T A C: Session 01 -- Out of the Shadow, Into the Shrouds — Report

General Summary

    This is the second attempt at this letter, my brother. The first wasn’t a bad effort. It only got trashed because the dented ink-pot I insist on using tipped over and went all over the pages. That ink-pot. I hang on to it, even though I could easily get one from the medallion bankers. A quick trip upstairs, a few words and one of the underlings would bring a fine selection of the things. None of these would be my ink-pot though. None of the perfect, expensive and level-bottomed pots could replace that little traveling ink-pot. It had seen my many actions across uncounted worlds. Now it had witnessed worlds and times to boot. I can scarcely tell myself that I have reached a new universe. The battered brass pot tells me it is true. With every wobble, as I dip for a fresh touch of ink, I know it has to be true. When you appeared, I could not think it was real. You had every reason to remain behind. You cannot have the throne, nor do you seem to care anymore. I don’t know if there are others of us who feel the same? It had always struck me that Gerard was one. Now, he wants it. Wants it to deny Oberon, but still he would have it. A reluctant king, perhaps. His words are strong. His desire seems true. Maybe it’s me. I am just used to thinking of the admiral as the Protector of amber and not her king.   I’ll say this much for father, he took the challenge of Gerard well. I was a bit surprised. He browbeat a few of us. Like old times! Gerard? Gerard, he only told to be certain that this was what he wanted. No denials or epithets. I thought Oberon might at least proffer a, “Get thrusted!” Not even an admonishing tone. A simple acknowledgement and the once and present king walked out of our little get-together. Osric and I had fun with everyone. It was a good way to re-introduce – or introduce, as the case might be – to the others. You knew we weren’t drunk I expect. Most there weren’t absolutely sure. Bleys had grave doubts. I don’t mind him having a go. HE’s a bit of a laugh when he gets that scorched look on his face. It’s me for sure that he wants to school. He’s younger but knew me when I tried to teach him some things of the sword and axe. He took to these things like we do to weapons. He was fully confident despite his lack of experience. His strength was wondrous to witness. He tore apart a displacer cat while he was still in short pants. No wonder in himself then, at his proficient abilities. That is, until I tried him with a shield. He would not take to any that I offered. He disdained them all; round, small, tall or kited. He glanced half a second longer at one that bore a tri-spiked boss but that too he refused to wield. I took up a buckler. It was the smallest there. Then telling him to come at me, I stood and waited. He eyed me as any of our brothers might at such a challenge. Bleys slung the axe and short-spear at me with wild and then wildest abandon. To each incoming feint, I dodged. To each incoming attack, I deflected. After some tens of attempts, Bleys grew frenzied. Our staminas were close enough to even that I would not tire before he did. At some tipping point, Bleys lost himself. It is his gift. The first berserk railed at me or rather at my arm. His fixation on the buckler was narrow and complete. He took some huge swings at my arm, strong enough to shatter my shielded-left should I be stupid enough to interpose it. I am not a student of defence for naught. He never made contact unless I chose it. I chose only those blows that I could make glancing ones. For the larger excesses of his attack I rolled and weaved around the room. When I saw he might well go into the beyond of his nature, I ended it. As his sweat made him blink, I lunged at his nearest quad. When he reacted instinctively to this threat, I slammed the buckler into his chin. His jaw is iron. I had no fear that I could kill Bleys with the attack of deception. It was only his disregard of shields that likely let me fell him with so simple a move. Fell he did, like a castle wall breached by a bombard.   Credit to Bleys that when he came ‘round a few seconds later he shook my left hand. He kept looking at the shield on that arm as he thanked me for the lesson. I could tell that he would not underestimate things that seemed to have only one purpose, ever again. Oberon is still king. It could be argued that it his only purpose. That would be foolish. Don’t let any of the others think this of our father? I ask, in case I should fall. Osric may be lost. Even, lost for all. My position is precarious. I have made the best of it as I can. Still, there are so many variables that I fear my nature to defend the indefensible may not be enough. If I vanish…this time, it may not be a ploy. There is reason to feel this way. There is therefore reason to deny that feeling. In the chaos there is usually a circuitous path to success. I’ll play the long-odds hand. I’ve done it before, remember?     Today, I had a visitor. The Turnal Drowse awakener, turned racial euthanist. Tar Kiln was at our get-together. Gerard’s bodyguard? I don’t ask to see if you recall him. More that I doubt that such an employment ever existed. Instead, I think that Gerard simply moved to bring a card already on the table to himself, rather than see it taken by the other side. Whatever the truth behind his playing the Kiln trump card, what is true now, is that Kiln has returned and properly to the city. Spansis will be his interest. Given his presence within the Shadows of the Third Realm, I think it will be the under-city that becomes his choice of home. I have lost most of the skill I once held as a shadowcaster. I can think of no greater loss to my own personal strength than the loss of what Shadow could be counted upon to provide me. I know the others have nothing left. No connection what-so-ever. I count myself fortunate that I have a vestige of was once mine left to me. I cannot think why I am favoured. I accept as a quirk of nature that it is so. The reason will be revealed at some point, I imagine. I prepare a secret counter to this future revelation. Just in case…     Tar Kiln speaks of new beginnings. I listen to his calm words. There is an easy understanding between us. It is one born of two who are respectful of the other. That and the fact that we share so little in common. He is a caste, while I am not. He can launch himself or descend another into the shaded deeps with a thought and a word. I can deny with the armours of metal and stone. He asks all confronted to defend to their best. I defend better than most. In our disparity I see an opportunity to meet in the middle.     I expose my weakness. I summon all I can of Kiln’s chosen field. I paltry summoning of ‘stuff. The Shadow is meager. Kiln toys with it and makes of it a cameo-likeness of my features. I spin it like a jongleur’s ball. It is a confident move. It is meant to disarm. We have measured each other in this passing cooperation. I decide to throw my custom of caution away. The fellow does not know that I have informants beyond the city. My sources are Gerard’s spies. They travel within the cards as the deck gets shuffled. Kiln’s card is in the deck – how else could Gerard have played him? Each of the races has had a deck prepared by the spy-master. You will be please by this sensible use of the would-be king’s power – that is, if you are not the spy-master yourself, brother. I hope my guess is correct? If I am wrong then I cannot hope that things will go well for us. Kiln does not interrupt. I lavish him with the truth. He is not as aware of our family’s reputation as some. I think he believed what I told as some would not. I offer a pact. Something to work towards and a novel enough situation on top of all this, just to sweeten the prospect. Kiln is accepting. He has much to get if he is to be in a position to develop his strengths within the Lowsis shroud neighbourhoods. I have seen the shadowstuff permeating the outer shrouds for months. It is clear that Shadow has had this planned for all this time. Kiln’s arrival brings some sense to the appearance of these Drow you forewarned me over.     The Drow continue their active incarceration within, ‘the Resistance’. The tower that acts as their home still seems linked to the Black braided cord. The Chosen Men have gained some trust with certain Drow, more approachable than others. They have managed several confirmations of this fact. Being the colour it is and resistant to revealing its nature, nothing I have attempted has been able to cast an answer as to where this black braid leads. I will persist. I remain convinced that my earliest efforts toward it are still likely right. That the braid is Black must be true but the source could be the Profane. I remain sure their touch is upon the Black. The Dragon of Chaos has colours other than the Profanes’ plane has come to symbolise. In their myriads, it would only need one to be conversant with the unknown Black to achieve this casting.     I think Kiln was taken aback by the Drow being here. It will come as no little shock that his personal accrual, paid for with this racial deposit comes with this interest. You see? I learn somethings from my landlord bankers! Will his investment pay a dividend or result in a penalty fee, that is the question. I prefer the simple in most theoretical debates. For me, the Drow are evidently a result of the Drowse falling out of favour. No longer destined for the rise to racial heights, they must be devolved. Somehow, the Drow are the result. No need for a more elaborate idea. It fits and will do until some Power chooses to inform me of the actuality.     Let me know when you are able as to the changes within the Array? I am aware that Deignghaul must have his place taken by someone new to the Blue. Likewise the Sax Prince who fell at the same combat. There is Belleringer’s place in Brown also to be learned about. All these are Spnasis-news. Even the average citizens are somewhat knowing of these deaths. I doubt that there is and end to the changes at the Spansis boundaries? There will be others from the worlds. How many were lost with the worlds of Chanaga and Arcithia? Some Spires must be among the uncountable dead? Hard as it is to recount, let me know so that I can be prepared. If you know the replacements, that too.     My heart to yours, Finndo.