Amber - Prologues

[The Prince of Cats]

Drake

Many things in his life were confusing, so Drake was comfortable by now with not knowing quite what was going on and just having to trust his mother.

"Is this really Grandfather on the coin?"

[mutecebu]

Lore

The hairs pricked up on the back of Lore's neck. He asks to the room, "Hello?", but does not take his eyes off the card.

[Voshkod]

Drake

"Of course it is, dear, though it's not actually an Amberite coin. It's from one of the near shadows. Anyway, the car is waiting, and the jet is ready at the airport. Time to go home."

Lore

No one answers, but the card feels a little bit colder all of a sudden.

[The Prince of Cats]

Drake

The boy nods and puts the coin away as he prepares to leave. Hong-Kong had not been as he had expected but he had found it an interesting experience. Travel always seemed to bring new experiences and prove his misconceptions wrong.

[mutecebu]

Lore

Lore is surprised by the card's actions, and waits for anything else to happen (still standing and staring at the card).

OOC: I hope I don't hold up everyone else. Feel free to speed things up if you have to.

[Voshkod]

The card remains silent, and a mystery.

And now we are sixteen. . . .

Bellona

Your steed pounds down the dirt path under the canopy of Arden, Gerard the Hellhound tearing right along beside him. Ahead you can hear your father's hunting horn, sounding a blast, that prey has been spotted, and the hunt is on.

You break out into the clearing just in time to see Morgenstern fly over a fallen tree, bark spattering in his wake, and a brief glimpse of your father's golden hair streaming out behind him.

Rachel

A place can fall a long ways in six years. The women still own it, but barely, and Boss Pogue's men are there every night. You've overheard some mention of protection money, and remember when they cut up Wendy two years ago. Everyone's scared now.

You're serving drinks, again. Soon, the other women say, your time to participate in the main business will come. But not yet, not today. A man enters the house, appearing to be driven in by the storm raging outside. He has a hat pulled down low over his eyes, and a ratty brown trenchcoat which billows in the wind. He sits, and motions for service.

Drake

The mansion in Westchester has been trashed when you get home from school. You can hear your mother cursing in the house. "Damn him, and damn Random. Damn all of them." You open the door, and on the floor of the hallway is one of the hounds, broken nearly in half, blood spilling from its jaws. There's broken glass everywhere.

It sounds as if your mother is in the library. You can hear the shuffling of cards.

Soren

The sand in the pit is soaked with blood. So far, you've killed three men and a bear, and the crowd is screaming incoherently. Money is changing hands at a dizzying rate, and some woman has just tossed her shirt down to you.

You're armed with a trident and a net, and no one has touched you yet. Somewhere in the crowd, probably in one of the Imperial boxes, your father is watching. Training, he said, for close combat. The gate rises again, and a short man with two blades stomps out into the pit.

Grettir

The fires burn across the valley, and all the tribes are here. The long years of warfare nearly at an end. Only one last task. "This is what we came here for, son," your father says, as he places the raven helm on his head. "They come to elect a King. They come to kneel to their conqueror."

Gold and silver, taken from the dead and the captives, adorn his armor, glittering in the firelight. "They will ask questions. They will ask for a blessing upon me before I am crowned. Please make it happen, son."

Lore

The women stand before you, dressed in flimsy things, eyes on the ground. Some still stand proudly, others are trying to cover themselves as best they can. Reginald, your new priest, stands behind you. "Do any of them please you, almighty?"

The card in your pocket chills you slightly. You don't remember putting it in your robes today, but there it is nonetheless, and you can hear a distant chuckling in the back of your head.

[SilverElf4]

What the hell, Soren thinks as the Dimachaeri enters the ring. Somethings not right here. Retiarii weren't supposed to face that kind of opponent. The first reason was the lack of facial protection. Fights against someone armed with a long reach weapon, like his trident, didn't survive long when vital spots were open like that.

Which told him immediately something else. This was no ordinary gladiator. He would be good. Good enough to overcome the disadvantage in weaponry and combat styles. But good enough to face a Prince of Amber and Chaos? That was the question. No. The question was, had his father rigged this fight to test him in some way, or had it been a result of the chaos inherent in every shadow.

Soren pushed the question aside. Either way, his opponent would fall. He loosened his arms, and prepared to give the customary salute to the Emperor.

[mutecebu]

Lore was not at his best, mentaly. He recently had come to terms with that storm of emotion all mortals aparently went through, but there was still that card. It seemed to have a will and personality of its own. It was the only thing in his dominion he could not controll. And now it was sneaking into his pocket.

On top of it all, Lore now had a sense of duity. He recently began requiring the stewards who managed the mortals to give him reports on the kingdom. He could have anything he wanted, but it seemed well to give some time back to his subjects, when it wasn't a bother.

Now wasn't one of those times. This was his private time. He threw his robe off, more to be rid of the card than to undress.

"Her," he said, as he pointed to a younger lady.

[The Prince of Cats]

Drake

The youth knew trouble when he saw it and he knew Random meant trouble even if he couldn't see anything amiss. Between the idea of something that could kill one of the hounds and his mother cursing his roguish uncle, Drake was starting to wish he had something more effective than expensive and fragile vases around with which to defend himself.

The sound of his mother's voice and the presence of venom rather than fear was comforting. Somewhat...

"Hello?" he called, approaching the library with all the caution that his upbringing (and Random's influence) had instilled in him.

He knew enough of the family by now to keep his lineage to himself and so declined to call her mother until he knew that she was alone. Perhaps he could pretend to be a servant if it came to it.

"Is everything alright in there?"

Silently, he cursed himself for not masking his accent. He had fought hard to keep it, especially now that it started to add to his appeal with girls, but it marked him as different.

[Hrolf]

Grettir

"It will happen, father." Says Grettir. His blonde hair bound with a band of silver and his beard pleated and knotted with beads of multicoloured glass, Grettir looked every inch the young prince that he was.
His hauberk of mail, cunningly worked by the best smiths of the tribes, shimmered in the torchlight as he turned. Hefting his axe over his shoulder, Grettir moved out into the court prepared for the ceremony.
Grettir still wore the fur of his first white bear hanging over his shoulders. It made him think back to that day, blood and pain in the snow. Red on White. those would be his colours, he decided.
He glanced at Thorgunna, helping the rest of the women preparing the feast. Dark haired and milk skinned. They had been hand-fasted the month before, Grettir's father, Horgar, had settled a good bride price of land and of gold upon the two young lovers.
Grettir squared his shoulders and brought his axe over so that it stood in front of him, his hands resting on the top of the blade as he waited for the chiefs, headmen and jarls of the tribes to assemble. It had been a long time since he had spoken to his mother's raven. A time of war, viking and adventure. Even some aftergangers and skinwalkers had been fought as the viking bands roved and explored.
Grettir opened his mind and called on his powers, willing his mother to come and see his father's triumph.

[Puma]

Bellona[br]Bella spurs her horse on with heels to its flanks. [br]"Fly, Sabre! We can't let this one get away, not like the last one.[br][br]She steers the horse to run down the left flank, parallel to Morgenstern's path (since it would be impossible to keep up in any case)... the quarry may turn.[br]In that case, she's ready. She has a light hunting lance, a bow and quiver near to hand, her sword sheathed on her saddle, and a dagger on her belt.[br]Bella laughs with exultation, the wind streaming past.[br] "We'll prove ourselves this time, Gerard!"[br][br]Bella is always trying to prove herself to her father... though he's never suggested that she need do so. He's always proud of her, at least she can't think of a time when he acted otherwise. But, Bella can't help but think that she's letting him down somehow. Perhaps it's because she feels guilty that she wasn't the son her father must have wanted.

[Voshkod]

Bellona

Sabre leaps into action, bolting down a narrow path parallel to the one Julian's one, and perhaps a little shorter. Gerard howls, a long shivering sound, and the rest of the pack, more distant, echoes his call. You top a little rise and down below you can see one of the larger paths through Arden.

There is a car driving down it.

A stand of trees almost explodes below you as Morgenstern erupts from the forest. Your father yells something, but you can't make it out, and the white horse and the man in the white armor charge head-on toward the car.

Grettir

Thorgunna gives you a sweet smile as you walk with your father toward the fires. You try to open your mind to your mother's influence, but there is only silence there. The men are chanting, "Horgar! Horgar! Horgar!!"

Your father reaches the center of the fires, and you step up behind him, when another voice, further from the center but very loud, shouts "Grettir! Grettir for our King!"

Drake

"In here, boy," says a deep male voice. You head into the library. Your mother is there, sitting on the sofa, cradling a wounded dog's head in her lap. Standing near the desk is a tall man, black hair and black beard, a long rapier at his side. His garb appears to be somewhat out of date.

"Drake," Floramel says. "You're home early. Drake, this is Eric, your uncle. Eric, my son, Drake."

Eric bows slightly to you. "Good afternoon, Prince Drake. A pity we meet under these strange circumstances."

Lore

"As you wish, almighty," your scribe says, and he claps his hands. The other women file out, leaving the one you chose, standing alone, trembling slightly. "Tonight," Reginald intones, "you belong to the almighty. It is a great blessing. If you please him, you will be sent to the nunnery in the morning, to reflect on his grace." He pauses, and heads for the door. "You do want to please him, woman." The door slams shut.

Soren

The other warrior never takes his eyes off you, doesn't bother to salute the Emperor's box. He raises one sword, leaves the other ready at his side, and prepares to let you take the lead of the battle.

He is short, lightly armored with leather and metal studs, and a helm over his head.

[The Prince of Cats]

Drake

So this is Eric... he thought. Given his own talents, Drake was wary of allowing his mind to wander any further in case his musings might compromise his mother's safety. Later, he would consider how Random might fit in but not today.

"Since my mother trusts you, I think that I should be happy to have met you in spite of the circumstances." he answered with a shallow bow that matched his uncle's greeting.

Drake forced himself to take in the prince of Amber, keeping focus on the man before him and not the things he had heard. Eric seemed every inch the knight, perhaps even a king in some lights. (he deliberately did not think of the true king, his grandfather, of whom Eric was merely a pale shadow) That meant that the mansion was probably safe for now, if Eric's instincts were to be trusted. Perhaps he should take his cue from the larger man; if Eric was at ease then Drake could be, if not then the youth would make ready.

"If I do not overstep my bounds, might I ask you about the events that I seem to have missed today?"

[mutecebu]

Lore

Lore took the woman to bed. She did well, but Lore really wasn't in the mood. He did not draw the night out, and slept early. Despite this, when he awoke, he was unsatisfied after a restless sleep.

[The_Logic_Ninja]

Rachel

"What will it be?" Her tone is weary--it's been a long day--as she moves over to the newcomer with an empty tray. A little while longer, and then it's outside and to the woods, storm or no storm--shooting practice. If no one was going to teach her anything more than the basics, she's figured out, she'd just have to learn on her own.
She hasn't cut her hair since her mother died; it's gathered up in a neat braid that runs down her back to her waist; the ribbon there is a matter of convenience rather than decoration.

[Voshkod]

Rachel

The man looks you over with a frank gaze. "Well, not you, that's for sure. Not ripe yet." He grins, and takes off his hat. He has hair the color of straw and a pointed nose, and his eyes seem to be laughing with ease. You recognize him almost immediately as the man from the picture.

"I'll have a beer, kid, and tell Lorali that Randy's back in town, 'K?"

Lore

Lore awakens to an empty bed, the sound of water running in the bathroom. The room feels cold this morning, and a breeze is blowing from the south. Autumn's coming, you realize, without knowing what it really means. It's always been summer, ever since you remember. A few lone leaves in red and gold blow by on the balcony.

Drake

"That's what I'm here to find out as well. Flora?" Eric turns to your mother.

Your mother whispers something quietly to the wounded dog, and then, with a quick motion, ends its suffering by snapping its neck. It's like a gunshot in the suddenly silent room. She rises, some blood on her dress, and goes over to the desk to pour herself a drink. She walks over to the window, letting the fading sun frame her hair.

"Corwin checked himself out," she starts with a lopsided smile, and you can see Eric straighten. "He came here, we talked for a bit, then brother Random came tearing in with these things on his trail." She pulls the curtain off a corpse on the floor.

[SilverElf4]

Soren

Soren completes the salute, all respect for his opponent now gone. Not because he had obviously had no respect for the Emperor...Soren had none either, but he had come to realize that the salute was part of the warrior code. That code had more purpose than to provide instructions in combat or etiquette. It was a way of life that focuses all of one's energy to a single purpose. "The difference in men does not lie in the size of their hands, nor in the perfection of their bodies, but in this one sublime ability of concentration: to throw the weight in one blow, to live eternity in an hour." A shadow man who knew how to live...and how to die...had written that.

Soren's attention came blazing back to the present, and a sharp needle of fury began to shoot through his body. He began to work his way to his opponent, darting and circling in the nimble Retiarus style. His assault was swift and firm, but not overanxious. At the first opening, his trident snaked towards his opponents legs - a crippling blow. The net stood ready a moment longer in case of a counterblow, but finding none it would be whipped about his opponent's arms and torso.

[Puma]

Bellona[br]Bella pulls the horse up to a stop as they crest the rise. [br]"What's that?" she wonders. [br]"An armored carriage? Who would bring _that_ here?"[br][br] Her hesitation only lasts a moment, though, as Julian and his monster mount seem about to attack the strange vehicle. [br]"Go help Father, Gerard. I'll cut it off."[br] With that, she spurs her own horse on a path that will hopefully take her around the clearing and intercept the intruder further up the way.

[The Prince of Cats]

Drake

Drake would later remark that the mess was impressive, even for Random, but for now he just looked at the carnage and tried to understand how his mother's statement could refer to this mess.

"Corwin checked himself out?" he asked, requesting clarification of the entire statement.

Who was Corwin, from where did he check out, where is he now and why is that relevant to Random's appearance with these creatures that were certainly not human. He decided to start with the most immediate and important question.

"In fact, before that... What current and future dangers do these events represent? I take it that it is family business..."

[The_Logic_Ninja]

Rachel

Rachel's dark eyes flash, going from recognition to shock to anger; she leans in, her voice low in the din of the room and too, too calm. "I think you'd better come upstairs. We need to talk, father."

[Voshkod]

Rachel

The man laughs. "I already said, kid, that you're a bit . . . young . . . for . . . ." He trails off as your words finally sink in. He stares at your face, your nose, your hair, and he pales slightly. "Oh. . . oh, crap."

Drake

Eric ignores your questions. "Where are they going, Floramel? What are they planning?"

Your mother, by way of response, pets the dead dog. "They're going to Amber, Eric. Corwin plans to claim the crown. Random's going to support him, he's never liked you.

Eric curses, colorfully, and kneels down next to the corpse. "Hmm. Never seen one of these before. Not a good sign. Corwin, Prince Drake, is my brother, and thinks he is ahead of me in line for the crown of Amber." He looks at you, and his eyes are piercing. "Your mother was keeping him safe for me. And what does this mean?" He looks to your mother.

"Civil war," she says quietly.

Bellona

Gerard rips off from your side, bounding downward, and Sabre takes you toward the path. From the corner of your eye you see Morgenstern leap the car, followed by the dogs, though some of them fail the leap, and are smashed against the front of the car. Now Julian is behind it, chasing it, and it's bearing down on you. There's a man with straw colored hair at the wheel, and a dark haired man next to him.

The dark haired man is shouting, and the blond is steering the car right at you.

Soren

The left short sword snaps to the side, catching the trident, easing it into the dirt. He steps back, raising both blades for your next strike.

[SilverElf4]

Soren

Bad move, Soren thinks, a thought that flies simultaneous with his readied net. Two swords up means two swords tangled. The net cast is followed a split second later by a short ugly thrust of the trident to the midsection.

[Voshkod]

Soren

With lightning speed, one sword knocks the net aside, the other entangles in the trident, and he's under your defenses. A gauntleted fist slams into the side of your head, sending sparks across your vision. He's strong. He's fast. He hits you again as you struggle to bring the trident around.

"You've always won, or know you could win." The voice is cold, the cadences familiar. "Now, what do you do when you are losing?" Again with the fist, and something in your face shatters. "Fighting shadows is easy. What do you do when reality smashes your nose in?"

[SilverElf4]

Soren

Soren feels the icy calm of his discipline grip him. The pain fades, the anger fades, and there is nothing but strategies and tactics, knowledges and moves. And he understands the lesson that is being taught. And then it clicks. He would speak, but only fools waste words in battle. His father taught him that. The next blow that comes he receives on his already battered face, just as he has twice before. But now he knows from which side the opponent favors. And he knows that side will be open, vulnerable, at the moment of impact. And it is in that moment that Soren teaches the fool a lesson of his own - a lesson about the rules of gladitorial combat. Retiarii are outfitted not with two weapons when they enter the arena, but with three. At the moment of impact, a dagger is lanced to the exposed ribs that stand not twelves inches from its home, Soren's broad belt of leather and iron.

[The_Logic_Ninja]

Rachel

"'Oh, crap?' That's it? I never knew you, but she loved you. She waited for you. She waited for you, and you're too late. I think," Rachel says again, her voice brittle and sharp like glass amidst the music whose cheer has been sapped over the past six years, "that you had better come upstairs."

[The Prince of Cats]

Drake

The princeling was bored of acting dumb, feigning ignorance and trying not to care about his family. He had worked out enough to know that he lived in a fantasy world that his mother seemed to have some small measure of control over and that there was a world more real than this where the important decisions would be made, the place from which his golden coin came.

"If it was as simple as working out who was next in line to the throne, I don't think we would be in this predicament. I get the feeling that a stronger claim to the throne is less important than a good army and sword-arm. I just wish I understood all of this a little better."

[Hrolf]

Grettir

Grettir steps forward to stand beside his father.
"Who said that?" he yells out into the crowd, "Show yourself!"

[Puma]

Bellona
Bella gasps, but the twitchy part of her brain reacts anyway... her lance is dropped and the horse is spurred on, toward the car but at an oblique angle of attack. Better to try to jump the front quarter of the vehicle than to be run down from behind.

[Voshkod]

Bellona

You spur your horse to jump just as the blond man turns the car aside to miss you. Sabre leaps high, clipping the front of the car with her back hooves, and lands well, wheeling about. You see several dogs are on the back of the car, ripping at the bumper, and Morgenstern is tearing up toward it, your father fully encased in his white gleaming armor.

Grettir

A large man, who you recognize as the Ironfoot, leader of a bandit movement you and your father crushed a few years back, stands forward. "I did. It was the boy who bested me in honorable battle, not his father. What has his father ever done before the boy? Nothing! It is the boy, who is a child of the Gods, that has led us here, and I say he should be our king. Horgar is just a man; we deserve to be led by a God!" There's some murmuring, and some more people start to chant your name.

Drake

"I am older than Corwin, and the oldest male child who is both alive and willing to take the crown," says Eric. "I also hold Amber, have the support of her army and navy, and have a stronger sword arm than Corwin. What does he have? Random, hardly a threat."

"But, Eric," says your mother carefully, "Father never formally recognized you as being legitimate. Corwin would argue that he is the oldest legitimate heir willing to take the Crown. And some will listen. Bleys, Caine? Brand is still missing, but what about Fi?"

Rachel

"Yeah. All right, kid, I'll go." He stands up and puts his hat back on, and starts to follow you upstairs. "The name's Random, kid. What's yours?"

Soren

The knife hits home, and your attacker grunts. "Good, Soren. That's the right answer. Never give up. Never surrender. Spit your dying blood in your enemy's eye and curse him with your dying breath." He stands, and as he does he grows taller. He casts the helmet off, and you see unfamiliar features melt into your father's stern visage. "War isn't about honor, it's about killing. We glorify it - even I glorify it - but this is what it is in the end. Two men, killing each other in the dust."

He helps you up, and you realize that for the first time he's called you a man, not a boy.

[The_Logic_Ninja]

Rachel

"Rachel," she says, after they're on the stairs leading up. "I'm Rachel. What kind of a name is Random?" She finds her room, upstairs, opens the door, and ushers him in before closing it. Night outside the window, candles unlit on her windowsill; she turns the lamp on, providing light. There are papers on her desk, and knick-knacks, and a framed picture of her mother and a straw-haired man.