knew Dad that well. Saw him twice, before, well..." He looks over to Balthous, and surveys him right back.

Talking at me, but really to the king. Slightly poor manners. Best to let it slide.

"That's a healthy attitude." He says to Balthous' talk of responsibility and fathers.

After Random mentions him by name to Orick, the slim, bespectacled youth looks him over and offers a handshake. "Nice to meet you. I'm Dyson, son of Brand."

[Tackyhillbillu]

Peven

Peven smiled faintly at Martin, sipping from his cup gently. He gave a light shrug. Martin should know the answer to that question.

"It goes. The Shadow's are unaware of what happened for the most part. They never look beyond the walls of their existence, for the most part."

Peven sipped softly, before putting down his glass.

"But's that the way it should be, Martin. Or would you prefer to be called Crown Prince now?"

Peven sipped lightly from his glass, not seeming to mean anything by the statement.

[Alokov]

OOC: Ah crap. I didn't realize it had even started sorry.

Roland

Roland strides into the hall his gold hair combed neatly back. He wears a sword at his hip, a gold waistcoat, a gold shirt, and gold trousers. No where are his father's colors seen. "All right, now you can do this. It's just like beating the house back home." He thinks as he stide purposefully up to the throne. "Hello Father." He says cheerily to the King. "Sorry I'm late. And who are these fine gentlemen?" He gestures at Balthous, Orick and Dyson. After he finishes with his relatives he will stride off to the bar and ask for a brandy clapping Martin cheerfully on the back when he arrives.

[chilepepper]

Orick

Orick extends his hand to each of his cousins. "I am Orick, son of Fiona."

[Alokov]

Roland

Roland takes the hand. "I am Roland, son of Random."

[Lost Demiurge]

Dyson shakes all offered hands, and makes small talk for a little while. Finally, he excuses himself. "Think I'll circulate a little."

He makes his way across the fireplace, bowing his head to Florimel with respect as he passes by, and raises a hand to wave at Gerard.

"Uncle! Well met!" Okay. This time if he hugs me I've got the armored plates in place. Should spare my ribs the worst of it...

He blinks, and takes a look at Llewella, and offers a cautious smile. "I... don't believe we've met. You're my aunt Llewella, right? I'm honored to meet you."

[Voshkod]

Dyson

"Good to see you, lad," says Gerard, slapping you on the back. "You're doing well?"

"Charmed," Llewella says, extending her hand to kiss. "This is my daughter, Pearl."

The younger woman looks at you with pink-red eyes, like looking into chips of rose quartz. "A pleasure, Dyson," Pearl says. Her voice is a bit odd.

Roland

"Glad you made it, Roland," Random says. "These are your several of your cousins. You all should get to know each other." There's a slight note of dismissal.

Peven

Martin laughs, mirthlessly. "Not my title, Peven. I'll barely accept prince. Hell, who would want the crown of this hellhole?"

[Lost Demiurge]

Dyson

Okay, roll with it, brace, and... Gerard's hand smacks Dyson's back, and he barely budges. He conceals a hasty smile, gently takes Llwella's hand and gives it a kiss. "Doing fine, actually." He says to Gerard. "Found a home out in shadow, it should keep me busy for a few centuries."

He looks over at Pearl and smiles. "Hi! The pleasure's mine." I like her eyes. Reminds me of Sara-682, back in Turing. He glances around.

"I don't know most of these people, beyond my uncles and aunts." He confesses to Pearl. "Have you met any of them yet... Before the last hour or so, I mean?"

[Tackyhillbillu]

Peven joined Martin's mirthless laugh, the irony of the man's question wrenching it out of him. Who indeed. How much blood has been spilt over it.

"Good question."

Peven picked up his glass, and sipped from it again.

"So tell me, can you name some of our younger relatives for me? My Uncle's and Aunts I can all name, but I fear some of my cousins escape me."

[Alokov]

Roland

Roland heads over to the bar, asks for a brandy and joins Martin and Peven's conversation.

"I am afraid I am no more aquainted with my relatives than you, cousin. I am Roland, son of Random. What would your name be?"

[Tackyhillbillu]

Peven

Peven nodded, and smiled widely, taking a sip from his glass, considering his response. He opted for simplicity, extending his hand to Roland.

"It appears I'm swamped with Royalty. I'm Peven, Deirdre's Son."

Peven couldn't hide a twinge of grief coming over him. He still hadn't entirely dealt with his Mother's death. He'd spent a very long time in her company. And now she was gone. Taken by that bastard of an Uncle Brand, as his last act, murdering his sister.

Calm, peace. He is dead, same as her.

"Can you help me out with any of the other names? I've been... distracted, and haven't kept up with my relatives as well I should."

[Alokov]

"Certainly. That is Orick, son of Fiona, (gesturing at Orick) That is Balthous, son of Eric (He also points out any other relatives that's met but I'm not sure who alll he's met. Sorry my memories shot.) He then takes a swig from his brandy glass and says "What about you, any that you've met that I haven't?"

[lvl 1 fighter]

"Greetings, cousins. It seems the family has grown much in recent years." Nodding to Jaime, he crosses the room and joins his cousins at the bar.

"A glass of cabernet sauvignon, please." He says to the bartender. Turning to lean against the bar, he regards his family. "Tell me of yourselves, cousins. I have spent many a past season far from home and would know of your great deeds."

[Alokov]

Roland

Roland simply says "I have been shadow-surfing myself for the past (how long since he learned how?) few years/decade/whatever. Father gifted me with a magnificent horse which i have been riding through many strange shadows. What of you, cousin?"

(If that shadow-surfing thing sounds too silly I'll change it.)

[chilepepper]

Orick

Orick sees the gesture in his direction made by Roland, and heads over to the bar.

To the barkeep, "Whiskey, the cheapest you've got."

"I believe I've missed a few introductions. In case anyone didn't know, I'm Orick."

[Voshkod]

Dyson

"I've met a few of them," Pearl says. "Martin spents some time in Rebma. And of course Random was exiled there for some time. Julia and I have hunted together in Arden. But no, most of them are new to me." She sips from a glass of white wine. "What about you? You're Brand's son, are you not?"

Peven, Roland, Orick, Balthous

A small knot of princes has gathered at the bar with their favorite drinks. Martin extends a hand to Orick. "I'm Martin, Random's kid. Nice to meet you."

He looks around the room. "As for the rest of them? Forbes over there is Caine's boy. Takes after his father, I think. I guess Orick would know more about Zahava. Seems the quiet type. Always close to her mom. Flare, now, she's her father's daughter. Quite a dancer. Pearl, Rose, haven't met them yet. I think Aunt Flora kept Rose hidden on shadow Earth, and Aunt Llewella, well, she's always a mystery. Julia seems nice enough, not a stuck up little git like her father. Haven't exchanged word one with Tyler. Dyson, not sure about him, but his dad once stuck a knife in me, so I'm a bit wary."

Jaime

Jaime sits and studies the room from a corner. Flare, a tall redhead walks over. She's wearing a forest green dress which reaches to the floor. She has your father's eyes. "Well, well, Jaime." She sits down next to you. "Not a word for your sister? Father's been wondering how you've been. Still stuck in a dusty book in Aunt Fi's library? Or following Unca Brand's path these days?"

[Alokov]

Roland

Roland examines every gesture, every inflection, every twitch of the eyes as if he were playing poker. "Well I'm afraid I don't have much more to add. I think I'll go see if I can locate a good dancing partner." He sets down his glass and approaches the nearest unoccupied female cousin, assuming he thinks he has a good chance of not getting rejected (a. k. a. she hasn't been acting like a stuck up git all night) bows,extends his arm, and "may I have this dance."

[Gorgondantess]

Jaime puts his trumps down, looking at her with a smile. "So good to see you too, dear sister. If you must know, I've been in shadow lately, what about you?"

[Tackyhillbillu]

Peven

A flash of anger crossed Peven's face gone so quickly that you might even not be sure that it was there. He had picked up on Martin's remark. Dyson was Brand's son. Brand, his mother's murderer.

...do not do something precipitous.

Peven forced himself to relax, shaking his head softly. He wouldn't judge Dyson by his Father's actions. But he would watch. And if Dyson stepped out of line...

...we'll find out which of us is the better.

"In way of introductions, I'm Peven, Deidre's Son. I think I'll go formally introduce myself to the Throne, if you don't mind. Would be remiss to not make sure my host knows I am enjoying his hospitality."

Peven nodded to the group before turning and walking to the throne, bowing politely.

"Evening, My King. Thank you for the invitation."

[Lost Demiurge]

Dyson nods at Pearl. "Yes, I am Brand's son. In the biological sense, anyway."
He stretches his arms, cracking his knuckles, then offers Pearl his arm. "Well, if you haven't met most of the others, I see a knot of 'em by the bar. As I'm currently drinkless, I'm heading that way. I know a few names, so I can introduce you, and we can meet'em. Care to accompany me?"
Once she takes his arm or declines, he makes his way over to the bar.

[Voshkod]

Dyson

"Most kind of you, Dyson," Pearl says, standing and taking your arm. The two of you head over to the knot of princes forming near the bar.

Peven

"Hey, kid," Random says. He puts out a hand. "Good to see you again. Listen, Peven, I hope you can take some time, meet some of the family. I know your Mom wasn't too fond of most of us, with good reason, really, but maybe you can find out for yourself whether we're worth anything."

Jaime

"Oh, the usual," Flare says. "Derring-do, exploration, buckling the swash, you know. Building some new shadows." She sits down, speaks a bit more quietly. "Will you be deigning to speak to Father during the party?"

Roland

Roland looks around the room and catches the eye of Rose, Floramel's daughter. She favors him with a smile and walks over to the window to catch a last glimpse of the dying sun. The red of the sunset sets her hair aflame as Roland approaches.

"I'd love to dance, Prince Roland," she says. Her voice is soft and musical, and she wears a subtle perfume.

Orick and Balthous

Another round of drinks is set up and knocked down as Forbes, Caine's son, approaches. "'Evening, cousins," he says with an easy drawl in his voice. "Brandy, barkeep." A glass slides down the bar to him and he catches it without looking, downing it. "Everyone having a good time? I know that the King is anxious that we all enjoy ourselves." There's a slight sneer on his face.