In Amber Clad: Part 1

''The most melancholy thing about human nature, is, that a man may guide others into the path of salvation, without walking in it himself; that he may be a pilot, and yet a castaway. ~ Augustus William Hare and Julius Charles Hare, Guesses at Truth, by Two Brothers, 1827''

Dawnstar Keep: Hall of Dawn 


 * Set within a contrast of the dark bluish-gray from the arsenic shades of the stone walls, the shimmering jet from the white-flecked marble floor, the silver of the wall sconces, the gold of the flames they contain, and the deep ruby of the carpeting path below, the Hall of Dawn is a location rich in color, mood, and warmth.


 * The hall itself is of an uncomplicated design that consists of a generally rectangular space that tapirs into an isosceles trapezium at the western end, with the eastern side remaining that which leads back to the vestibule beyond, and which faces the city of Light's Reach beyond the keep.


 * In the middle of isosceles trapezium sits the dais upon which the magnificent Dragonharp Throne rests. Two white-marble support pillars - entwined with rich, serpentine, ivy filigree - stand just forward of the throne, flanking the seat of power on both sides while creating a little pocket of privacy to ensure that only those standing directly in front of the throne can look upon those within the enclave without obstruction.


 * A large and somewhat ornate chandelier hangs above the Hall of Dawn to cast additional warm light upon those below, while tapestries hang from most walls to challenge the arsenic shades beneath them. Passageways lead to the North and South wings of Dawnstar Keep, while behind the Dragonharp throne itself can one find a large insignia of a rising silver sun above a jade landscape.

In crimson half-plate clad, the Sovereign Prince of the Blood prowls the main hall of Dawnstar Keep of what remains a temperate night beyond the arsenic installation. Well, "prowl" isn't quite the operative word, when one considers that Serath is currently located on the Dragonharp Throne, one foot tapping softly against the ground as he sits there, apparently reading a leather-bound tome, ethereal blue eyes flicking back and forth as they follow the lay of the writing. The tome itself appears to be a book of legends and the tales surrounding them. One of those that attempts to follow the story of a weapon of remarkable power or an enchanted suit or armor, and the supposed history behind them. Regardless of fact or fantasy, the Prince seems to have been snared by the content at any rate. The rest of the main hall is mostly empty, with only the shadows and the flames of torches giving company to the Ranger-Prince as he reads in his somewhat casual sitting stance.

If it were possible to look out of place in such an environment where a glowing, plate clad Prince doesn't, Vhramis could probably come close. But, then again, the same could be said for him in most any location where the ranger is found. Seeming more than a little nervous as he pokes his head in through the opened, main doors of the Hall, Wolfsbane spends a moment scanning the opulent room, and the seated reader.

Finally as prepared as he likely can ever be, he slips inside, clearing his throat in a manner that is aimed to be loud enough to be heard by Serath, but soft enough to be polite, and even as an afterthought, he reaches back to rap on the nearer door.

"I do have a name, you know," a familiar regal purr answers in reply to the throat-clearing. His tone is generally mirthless, but without malice, sound more like a lazy offhand comment than anything else as he continues to flick through the pages of the tome that rests in his hands.

"Yeah, you do," answers Vhramis immediately, blinking a bit as he considers deeper the response from the other. He grimaces then, moving deeper into the hall in an approach to where the Prince sits reading. "Serath?" Wolfsbane calls out, then, apparently intent on trying the whole thing over again, before he bites at his bottom lip.

The Prince finally looks up with a smile, his cascading argent hair lightly sweeping as his gaze shifts to fall upon his half-brother. "You Vhramis," he states, slowly closing the tome between his hands as he continues, "If you were *anyone* else, with perhaps the exception of Rowena, I would not be very impressed right now. Be that as it may, however..."

The ranger frowns slightly at that, seeming about ready to ponder and mull over the statement as he pauses again, before pushing it off for another time with a half shrug. "Feeling well, really. Haven't been...reading as much as others, though." A curious glance to the formidable tome on Serath's lap, before again, it's brushed off for another time. "Lots of stuff happening too. You know I was chased by a Mankiller just last week? No idea how I got away from it. But it turns out that he decided where I was sleeping for the night would be a fine place to make a den."

He grunts at that, crossing his arms and sighing. "But...well. You probably didn't mean you wanted to hear about all that, did you?"

"Still as serious as always," the Prince intones, partially to himself, before sighing and shaking his head. "And no, I hadn't heard that one. I suppose I should be relieved that you still have all your major organs secured inside your body, but somehow I get the feeling that you enjoyed the adventure more than you make out to have done." A pause, and Serath adds, "Besides, that's the fun of sleeping under the stars, no?"

"I found a tree to sleep in, instead, and let it have it," Vhramis dips his head in agreement, rubbing at his stomach for a moment. "...I think it just wanted to drive me off, really. Probably. I don't know. It was big, though. They're all pretty big." A grimace and he begins to spread his arms, as if intent on showing just how 'big' it was, before thinking differently of it and shaking his head. And there, he jumps to the heart of the matter. "...walk with me?"

"Something up?" Serath promptly returns, waiting for the reaction such a question might provoke before deciding on his next path of action.

"I don't know?" Vhramis answers with a curious tilt of his head, his expression showing that he's not entirely sure what else to say about it. Specifically, like he has a bad taste in his mouth. "But...uh. You should do this for me, I believe, if I could ask a favor of you."

The Prince's expression is nothing if not suspicious as that cryptic answer is given to feed his question; and with those eyes of ethereal blue, and with the sharp features of a dead Emperor, suspicious is not something that anyone might want to see when Serath is involved. "Very well then," he finally decides, moving the tome from his lap to stand upon the seat of the Dragonharp Throne, leaning upon the left arm as the Prince stands in all of his crimson-clad glory. He pauses for but a moment, reclaiming an obsidian longsword and the scabbard it sleeps within and hooking it to his sword belt at his left hip before pacing over to Vhramis's position. The ambient lighting of the flames that burn on torches and in stanchions as he moves trace warm hues upon the armor he wears. "Pathfinder, lead the way," he purrs, irony inherant upon his words.

The sigh of relief that Wolfsbane puffs out is not accompanied with even the smallest attempt of secrecy, the man dipping his head in thanks to the approaching Prince. "It's not too far, where we're walking," he replies with a gesture to the door, before turning to begin a slow walk, waiting for Serath to fall in step with him. "...just outside of Light's Reach," he adds, voice quieter.

Without another word, Serath falls in line and lets Vhramis lead on. It's been a while since Serath has seen much use for heavy armor such as the Half-Plate of the Imperial Tribunal, but by the way he walks, and by the way he moves, it would seem that some Wildcats never forget how their winter coat feels - no matter how much they've become used to their summer spots.

'''[b]~ One Hour East And Much Walking Later... ~'''

Mikin Road 


 * The smooth cobblestone road cutting through the lands held by House Mikin is designed with straight lines - even where the geography has otherwise refused to cooperate. Vassals of House Mikin and soldiers of the former Emperor's Blades have managed to ford swamps and ponds with bridges, cut through the hearts of forests, and carve gaps in hillsides to make way for the level road as it forms its axis across the landscape.


 * The historical monastery of Night's Edge stands to the north of this section of Mikin Road; the location having seen more than its fair share of owners and neglect in recent decades. However, though the ruins of Night's Edge can still be explored, the land has been given to a second incarnation of the devout monastery thanks to the determination of one Celeste Mikin and a liberal amount of funding and support from House Mikin, House Kahar, and even the Imperial Government.


 * The depths of the Mikin Woods spread across the horizon to the deeper north and south, while the ruined wastes of Light's Reach and the sundered bluff that it sat upon can be seen towards the west at the end of the highway.

Well, maybe he understated it slightly. Something he's certainly been known to do before. Vhramis leads Serath along the road a ways out from Light's Reach, ignoring the water pouring down about him, clearing his throat lightly once in a while as if he's about to speak, before thinking better of it and remaining quiet. He does manage to look a bit apologetic. He gestures to the approaching Monastery grounds, pausing briefly to turn and face his half-brother.

Some people walk in the rain. Others just get wet. Serath, for once, seems to be doing both. Not that the rain seems to bother him; he's one of those rare people who accepts that getting wet is what happens when it rains, and doesn't attempt to shield himself or seek shelter when the heaven's decide to open up. By the way he prowls through such weather, one might be forgiven for thinking that the Prince hasn't even noticed the downpour... But, that would be an arrogant and foolish assumption, for the Prince of the Blood is not oblivious to the weather - he just takes it in his stride. Even as droplets fall from his damp hair, and even as rivulets trickle down the polished surface of crimson steel, he neither bends nor cowers from the weather. Nor does he follow Vhramis as the equally sodden Ranger gestures to the soft glow of the windows of Night's Edge hidden beneath the curtain of water that falls upon the night-shrouded landscape. "Vhramis," he calls out above the hiss of the rain, "This is *not* 'just outside of Light's Reach', and this is not 'just a favor', and you are a *terrible* liar at the best of times." For all that shadow that smothers his form, cast by a dark sky filled with even darker clouds, those haunting blue eyes shine out without fail, looking almost disembodied due to the lack of local light sources to illuminate more of his body.

An almost desperate look up to the nearby monastery. So close, and yet so far? The ranger sighs at the words from Serath, looking back to him to nod, the motion almost lost in the dim available light. "Well, uh...maybe it's just the rain that makes it seem longer?" he suggests with a blink, before grimacing slightly at how foolish that sounds. "Alright, so...yeah. I'm not a very good liar. Never have been, which you know. And this isn't even the best of times. But, we're already here, aren't we? And at the very least, we can get out of the rain?" Another gesture to the nearby monastery, and an almost pleading look at the Prince.

The "Puppy-Wolfbane Eyes" don't seem to work on Serath this time, with Vhramis earning himself a somewhat incredulous glance as he fires that 'get out of the rain' comment. "Vhramis," he calls above the backdrop of the weather in a tone that is nothing if not as aporetic as his expression, "We're *Rangers*." Fool me once...

"Yeah, and this isn't exactly the easiest for me either," Vhramis answers with a grunt and frustrated shake of his head. He crosses his arms at his chest, looking skyward, blinking at the cool rain pattering against his face. "Thing is, as a ranger, I'm not supposed to be convincing you to come from point A to point B. In fact, I'm not exactly sure why I was put to the task of it. But I really do think that, if you follow me, you'll be glad you did, in the end. I'm not supposed to really say much more."

The Sovereign Prince of the Blood neither looks nor sounds very impressed at being manipulated in such a fashion as that which is apparently taking place now, which is perhaps something that the architects of this particular plan may have overlooked. Finally, without anything as much as even a sigh of annoyance, he decides to play the game a little longer, moving over to follow Vhramis with an expression of reserved resignation resting firmly upon his features. "Light grant that those behind this know me as well as they think they do," he offers with no tones of mirth to cushion the words. "Deceiving Dragons is a dangerous game to play."

"I've learned as much," Vhramis replies with a small nod at that, turning to finally move along again once Serath follows. He doesn't exactly look very pleased at matters either, but it's progressed to such a point that there's no real choice other than to press forward. "Can't wait to dry off," he mutters, half to himself, as he trudges onward.

Night's Edge Monastary: Courtyard 


 * Entering beneath the large sun-clay archway brings one into the courtyard of the former monastery. Never truly quiet, this space is wide and open to the sky, the central area through which the rest of the working manor is accessed. During the day, conversation and the passing of craftsmen and students keeps the area from being quiet, while night brings some peace - though often disturbed by the furtive form of someone thieving a midnight snack from the nearby dining hall or passing through on their way to a belated bed.


 * The open air garden is cut into two halves by pathways of colored stone. To the east, the white pathway is of all white sun clay, fired and glazed, winding through mixed flowerbeds of Mikin orchids and the trellises of the creeping night's trumpet. The west path is of a dark, almost black rock with rougher edges, chipped and hand-fitted into a mosaic pattern of basalt that mirrors the winding way of its sister. The two paths come together beneath an elegant three tier fountain made of white marble, shot through with black veins and polished by the constant flow and splash of water.


 * A set of double doors, made of heavy biinwood stained to a darkened hue of near black, lead off to the north, their inlaid and gold-leaved inset of the Sunburst of the Light shining brightly even in the dimmest day. A small postern door, tucked at the end of an unassuming branch of pathway on the western side of the courtyard, leads north into the dining hall, while a small gate opens in the low salle wall to allow access to the weapon master’s training area.

"... is 't?" Kael blinks. "I guess 't may be." The graying mage stands in the shelter of the salle, looking out over the wall and holding a torch high (carefully at that loose edge that keeps it just out of the rain and not setting the roof afire). Leaning on a post, he chats amiably with Victoria, as the two watch the gate-house from shelter. "But in th' end, woul' rather be that 'n what else w' coul' be. Y' cannae find Light without lookin' fer it, I figure."

It is notable that the Edge gate is dark and unguarded - the house is alight, the stained glass of the chapel flickering with candle flame, the stables devoid of servant and the garden already fallowed for the winter. It is a place lit for a night alone, given the denizens and the edict, and there is a sense of that about it, a sense of something warm that will soon go back to sleep.

Victoria shrugs noncommittally. "'Looking for the light' is too abstract for me, and a really loaded phrase, besides." She frowns. "I'll settle for 'looking for people to be around who aren't complete asses'." She peers out across the courtyard through the heavy downpour.

Look what the storm dragged in! Two rangers. One a Prince, one not quite. Both dripping wet, and both looking somewhat, well...resigned. "Here we are," mutters Wolfsbane to his red-steel plate clad companion, glancing back at him briefly, before he pauses to search the courtyard for something. Spotting that light by the salle, he puts two fingers to his mouth to whistle out.

Serath doesn't seem to offer anything in reply to Vhramis's statement of the obvious. Beneath the dark clouds and the rain that falls from above, the Prince of the Blood is a brewing storm on the ground itself, and one that follows the ranger that leads the way.

Kael grins, a bit sheepishly, looking to Victoria - "Woul' nae suggest goin' out there. m' in trouble, looks like." And with those words, the mage sets off into the rain, the torch lasting.. oh, a good dozen paces before the rain batters it into charcoal and smoke, and then not even that - a stick, one that gets tossed aside into a flowerbed.

Even as he moves, the young wolf calls to the pair - "o'er here - an' goin' that way.." He moves up, nodding to the chapel, heedless of the rain. And... perhaps noting Serath's mood, he adds, carefully - "If y' mus' be angry, t'night - b' angry wi' me. If y' end up joyous, wi' be better targets fer yer joy." He even swallows, a bit nervously, nodding to the Chapel. "s' almos' done, though - th' folk what are here, wi' one excepted, are here fer m' askin', 's best I could."

Victoria falls silent, looking out through the rain at the new arrivals and not moving from the post she's leaning against. Her expression tightens with suspicion and vague mistrust, but it's too dark and wet in the courtyard for such details to be clearly discerned, at the moment.

Exhaling heavily, Wolfsbane considers the approaching Kael, narrowing his eyes slightly. "I feel dirty, how this was went at," he states with a grunt, before turning to move towards the chapel, breaking into a jog to allow him to tug the door open for Serath's entry, not looking inside himself.

The Prince considers Kael for a moment or two; his form mostly shadowed by the darkness of the night and the storm that rages through it, save for the ethereal blue of his eyes, and the seemingly perpetual argent of the auricomous hair that cascades down the sides of his face. If the rain bothers him at all, he doesn't show it.

"We'll see," is all that he offers, his tone lacking all signs of mirth.

Kael gestures into the Chapel - "If y' wi', s'... s' nearly done." You know, it's odd - the young man is truly unafraid - there's not a whit of that in him. But when Vhramis says what he does, he looks stricken, even a bit as though the words kick him worse, perhaps, than Vhamris's boot could. Biting his lip, he even looks up to the ranger. "M' sorry." But then he turns, moving for the Salle. "Jus'... a minute o' two more."

And... in the midst of all of that? Yes. That's a folded - and now wet - aging burlap sack thrown over his shoulder, barely big enough for a couple of loaves of bread.

Victoria silently watches the interplay through the rain, her arms folded across her chest and her expression unreadable. Probably not attracting much in the way of attention.

Wolfsbane waits by the door, considering the pouring rain, patient and unmoving. Well. Mostly unmoving. He twitches and occasionally rubs at his ear every so often, casting glances to Kael.

When Serath finally moves, his is the measure pace of a prowling cat. Though the rain is now little more than a light shower, it remains wet all the same, yet the Prince makes no effort to walk at any expedited pace. His armor gleams with moisture, his hair drips with damp, but Serath's stride is nothing is not measured and regal - if not somewhat suspicious - as he moves towards Vhramis and the opened door.

''Return to Season 6 (2007)