Ghosts of the Past

[Bynw]

Feyd returns after being gone for several hours watches Washburn, who is unable to move or speak above a whispering tone. "Time for you to wake up, we have things to take care of you and I." He sets down the provisions he brought back with him on the stone floor. Then he takes out a small silk pouch and dumps out the contents before him 8 small cubes, like dice but without markings, 4 black and 4 white.

Working quietly and swiftly he takes the 4 white cubes and places them in a tight square just shy of touching one an other.  He then places the 4 black cubes, one at each corner of the larger white square.

He gathers his concentration for a moment before proceeding.

Feyd touches the first white cube in the upper left and names it: "Prime". He then touches the 2nd white cube in the upper right and names it: "Seconde". In quick succession he names the 2 remaining white cubes. All 4 glow with an inner light as they are named "Tierce" for the 3rd cube and "Quarte" for the 4th.

He shifts his energies for the black cubes and follows the same pattern as before, each black cube glows with an eery dark light when named.

"Quinte. Sixte. Septime. Octave"

Feyd picks up Prime and places it atop Quinte with an audible clicking sound the 2 cubes become one silver-grey rectoid or tower.  He quickly follows suite with Seconde to Sixte, Tierce to Septime and Quarte to Octave.

Once created he takes the 4 silver-grey towers and places them at each of the compass points about the Portal square. Pointing to them in turn and naming and binding the energies together.

"Primus, Secondus, Tertius, et Quartus -- Fiat lux!"

Immediately a silver Light springs forth surrounding the Portal square outlined by the placement of the towers. The simmering dome is but a few inches above the stone that marks the Portal.

He goes over to Washburn and sits beside him. Reaching out Feyd touches Wash's arm. Using the physical link to reinforce the mental one that was already established. "If you attempt to disrupt the Wards Major around this Portal. You will be attacked by it. I do not wish to see you become injured." Feyd says to Wash.

Feyd then starts actively looking into the recesses of Washburn's mind. Pulling up old memories and thoughts that were Washburn's alone. After a few minutes Feyd withdraws from Wash's mind. "You are very loyal to your King and family. That is an honorable trait in a man so young. I salute you for it."

[Bynw]

Before Wash can even answer his captor. Feyd continues with his probes of Wash's memories. "These feelings will be your undoing if GDV finds them. He might not do a deep scan on you though. He may simply use my controls. I am going to alter them and blur them out for you. That will keep you alive longer. And maybe he will use you against your King and brother if your loyalties do not seem to be as strong. You are after all just a second son. The spare."

((roll to successfully blur Wash's loyalties to the King and his Brother, the Duke of Corwyn))
<bynw> !roll 2d6
<derynibot> 5, 5 == 10

"And now. Because I like you. I am going to set a trigger to undo the damage that I have just done. But you will remember none of this of course. It will trigger at the approriate time and place."

((roll to set the trigger))
<bynw> !roll 2d6
<derynibot> 5, 6 == 11

"I apologize for being gone so long. I have food and drink for you. You know that you must drink and eat to conserve your strength. We have some time to rest here. Far away from the prying eyes of those who would like to see you returned. I warn you though, do not have another fit. I will not tolerate your disobedience. Save that for later. Eat the food, drink the wine and water that I give you. Some of it as you guess maybe drugged. If I feel you are not cooperating, I will simply use the pricker on you again. And I will exert much stronger controls on your every move. I must see you delivered to GDV. Then I get paid. Then I take my leave of the Mearan Rebellion. And start my next contract, the one I have waited my entire life to complete."


Edit: I thought about doing this as one post but decided to split it up for a bit of drama.

[Laurna]

"What is that long pouty face for? Have you lost something dear to you?"

"Noooo..." slurred a child's quivering voice.

"Son, don't let your mama's emotions frighten you. Just because I have to go away for awhile, doesn't mean you'll ever lose me. I will always be your papa, and you will always be my son. Your maman knows this, as do your sisters. And because Brendan and Kelric are coming with me, I will need you to stay here and take care of the women-folk. Can you do that for me?"

"I am afraid, papa!" The little boy could not stop the tears from coming to his eyes as he watched his father dress for war.

Alaric Morgan, General of Gwynedd's army, King's Champion, and Duke of Corwyn set aside his riding gloves and with a strong arm swept his youngest up into his arms. He hugged his son in a caring embrace. "I won't lie to you, Wash, I am a little afraid, too."

That brought the young boy's head up, shaking in disagreement. "No, no, papa, you are not afraid. You are not crying."

"I am afraid," the tall duke claimed. The soft white tones of his papa's hair illuminated the silver of his eyes. "The difference between you and me is that I won't cry when I'm afraid. I hold my fear in here." His papa pointed to his chest. "I use my fear to make certain that I have considered every possibility. Fear keeps me from becoming complacent..."

"Comp play ent...?"

"Aye, son, that is a big word. Complacent... it means to become self-satisfied, to be prideful, to think you are better than everyone else. If you think that, then someone will try to prove you wrong. You must be the best that you can be, promise me that, but don't ever be prideful. And don't ever become complacent, son. Always know that there is more to learn, no matter how good you are, and that there are bad people out there who will try to beat you down.  Use fear to keep your edge sharp, to stay alert." Alaric's finger touched the child's nose. "Now, the thing with fear is that there is a balance, too much fear will stop you, it will blind you. How can you stay alert If you eyes are full of tears?" The warrior's eye's softened with empathy for his frightened son. Washburn remembered his papa 's fingers then moving over both cheeks to wipe his tears away.

"There is a time for crying, and yes men do cry, but we do not cry when we are afraid. We cry when we mourn something lost that is dear to us. Until such time, keep your chin up." A finger lifted the boy's chin, and then his papa kissed his cheek. "That's my boy. You are a Morgan, Morgan's face their fears. We don't let fear blind us. When I come home, I will help you be the very best that you can be."

"When I come home..." the promise echoed in Washburn's soul. The only promise his papa ever broke. Alaric Morgan did not come home. Only his older sons did, the two young men sadly escorting the shell of the man who had loved them all. Only then, knowing he was allowed because his papa had told him so, had the very young Washburn Morgan cried. He cried for the loss of the man who had been most dear to him. 

Trying desperately not to shed tears over this memory, the now adult Washburn, twitched fingers barely moving to touch his neck. His fingers searched in vain for the links of chain that held his Camber Medal. The chain was not found.  He tried to roll then, to move, to look at where he was. But it was like hands holding him down, holding him on his back. His muscles refused to obey his command.

This set Washburn's fear to rising. He had trained all his life to battle the enemy that had taken his Papa from him. Yet for all his training and for all his skill, he had been taken down, oh so easily, with a quick jab in the neck from a man he had not even imagined to be an enemy. 

As he thought back, Washburn realized he had made the same ultimate error that his father had. In a moment of victory, he had become complacent. He had not been alert to the fact that evil is not solitary; that there would always be another foe.

Hold your fear in here... he whispered Use your fear to consider every possibility.

The knight's eyes shot open, searching the dimly lit stone walls that surrounded him. He was in what appeared to be an alcove of some ruined castle or Cathedral. The archway into the space he lay in was thoroughly blocked by many tumbled stones which had come down from the ceiling. Most of the roof was gone resulting from some massive destruction; a fire most likely, as the few timbers sticking out of the wall directly overhead looked blackened or at least darkened from the weathering of time. Except for this small protrusion of what was once the roof, the rest of the ceiling at the top of the tall walls opened on to the dark colors of the night sky. The dim light that gave the stone a pale grey glow seemed to come from the waning moon, which had been in its full three nights back. The moon, as yet, was unseen, indicating it was either just rising or just setting, which Washburn did not know as he knew not the direction he lay, nor the time of night, nor even if it really was the same night after he had been captured. Had it been only a day or was it now two or three. The shape of the moon would give him a better guess if it ever came into view.

He watched the sky... waiting. "I have nowhere else to go," he whispered with ill-humour; trying to pinpoint which stars were overhead. The evening star of Orin seemed to shine the brightest in the sky overhead. There were clues that the night was still young. The sounds of crickets and of frogs in the near distance. The occasional splash of something hitting water, a mote, a lake, or a river, perhaps. Even once, Wash swore he heard the clip-clop of a horse. At that sound he yelled out. Then yelled again with more force. Both times the sound his voice made was no more like a croak in his throat, a sound that didn't penetrate beyond the stone walls.

He tried several times many different sounds. Yelling, whistling, chanting, even humming, yet no sound that he made was louder than a whisper. It wasn't that his voice couldn't make the sounds, it was that his mind would not let his body draw attention to himself. Then he recalled the Scholar's last command: No movement and no sounds louder than a whisper.

What had the scholar done to him? How did this man have this much power over him? Only the devil in disguise could make a command such as that be so imperative.  Washburn, suddenly hated the powers of controllment. Never in his life had he witnessed this utter disregard of morality in the misuse of magic. It was of no wonder why his race was so feared among the human population. Those without shields were defenseless against this type of magic. Thus, he came to fully understand and appreciate why Kelson had implemented such a strong foundation of ethics and morality in the Deryni schola's teachings, well before the actual training of magic began. And Healer training, as Uncle Duncan had often told him, was doubly strict about attending to a patient's free will of the mind even as you healed and cared for the body. Trained as a warrior,  even Washburn knew these teaching as the structure on which his morality stemmed.

Whatever drug the scholar used, it was an evil drug, far more so than that of the dreaded Merasha. Wash had learned about Meresha in his youth. Heck, he even had been doused with it and had survived it merely a few days before. Whatever this different drug was, it not only disabled his Deryni Energies and his shields, but it paralyzed muscles incapacitating him nearly completely. Worse still, it left him susceptible to any Deryni's power. At least Meresha kept other Deryni at bay. With this drug, he was completely at the mercy of the man who had captured him. A man who could read his mind without him knowing of it. The thought gave him a shudder, It was a good thing he had not been in on Kelson's council meeting. He knew nothing of the plans to move forward, only the bass plans of Prince Javan to take the army north to join up with the forces of the Duke of Corwyn and the Earl of Kierney.  Was there some way he could burry that information deep in his mind. He doubted it, that was too forefront in his thoughts of late and had not been a consideration to be buried far down behind many shields. Washburn's greatest fear was that his thoughts would betray the brother he honored and loved. 

Dwelling on the test he seemed unable to turn  aside from, Washburn watched the lone star of Orin move across the heavens. Death for himself did not frighten him. But the possible death of the Lady Aliset wounded his heart.

"My Lord! Prey tell me, where is Aliset!"  Washburn asked of that bright star. As if to answer, the star slowly faded in the sky as the gleam of moonlight washed across it.

The last he had seen of the courageous lady, she had been in the arms of her assailant being carried toward the Portal. She had not been brought to the same place as he. He clenched his teeth in anger as he imagined her being placed in the grips of that evil Oswald. Oswald would make Aliset his wife and he would lock her away from the world. If she fought him, as Wash was certain she would try, she might die for her insolence. Her life may already be on his hands. "Dear God! Have mercy upon her soul," he prayed feeling helpless that such horror might already come to pass.  If Wash ever saw that lordling Jaxom again, he will kill him.

The knowledge that greybeard had made Lord Jaxom do what he did to Lady Aliset was not a comfort.  Wash was sure Jaxom in his own right mind would never have stolen Aliset away; the pumpus lordling was not evil, he was just arrogant; the very thing Washburn's father had warned to never become. Jaxom had been forced to do what he did, even as Wash would be forced to do so much worse. If he could not forgive Jaxom, than he knew he would never accept forgiveness for himself if he was forced to become a betrayer. The thought paralyzed his thinking.  He recalled the secret story of how Lord Sean Derry, whom his brother Brendan had told to him once , how Sean had been coerced to kidnap Brendan when he was but a child. If Sean, a man most loyal indeed, could be turned, then there was no hope of resistance. Would Washburn Morgan become their puppet, their pawn.

The question then came, who was the man paying this contractual fee. For certain, it was a man of greed, of power, and of no morality. This man would use a Morgan to further his plans. Likely as hostage to force the King's hand, or even worse to compel the youngest Morgan to betray the ones he loved. Wash shivered, "I will NEVER do that!" he howled hoarsely. "I will not be a pawn."  With a horrifying sense of reality, Wash knew that just maybe, with the right Deryni mind control, someone with evil intentions could force him to do just that.

Whether it was just at that moment or whether Wash had actually fallen back asleep for a time, Washburn was suddenly aware of the Scholar standing over him. With morbid curiosity he saw the man work the wards major and he was confused when the foreigner seemed to place the the charged columns around the flat square of stone beside him. He could not sense the power that was raised Nor even see the aura of the ward as the man finished. He knew the aura was there and the scholar warned him of great harm if he were to touch it. And then the man was grabbing his arm, and a barrage of controls overwhelmed his ability to think. Memories flashed like a raging bonfire. Memories of love and honor which were revealed and then tossed in the flames to be seared to ash and to not be recalled again. As the memories ebbd away from him, he fought back to hide the few favored memories of his father. They were from long long ago and did not seem to come to the Scholars attention. When the hand left Washburn's side he felt a lonely husk of being. Something, nay Everything that mattered was missing. But what that was  he be Damned that he could not recall. There was only one thing he remembered and it had to do with the word Complacent. He had become the very thing his father had told him not to be. "Don't ever become complacent, son." He had failed his father's last lesson.

"I apologize for being gone so long." said the man who sat at Washburn's side.  "I have food and drink for you. You know that you must drink and eat to conserve your strength." the man made a friendly gesture toward a tray of food.  Seeming to free the invisible bound that had held Washburn's arms to his chest. "We have some time to rest here. Far away from the prying eyes of those who would like to see you returned. I warn you though, do not have another fit. I will not tolerate your disobedience. Save that for later. Eat the food, drink the wine and water that I give you." With every strength of well left to him. Washburn refused to sample the culinary delights that seemed just a hand spann away. The Scholar's friendly gestures slip away as he witnessed Washburn's hesitations.  "Some of it as you guess maybe drugged. If I feel you are not cooperating, I will simply use the pricker on you again. And I will exert much stronger controls on your every move." it was not an empty threat, not when the device suddenly appeared in the man's hand. "I must see you delivered to GDV. Then I get paid. Then I take my leave of the Mearan Rebellion. And start my next contract, the one I have waited my entire life to complete."

A curiosity crossed Washburn's dead/blurred mind wondering what victim the man had next in mind. "You care nothing about life, nothing except for money." he whispered harshly.

"I care about your life... for now... eat up." Compulsion followed the scholar's words.

Complacent Washburn berated himself as his hands reached for a meat roll and a slice of cheese.

[Jerusha]

Darcy Cameron and the guard turned to look as the infirmary door behind them opened.  Both bowed respectfully toward the duchess who stood there.

"Lady Aliset feels recovered enough to return to the Queen's Tower," she announced and looked at the guard.  "Please advise the guards at the front door they will be returning with us.  Lord Darcy, you will accompany us as well."

'Of course, your Grace."  Darcy bowed a second time.  "Does Lady Aliset need assistance?"

"She will be fine, Lord Darcy.  We'll set a moderate pace.  We will be ready to leave shortly." Duchess Grania smiled slightly and withdrew back into the room, closing the door once again.  The young man did not lack attentiveness.

The guard left to advise the others and Darcy assumed his post.  When the guard returned, Darcy took the time to straighten his tunic and adjust his sword belt.  The guard looked amused and Darcy scowled back at him. 

The door opened once again and Duchess Grania entered the corridor followed by Aliset.  Darcy thought Aliset looked pale and tired, but she managed a slight smile at him.  He nodded and fell in step beside her, adjusting his pace to hers. 

The two guards at the front door joined them and proceeded first, followed by Duchess Grania, Aliset with Darcy at her side, and the last guard following them.  The men kept a wary watch as they moved forward.  Darcy judged it was early evening; the long hours of summer daylight meant that there were still many people out in the streets. 

Darcy noticed that Aliset was not as sure-footed as normal on the cobbles.  He was prepared when she stumbled slightly, gently taking hold of her arm to steady her.  He was not prepared when she pulled sharply away, losing her balance even more.  Darcy had no choice but to grab her around the waist to keep her upright.  She froze, frightened eyes turned in his direction.

"I'm sorry, my Lady," Darcy said, startled and unsure.  "I only mean to keep you from falling and hurting yourself."

For a moment, Aliset closed her eyes and breathed deeply.  When she opened them, she saw the hurt look in her man-at-arm's eyes.  "I'm fine now," was all she could bring herself to say.

Duchess Grania had stepped back to Aliset's other side and took her arm gently.  "She will be fine," she said, and Darcy withdrew his arm from Aliset's waist and stepped a little farther back.  "We are almost there," she said to Aliset.

They reached the entry to the Queen's Tower.  Guards stationed at the door began to open it. 

'My lady," Darcy said quietly to Aliset, who turned to look at him.  "I will withdraw now.  If you need me, I will come at once."  He bowed to her and to the duchess and moved farther back, watching while the ladies entered.

"My Lord."

Darcy was so lost in thought he did not realize the voice was addressing him.  He turned and saw a squire in Haldane livery standing beside him.  Darcy judged him to be about 15 or 16, several inches taller with a lanky frame that would fill out more as he grew older.  His curly brown hair was moderately short and his eyes green.

'Lord Darcy," the squire bowed and continued.  "I am Robert O'Malley.  I serve as Sir Iain's squire when he is in Rhemuth.  His Majesty thought I should assist you while you are here."

"I'm not a knight," Darcy replied cautiously.

"His Majesty seems willing to overlook that detail."  There was an amused twinkle in the squire's eyes.  "His Majesty also suggested you use your brother's quarters while you are here."

"That would be appreciated, but first, is there a practice yard here?"

"Of course," the squire replied.

"Is there any reason I can't use it?"

"Certainly not."

"Then take me there first. If you please," Darcy hastily added.

"This way, my Lord," Robert said and guided Darcy away from the Queen's Tower.

[Bynw]

"I am not motivated by coin alone. My family is wealthy enough. Some of us have spent generations perfecting our craft at hunting down wayward Deryni. Using the same tools that the Haldane Regents used against our kind so long ago. It is quite effective." The Scholar says with a smirk across his face.

"We are contracted by Deryni and Human alike to bring to justice those Deryni who slip away thinking they have nothing to fear. Sometimes, they are wanted alive. Other times the contract makes it easier for us."

He leans in closer to Washburn. "It is not money, it is only a necessary evil to make my task easier. I am after two hundred years of revenge and hatred." Feyd sits back up smiling. "After I deliver you alive per my contract. I am paid handsomely. That will in turn fund the ultimate contract that was just negotiated with my next patrons. Revenge, after generations of planting the seeds, has finally come."

The Scholar sits looking up at the sky. A true smile of happiness forms on his face and tears of joy at the corner of his eyes. As he thinks about the future contract. Washburn could swear he can hear the sound of a distant heavenly choir of soft voices singing hymns of praise.

[revanne]

Columcil and Dhugal walked together in awkward silence, neither having the slightest idea what to say to the other. Dhugal felt that it was for him to speak, and it would be helpful to know how well-trained and experienced the other was as a healer, but he could hardly address as "Father" one who had just been revealed as his son.

Those they passed bowed low, or came to stiff attention before Dhugal and, with each obeisance and salute, Columcil became ever more conscious of the presumption of his outburst, necessary though it might have seemed. Finally he stopped and bowing low himself, began

"Your Grace, I maun beg your pardon fer th' manner o' my speakin' ..." but was interrupted by Dhugal's rough grasp on his arm.

"Please, no!  I have no idea how to work out what I owe to you but I am very sure that you owe nothing to me, least of all any apology."

Columcil felt the grasp on his arm tighten as he was swung round to face the Duke and he was startled to see that the amber eyes shone with tears.

"I'm very sure too that you have far more right to have grace attributed to you than I have ever deserved but I suppose it's best we keep to the formalities or people will start to wonder."

"I'm affeared they'll be aye blethering, my Lord, after the way I blabbed afore yon guards."

To Columcil's surprise a wide grin appeared on the Duke's face as he replied in a  border accent almost to match his own.

"Ach, dinna fasch yersen. They'd no a' kenned
one word in twa.!"

Then more seriously and reverting to his  normal manner of speech Dhugal added in reassurance,

"Supposing they could hear and understand, which I doubt, their controls would not allow them to speak of anything they hear while on royal duty."

Columcil hoped that his face did not show his disquiet at this information. The idea that Deryni powers would be so used was outside his experience and here was one of the highest in the land speaking matter of factly of the corruption of the God's gift of free will. Perhaps his thoughts had shown or perhaps the Duke understood anyway for he  continued gently,

"No-one is forced to enter royal service. I don't know how it was in times past but the King is so well loved that there is fierce competition for the honour of serving in his household. They trust him with their minds and would trust him with their souls. As in other ways he trusts his to them. This is why this has hit him so hard and is so unfair after the years he has given to all his people. He feels the loss of each one in his service as a stab to his heart and I fear it is beginning to eat away at his soul."
 
Dhugal realised that for a moment he had almost thought that he was speaking to his father and feared he had said too much but a glance at Columcil's face reassured him that the other had the look of a priest hearing confession. With a sudden change of mood he grinned again and said,

"Leastways I'll no be feared fer ma soul wi' me Da an' me son pittin' up prayers fer me!".

A startlingly fair-haired man, who still walked with a suspicion of a seaman's roll, was coming the other way and Columcil gave him a nod of acknowledgement, not feeling that he could do more whilst in the exalted company of the Duke, however surprisingly affable the other was proving to be.

As their paths crossed and they drew out of earshot Dhugal asked,

"That can only be Baron Isle's brother. You travelled with him. How do you judge him?"

The question was asked as equal to equal and  Columcil answered equally directly.

"Darcy? Brave, utterly honest and would die for the Lady Aliset."

" Does he love her?"

"I mayna' answer that Your Grace."

The return to fomality warned Dhugal that he was treadng on what Columcil regarded as forbidden ground, even if the information had not been explicitly shared in formal confession,  and he felt absurdly proud that this hitherto unknown son was a man of such honour - absurd for what credit could he claim in any of this?

"I understand and you must have formed quite a brotherhood as you travelled.  You must have become close to Lord Jaxom too. Tell me, did he seem a man to act for His Majesty's enemies? "

To Dhugal's surprise and Columcil's consternation the latter coloured bright red at this.

"You had some problem with the man?"

"Ach, I'm no but a country priest and I canna be doin' wi' lords and their pretensions."

Too late Columcil heard the gross impertinence as his words left his mouth and bowed his head he waited for retribution to fall. Instead he heard a sound which could best be described as a barely stiffled snort and the Duke laughed.

"Aye, Kelric told Kelson Jaxom was a pompous pr...But  maybe I'd best stop there. I hope you'll change your mind about some Lords, not least because your friend Darcy has proved to be one. I think Washburn won your loyalty and I'd like to hope I could be worthy of your good opinion."

Again the almost wistful humility disarmed Columcil and he dared to smile as Dhugal continued,

"But being a fool doesn't make a man a traitor so look beyond your prejudices and tell me, is there any reason you saw to suspect that he was acting of his free will and with malice against the King's subjects?"

There was no rebuke in the other's voice but Columcil knew that he was hearing a Duke of the realm and he must answer as fairly as he could, setting aside, as he had been bidden, his dislike of Jaxom.

"Nae, your Grace. I would ha'e ta say, nae. Ta be fair to him he was aye helpful an' I dinna think he's the wits ta pull the wool o'er all our eyes. He aye thought he would be God's gift ta her leddyship, but I'd no ha'e speired he'd turn traitor."

Fighting his own baser instincts which were arguing for the hope that Jaxom would get his just deserts, Columcil asked,

"What will happen to him, your Grace?"

"He'll be interrogated and I'll not say it will be pleasant, his foolishness has partly led to Sir Washburn's capture and the King will not easily forgive that. Nor his invasion of the Queen's private garden, which even in more peaceful times would have earned him a flogging. But if he co-operates and is penitent for his errors and if it is found that he too was under another's control then he may smart but he will live to be a wiser man."

"Until Darcy gets hold of him!"

Columcil had only muttered but Dhugal looked seriously at him and replied.

"That has already been understood and although the King has a certain
sympathy he will not tolerate the law being taken into any man's own hand. As his friend I would advise a word to the wise."

(( I had intended to include the scene of Richard's healing but it has taken me the train journey from Interlaken in Switzerland to the channel tunnel to write this including several lost paragraphs as the signal dropped out as I was saving it so am going to post as it is))

[Laurna]

The monastic hymns echoed over the old ruins in cascades of reverence. The pleasure on the upturned face of the scholar sent a pins-and-needles reaction of fear down Washburn's spine. The veneration of revenge was in discordance with what Washburn thought he believed. But the effects of the psychic fire he had just survived, left huge gaps in his perceptions. Just like this architecture they sat in, sometime in the past it had been whole and functional, yet the aftermath of a fire had destroyed the roof, exposing the interior to the elemental forces of wind and rain. Wash felt akin to the ruins around him: his thoughts were tumbled like the stones, his memories scattered in broken chunks, his aspirations a void like the roof over their head.  Memories lay here and there without reason, without coherence. He didn't understand how or why this had happened to him. He knew that just the acts of living had never been enough to drive him to be the knight that he had become, yet it seemed that this was all he could remember. What he did know was that for the love of his father, he had become the best knight in the realm. Apparently, that was all that compelled him, there seemed nothing else but a good laugh now and then, and a good comradery with a few persons that came and went from his life. It wasn't enough.  Not near enough to live by. Yet, if there was more, it eluded him.

"This contract on my head? Is it part of your revenge, too? Did I escape some Justice in some fashion that now needs retribution?" Wash rubbed his head wishing the blur of ash over his mind to settle. "I can't remember," he sighed in confusion. "Is that it? Something I've done requires this penance." It was no longer a question, rather a statement of subjugation. He dropped the meat-roll back to the platter, the distaste wasn't from the food but rather from the disgust with himself. Could he bargain with this man for his life? "If that is not it, and it is just for money, I know I can find enough gold in the Lendour treasury to pay you double whatever the price is on my head." But then the thought of stealing was distasteful, too. "I would repay the money, even if it takes me a lifetime," he added trying to subdue his own conscious.

He looked at the scholar in a different light, the light of the moon which came over the walls and shown down on them from above. The scholar definitely had a goal that was within his reach, something he had wanted for a very long time. "I am not a man without some talents," Washburn tried again.  "My sword arm is the best in the land. I could beat any foe of yours in fair battle, even two against one like a gladiator of old Rum. As reward, I could win my freedom back." he sighed, "Perhaps, it isn't a fair battle that you seek? I am a dead aim with a long distance bow."

The look the Scholar gave him then, turned Washburn's stomach inside out. He had just succumbed to a new low. Instantly, he hated himself for even thinking to make such an offer. "No, no, I think I would rather die than become the likes of you." Washburn spat out to the side. "I am sure, I am worth a price even if dead. Kill me and be done with this torture. I feel sorry for  your next victim. What is it that he has done to bring such delight to your face when contemplating your vengeance? I hope, at the very least, that he deserves what you do to him! Although, I don't believe anyone deserves to be set in this Hell before they die."

[Bynw]

"200 years ago they murdered two members of my family through their manipulations. Too proud and arrogant to do the dirty work themselves. And they have played their games with us all since the return of the Haldanes. And now there is you. Follow your instinct and survive this hell. We will meet again after all this passes."

[Laurna]

Both men were silent for a long time, both listening to the distant hymns as they cascaded and then softly dissipated into the night.

"Two hundred years is a long time to hold out to serve revenge." Wash said very quietly. In his youth tutors had spent enormous efforts to teach Wash the history of the Eleven Kingdoms and the history of his family lines. His mother had particularly strong interests in the family Ancestry; a reason he had been named after an ancestor of generations past. He should have known his history and his genealogy like he knew the back of his hand. At the moment it all eluded him. He pulled up  a few memories of his family, that of his mother and father when he was but sapling under his father's feet. He had siblings too. He could name his sisters, Briony, married to the crown prince of Andelon and Grania,  married to.... Who?  She had children, his favorite nephews.... Names escaped him.... Wash had brother's too... but... names and faces.... Gone!

He squeezed his eyes shut pushing what memories he did have back. What did it matter anymore, he was alone in this. He had his training and he had his instincts. Did this man before him really just tell him to survive this Hell and that they would meet up again? That seemed like lunacy. An impossibility from where he lay at the moment. Then he remembered "Use your fear" "considered every possibility".

He opened his eyes and from where he lay on the furs in this ruined alcove, he studied the Scholar's features in the moonlight. It was his first chance to really see the man. He didn't see greed, he didn't see anger. He saw cunning and portentous ambitions. A very dangerous man, which had been thoroughly proven. 

"I don't suppose you will let a man relieve himself in the corner so I don't have to soil my clothes." he asked on the off chance that he might actually win the ability to move.

[Bynw]

The Scholar laughs at Washburn's request. "It matters not either way actually. Have your dignity if you must. But I warn you. You will not be able to run. You will not be able to scream. You must becareful in the dark here, some of the steps are rather steep and trecherous in these ruins even in the light. So you if you have ideas of escaping, this is not the place."

He lets Washburn get up to relieve himself but stays within sight of him.

[Jerusha]

Robert O'Malley watched as the young lord proceeded to demolish the practice target with his sword.  Chips of wood and straw of varying sizes were rapidly accumulating on the ground around the target.

Lord Darcy, after being introduced to Sir Tomas, the weapons master on duty, had been given access to the target in the far corner of the practice ground.  He had stripped down to his hose, drawn his sword and lost no time getting started.  Robert noted that although Darcy was below average height, he did not lack breadth of shoulder.  The man was well muscled, but the scars that laced his back were disturbing and caught a glance from several of the boys who were finishing up their own training for the day.

His first blows were clearly fueled by anger, but it had not taken long for him to work into a disciplined, accurate style, albeit an unusual one.  After honing the strikes of his right arm, he had switched to his left.  He had changed hands several times, and soon Robert could not have said which arm the man preferred.  By now Lord Darcy's torso was glistening with sweat.

Sir Tomas walked over to stand beside Robert.  He studied Darcy carefully.  "He's not following the traditional forms," he said after a few moments. "That uppercut was either learned from a pirate or a brigand.  Not exactly a clean fighter, but an effective one."  Robert bowed as Sir Tomas drifted away.

There was one final piece left on the cross-arm of the target.  Darcy aimed a punishing blow, sliced it off and then stopped his stoke a mere finger's width short of the centre pole.  His muscles bulged with the effort and then relaxed.  Satisfied with the result, Darcy picked up his shirt and tunic and walked over to Robert.

"If I may ask, Lord Darcy," Robert asked as Darcy began to wipe himself down with his shirt.  "What drove your last move?"

"Ah," Darcy responded while pushing strands of damp hair from his face.  "Sometimes you have to stop a blow when you least expect it.  We were being boarded by pirates in the Northern Sea.  This was a few years ago, mind.  I had two of the miscreants in front of me, and I knew I could take them.  Just as I swung my blade, our 10-year-old cabin boy decided I needed help.  If I hadn't stopped the blow in mid-air, I would have taken his head off.  You never know when circumstances will change, so it's good to practice such a move. Now, which way to my brother's quarters?"

Robert wasn't sure he believed the tale, but it could be true.  "They are on the other side of the main courtyard," he said.

As Darcy started forward, Robert added, "My Lord, you should put your shirt back on."  Darcy gave him a questioning look.  "This is Rhemuth, Lord Darcy.  Some degree of decorum is expected."

Darcy rolled his eyes heavenward.  A man's naked torso had never been at issue at sea.  Nevertheless, Darcy shrugged into the shirt, which clung damply to his skin.  "This is hardly an improvement," he said.

Robert grinned at him.  "It will do, my Lord.  Though you might impress a few ladies on the way."

Darcy sighed.  "The only lady I care to impress won't see me."

Robert wisely remained silent as he led the way to Sir Iain's apartments.

[Laurna]

His captor said barely a murmured word and Wash felt the restraints lift from his mind. For the first time in hours he legs responded to his own command and he could move. He tried not to think about the magic involved, rather instead he stretched his legs and enjoyed the rush of blood back into his feet. The bindings at his ankles stayed taught, his captor showed no sign of willingly loosening them. Wash thought of complaining, but then thought better of it. He did really feel an urgency now that he could move and the humility of losing his chance to save some honor kept him silent. As he used tied hands to roll on to his knees, he realized he still held the healer's scroll, he didn't want to loss that item so expensively gained, so he quickly tucked it inside of his tunic. Then with a push and a jump he was on his feet.

The scholar moved back as he stood, the palmed pricker held firm before him. Why did it seem such an impossible task to beat down this man, even with his wrists tied? Because not one muscle in a hundred would obey him to move toward his captor. With a harsh sigh, Wash knew that any attempt at escape would have to be all or none. He would never get a second chance. The man said this was not a good place to make that attempt. He looked around him from wall to wall. As he had guessed, the only entrance had been blocked by a mound of rubble. The steady glow of moonlight showed breaks in the walls above, one as low as twelve feet up. In normal circumstances he could escape this place easily. Nothing about this night was normal. The Scholar would have to be gone or incapacitated first. Unless his captor made some grievous mistake, his success of him taking down the Deryni Scholar was none.

Wash looked back at the warning scowl on the Scholar's lips. Purposely, Wash eased the tension in his own shoulders, and with a genuine smile he claimed, "I really do have to go." Making small two-footed hops toward the darkest portion of the ruined Portal room, he found a spot littered with stones and there he did what he had to do, much to his own relief.

A few minutes later he re-adjusting clothes and hopped on for another pace or two, careful to not trip on the rubble strewn across the marble floor. "This place looks to be as old as your family's vengeance. Looks to have been destroyed at the time of the Harrowing. I'll say this was a Deryni Establishment since a Portal is here. I am surprised the Portal is still functional." he looked around him contemplatively. "I wonder if the arched opening over there, had been brought down on purpose, possibly to give time enough for the people who lived here to escape."

He had hopped to the place where the lowest break in the wall stood. It called to him, it wouldn't be that difficult to scramble up those stones and to jump catching his hand on that out sticking beam. Then pull himself up and over to safety. That safety was an illusion. Already the the Scholar was stepping forward, his mouth preparing to issue a restraining command. A command Wash knew he could not defeat. Instead, he turned his back on the low wall and took a hop continuing to circle the room.  "I'll make a guess that this may have been one of those outlawed houses of the Michealine Order? Weren't several destroyed in quick succession?" He continued moving around the room hoping to get some answers of where they were and hopping with deliberate small steps too delay the inevitable return to his drugged state on those furs lying in the center of the floor. The scholar's expression eased just enough to give an amused smile at his captive's tactics, yet he offered no answer. "Surely there is no harm in confiding in me where we are at? If I had to make a true guess, I would say we are either in the destroyed Michaeline establishment at Mollingford or the smaller burnt out house at Cuilteine.  If we are near Cuilteine, I know of an evil troll not far from here that likes to seek out a good meal during the darkness of the night."

A winning smile passed Washburn's lips. The tales of the Troll were still clear in his memory, as was the comradery of the man who had been with him in that cave. Just now, what was Lord Darcy doing? He was going after Lady Aliset, that was what he was doing.  And Father Columcil too, would be at Darcy's side. Together, they were a good team. Washburn looked up briefly at the moon. He whisper a prayer that his two friends would succeeded in all their endeavors, including most of all, winning back the freedom of Lady Aliset.

[Bynw]

The Scholar nods at Washburn. "So you are educated at least. It is old and Deryni. But the Portal here is new. The one that the Michealines used is quite dead. We are near Cuilteine, at least 3 days ride from Rhemuth. The singing are the sisters at the Abby nearby. Too far away when you cannot scream and even if you could, it would still be too far away. And the troll and other hauntings keep away the locals. Few come here, and there are Wards to warn us if they do."

He stops and watches Washburn move toward the perceived escape route. "If you miss, tied up as you are, you could hurt yourself or even die. I am not a healer. Don't risk it. This is not the place or time for heroics. But if I must bring your lifeless body to Meara than that is what I will do."

[Laurna]

"Meara? Damn, I just spent a week escaping from that place. What of the lady? Did your accomplice take her back to Meara too? To Oswald?!" Wash spat the name with disgust.                 

"Not my accomplice." The scholar denied. "I wasn't contracted for the girl. His contract nearly screwed up mine. I almost willing killed him for you, because of it. But then...." the Scholar shrugged. "Things worked out. " He stressed the next word, "almost as good as I had originally planned it to be. Sometimes things just happen because they are meant to happen. Like the Moor stealing your lady. And like you turning your back on me to protect her." The scholar gave a wide smile. "Perfect moments like that, just don't happen everyday. Trust me, this is exactly how it is meant to be."

"Trust you? Never!" Wash turned back to the break in the wall. He made two long hops using his hands to push off a taller boulder

((14:52 Laurna Wash jumps to a boulder then leaps to grab the beam up above him. All actions are at a 6 only Disadvantage.
14:52 Laurna !roll 1d6
14:52 derynibot 6 == 6
14:52 Laurna !roll 1d6
14:52 derynibot 5 == 5))

Wash gets both his feet squarely up on the broken stone. With a great double footed kick off, he grabs for the beam over his head. His fingers touch it, but all too suddenly with a Word of Power from the scholar his arms go numb. (No need to roll, the Scholar's controls are well established.)  In that second, his lifeless body fell from the height of the beam. Another yelled Word of Power and Wash felt his muscles return to his command just in time to take the brunt of his weight onto his ankles and knees He broke his fall with a roll on the ground, landing just to the side of the boulder he had leaped from. 

(( I need to see if Wash gets injured. 1d6 disavatage 1 yes, 2-5 mild, 6 no. This will help me decide how to play this.  Rolled = 6 Verification Number: 2h0mq4z3z0))

Furious with himself for even making such a try, the solitary knight, with loyalties to no man but himself, pushed back up onto his own tied up feet. He was utterly amazed he hadn't broken anything.  With out a single word, in abject submission, he hopped back over to the furs and sat his butt down upon them defeated. "You know I had to try, damn you!"

"I told you multiple times, 'not here'!"

"You say this was meant to be. I will tell you what is meant to be-" Washburn growled in the harshest of low tones.  "You get me to Meara, treat me as a beaten slave, that will not matter. What will matter is if something bad has happened to Aliset, then I swear to you heads will roll!"

[revanne]

Dhugal stopped by a door in the corridor and without pausing to knock pushed the door open and entered, his eyes telling Columcil to do the same. There was a Haldane archer on the other side of the door with his bow strung at the ready but recognising Dhugal he made no attempt to intercept them. Columcil saw a man lying huddled on the bed, his face turned to the wall, with a healer standing looking frustrated next to him, though he was being careful not to touch him.

"He flinches away every time I even lay a hand on him, though physically he is only bruised, apart from a sprained wrist and an elbow that he has somehow managed to pull out of joint. Andras there said that you would be coming so I thought it best not to force the issue but to wait for you, Your Grace." As he spoke the healer drew away from the bed and bowed to Dhugal, deeply enough to show deference to Dhugal's ducal rank but also conveying the respect of one healer to another. Columcil he favoured with an interested stare and a courteous nod of the head.

Dhugal approached the bed and said in a low voice, "Richard?", but the huddled figure made no sign that he had heard. Dhugal spoke louder, but again there was no response. Torn by his exasperated compassion which left him unsure whether or not to shake a response out of his long-time friend, Dhugal was about to put out a tentative hand to take Richard by the shoulder when the latter heaved himself over and sat up. His face was drawn and white and there were marks of tears on his face but his voice was quite calm as he asked,

"Am I under arrest?" Then catching sight of Columcil he added in a much more strained voice, "Have you come to give me the last rites, Father, before I must meet my executioner?"

The pent up tension of the last few days and most especially the hours since Wash's capture sudenly found an outlet for Dhugal and he all but shouted,

"Yon archer is there for yer protection and we'll no be wastin' oor time healin' ye for a hangman's noose, so shut yer bletherin'."

Columcil and the healer exchanged shocked glances but perversly the outburst seemed to have had a better effect than the healer's more gentle attempts at persuasion, as Richard managed a shaky smile. Dhugal, aware of both the glances and the unnerving realisation of how much he sounded like his son when he allowed the long buried but still present Transha lad to surface in moments of emotion, swallowed hard and spoke more peaceably,

"There is no blame to you in any of this. You heard the King?"

"I thought I heard him, and felt the warmth of his touch, like the blessing of a saint. But lying here, with an armed guard over there and going over everything in my head, I can't make sense of any of it. Only that I saw Lord Morgan's youngest in need of help and I went to give it, only to find myself with my hands around your Grace's throat. As God is my witness I do not know how they got there. I would have torn my arms off before I did such a thing to you, My Lord,  and I cannot find it in me to blame the King's men for all but having my arms out of joint before they dropped me back to the floor. I had begun to wonder if I had dreamed the king's pardon. Please, my Lord, will you tell me what is going on?"

To hear such a proud man with pleading in his voice was almost too much for Dhugal but best see if they could heal him before distressing him further with the appalling details of what had been done to him. Allowing only calm authority to enter his voice he replied,

"I will tell you, you have my word, but first Father Columcil and I will heal those wounds. The King needs both of us back in Ballymar, and you're no use to him with no grip to your wrists."

Richard looked unsure, but as a man whose word at sea was law he recognised the authority in Dhugal's voice and responded to it, and besides if there was any man he trusted it was Dhugal.

"I'll not say I'll not be glad to be rid of this pain. Aye, I'll be grateful Your Grace, and to you too Father."

Dhugal noticed that the healer who had been with Richard was slipping out of the room, obviously feeling that he was not needed here, and Dhugal nodded to the archer to take up guard outside the door, feeling relieved when this man obeyed without question and shut the door behind him.

To Dhugal's surprise, though perhaps it should not have been, Columcil seemed totally at ease. He could sense no trepidation at the thought of healing with another and Dhugal realised that the complications of their relationship and the traumas that surrounded them had been swallowed up for him by his experience as a priestly healer and it was he that asked,

"Will you initiate the rapport, my Lord?" and offered his hands for the other to take. Dhugal took them, realising that he was far more nervous, but the other's shields rolled back with an ease that was again eerily reminiscent of working with his father and together they entered into healing trance ((4+1+6=11 6ll1ckgbq)).

Richard's own strength of body was already beginning to deal with the bruises and it was only a matter of encouraging the blood to flow more strongly to repair the injured tissue. The wrenched joints took a little longer but in truth it did not need both of them. Richard had spoken of the warmth of the King's touch bringing blessing and as they came out of trance Dhugal hoped that it was not presumptious of him to have felt the same blessing from his son's touch, both physical and psychic. ((Richard is healed 4+5+5= 14 6ll1ckgbq. Hit points recovered 3 3pf87j3bdr which given the scale of his injuries seems a full recovery to me)).

Richard swung his legs over the side of the bed but made no move to stand up. Taking the hint Dhugal sat down beside him - Columcil standing a little apart - and told him as honestly as he could what had happened. Richard said nothing for a while then spoke hesitently.

"My father used to tell me of the hatred the Deryni were met with, and neither he nor I could ever understand it, having only met with those who used their powers for good. I think I begin to understand a bit more now. Forgive me, Your Grace, Father! For all that I know what you just did for me was good, as is all I've ever seen or heard of what your Grace does, and I'm sure is true of a priest like yourself, Father, I don't know that I'll feel so comfortable around Deryni for a while if they can truly take over a man's mind like that with such ease."

There was nothing to be said to that so nothing was said until Richard continued,

"And far be it from me to speak against the king but I'm not so sure there is no blame to me. If I had not gone hurtling in there as I did without stopping to weigh the danger, if I had given place to your Grace, as I ought, and so not allowed myself to be used against Your Grace, then maybe Lord Washburn could have been saved alongside her ladyship."

Both Columcil and Dhugal did demurr at that and both tried to convince Richard that the King had meant just what he said and that it was not for him to deny the force of the King's pardon given so personally and publically.

Finally, feeling that there was no time for this and that the best cure for self-doubt lay in action, Dhugal got to his feet and pulled Richard to his,

"Enough of this! We have work to do in Ballymar" Going to the door he pulled it open and ordering the archer to follow behind he and Richard made their way back to the library.

Columcil watched them go,  left with the uncomfortable feeling that Richard's full acceptance of forgiveness was in words only and touched neither his mind nor his heart. His own mind and heart, though, were with another patient who had suffered far more than Richard at the hands of the unknown assailant -- as they were with Washburn suffering who knew what torments. Well there was nothing he could do about the young Lord for whom he had gained such an affection, other of course than pray, but in the morning he could perhaps find out how Aliset did. He turned his steps towards his quarters resolving that in the morning he would visit the Queen's tower in the hope that one within might be gracious enough to come out and tell him how she fared.

((Modified to allow for it being night by now)).