Brú na Bóinne
and Woodstock
The personal diary of
Time to keep some notes, maybe
then I will be able to make head and tail of these accursed halls and their
aggravating inhabitants. I have just had an “audience” with the most
condescending of these lords so far, who was either being deliberately
insulting to get a rise out of us or thought we had stupid written all over our
faces. I get ahead of myself however and, even though time seems malleable
here, should attempt to exert some order and start at the beginning of today.
Waking probably brought me the
best news I had in the day, in that the coolness had returned to my Trumps and
communication restored. I sat on the edge of the bed, quickly tidied my hair
and shirt and thumbed though to Dad’s image. After a little resistance I got
through and reported in to him. He was interested to hear more about the
cousins I met up with yesterday and wanted to establish whether
After closing the link to Dad I
examined my other cards. Most of the cards were the normal cool to the touch,
with no dead boards but Brand’s Trump presented a new sensation, being hot to
touch; some feedback from the Abyss into which he fell. I admit I did not feel
comfortable taking the chance and reaching out. Maybe I could pull him back and
rescue him, maybe a Prince of the Blood, my Uncle, does not deserve to burn,
still alive, through the Void. Our cabal’s chaining him hadn’t worked. I am
sure Dad and Auntie Fiona thought he knew dangerously too much and Uncle Caine achieved what they had desired. No, too much of a
risk to fumble for a link to that man in that place.
The next card was my petite
aunt in her green gown with the purple trim; I was glad to feel the cold of this
image. It took considerable effort to push the contact through but I guess with
help from the other end the image snapped from my illustration of the princess
of the court to a slightly dishevelled figure. Fiona still stood on the
battlefield, amidst the dead. I can only guess my yesterday had not passed for
her. The signal was poor though I understood that King Random had calmed the
storm and that she was coming to the Courts. I tried to warn her that they had
become our prison but I am not sure this was understood. Even when I tried to
tell her Dad was alright she looked pained thinking I am sure of Brand lost. Finally
she said something of Corwin, which I could not determine before distortion
ripped the connection apart leaving me once again alone on the bed. In
consideration the link had never remained stable and strong enough to allow
anyone to step away from these halls, hopefully this is just a matter of time
but with Fiona coming in I am running out of contacts on the outside.
Escape being in the forefront
of my mind and with the cards in my hand I turned over a box in the room with
my foot and began to lay down a ten card spread.
First card, the present: King
of Swords reversed seems confidently King Swayvill,
who keeps us imprisoned.
Then secondly, Aunt Fiona looks
up at me from her image for the second time today reflecting the recent past,
it feels though not just Fiona but all of us in the cabal. Yes that makes sense;
the plots of the children of Clarissa definitely brought me the here and now.
Next, hidden influences and the
turn is the Hanged Man reversed. I am being hampered by this hidden thing,
false knowledge (something I don’t know or something I believe that is wrong),
or an inability to sacrifice, a holding back, or clinging to materialism. Difficult
but that is why it is hidden - what should I give up or information discard?
The Five of Coins reversed as
aspirator seems clear enough; on the current path this is not an adversity to
be escaped from but is in fact ruin. That was not good and I quickly laid and
turned the next four cards for events or influences pertaining, though normally
a sequential flow I couldn’t shake the feeling that these four under the
influence of Chaos may not come in any given order.
The Priestess, a spiritual
woman, maybe doubling for Fiona who is already represented but then Dad could
equally have represented our Cabal, leaving the Queen of Cups for here. Perhaps
someone I have no Trump for, like cousins Constance or Sorashi,
or one of the ladies of the Courts, though many of them seem more Empress than
Priestess. I guess I will have to look out for this mystery lady.
Ace of Pattern, not a
surprising card, as this destiny affects our family line, particularly our
blood and the Pattern but also materialism over other things. Though this maybe
suggests we should be calling on blood or utilising those that seek material
gain to our own ends.
Four of Swords, peace in strife
gained through force of arms: well we are at truce, the war on hold because of
Amber’s victory in the field, though that is more then and now not the near
when. Doubtless further respite could be gained through further force of arms
and might even bring resolution but against whom should the force be directed?
Seven of Wands, triumph by
courage and determination: that’s promising, enough determination and that
current path to the aspirator can be derailed, and this place escaped.
With a rising elation I turn
the future, ninth card and stare straight into my own face: I smart like I’ve
been slapped, the answer is me! I escape? I escape alone? I am the way to
escape?
I reach and turn the last card
the pivot: Ten of Wands which speaks of victory through intellect or Pyrrhic
victory.
Standing I look down on the
cards, it all centres about King Swayvill and the
answer lies in determination, a willingness to sacrifice and surrender up material
things, to be courageous. Influenced by maintaining a peace through force of
arms (I think not a resorting to violence but more by the presence of threat),
utilisation of family blood lines and desires for the material and the person
represented by the Priestess. Eventually, if it is not an intellectual victory
it will be Pyrrhic, even though I myself may well escape this place adversity
would hound me and bring about ruin.
As I gathered my cards and
dressed, I thought maybe the proposed visit to House Barimen
would shed some light on the Ace of Coins, after all our bloodline originated
there. This, Aunt Fiona’s upcoming arrival and my new cousins briefly mulled
around in my head as I went to breakfast but once at the dinner table I set
about considering Dad’s desire for allies.
Discussions yesterday had led
me to believe that the Chaos Lords who vote in the Thelbane
come from some
Algol Bey told me
yesterday that House Zephyra, where Dad is and of
which House Malastar is a cadet, is one of the Royal
Faction. It seems some of what has been used to maintain power is the war with
Amber, as with many governments from despots to desperate democracies, the
utilisation of an external threat can prove very useful as the glue to hold
society together. High casualty rates, a countering of the ‘Boogieman’ fear
effect of the unknown opponent and realisation that the powers that be are
using you can all rapidly nullify the strengths of this tool and turn it into a
distinct disadvantage. Well at least the recent struggle has delivered high
casualties and brought the Boogieman in through the door.
My thoughts were interrupted by
Mirfak, my personal host, who, as the storms in the
Abyss had cleared, wanted to show me a device of the House’s he called the Nihiloscope. Firstly he presented me with an invite that
had apparently been sent from King Swayvill to attend
upon him at a formal function at a future time. In response to my enquiries Mirfak assured me suitable wear to my design could be
conjured up by the house so I laid down a few quick sketches and then we moved
towards the centre of the station.
On the way we discussed the
Kings of Chaos and how Barimen’s sundering had
dragged down one King, which lead to a series of short lived Kings, almost
barracks Kings, none of whom had been able to wield enough influence to
solidify power before their deaths. Eventually tiring of the toll the minor
houses had gathered behind Augustus Swayvill and this
had caused some Rimlords to come into line and thus
he became King with the power to enforce oaths.
Closer yet to the Nihiloscope Mirfak and I briefly
talked about Trumps for Malastar are
a house of diviners. We talked again that there were a couple of houses
that still focused on the dying art of Trump, as he called it, which reminded
me that last night whilst in the refectory with Algol
Bey, Mirfak, Canopus and Altair we had discussed the same subject and
they had said that visits to these houses could be arraigned.
Finally passing through a hatch
into the central chamber of the station I was confronted by the Nihiloscope squatting under the clear, curved roof. It is a
mechanism of brass and polished wood, of dials and levers and switches, from
which the soft hiss of pneumatics or steam could regularly be heard, with its
single eye staring upwards, out through the dome and into the depths of the
Void. Several of the members of the House worked around it, setting dials and
reading readouts but my companion guided me up past these to the main eye piece
and his bidding I settled onto the leather seat and placed my eye against the
cold metal.
What I appeared to see were
tiny objects in the void. With Mirfak’s guidance I
found that manipulation of the lens controls could zoom closer and closer into
one of these objects. Watching I began to realise there were figures moving on
or in these and finally a scene resolved into focus of a bench such as would be
found in a city park. My hand was guided to another wheel the motion of which
caused the time flow in the scene to move backwards or forwards at different
rates. I queried where this scene was and Mirfak’s
answer implied this bench and it’s inhabitants were
personal to me. As the Nihiloscope is the pivotal artefact
of this divinatory house it left me pondering the significance of the newspaper
reading man and the mother and child with ice cream. This
Void viewing experience also reminded me of the burning card in my Trump pouch
so I asked if the scope could track an object in the Abyss from this psychic
link. Unfortunately it seems that the disruptions of reality mean this tool is
currently being recalibrated, so I will have to come back and see its full
potential in the future (whenever or wherever that is).
After leaving the Nihiloscope
I had DM589, my demonic minder, lead me to the Ways of House Askaris. Going by the encouraging name of The Hive, this
warren is made up of passages burrowed as if by insects into the face of an
escarp.
Leaving my escort at the door,
like boots in a mud room, I was taken into the presence of my cousins by the Askaris staff. In the chamber already were William and Darig, who I had met the day before, and a figure who at
first glance appeared to be Uncle Caine. A quick
study picked his face as younger and his colours as darker, before he
introduced himself as Dirk, Caine’s son. Like most of
my Uncles and Darig and William, he moves with a
tested warrior’s balance and has physique to back it up, I cannot help thinking
this is one to engage from a rear aspect. He was shifty and tried some simple
manipulations but these were transparent and he is basically a deck thug,
though in his father’s hands probably a useful enough tool.
Fortunately Sorashi
arrived just then and dampened the critical mass of four Lords of the Blood and
their testosterone overload. Actually Margrath may
have come in first for I recall Dirk acting the jock with him but I am not
exactly sure for Askaris had put on a good spread. I
did speak to Sorashi about the strange warm Trumps
and she showed me that one she has of her mother is the same. Trying to contact
Deirdre with these had only resulted in an energy bleed to the Void but she
seemed confident that assistance could be gained from House Drobe,
who specialise in Abyssal recoveries, to rescue this aunt.
After a while of standing
together and talking and waiting it became apparent that
The Ways we journeyed to can
best be described as both disconcerting (it sits more obviously than most
silhouetted against the Abyss) and sickening (despite my artist’s eye the mix
of colours seemed to pulse into my brain and produce a very disturbing feeling
of nausea). Our demons swept us on and down into the segment that is the colour
celadon (a pale, almost creamy jade green), and when I say that, that is all
there was: no surfaces, no edges, lines or curves.
As my nausea became more
intense William called forth Lord Celadon three times. In response a figure
formed from the surrounding colour, of the same colour but now with enough edge
to make out a smooth surface humanoid, smooth except for some facial features
that reminded me of
Yet it was not Arden, it was
more like standing is some Hollywood studio backlot
looking exactly like Arden, the sound was still post production away and the
smells and temperature were just as absent. I tried to raise this flat nature
with Lord Celadon and in his response I sensed an artist limited by their
materials, this was what he produced because this is what he had been allowed
to work with. How sad.
At that point
As
Now
Suddenly we stood on misty
green moorland before the
Between
us and the mound stood a ring of monoliths, indistinct in the mist, and before its door hung a large bronze gong. William
drew his sword and moved forward as if to strike the gong with its hilt but
before he could close the nearest monolith uncoiled itself and, rising up,
imposed itself into his path. This demon, stirred up words in my mind like Firbolg, Troll and Giant with his rocky skin and large club.
As
the others of us moved to support William the situation seemed tense but
suddenly his demon, Delambre, produced a letter (from
William’s Grandmother) and held it up for the guardian to see the seal. The
attitude change was nothing short of dramatic as the demon cringed and humbled
itself, sounding the gong with its club and imploring us to make entry into the
mound.
As I followed William into the
mound, the smell of age noticeably seeped from the walls around us and the
shadowy tunnel drew us on. It was dimly lit by widely distributed torches in
sconces with occasional doors and side passages, the old stones absorbing the
sounds as we moved. Having walked briefly in the tunnels under Castle Amber I
couldn’t help but feel myself mentally comparing the two.
Soon a flame could be made out
floating towards us through the darkness before slowly materialising into a
torch in the hand of a fox-headed demon, garbed in what is best described as a Brythonic style. He introduced himself as Lóeg and in turn we gave him our names before he turned and
led us yet deeper in.
After Lóeg
started to lead us it became apparent that firstly the tunnel started to twist
and turn rather than take its direct route and secondly that we were
approaching a chamber in which two voices could be heard in discussion. One was
a deep, serious voice who seemed to be trying to persuade or instruct the owner
of a higher pitched, whiny voice, who in turn was prevaricating or declining
the proffered opportunity.
So we were prepared somewhat
when we entered the large central hall of this, our apparent ancestral home. The
space itself was in the main empty with one central fire pit for light and
rapidly disappearing into deep shadow once away from it. As for furniture, an
ancient wooden throne sat close to the centre and otherwise the room seemed
bare. It was in front of this throne, lit by the flickering fire that two
demonic figures, the owners of the voices we had overheard in the passage,
continued the discussion. The deep, sonorous voice came from a tall, spindly,
ice rimed demonic shape, who evoked in me the feeling of glacial age and seemed
to be patiently trying to persuade a shorter one eyed demon, the owner of the
other voice, that it was his family duty to undertake some task.
At this point Lóeg announced us, I noted by the birth order of our
parents age and introduced the rooms inhabitants. These two figures began to
change shape, the dominant figure, Lord Suhuy of
House Winter, melted into that of an elderly man with flowing white hair and
the other, Melvyn of House Barimen, morphing into a
slight, young man with sandy hair.
It seemed that Melvyn is not a
Lord of Chaos, his father, the last Lord of Barimen,
having been killed by Darig in the recent battle. Not
only that but that engagement had cost the house ninety seven of its one
hundred demons, which it would take a Lord to replace. Our distant kinsman
apparently had to undergo a trial to be acclaimed such, this would be overseen
by Lord Suhuy, because as a Lord of Chaos Melvyn
would gain access to a power for which Suhuy was the
Keeper. It is a dangerous trial but if not undertaken would mean destruction
for the House and even though we are kin, our initiation into the mysteries of
the Pattern mean we are forever barred from it.
Genealogy seems to be a
principal of interest of Melvyn’s; when mentioned he brightened and began to
regale us with family stories. During this time Lóeg
and a raven headed demon in female costume of the same Brythonic
style served food and drink.
Lord Suhuy
soured the conversation towards the end of this talk, when it came to the death
of Melvyn’s father at Darig’s hand, pointing out that
family tradition required him to revenge himself, however not necessarily by
fair means.
Amongst the cavalry swirl I
glimpsed Darig fight both man to man and in the mix
of melee and even with a free shot I doubt such revenge is an experience Melvyn
would survive. Melvyn would seem to concur. The rules of House Barimen are apparently set by the ruling lord, so of
course, Lord Suhuy suggests, if Melvyn became a Chaos
Lord his ancestors’ desire for retribution could be ignored.
I wonder if this setting of Barimen rules bears on Amber laws and the influence of her
King and how learning of the older lore of our ancestor house can give an edge
amongst the Princes and Princesses of the Pattern? Another item of note is that
Lord Suhuy recognized Darig
from some previous time, not as Corwin’s son or even in the look of his father
but as some other individual.
We did discuss that the
bloodline of the house could be expanded by marriage with a suitable female
individual. The Barimen way of reproduction is of
course the same as that in Amber, male and female producing children. If this
initiatory trial is so dangerous, risking Melvyn without heirs of the blood
would possibly be foolhardy. Unfortunately neither Constance nor Sorashi could be persuaded of the diplomatic import of
forging a marriage alliance with this house.
Suddenly Lóeg’s
cry of alarm called attention to a struggle on the edge of the firelight. Dimly
in the light of the fox demon’s torch William seemed to be having some kind of
seizure, writhing on the ground. Darig drew his axe
and sword and moved towards the area. I was also aware of Dirk slinking into
the shadows’ edge. Taking up a light from the fire slowed me and so by the time
I reached William Sorashi had also taken up a
flanking posture opposite Darig.
However by the time I arrived
with my brand, a white light shone in from somewhere behind me showing more
clearly that our cousin was not having a fit but instead struggling with some
sinuous, shadowy figure. The struggle was furious, not only because of the
physical power of the individuals involved but the speed with which the spikes
of
This must have become obvious
to the assailant who suddenly thrust himself clear, unfortunately into a
veritable storm of delayed action. As Darig buried
his weapons into the figure, a sharp word of power came from the man on the
floor caused the demon with momentarily seize up and tarry and a tentacled blob of inky blackness flew in from the chamber’s
centre and enfolded it.
I would have stepped over William
to engage it but as the creature recovered from his power word not only did the
stygian goo hold it in its attempts to break free but
also bound Darig’s weapons. The demon could be seen
to be shape changing in its struggles but always Lord Suhuy’s
squirming darkness flowed with it.
“It changes with you and cannot
be escaped” Suhuy declared, advancing to just behind
my left shoulder, “so show yourself!”
“Death before dishonour!”
replied the assassin and the shapeshifting became
more violent. With the Keeper’s warning we backed off before the creature’s
messy demise into a formless pool, then the elderly
lord approached and drew forth from the ichor a knife
coated with venom. “Spandrel” he declared and dropped the weapon into a pouch,
then went on to explain that House Spandrel was a specialist house of assassins
for hire and speculate why one had been sent after William.
After the engagement quietened Lóeg took Darig’s weapons for
cleaning and his master, Melvyn, was gently coaxed into offering a favour to William
for allowing him to be attacked in the
Then the conversation turned to
Trumps, which the Winter Lord also described as a dying art but he confirmed what
Algol Bey had told me at
dinner last night, that two houses had maintained strong, aptitudes for the
art. House Hierophus has pushed the limits of Trump
but House Cyril, knows the power of trump illuminated manuscripts. I also had
an opportunity to examine Melvyn’s deck, noting that so many of them were dead
cards. Whilst I examined them I was aware Lord Suhuy
left Brú na Bóinne after a few brief words with
From amongst Melvyn’s deck I
withdrew one he identified as Mandor, a figure that
seemed to make him distinctly nervous, though there seem to be many things that
do that. I studied the blue eyes and the young, hard, slightly sharp features
beneath flowing locks of pure white hair. He was dressed all in black, save for
a bit of white collar and sleeve showing beneath the glossy tight-fitting
jacket and holding in his hand a
cane topped with twisting silver serpents. The style is confident, of an artist
well in his comfort zone, easily more accomplished than me and even more so
than Uncle Brand. In fact it reminds me of Dworkin Barimen’s family deck but it is not Dworkin’s
work. I concentrated and formed the link, Lord Mandor
knows well enough to shield the link until the caller identifies themselves but
once connected he put on a pleasant enough demeanour. My cousins and I were
invited to his home at