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DerynifanK

March 17, 2024, 03:48:44 PM
Happy St Patrick's Day. Enjoy the one day of the year when the whole world is Irish.

Ghosts of the Past

Started by Bynw, November 21, 2017, 09:26:09 AM

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revanne

#420
As Darcy left the room Columcil put his hand into the neck of his cassock to retrieve his crucifix. He felt the need of a tangible symbol of the Lord's victory over the powers of darkness in the desperation of their present struggle against evil. As he did so he had a sudden vivid memory of Washburn reaching for the medallion round his neck, a medallion of St Camber no less! Maybe he could contact him through that (( rolled wasting hero point 4+3+2=9 rr0zlrb2cw ), but he dismissed that thought in favour of a better. His grandfather with his years of Mastery in the Deryni arts, and his knowledge of Washburn would surely be better.

Duncan was already turning to leave when Columcil grabbed him by the sleeve "My Lord,  Your Grace, his medal. Maybe he still has his medal. My Lord, can you find him, Oh please try, at least."

The anxiety and desperation spilling out of Columcil robbed his words and actions of any presumption. Duncan's failure to answer lay not in any resentment at such unceremonious handling but because he too had had a sudden flashback, long long in the past to that terrible time when he and Alaric had believed Kelson and Dhugal dead and they had used... their St Camber medals. Of course!

"Bless you, son!" Now it was Duncan's turn to be unceremonious and he pulled Columcil with him out of the room where Aliset lay,  past the startled guards and an equally startled Darcy and into the little oratory.

"Pray!" was all he said but it was enough and both sank to their knees before the Presence lamp, Duncan cupping his own medallion between his hands ((Duncan can read Wash's thoughts and feelings 4+6+3=13 6lr708vwbx)).  Pain, and fear and hunger and thirst were were all he picked up at first, as he made contact. There were no shields there to protect Wash's mind and he must go gentlly for if he startled Wash his captor might be warned. Sending as much reassurance as he could though he did not know whether Wash could sense his presence he read the other's impressions of his captivity. Suddenly he let the connection break and crossed himself rapidly and fervently. Looking hard at the Presence lamp he prayed out loud,

"Sweet Jesus, have mercy! Grant that we may be in time."

Wash and presumably his captor were in the portal in the hidden room behind his old study, the room where Kelson, and Nigel and the Conall had had their Haldane potential set. And it was because of the last named that the Chapel,  as it had been,, and portal were disused.  Kelson could not bear any memory of his traitorous cousin, neither had there been need any longer to hide the veneration of St Camber. The frescos had been carefully removed and placed in the new chapel to the saint, and the former chapel deconsecrated with due formality.  The portal had been left unused for many years now and was doubtless dank and even foul. How the false scholar had learnt of it he could not guess, but he remembered with a sickening lurch that Denis had admitted revealing its location and signature to the Camberian Council. Well that was irrelevant - what mattered was to rescue Wash.

(( At this point the dice really turned against me. Does Duncan Mind speak Dhugal - 2+2 =41gdq4r63ft - No!  Kelson - 4+2=6 607vns3c8k- No!!.
Will Kelson make the portal jump -, 3+2=5.60ddkbb3bz - no!
Dhugal 4+2=6 3s19jdrlkc
Javan 4+4=8 2689d10c8n
Richenda (desperate  now) 3+3=6 208cķ00ct0))

Duncan found his heart racing - should he call the King or his Dhugal, and let them go through. God, any one of them would surely be willing, Javan or even, Saints preserve them Richenda. No there was no time - he must go himself. Wash's thoughts had resonated with the sneering threat that they would soon move. At the very least he could delay that move, and if necessary he would die in Wash's place.

He was aware that Columcil was staring at him strangely but there was no time to explain. Wrenching off his episcopal ring, precious relic of a martyred Bishop, he thrust it at his grandson.

" Run, burst into the Council if you have to, the guards will know this ring. Threaten them with hell fire if you have to. Tell the King he is in my old study he will know. Send soldiers. I will hold them there as long as I can. Go!"

Columcil thought he was the one in danger of hellfire, or a sound flogging at least for interrupting the king in council unbidden but who was he to disobey his Archbishop.  More than that if there was truly a chance of rescuing Washburn, well he too would take any risk. If an old man like his grandfather would risk his own life, then surely he could risk humiliation and a few inches of skin.

Praying desperately as he ran, and panting "His Grace's business" and thrusting the amethyst under the nose of any who looked questioningly he came to the council chamber. His heart sank aso he saw the archers on guard, he would never get through. He thrust the  ring at them but to no avail.

Weeping with despair and knowing he had nothing to lose he shouted with his mind to Kelson Sire. Of your mercy, Archbishop Duncan has sent me.News of Sir Washburn Grant me leave to enter,

(( At last 5+2+4=11 (hero point) 6216J18fgv))

He was not expecting what happened next as the doors to the chamber burst open and the King strode through, followed closely by many of his Lords.  Columcil fell to his knees clutching at the King's robe with one hand and showing the ring with the other.

"Your Majesty, Archbishop Duncan says, in his old study. You would know where and how to get in.Please take men, and hurry."

"And Duncan?"

But Kelson already knew the answer and he barely waited to hear Columcil say,

"He will be through the library portal by now. He says he"ll delay them as long as he can, Sire.", but was off shouting orders as he went for men to get to horse, waiting only to throw a bridle over their mount's head,  not even to saddle up.

Duncan had indeed headed for the portal in the library waiting only to take a sword from one guard and a bow and arrow from another. He knew what was on the arrow tips and he would use it if he had to.

He stepped onto the portal and felt back in his memory for the shape of the other portal so long disused..  He bent the energies and was gone to reappear into a space smelling of damp and disuse. (( rolled advantage - this was very familiar once to Duncan. 6+6+2=14 5j3nvsjq5s))

((Modified to remove mention of handfire)).





God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.
(Psalm 46 v1)

Jerusha

Darcy Cameron stood outside the door of the infirmary room where Lady Aliset rested under the watchful eyes of Duchess Grania and Father Columcil.   Darcy ached to be able to help her in some way, but there seemed to be nothing he could do.

This was the second time he had stood outside her door and waited for others to help her.  The first had been in Droghera.  It was not entirely his fault that the crossbow bolt had found her and not him, but he still felt responsible, even though chance had played the greater role.  Now he waited again.

The day had been a total failure.  He had failed to fulfill his mission in Desse, although that was certainly not his fault.  He had failed to be in Rhemuth to protect her, although who would have guessed she would not be safe within the Queen's Tower?  He felt like a failure; this was an unfamiliar feeling to him, and he didn't like it.

More than once he carefully extended his senses to see if Aliset was returning to normal, with no success.  Once he thought he touched Duchess Grania's mind, and he withdrew in a moment of near panic. He wished he knew better how to use his new-found powers.  His preferred teacher would be Lady Aliset, but perhaps that was an idle fancy. 

Darcy was totally unprepared when Father Columcil and Archbishop Duncan burst through the door.  For a moment he hesitated; should he follow or stay at his self-determined post?  He decided to stay, for Lady Aliset was his primary concern.  But if need be, he would offer what assistance he could, if the priests needed him.
From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggity beasties and things that go bump in the night...good Lord deliver us!

 -- Old English Litany

Laurna

#422
((Holding space to react to what really is happening))
((Revvane, I truly apperciate the effort and the enthusiasm, I still hope we can make something work that fits within the game parameters. Even if it takes a few more days. I know you are very busy and I thankyou for your time.))


Edited because Feyd and Wash are not in the old study
May your horses have wings and fly!

revanne

#423
Duncan tensed himself as he arrived at his destination expecting to see silvery handfire and smell damp and decay and at the psychic level pain and fear. The damp and decay were there, but nothing else only empty darkness. What a foolish old man he was, deciding that he could rescue Wash. How Alaric would laugh, maybe was laughing, somewhere up there in heaven. And perhaps Alaric had had the right of it, dying before he descended into folly.

But thought of Alaric served to shake him out of his self-pity. He must at least put a stop to the hunt he had set in motion.  He drew a deep breath willing his heart to calm and focused on reaching Dhugal ((5+6=11 40cjgp5971)) - "He's not here! God help us all! Do not come!". He sensed rather than heard Dhugal's reply in affirmation of the message, then turning towards where the altar would have been he knelt in supplication for Washburn, whereever he might be and for his grandson who he could only pray would suffer no consequences from his grandsire's folly.

Dhugal's senses were strung almost to breaking point, wondering whether the night's work would end in the death of both his cousin and his father, so he hardly knew whether to be sorry or pleased when his father's message came. Using the bellow he had learnt as a young man on the hills of Transha he yelled for all to stop and, when Kelson turned to him with a face between desperation and fury, repeated Duncan's message in a calmer voice, the king finally nodding agreement.

It was as though everything had gone into a slowed-down reverse as they moved back to the council chamber. Dhugal moved to walk besides Kelson, "Give me leave for a short while Sire, I'm not totally happy about this. It could be a trap. Let me go to the library and wait for Da, and if he does not come shortly and I cannot contact him, I beg leave to follow him."

Kelson sighed, at this rate how many more of his nobles would he risk losing, but he really did not have the energy to deal with a passionately enflamed Dhugal. "Do so, then, but, mind me, Dhugal, on your oath as as Duke, do not put yourself at risk. If he does not come return for more strength, and ...Here!", he summarily ordered two archers with their merasha tipped bows to accompany Dhugal.

Dhugal bowed to his king, then turning caught sight of Columcil. "Father, you carried my father's message, maybe you can tell me something more of his thinking. I would be grateful if you would come and wait with me at the library."

Columcil cast one look of agonised appeal at the king, who raised his eyebrows in a not unfriendly, but unhelpful, gesture, and Columcil had no choice but to turn and walk with his father.


God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.
(Psalm 46 v1)

Laurna

#424
"Don't waste my wine again!" came a phrase of power that shook Washburn's soul. Even the momentary satisfaction of attacking back was stolen from him.

"You'll learn. We have plenty of time. You are no longer the son of a hero. Know that now! That day out of Droghera, that must have been a fluke. A Morgan You are Not! You are nothing, nothing but a pawn!"

Bile raised in Washburn's throat as his listened. He wanted to leap at the man, prove him to be so wrong. Yet he could not. His eyes could no longer even reach to the scholar's face. Instead his gaze hovered no higher than the belt that tucked the scholarly robe close the the evil man's body. There in the belt was something leather bond. What was so important that the scholar carried it? He couldn't attack the man but he could grab for the roll.

((attempting to grab leather bond item. Hero point wasted. Rolled 2 Verification Number: 1db4szcqv5.
2nd attemp without hero point rolled 4 Verification Number: tbvgr6vjmc))

Wash made two attempts to lunge toward the leather bond roll at the scholar's waste, hoping against hope that it held a dagger. Both attempts were deftly side stepped.

Scholar looked at him curiously, "What are you after?" He followed Washburn's eyes and laughed. "This? I forgot I still had it." He pulled out the roll from his belt and brandished it before Washburn's eyes. It was nothing but a parchment scroll. "This is what I was going to use to lure you into the Library. It is nothing but a Healer's scroll. I had it copied from a scroll out of some tome found at home. It was supposed to be a scroll of importance. Yet the man who copied it for me, said it was a very poor translation. Half the words are gibberish. If you want it that badly, since it was meant to be yours anyway, I will give it to you. In return you will do as I say and drink your wine." The scholar pointed the scroll toward the goblet. He lifted the pitcher ready to pour. "Do we have a deal or not?" Between both tied, shaking hands Washburn held up the goblet to be filled. He knew he had little choice. The scroll was probably worthless. But something in his mind nagged at him to get it. He could not say what the something was. Without his powers, the suggestion could have come from anywhere or been nothing but delusion. But it was a suggestion of warmth, the only warmth he could feel in this cold, damp cellar of darkness.

"This is me doing you a favor. You'll thank me for it." The man in the scholarly robe poured the remainder of his precious wine from his pitcher into the cup. With a voice of command that Wash could not disobey, he said, "Drink!"

Washburn did. He savored the too sweet flavor of the spiced wine to descend down his throat and to fill his empty stomach. The drug was barely tasted but the effects were almost immediate. Washburn struggled to stay sitting. He looked askance at the scroll that hovered in the hand before him. "Please!" He begged.

"Now, you're begging like a girl? I am disgusted with you!" The scholar flung the Scroll at Wash who managed to clutch it close to his chest, even as he fell sideways. His body once more going stiff and cold.
May your horses have wings and fly!

Bynw


With Washburn drugged again and unable to offer any resistance. The Scholar picks him up once more. And huffs him over to the damp corner where the Portal lies waiting. He balances the energies between this place and his destination.

<bynw> portal jump
<bynw> !roll 2d6
<derynibot> 3, 5 == 8

One heart beat. Two heart beats. Three heart beats. The nothingness of the void between jumps clears. And the Scholar sets Washburn down among the stones and debris on a small makeshift rug of furs. Something catches his eyes as he spies the chain to the Camber Medallion.

Removing it from Wash easily enough with the tip of a dagger. Insures that his controls are set. That Washburn cannot move, nor speak above a whispered tone without his expressed permission. He then wraps the medallion in leather and vanishes from the Portal leaving Washburn alone, helpless, and unaware of anything that has passed.

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Jerusha

Aliset de Mariot stirred slightly.  She felt a soft touch on her mind that withdrew quickly.  It was a familiar touch, but her befuddled mind could not be sure.  Slowly, she opened her eyes.

"Darcy?" she asked weakly, her voice sounding cracked and dry.

"Lord Darcy is just outside the door standing watch," a woman's voice said gently.  'You are safe in the infirmary."

Aliset found it difficult to focus her eyes.  The woman sitting beside the cot was Duchess Grania!  Confused, Aliset tried to sit up.  Gentle hands stopped her progress.

"You should rest.  But first, have a drink of this."  Grania reached behind Aliset to support her head and shoulders while holding a goblet to Aliset's lips. 

The goblet contained watered wine, and Aliset realized how thirsty she was.  She drank as carefully as she could, but drips of wine spilled down the sides of her mouth despite her efforts.  Grania patted her face dry with a fine linen handkerchief and laid her head back on the pillow.

It was the touch of the handkerchief that brought the memories flooding back.  Aliset scrubbed her lips with the back of her hand to remove any traces of Lord Jaxom's passionate kisses.  And then she began to cry as she remembered more fully the betrayal, the loss of her powers, the helplessness and exposure to those who would harm her.  And Washburn – that man had taken Washburn!  She cried harder.

Darcy Cameron burst into the room, the sound of her cries forcing him to action.  The guard grabbed him by the shoulder and Darcy stopped, his own distress and concern clear on his face.  Duchess Grania gave him a stern look of disapproval.  Aliset looked up at him and squirmed backwards on the cot.

"Don't touch me!" she shouted in desperation.

"My Lady, I would never..." Darcy began, confused and uncertain as to what he should do.   

"I'm, I'm sorry," Aliset stammered through her tears. 

"No, my Lady, the fault is mine.  I understand; no need to fret about it." 

For the first time, Duchess Grania read a lie in the young man's words.  His compassion was clear, but he did not understand at all.  How could he?  He was the one person in the room who knew nothing about what had happened.  This would have to be rectified, but not now.

"Please step back outside, Lord Darcy," Grania said firmly but with some compassion in her tone.

  "Of course, your Grace.  If Lady Aliset needs anything, pray let me know."  Darcy bowed and withdrew, the guard shutting the door firmly behind him.
From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggity beasties and things that go bump in the night...good Lord deliver us!

 -- Old English Litany

Jerusha

Darcy Cameron leaned on the wall beside the door to Lady Aliset's room in the infirmary, his arms crossed over his chest in an uncharacteristic position.  He was not one to spend too much time withdrawn into his own thoughts, but he needed to know what was happening and what had happened to cause it.  He was having little success.

He straightened as two women accompanied by guards approached; each was carrying a cloth bundle.    From their dress and bearing, Darcy guessed they were from Duchess Grania's household. The guard standing across from him on the other side of the door bowed and reached to open the door to let the women in. Darcy seized the opportunity to open the door himself and managed to look inside the room as the two women entered.

Aliset lay sleeping on the cot, resting on her side and curled up into a tight ball.  Duchess Grania, still sitting on the chair beside the cot, gave him a hard look, but when she realized he did not intend to enter the room, she relaxed. 

Darcy bowed respectfully and closed the door.

Darcy was left once again with his own thoughts. He knew Lady Aliset was receiving the best care possible, but her sleeping position on the cot told him all was not well.  And he could do nothing.

It occurred to him suddenly, that he had not seen Lord Jaxom since he and Father Columcil had returned to Rhemuth.  Admittedly, they had only been in the courtyard and the infirmary, but normally Jaxom continually maneuvered to be at Aliset's side at every opportunity.    If the annoying peacock had been injured or killed, surely Archbishop Duncan would have said something about it. Darcy did not believe Jaxom would have returned to Trillshire this soon.  Where could he be?

"I'll be back in a moment," Darcy said to the guard and made his way back to the infirmary's main door.  He opened it and stepped outside far enough to speak to the guards who still stood at their posts.

"Has anyone come to inquire about Lady Aliset?" Darcy asked.

"No one has come except you and the priest earlier, and the two ladies with guards just now," one of the guards replied.

Darcy thanked the man and walked thoughtfully back resume his own post outside of Aliset's door.  Where was Jaxom?  What the hell had happened?

'You don't need to stay here," the guard at the door suggested.

Darcy shook his head.  "Nay, this is where I need to be."  He paused for a moment.  "Besides, I have no where else to go."
From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggity beasties and things that go bump in the night...good Lord deliver us!

 -- Old English Litany

Laurna

#428
Lord Jamyl Arilan, son of Laird Seisyll of Tre-Arilan stepped within the library garderobe. He placed his hand against the far wall, then watched his fingers disappear inside the wall, thus proving he was able to penetrate the warding veil which separated the annex room from the main royal library. As he stepped through the veil, his foot kicked a glass vessel which was haphazardly resting on the floor. Jamyl backed up a pace, reached down to the decanter, and was amazed to find it unbroken.  What he saw inside made him hold his breath.

"Lord Almighty, it's blood," Jamyl exclaimed as he walked unhindered through the warded veil into the library annex room, "Haldane blood, if I dare to make a guess."  He held the glass up for the other Arilans to see. "Did you ever imagine that such a rouse would work?" the younger man asked he great, grand uncle, who had been one of the men to create the warding veil all those years ago.

In those early years of King Kelson's reign, the Library Annex had been built as an extension to the Royal Library. For centuries before that, this same room had been a guest room and had held the secret Portal which was known only to a few. Unfortunately, not all of those few had been loyal to the Haldanes. For that reason, the portal room had been changed in such a way that the entrance into the castle could only be obtained by passing through the warded veil, which was only permitted to those high Deryni Lords of complete loyalty to the king. Most Deryni did not have this permission. In truth, most knew nothing of the Portal here, and of those that did, most would not be able to even see the veil, for it would look like nothing more than a bricked in archway to them. The Arilan family were one of the few given such permissions. That is why the Arilan's had been assigned this job. To discover what had happened and to trace down the kidnapped young Morgan. Bishop Denis Arilan just now was standing with his hand on the shoulder of Jamyl's father, who was down on his knees. Siesyll's hands were flat against the square stone in the very center of the room, the Portal stone.  The third man in the room was Jamyl's uncle. Lord Sextus was just then turning over a pouch of cubes into his hand.  "Why is it impossible to do a walking ward while Portaling?" his uncle was asking. "Surely there must be someway to accomplish both acts?"

The Bishop raised his eyes at his impetuous nephew. "Now, Sextus, think about it. You have trouble doing a walking ward while walking let alone talking at the same time. The energy balance would be impossible. Besides, the ward itself would forbid you from using the Portal, you would never be able to sense the portal signature to make the jump.  Much less feel the Portal that you were jumping too."

Laird Seisyll looked up at his brother who was turning the cubes over in his hands. "Don't even consider trying it, Sextus. As much as you are a nuisance to the family name, we have all gotten rather accustomed to your ways. So the answer is, No. There are some magics that just simply contradict each other," Laird Seisyll warned. Then Seisyll look up at his son, noting the glass vessel in his hand. "I would never have thought Haldane blood poured over someone would fool the veil. We will have to rework the spell, Uncle Denis. Whose blood could that be? It would have to be fresh for such a rouse to work."

Bishop Denise, stared at the blood in the vessel. He was calculating where all those of Haldane blood were. "Damn, I got it!. King Liam and Queen Eirian's youngest son, Prince Kalin has been a royal Squire in the castle for three years now. I heard a rumor that he was sick with a fever since yesterday."

"Aye, he was," Seisyll remarked, finally understanding what had occured. "It got so bad that the physicians bleed him this morning to reduce the ill humours.  I heard he was still in bed, recovering, but the fever has abated."

"One more thing that grey-bearded Moor must account for," Sextus claimed. "Do we know who he is?"

"Kelson will find out. That assailant is not our trouble. Our trouble is the one that took Washburn," Denis said turning back to Seisyll. "What can you sense from the Portal?"

Seisyll nearly laughed. "This has been a very active portal in the last 24 hours. I can sense when you came through this morning," he nodded to Denis. "And then I can separate out Earl Brendan with Duke Aurgus and of course Dhugal and Robert used it to get here. They were nearly the last ones.

((Seisyll discovering last portal jump location. If it is checked by a Ritual Magic user, then Disadvantage roll, success on 6 only.  Rolled = 4 Verification Number: 7n3jn6gz4h))
((Seisyll second attempt Discovering last portal jump location. If it is checked by a Ritual Magic Trait roll Disadvantage success on 6 Rolled = 3 Verification Number: 76zhfwz8tg))

"I have been trying for several minutes to discover the last portal jump made but it is confusing me. It's a jumble with all the other coordinates that are so recently made." Laird Seisyll sat back on his knees in frustration.

"I'll see if I can do better," Bishop Denis said. He pulled a cushion off one the benches and put it under his knees before he knelt next to the stone. "I am going to need your help to get up. These old bones aren't as agile as they use to be."So saying, Denis leaned both hands onto the Portal stone. His eyes focused on his amethyst ring.

((Discovering last portal jump location. If it is checked by a  Spell Master Trait roll standard disadvantage. Rolled =6 Verification Number: 2r6n3q4th5 Does Denis get a Hero Point?))

Denis had taken only a few minutes to isolate the coordinates. He invited his nephews to learn of it from him. All three men joined their hands with his and Denis shared the unique signature that he found.

((Anyone can check for a Trapped Portal before making a jump. It's a Standard Test (2d6) vs the skill of the person who set the trap.
Denis skill test  Rolled 2+2+3 = 7 Verification Number: 6xh76vmkh1 edited because it should have been a 3d6 roll
   12:18   Portaltrap   Oh and by the way, Dinis should have gotten a 3d6 roll instead of a 2d6 roll. so let me roll one more time for him.  it won't make any difference on what is already written. I am not rewriting that. LOL.
12:18   Portaltrap   !roll 1d6
12:18   derynibot   3 == 3

Scholar's skill test Rolled 1+6=7 Verification Number: 5pxln7m5b4))

"I don't think the portal is trapped," Denis says.

"I don't trust that." Seisyll said placing both hands on the portal stone. Now that he knew which coordinates to look for, it was easier to test for a Trap.

((Seisyll's Skill test Rolled 3+2=5 Verification Number: 4smldfw1pd
Scholar's skill test  Rolled 6+2=8 Verification Number: 19s3xfmw70))

"I believe your right, I don't feel any traps. I am going through." Seisyll started to stand up pulling out his sword and stepping onto the Portal stone. Both Jemyl and Sextus protested.

"Father, that is far to dangerous. This foreign scholar could be waiting there in ambush. I won't let you go."

"Someone has to go," Seisyll returned.

"We will need to set Rapport, so we instantly know what you know," bishop Denis was saying, agreeing with Seisyll.

((Sextus skill test Rolled 2+3=5 Verification Number: 3zd6f70c9t
Scholar's Skill test  Rolled 1+4=5 Verification Number: 78cx0qxczn
"In a tie, defender (the person who set the trap always wins.)"))

Sextus leaned back on his haunches after giving the Portal his own perusal.

"I agree it appears to be clear. I will go first." He pulled out his sword and then he pulled his Camber Medal from the inside of his tunic. He touched the Medal to his lips and then to that of both his brothers and his uncle's similar Camber Medals. They had done this before, a strong Rapport was developed between the three of them. "Only follow if I tell you too." Sextus told them.

Everyone cleared the stone and Sextus stepped to the Portal's center. He put the coordinates he had garnered from his uncle into his mind. He didn't like jumping to Portals he had never been to, but the Coordinates seemed clear enough in his mind. He made the jump counting less than a fraction of a heart beat of time as he appeared in the corner of a dark space with a pale glow of handfire.

(( Per Bynw, "Yes the Portal is trapped... Feyd is skilled but his not a Master. I'm going to go with it causing unconsciousness in anyone not properly attuned to it. They would get a Save Test (2d6 to avoid being unconscious but they would be highly disoriented.)" ))

((Sextus Save test for the Trapped Portal Standard 2d6  Rolled 1+1=2 Verification Number: 3krgllzc62))

Sextus has but an instant to look at the dimly lit room before a bolt of energy lashes out at him. He falls instantly unconscious crumbling to the floor.

Both Denis and Seisyll exclaim as the Rapport abruptly ceased. A list of Curses filled the room.
"It was trapped?" Jamyl asked having not been in the Rapport.

"Yes...!" The bishop hissed. "I saw Wash on the floor hugging his knees." Denis cupped his medal in his hands and concentrated on Sextus's inactive Medal. "I think they are really close somewhere in town. We dare not follow this way. We have to ride out and do a door to door search. I think I can follow Sextus's medal, but it is going to take time. Let us go!"

The three Arilan men ran out of the library. They gathered four guards with them as they saddled horses in the stable and rode out through the gates. Seisyll did give orders to tell Kelson where they had gone. But in some way that information took far too much time to reach the king's ears. A long time after Duncan had made his attempt to contact Washburn and to use the Portal to jump to a different location. A long time after the foreign scholar had discovered his trapped portal had been activated. 

Feyd knew he didn't have much time. He needed to move his captured package a little sooner than he liked. Washburn never knew about the attempted rescue. He never saw the unconscious body of Sextus on the corner of the floor of the cellar. The body that the Scholar simply pushed aside, then strengthened the trapped portal to be doubly strong. Only then did Feyd pull the newly drugged Morgan to the Portal to make their escape.
May your horses have wings and fly!

Laurna

His Grace Bishop Denis Arilan, followed by family and a handful of guards, sat his horse in the midst of Rhemuth's market square, seeking around him to get his bearings. From what he had sensed in the Castle Library from his momentary Rapport from Sextus, before the Rapport had been lost, was that Sextus was in a position somewhere North. And from the jump time Denis knew it was a very close distance; less than a mile or two away. He stared at his Amethyst ring centering to find the Camber Medal that Sextus had with him. 

((09:51 Denis Scrying for Sextus's Camber Medal
09:51 Denis !roll 3d6
09:51 derynibot 5, 2, 4 == 11))

A scrying spell whispered anxiously by the bishop gave the results of a tug from his crucifix in his hand. Still further North. How far North? By the Rivergate or further still. There would be no means of triangulating the position without using up a great deal of time. And already time had been lost. Precious time that could mean the lives of not just Lord Sextus but what of the Young Morgan. The Arilans had made a blunder to use the portal jump without more preparation.  This was not a simple kidnapping by the criminal element of the city to earn a ransom. This was a well-thought out conspiracy to gain and control the weakest link in Kelson's close knit circle. Not that Bishop Denis didn't admire the youngest Morgan's prowess and proficiency in weapon's play. Washburn had won the Rhemuth Tournament three years running; no one could touch him in that skill. But the boy had a lot of growing up to do. Duncan and Richenda had let him slide too long in other aspects of his training and this was the results. The boy-- though Washburn was now a man taller by a full hand than Denis and outweighed him by twice, the Spell Master part of the Bishop of Dhassa could not think of Washburn as anything but Alaric's youngest child-- this youngest child was Kelson's weakest link, and indeed some enemy had finally discovered it.

Angry, Denis spurred his horse through the thinning market square crowd. The sun was lengthening to the west, Washburn had been taken at mid morning. A good six hours had passed since then. Of the daylight remaining there was maybe four more hours, then darkness would prevail and it would not be safe for anyone to be searching buildings one by one. They would have to call the search off until the next day. Not a good prospect for the two missing men.

Through the Rivergate, Denis stopped his mount and made another scrying.

((10:36 Denis Another scrying spell
10:36 Denis !roll 3d6
10:36 derynibot 3, 4, 1 == 8))

This time Denis was befuddled. He wasn't able to get even a general direction. Between the Rivergate and the Ferry 100 buildings mostly brick warehouses and stockyards stood outside the city walls. Here goods poured into the city from the barges that came both upriver and down, and from the main road coming down from the Northern provinces.  The buildings along the city walls were the oldest, some having survived centuries. The buildings along the main road leading to the ferry were the best kept up, many had been rebuilt in the prosperity of the last decades. The buildings east and west, gradually decayed to almost shacks at the ends of the way where the poorest of the dock workers kept their homes.  To find a portal, it was either very old near the city walls or it was very new on the street between the gate and the ferry.  Just to be certain it wasn't the other side of the Ferry, Denis ran his horse to the ferry dock, pulling him up sharp, he made another attempt to scry.

((10:49 Denis Another attempt
10:49 Denis !roll 3d6
10:49 derynibot 5, 6, 5 == 16
10:49 Denis Wow))

This time Denis felt the direction with assureity, as his crucifix tugged at him back south in the direction toward the Rivergate. And it went only the tiniest of bits east. What he searched for had to be on the main road between the ferry and the gate very likely on the east side. This reduced their search down to twenty buildings or so. The trouble was without Sextus's Rapport, Denis could not pinpoint the location any closer than that.

"We will start here and work our way back." Denis yelled to Lord Seisyll and Jamyl.

Seisyll ordered Jamyl to stay on the streets with the Bishop. He then pointed the Guards to enter the first building. He followed the guards yelling out as he entered the Warehouse, "By Order of the King, I am to search these premises!"

Rumors had already filtered through the city that treachery had had its play in the castle. The majority of the citizens and the workers in the warehouse scuttled forward to stand in protection of the building's owner, knowing that they had done no wrong.

Seisyll ordered the guards to fan out. He followed them, his senses wide open seeking the Camber Medal that his brother wore.
May your horses have wings and fly!

revanne

Dhugal knew next to nothing about this priest from the Borders who had arrived with Washburn and the others, but he was clearly trusted by his father or he would not have been sent to carry such a vital message, erroneous though it had been proved to be. He had asked for his company almost on a whim, feeling that he could perhaps learn something of what had been going through his father's mind and why he had been so certain he knew where Washburn was being held captive. His father had been behaving strangely, even before this latest incident, and any insight would be welcome.

But, now he came to think of it, there was something just a little strange about the priest too, or perhaps it was just that everyone now seemed a little off kilter, under the strain of this appalling threat which had apparently appeared from nowhere, yet had infiltrated right into the heart of the King's very castle and after so many years of peace.

He was clearly a man of courage, he would not have dared to interrupt the king's council else - just how was it that he had been able to Speak so directly into the king's mind?- yet he was walking alongside him with his head bowed, the very image of the humble submissive priest. A humble priest, who was the confidant of an Archbishop and known well enough by the King for the latter to be apparently certain that he was not another traitor in their midst.

Dhugal risked sending a tentative probe into the other's mind, and found, as he had expected, that there were shields preventing his mental touch. There was something familar, though, about the touch of his mind against those shields, something that he could not quite put his finger on.

Dhugal chided himself for puzzling over such an insignificant mystery when so much else was now at stake. Then he mentally corrected himelf. Who knew what was significant or otherwise? How many "insignificant" questions had been left unprobed and brought them to this pass, with so many dead in Ratharkin, and Washburn undergoing God knew what horrors. A new and horrifying thought struck him. Had his father been sent into danger and possible capture by the machinations of this seemingly innocuous priest? Well God help him, priest or no, if he were responsible for his father's danger! The man might be Deryni but even were he well-trained enough to be proof against Truth-Reading if he had to use compulsion, then so be it.

The priest continued to look uncomfortable but went compliantly into the library, obedient to Dhugal's gesture. Dhugal turned to the two archers accompanying them and ordered,

"Stay out here!"

The older of the two bowed low but said,

"Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but 'is Majesty ordered as 'ow we was to keep you safe, and we can't do that from out 'ere."

Dhugal's anger at being questioned battled with his sense of justice for a brief instant but the latter won. The man wasn't being insolent, just doing his duty.

"Very well, stay in the doorway and we'll stay where you can see us. Will that do?"

His tone was sharp, but the friendly clout to the man's arm was not, and as Dhugal followed Columcil into the library, the archers took up position in the doorway with a relieved glance at each other.

Columcil sensed that the Duke's mood had darkened but he could think of no reason for that. He had been careful to watch his demeanour, perhaps over careful. Blessed Mother of us all! Surely he was not suspected of any part in Sir Washburn's capture, of being an accomplice like that cursed Jaxom? And this man was a friend and protector of the younger Morgans, whom Washburn had spoken off with affection as a guide and help after their father died. Maybe the talk of asking him about the Archbishop's train of thought was just a pretext to bring him here for interrogation, an interrogation that the Duke would have preferred to remain unwitnessed. Panic began to run through him and he could feel that he was beginning to sweat. He took a deep breath to calm hinself then reached into the breast of his Cassock for his crucifix.

"What's that you are reaching for? Keep your hands where I can see them. I dinna ken whae ye are but if ye've done hairm to ma da or to Sair Washburn ye'll pay for it."

The voice came like a whiplash, and Columcil
removed his hands from his Cassock, dislodging his grandfather's precious prayerbook, which slid out onto the floor.

He bent to pick it up but again the Duke spoke with a voice like a whiplash.

"Leave it!"

He obeyed and trembling fell to his knees.

A hand grasped his chin and forced his head up to meet amber eyes flashing anger, eyes  the exact match of his own, though his were clouded now with fear.

"Who are ye, and whose will d'ye serve? I warn ye I'll ha'e an answer if I've tae rip it frae yer mind. So ye best answer me true, priest! If priest ye are!

"Leave him be, Dhugal."

The quiet tired voice came from the figure who had come unnoticed through the veil.

"Da! Thank God you are alright."

"Well I'm not so sure of that, but yes I am unharmed. There was nothing there, and I was so sure so sure..."

His voice trailed off sadly, then he seemed to pull himself together and speaking in a stronger voice he repeated,

"Leave him be.He has done nothing wrong."

Dhugal felt his temper rising, a mixture of anger at the implication he heard in his father's voice, frustration that his anger with Columcil  was to be denied an outlet and sheer perplexity.

"Meaning that I have?"

Columcil winced at the dangerous edge to the Duke's voice, but Duncan smiled sadly.

"That is for you to judge, though he says not, I know that I have, though it was with the best of intentions. Of such is the road to hell made."

Even to Columcil's untrained senses the Duke's anger was palpable,  and whether it was that or the penitent sorrow on the face of the man who had been so good to him, Columcil was not entirely sure but suddenly something in him snapped and he was no longer a fearful commoner kneeling at the feet of one of the most powerful men in the realm but a priest faced with a painful pastoral situation which he must help to resolve.

Reaching out he took up the prayer book and touched it to his lips then got to his feet. Bowing low to both men he said calmly.

"It's no ma place to speak sae to yer Graces but I dinna think this is the time ta be greetin o'er our sins," this with a glance at Duncan, " nor fashin' oursen neither," said with a somewhat apologetic glance at Dhugal.

Dhugal was too dumbfounded to speak, dumbfounded and perplexed by the sense that the other's demeanour and speech should somehow be familiar.

Duncan was already too emotionally drained to even contemplate interrupting. Let God sort it all. Glancing at the stolid figures of the Haldane archers he wondered if he should use his powers to prevent them hearing what was surely about to be revealed but Columcil gave him no time (( Duncan controls guards 2+1+4=7 3bk453cn1q)).

"As far as I ken it there's nae wrong been done by ony nor ta ony here. If ony ha'e done wrong 'twas my ma and she has lang syne answered ta God. But she wished harm ta none and I canna see that harm was done."

Under his bronzed complexion Dhugal had turned completely white and Duncan, though outwardly composed, was clearly feeling the strain.

Columcil realised that he did not want this conversation, certainly not now when every energy should be focused on finding Washburn. He did not want to deal with any of the emotions raised or see the man who had sired him shamed or angered. But if they must have such a conversation at least let them sit down, out of earshot, if not out of sight, of the watchful archers. If the Duke lost his temper he didn't want an over hasty archer to stick him full of arrows. But even in this strange mood of his he was not sure he quite dared to suggest to an Archbishop and a Duke that they should sit down together. He cast an inploring look towards his grandfather, then towards the bench along the far wall.

Duncan saw Columcil's look and was grateful for the suggestion. He really did not know how much more of this he could take, the last thing that he needed was an estrangement from Dhugal when their whole world was collapsing around them. He discretely enacted the words and gestures which would delay the effects of fatigue for a while longer, and then moved to seat himself. ((4+5+6=15 737gp1qknb))

"Please, Dhugal, Columcil, let's be seated at least."

Dhugal obeyed almost blindly, his eyes never leaving the figure of the priest whose familiarity now seemed to make an all too much sense, watching as he brought up a stool and waited for a nod of permission from Duncan before seating himself. Where had he got the nerve to take charge of the conversation like this, in defiance of protocol? Even as he asked himself the question Dhugal was horribly afraid that he knew the answer. Forcing himself to speak calmly, and taking equal care to avoid lapsing into a border brogue he asked,

"Columcil, would I be right in thinking that you were born in Transha?"

"Aye yer Grace, just a few months after th'old Earl died, God rest his soul."

Columcil crossed himself then brought the prayer book he was holding up to his lips for a long moment before bursting out.

"Ach, I'm no a courtier, an' I dinna ken wha's the reet way ta do this, but let's be dun wi' it. Me ma tellit the whole of it ta me once his Grace th'Archbishop had said that it was a man's reet ta ken who had sired him. Ye were a bonny lad, yer Grace an' she set her cap at ye, I dinna suppose ye had much o' a chance. But she'd no shame ye, not once it was kenned that ye were no just the Laird's son but high in the King's favour and then when I was naught but a wee bairn, the Duke O' Cassan himself. And I'm no wantin' ta shame ye neither, nor want any ta speir that I have wanted for aught nor havna had all a man could ask for."

Dhugal had no idea what he should think. Now he forced his memory back he could remember the lass, but it had been little more than a casual tumble in the hay so brief that he had truly thought himself a virgin knight alongside Kelson on that long ago quest. And he hardly knew whether to be offended or relieved to be absolved from guilt or shame in the matter by the man who he supposed he must begin to think of as his son.
All he could think of to ask was,

"Your mother, was she looked after?

"Aye, and loved. My grandda warmed her bum for her when he found she was wi' child, but nae worse and she was marrit when I was a bairn o' two or three. A man whose wife had borne him but sickly bairns who never thrived and died bearing the last. He was glad to wed a lass who could bear a healthy bairn, and they were as happy togither as ony I've wed. She died a few years syne, wi' her bairns and grandbairns about her. All she ever had to fret her was that I couldn'a be a priest being born the wrong side o' the blanket. That's why she confessed ta one o' they wandering bishops and made him promise to tell His Grace the Archbishop. An' he bent the rules for me and has been ay guid ta me. But she didn'a want yer Grace ever ta kenn, an nae dout she'd threaten to skelp me for tellin' ye."

Columcil came to an end of his speech, and coloured violently for his presumption. He dare not look at either of the two men who sat silently opposite him though he could sense the murmuring of prayers from his grandfather. Finally his father broke the silence, again speaking carefully.

"I think you are generous in your judgement of me, as was she, and I doubt that I deserve either. I don't know whether to be shamed, or grieved or angered," - here he looked hard at his father, but if this new strangely discovered son felt that the man who was both his Archbishop and grandfather had done right by him, did not his own act of casual lust debarr him from any right to disagree? "I wonder, perhaps, though I alone here am no priest, whether God has brought you here, but what we make of this, I do not know?" Dhugal could not help but think back to the joy of discovery that he and Duncan had shared, this seemed so very different and uncomfortable in its difference.

Finally Duncan spoke. "If I have done you wrong, Dhugal, I ask your pardon. Other than us only Kelric and the King know and I think it should remain so at least for the present. I think you may be right about God's will in this, but what His purpose is is still unclear and we do not have the time for you to work out who you are to each other. But you are both brave and honourable men and the kingdom has sore need of such now."

He sighed and sat for a moment or two in thought before adding, "Perhaps we had better go before a search party is sent for me or those attentive archers think we are plotting something. The King doubtless has work for all of us. I fear that there will be need of all the healers we have before we are out of this."

Columcil rose quickly to his feet, but Dhugal stayed him with a hand,

"You are a healer?"

"Aye, My Lord."

Dhugal spoke with an unaccustomed hesitation, almost a deference, as he continued,

"Would you come with me? I need to go and see how Richard does, I think he will need a priest as well as a healer and perhaps together we can bring wholeness and peace to his mind?"

Columcil bowed his acquiescence, moved by the unexpected humility, and they left the room, the two archers falling in behind.














God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.
(Psalm 46 v1)

Jerusha

The old tinker sat in the tavern near the city walls, cradling a tankard of ale between his hands.  The tavern was buzzing with talk about rebellion, and the talk was no longer in hushed tones.  The soldiers that frequented the tavern supported the Mearan Pretender; those that did not had perished.  Yet the talk was not completely carefree.  The Haldane rule in Ratharkin, once established, had not been harsh.  The city prospered, and the more realistic inhabitants of the city realized that prosperity would suffer if King Kelson laid siege to the city.  That outcome was likely; surely no one believed the King of Gwynedd would leave Ratharkin to the men of the rebellion.

An excited young soldier burst into the tavern.  "She's coming!" he shouted.  "The Queen of Meara is approaching Ratharkin!"

The tinker realized that, if he were a heavier drinker, he could have drained the contents of many of the abandoned tankards as customers and servers rushed to the door.  He contented himself with his own.

"Open the gates!"  Soldiers and guards were attempting to clear people away from the street and the gate.  The tinker wondered if it was wise to open the gates so soon, but he doubted Duke Kelric would attempt so bold a ruse until he had sufficient reinforcements, and it was too early for that.

Baron Oswald approached from the castle on horseback, followed by a small group of trusted men that would form an honour guard to escort the queen to the castle.  The tinker saw that the archers on the wall had drawn their bows to add additional protection. More guards pushed the people farther back from the street.  It would take more men than this to hold Ratharkin once the king made his move.  The tinker wondered how many men the queen had brought with her.  Like the rest of Ratharkin, he looked forward for his first sight of the Pretender of Meara, but not for the same reasons.

Four knights came through the gate first, the lead rider holding the royal banner of Meara.  Next came a well-dressed, older man riding beside a young woman.  This must be the pretender queen.  She resembled the young girl that King Kelson had taken as his bride so many years before.  She was indeed pretty, with curling chestnut hair cascading down her back.  She did not wave but did look throughout the crowd. The tinker noticed her eyes were brown as she glanced in his direction.  A light travel cloak had been draped carefully to extend from her shoulders and cover the rump of her horse.

It was the man riding behind her, slightly off to one side, that caught the tinker's attention. He was darkly foreign, and most women would call him handsome.  The pretender queen looked back at him, and the tinker saw the man shake his head slightly.  Quickly, the young woman turned her head back to the front.  The tinker had suspected Torenthi involvement, and this man looked the part.  The tinker committed the man's features and demeanor to memory.  Bishop Arilan, long serving as Kelson's emissary to Torenth, should able to put a name, and history, to the face. 

Two women rode behind the suspected Torenthi, probably to ensure propriety and to assist the queen.  Six solders completed the group, and one baggage horse.  Either they had not travelled far, or they were not staying long.  Or both.

As the party approached the stairs leading up to the castle doors, the doors swung open.  The tinker edged his way through the back of the crowd toward a side door of the castle. This door was used by tradesmen to bring in goods.  Once inside, he would be able to make his way to the gallery to view what would transpire below. A simple cloaking spell would avoid curiosity about how a visiting tinker had secured such a good vantage point. 

Roll for successful cloaking spell. 2d6 because Sir Iain is a trained Deryni
Jerusha   !roll 2d6
15:04   derynibot   2, 1 == 3
(Bah humbug)

Before attempting the cloaking spell, the tinker felt the touch of a Deryni mind.  Not a direct contact, but a scan of the crowd.  His immediately made his shields as translucent as possible, and the contact did not return.  With all the activity below, hopefully no one would notice an old tinker standing in the back of the gallery.  He wondered how many of the queen's escort were Deryni. The man riding behind the queen would surely be.

Baron Oswald had been confident enough in his success to bring the symbols of Mearan royalty with him.  At the end of the great hall, behind the ornate chair Duke Rory had used when holding court, a large Mearan banner hung from the rafters.  The sable dancing bear and crimson etoilles on chequey of silver and gold.  A cheer went up from the people outside and inside the hall as the young woman dismounted and entered.  Those inside the hall kneeled or curtseyed as she approached her throne, accompanied by the two men who had ridden nearest to her.  When she reached the chair, she turned to face her people, head held high, smiling slightly.

"People of Ratharkin," announced the older man beside her,  "I present to you my daughter, Sidana Caitrin Annalind Ithelianne (Quinnell) de Paor, Prince Ithel Quinnell's granddaughter and rightful Queen of Meara!"

Queen Sidana nodded to those before her and assumed her place on the throne.  Her father stood on one side of the chair, the darker man on the other side. "You may rise," she said in a clear voice.  "I will now accept the homage of those selected to represent Ratharkin." 

The tinker acknowledged that she played her part well.  She surveyed the men carefully as they were brought in.  The tinker noted that they had been cleaned up after their stay in the dungeons.  He wondered if Queen Sidana knew the true price in human lives of this victory. He didn't think so, at least not yet.

Sidana stood as each man was led forward, a guard beside each to prevent treachery.  As the traditional pledges were made, the tinker was sure each was being truth read. All went as planned until old Lord Dunstan was brought forward.  His heir and a second son were with Duke Rory, safe in Laas.

Lord Dunstan did not kneel.  "I will pledge no faith to the cause of the Pretender Queen.  My loyalty and that of my house remain with the Haldane."  The guard beside him cuffed him cruelly across the face.

"Kneel or die," said the darker man.

"I will not!"

"Take him."  The Torenthi's eyes held a look of calculating triumph.  Had he been hoping for this display of power?

Lord Dunstan held his head high as two guards hustled him from the great hall into the courtyard.  Queen Sidana looked dismayed; the darker man laid a hand on her shoulder; whether it was to comfort her or control her, the tinker could not discern.

It was time for him to leave the gallery.  As he slid out the side door, the tinker was aware of the eerie quiet in the courtyard.  Lord Dunstan had been a popular man in Ratharkin, his family known for their loyalty and generosity.  There was a murmuring among the people, but the guards kept close watch. 

Sir Iain Cameron was sickened by the site of Lord Dunstan's severed head on the pike above the city's gate.  He would make sure this man's loyalty and sacrifice were noted the next time he made his report to King Kelson.
From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggity beasties and things that go bump in the night...good Lord deliver us!

 -- Old English Litany

Jerusha

Darcy Cameron sensed Father Columcil approaching before he came into view.  He was hurrying down the corridor beside a copper-haired nobleman that Darcy could not identify.  Not surprising, since the course of Darcy's life had not provided him with proper training at court.   Darcy bowed, and the guard came to attention as the two men passed.  Columcil gave Darcy the briefest of nods and kept going.  They entered a room farther down without knocking.

For the first time since starting the journey with Lord Alister, Darcy felt slightly alone, abandoned and very frustrated.  Despite the mishaps, injuries, and a few misunderstandings along the way, they had been a team and had come to know that they could depend on each other.  Now they were fragmented and set in different directions, not to mention being a man down and almost losing Lady Aliset!  He should have been prepared for the former, once they arrived in Rhemuth, but nothing had prepared him for the latter.  How had things gone so terribly wrong?

A servant approached carrying a covered tray.  "I have food for the lady within," he said.

The guard nodded and opened the door, this time blocking Darcy as he attempted to see inside.  Darcy had surprised him the first time, but not this time.  Good man, Darcy thought and nodded. 

***
Lady Aliset looked up as the servant entered the room with his tray.  Wearing fresh clothes and with the remnants of the blood washed away, she was sitting up on the cot, supported by the pillow plumped up behind her.  The servant laid the tray on the nearby table, bowed deeply to Duchess Grania and withdrew. 

"Some food should be welcome by now," the duchess said. 

"Yes, thank you, your Grace," Aliset replied.  Since the two women who had provided the clean clothes and helped Aliset tidy up had left with her old garments shortly before, Grania herself moved the table closer and uncovered the tray.  On the tray was a bowl of good thick broth and a cup of ale.  Aliset had to admit the savoury smell made her realize that she was indeed hungry.  As she reached for the spoon, she felt a tiny whisper at the edge of her mind.  Her shields were not yet recovered enough to block out the touch, but though she tensed slightly, she was not alarmed.

Duchess Grania saw the slight wince.  "Is something wrong?

Aliset managed a slight smile.  "No, your Grace.  Just Lord Darcy checking on me."

"I shall send him away," Grania said firmly as she started to rise.

'Oh no, your Grace, he is not intrusive at all.  And it is comforting to know he is outside the door."

'Very well, if you are sure."  Grania resumed her seat and watched as the young woman carefully tasted what had been placed before her.  Grania was pleased to see her colour begin to return to normal as both broth and ale were consumed. 

"Aliset," Grania said gently when Aliset had finished and settled back against the pillow once more.  "I know this will be difficult for you, but I need for you to tell me what happened.  I won't ask for you to let me into your mind; I realize that could be very difficult for you right now, but I need to know what happened to you. 

Aliset sighed.  "I understand, and although I would prefer it never happened, I will do whatever is necessary to help rescue Sir Washburn."

"First," Grania said gently, "tell me what happened in the garden."

***
Sometime later, Aliset dried her tears with a very soggy handkerchief.  Duchess Grania sat beside her on the cot, holding her close, comforting her as if she were her own daughter.  Aliset was grateful for the support; reliving what had happened through the telling of it had been harder than she expected.  There was some relief in spilling it all out, but she knew the memory would remain with her for a long time.

"What has happened to Lord Jaxom?" Aliset finally asked. 

"He is under guard and his injuries are being treated.  The king will question him, though he may wait until I can share with him all that you have told me." Grania paused for a moment.  "I do not wish to pry too deeply into your personal feelings, but did you welcome Lord Jaxom's presence at the garden?"

"I did not!"  Aliset said with a flash of anger in her eyes.  "He is arrogant and annoying; he was disrespectful of Lord Darcy and slow to come to his aid when needed."  She paused and then continued, concern clouding her features.  "Lord Darcy will have to be told what has happened.  I – I don't think I can do that, your Grace."

"We shall leave that to his Majesty, and that will likely not be until after he has finished with Lord Jaxom."  Grania squeezed Aliset's hand gently.  "His Majesty will also know the best way to keep Lord Darcy from taking matters into his own hands."

Aliset nodded.  She had little hope of Jaxom's chances if Darcy could not be restrained, and although she knew it would be wrong, she would not regret it.
From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggity beasties and things that go bump in the night...good Lord deliver us!

 -- Old English Litany

revanne

Duncan felt an unaccustomed trepidation as he approached the royal council chamber, Dhugal and Columcil having gone together to the room where Richard Kirby was being cared for. He had never had to endure royal displeasure before, although Alaric had more than once, when his long habit of protectiveness towards his once vulnerable sovereign had clashed with Kelson's growing confidence as king. Already out of favour, now he had failed in his attempt to rescue Washburn - what a display of overweening arrogance that had been- and started the king off on a wild goose chase.

The guards on the door greeted him with warm respect, though they were there in deadly earnest now, their ceremonial demeanour of the long years of peace swallowed up in menace. The senior amongst them pushed open the door and, preceding Duncan, announced,

"His Grace the Archbishop, your Majesty."

He drew his sword to the salute then withdrew. Duncan moved forward intending to kneel before the king; Archbishop or no, he knew himself to be in dire need of mercy but was forestalled when Kelson got to his feet, exasperatedly waving an end to the hurried shuffling of feet around the table, and held him in a warm embrace.

"Thank God you are safe! I could not have borne to have lost you too. You have seen Dhugal?"

"Yes, Sire."

(( Duncan Mindspeaks Kelson 4+3+2=9 6ll1lckgbq))

Duncan wanted to say more of that meeting but Kelson's eyes forbade him, though the warning they held was no longer glacial.He wondered if Dhugal had already Spoken to his blood brother, but no was not the time to ask. Instead he simply said,

"Dhugal has taken Father Columcil to visit Richard Kirby. As both priest and healer he may be able to offer spiritual solace as well as healing."

The King's face hardened. "All these years of working to convince my human subjects that Deryni mean no harm, and one of the most loyal amongst them is treated as a tool to be used and kicked aside. Poor Richard. I cannot begrudge the time that Dhugal must take to convince him that the wrong was done to him, not by him but I sorely need them both to return to Ballymar."

Kelson thought, though he did not voice his fear, that Richard's trust in Deryni having been so betrayed, Dhugal might be forced to further betray that trust simply to get his liege man and friend back through the portal to Ballymar. His nod invited Duncan to be seated and he returned to his own chair at the head of the table, naked anger in his face as he addressed the council.

"Richard will receive nothing but mercy from us, though in truth it is we Deryni who should ask his pardon, but those others we have as captives need look for none unless they too can show good reason why they should not suffer the full weight of our wrath. Though I should be sorry indeed were it to be proved that Baron Trillick's boy is guilty of treason. His father would be heart-broken, though such things alas happen."

He looked around measuringly then spoke with decision,

"Angus, will you consider how best we can avenge the wrong done to Ratharkin, the reports from Kelric and Duncan Michael as to their latest positions are there on the table. Javan will you come with me to the cells, though this will not be pleasant I fear."

Javan nodded grimly, thinking of what his young brother-in-law was even now enduring.

The king and his heir rose and went to the door. All rose with them, the depth of their obeisances showing the love the royal council had for their monarch.






God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.
(Psalm 46 v1)

Laurna

#434
Lord Sextus dreamt of the pounding even before he regained consciousness. Like the days of his youth, when stout ale and aged mead had been favorite pastimes, he groaned while trying to wake from what felt like the worst of all hangovers. This time he could not accuse over indulgence, no, this time had been a far worse folly. He had been impetus to make that portal jump. With some humility, he felt eternally grateful that he could feel his head at all. Whatever that energy bolt was that had hit him, he was just grateful to still be alive. But damn the devil that hammered on his skull; where in hell's kingdom had he jumped to, anyway?

It was dark, so dark he could not see his own hands that rubbed his forehead. Damp too, smelling like ancient moss from a cavern. He sat up regretting the motion. But finally he remembered that he was quite capable of adding light to the scene. A huge hand fire of violet erupted from his open palm.  He had to quell the light just a bit to keep from being blinded.  Gathering better control, he sent the light upward, until it rested against the ceiling a good two mens' height above him. Wooden beams of ancient timbers crossed the roof line. The walls and floor looked to be chiseled straight out of the rock-bed of the earth, cracks in one wall let in a trickle of moisture that seemed to be drunk up by the fungus and mosses that covered that side of the room. Where as the side he lay on was dry, The portal stone in the corner was a small step up, and was free of the floor's debris.

Yelling a few choice curses, Sextus sensed his voice did not penetrate the thickness of the ceiling above.  There seemed to be no obvious way in or out of this space except by the Portal stone. Still on his knees, he reached out to touch the raised stone. His hand stopped with a hesitation before he actually touched it. After, raising his shields in a strong defense, he let his fingertips briefly touch the stone before he pulled away. When it didn't instantly try to kill him, he touched the stone again. This time l his fingers sense the energies stored here but his touch didn't activate it. A trapped portal indeed. 

Sextus let that be for a moment while he reevaluated his situation. He recalled seeing Morgan tied up in the center of the room. All that remained was a wool woven blanket, the kind found on any commoner's bed. There was a plate of dried meats and cheese beside it untouched. And the pilling of what looked like spilled wine. As to Morgan himself, he had long since been taken away. By who, for what cause? There was no clue left in the room to tell. Only the portal would tell them. If he could somehow find a way to defeat that trap.

((00:42 Laurna Sextus attempts to deactivate the trap by himself must beat an 8
00:42 Laurna !roll 2d6
00:42 derynibot 1, 5 == 6))

His hands reached out again for the Portal's signature, seeking a way to deactivate the trap. Energy surged within the portal stone. He could tell that the it had been used several times in the last 24 hours. He searched for the trapping mechanism, the spell which triggered when a person not attuned to the Portal tried to use it. He thought he could sense it.  Could he counter it with a spell of deactivation? He murmured the words of a counter-spell reaching deep into the stone. The Portal itself was very old, yet the trap upon it had been only recently placed. Did that do it? He thought maybe it did. Dare he give it a try? There seemed no other way out of here. What did he have to lose?

He  stood up, stepped onto the portal stone feeling the normal tingle through the souls of his shoes. He targeted the library portal and gave into the pull to make the jump. Two things happened at once. The Portal surged with a pulse of static that threatened to zap him like a bolt of lightning.

((00:43 Laurna Sextus is not sure if his deactivation worked and steps onto the portal. Needs a save test.
00:43 Laurna !roll 2d6
00:43 derynibot 2, 6 == 8
00:43 Laurna Well at least this time he does not get stunned.))

Lord Sextus Arilan's shields flared to match the energies attacking him. They defended him against the shock sending the zap back into the earth.

Sextus staggered off the Portal Stone, humbled by the increased throb in his head. He wasn't going to be able to get out of this alone. His fingers encircled the silver medal that rested against his chest on a chain.  It took a long minute before he could center. "Seisyll, you out there?"

"God's teeth, brother! Where are you?"

"Trapped!" he exclaimed. "Don't even try to get to me by Portal."

"Yah! Guessed that!" came Seisyll's concerned Rapport. "I know we are very near to you, but we can not seem to find where you're at.  Keep the contact with me, and that should help."

"Not breaking this Rapport, that is for certain. Though you may have to break the floor away to get into this room.  Above me is a wood beamed ceiling, I don't see any openings."

((Sextus roll to see if he can see a opening in the ceiling
15:48 Sextus !roll 2d6
15:48 derynibot 3, 5 == 8))

"Wait there is a break." Sextus moved his handfire over to an spot where there was a faintest of slits in the wood slats over head. "Yes, I see it. A trap door above me. I am most definitely in an old cellar of some ancient building.  There will be a door in the floor that should lead down to here."

"Good, keep talking. Denis and Jamyl are now in the link too. I think we can find you. You appear to be closer to the riverfront in a building I already searched.  Damn, I could have sworn I was closer to you an two hours ago and that we were getting farther away as we got nearer to the city gates.

"Two hours ago? How long have I been out?"

((00:38 Laurna Time in hours since Washburn was taken.  So I decided to roll for time spent.
00:38 Laurna !roll 2d6
00:38 derynibot 6+3 == 9
So I got, 6 hours from the time Wash was taken to when Sextus made the jump to the first portal, and 3 hours until Sextus is finally rescued.))

"Three full hours my brother, three!."

"Damn!" Sextus cursed. "Get me out of here."

The three Arilan's had nearly exhausted all the buildings along the road from the ferry docks to the Rivergate when Sextus's Rapport had finally been reestablished.  Bishop Denis had repeatedly said that he was sure his nephew was closer to the river than the building they had search most recently. Laird Seisyll had been certain that his searches had been thorough. He should not have missed a Portal room. But apparently he had.

Pulling the dozen guards who had joined them in their afternoon scavenger hunt back out onto the street, the whole contingent of king's men invaded the second building from the docks. The owner had yelled about abuse and that he would make a formal complaint to the king about this second intrusion. Laird Seisyll and the Captain of the guard were both too angry to pay any attention to the merchant's complaints.

"Where is your cellar?" the guard captain demanded.

"He was already in it," the heavy set merchant blustered. "And he didn't find anything. Because there is nothing there to find!"

"I now think otherwise," Seisyll growled, pushing past the owner, daring him to try and stop him.

The merchant's self-preservation kicked in then. He stepped aside motioning his workers to do the same. Seisyll took the steps down into the cellar, three at a time. He and his son Jamyl didn't bother with torches this time. They both lit handfires and filled the room with bright violet light. Crates were stacked along the walls, canvas sacs filled the floor's center. It was a big space, most of it old stone. Unlike the building from ground level up, which was new. Most of these warehouse buildings had been rebuilt in the new fashion ten years ago.

Moodily, Seisyll kicked his boot heels against the floor every few feet. Casting out with his mind to find some clue.

((01:50 Seisyll !roll 2d6
01:50 derynibot 2, 2 == 4))

((01:47 Jamyl Jamyl searching for trapdoor in the floor.
01:49 Jamyl !roll 2d6
01:49 derynibot 5, 2 == 7))

The floor sounded off with only solid thunks. Seisyll was getting more angry the longer the opening evaded him. Jamyl followed his father's lead on the opposite side of the room.  He kept a cool head, using the open Rapport with his uncle to help pinpoint when he thought he stood above where Sextus was.  A stomp on the floor near, revealed a sound more hollow than any other. "Dad, over here."

With  a wave of his hand, the guards shifted crates aside, crates that had not been moved in a very long time. Fitted tight in the floor was a hatch, it took two guards to lift it.  When it opened, they were all awarded by a light of handfire rising up to greet them.

"Took you long enough!" Exclaimed the Arilan in the pit room below the cellar floor. A second search through the cellar found the ladder well hidden in a wall niche. The ladder when set down into the pit was a perfect length to fit into brackets seen in the beam at the bass to the trap door.

Jamyl the youngest was the first to go down. He and Sextus gave each other a reassuring hug.  Seisyll went down too. But Bishop Arilan was not about to test his old knees on that rickety old ladder.  He satisfied himself with watching the other's from above.

"What is this place?" Jamyl asked concentrating on the Portal stone but not yet going near it.

Bishop Denise was the one to answer him, by calling down from above. "There are stories of two sister Portals in Rhemuth that were used two and a half centuries ago by the underground movement to relocate Deryni out of the city when the reagents took over Rhemuth. The legend has one inside the city and one outside the city. They were very closely tied together, where anyone with even the slightest training in Portaling could use them to escape. Their locations were never written down. And no one has ever been able to find them. Looks like we found the one outside the gate. I'll bet we will find the one inside the city pretty easily now. But I will doubt that Sir Washburn will be there. He will be far, far from the city by now. The sun is setting and we are all exhausted. This investigation will have to wait for tomorrow."

The three Arilan's in the pit below, gave simultaneous growls of dissatisfaction. Seisyll ignored his uncle. Taking what Sextus has told him about the Portal Trap, he put his hands down on the stone.
((02:23 Seisyll !roll 2d6
02:23 derynibot 5, 1 == 6
02:24 Seisyll !roll 2d6
02:24 derynibot 3, 2 == 5))

The frustration of this long day did nothing to help his focus. Not being able to sense out the trap in this place, the ritual trained Deryni didn't dare to try the Portal himself.  He was forced to concede that at the moment he was beaten. He motioned his brother and son to climb back up the ladder. With one last look around, he climbed the ladder last. "Captain, post guards on the trap door and guards on the stairs. No one is to come or go through here without me knowing of it. We have a report to make to the king, then we will be back in the morning to see if we can tackle this task with more sanity than any of us have right now."

Edited: Seisyll is Ritual trained and not yet a Spell Master.
May your horses have wings and fly!