(2017-04-13) Rian is lectured by Carmichael
Rian is lectured by Carmichael
Location: Surya's Coffeehouse, in Amber
Date: April 13th, 2017
Summary: A meeting predicated by an exchange of messages leads to a lecture and an offer.
Characters: Carmichael and Rian.
NPCs: Keir

Rian is sitting at a table in the back of the shop with a mug of spiced coffee in front of him. Keir is perched on his right shoulder and both are watching the archway that leads into the shop. On seeing Carmichael enter Rian nods his head politely to acknowledge his cousin but doesn't call out or make any other gesture, he simply waits to see how this will play out.


Carmichael's arrival is 'after hours' as it were. Work was not put aside, for this purpose and at the entrance, a couple of guards are left to keep an eye on the street, a thing that has at least one of the barristas looking on curiously. His hand rests on the pommel of his sabre as he enters, posture held tall and with dignity, which goes smartly with crisp lines of clothing and the stone that his face is carved out of at the moment. Pale hazel eyes catch sight, fixing on Rian.


On Rian's shoulder Keir sqwacks a greeting at the man who recently gave him gizzards.
Rian, while also armed, doesn't put his hands near his cutlass or knife. Instead he holds up his mug and makes a quisical look at Carmichael as if asking if he wants to partake in a mug with him. He otherwise remains quiet and then takes a sip of the coffee.


Carmichael churrrrrrs soft in his throat, the avian eqivalent of 'hello', though it trails off to a rowl that has the quality of a lion's rumble. He shakes his head though, an air of expectation present, that no doubt wishes explanation. He does not sit, either; something in the line of his jaw hints at clenched teeth.


Rian glances around at the nearly empty coffeeshop and, due to the nearly portion of it, stands up from the chair he was sitting in after setting down his mug. He bows, a bit awkwardly and maybe a bit exageratedly but not insincerely. He then says, "I unintentionally offended you, Deputy Prince Marshal. I regret this and ask for your forgiveness."


Carmichael attends on this, through its fullest. The silence is thick enough to slice with a knife, the poor cousin of tension that seems oppressive until he gives a slight nod of the head. "Apology accepted. I may be your cousin, but I am not your peer; you would no more address her royal highness princess Fiona, or Prince Admiral Gerard with such familiarity as you did myself — familiarity is earned, not expected by right. I earned my station." That said, he relaxes a modicum, the scold having been said no more will be spoken of it. He gestures to the guards, who nod and step aside, maintaining their watch and then, he looks back to the fellow. "Now, what is it that you wished help with?"


"May I sit?" Rian asks indicating the seat from which he stood and then also asks, "And would you care to have a mug also, my treat?"


"Black, no sugar," Carmichael informs, making a slight gesture to the table and seat, heels clipped as he draws close to take a seat himself, a flick having his sabre sitting familiarly, the mark of one that's carried arms most of his life and is used to settling them quickly and efficiently. He waits then, on an answer.


Rian sits with a similar flourish to keep his cutlass from striking the chair and, as the barrista moves to fill Carmichael's order, says, "Its basically as I explained in my whisper to you… my father said he would see about getting me access to attaining our family birthright, I went missing for years and on my return he has not acknowledged my attempt to contact him. I assume he is busy with matters of state." He says the last very soflty so as not to carry and further explains, "You are the only member of the family who I know is aware of my identity other than my father and his wife. Captain Redhand also knew but I believe he kept my confidence."


Carmichael eases back in the seat, a level look shot across the table to the sailor. He sucks upon his cheeks briefly, a movement that makes his cheekbones knife sharp, if fleetingly and he rolls his jaw. "You have not reconnected with siblings, or reached out to them then?" He muses that, the one faintly rhetoric. "Well enough. None will stop you from walking — even if you are of the blood, you have no guarantee of survival, it is the greatest labour you will ever undertake. Your father… cannot enter the chamber any more, as I understand. It is warded against him, for reasons that may not be entirely obvious to you, but… what do you know of the task you wish to undertake?"


With a laugh Rian admits, "I considered asking my nephew but I felt approaching you might prove better. I only am in contact with two of my siblings and neither of them seemed as approachable on the subject as you." He takes a sip of his coffee as Carmichael's arrives and Keir stretches his wings out half way as he arches his back. After the barrista departs the vicinity of their table Rian answers the question, "Not much of anything actually. There's some walking and… you just told me it is laborous as well." He pauses and says, "So, like I said, not much."


Carmichael chuckles voicelessly, but without smiling. His eyes glint a little, reaching to hold the tiny handle of the tiny coffee cup that is served here. "It irrevocably alters you. When you step onto it and walk its length from start to finish, it changes you - tunes you into itself. When you begin to walk, you /must not/ stop. If you do, it will be the end of you. The pattern will consume you utterly." Warning given, he lifts his other hand, displaying three fingers. "There are three veils… barriers along the path. There will be pain, you will be tested through each one. The pattern will -try- and make you fail. You challenge /it/ as much as yourself."


Rian nods soberly and says, "I'm willing to risk it," and then asks, "In what way do you mean it will change those who walk it?"


Carmichael taps the side of his head. "Once you have the pattern in mind, it never leaves. Bringing it to the fore of your thoughts again, allows the mysteries of shadow shaping to be performed; exerting your will on the multiverse."


Rian nods. "I'd heard that one would gain some powers over shadow," he says and then reafirms, "Yes, I think I am quite willing to take the risks you outlined." And on his shoulder Keir sqwacks again, this time expressing his boredome and desire to be fed.


"Your little friend will have to remain on the sidelines, unless you want him to burn," Carmichael notes quietly, with a flick of his eyes to the little gryphon. His hair seems to lift slightly, a prrrrrt offered to the wee squaker. "Eventually, I shall find out where you aquired such a delightful little fellow, but I suspect not tonight. Rest well, lord Rian. You will need every ounce of strength you have to walk it and if you are ready, I shall take you down into the pattern chamber tomorrow."


"I'll leave him with you while I'm on the pattern," Rian says, "I picked him up in a shadow near Sukho and you aren't the first to ask about him. I've considered starting a rookery to provide them to those who are interested in them." He stands and says, "I'll rest up and see you tomorrow evening then. Should I just go to the palace gates then?"


"Indeed. I may request a couple of chicks, if you do. Griffins of any kind are so very rare, even miniature ones like this fellow. I admit, it will be pleasant not to feel quite so isolated," Carmichael offers mildly, looking from Kier up to Rian's face. "Meet me in the grand foyer. None will stop you entering," he replies.


Rian nods and bows slightly. "Very well, thank you Deputy Prince Marshal," he says before turning to depart.


"You are welcome," The prince replies, watching the departure. Once Rian's gone, he gives a slight shake of the head and chuckle and settles to sipping his tiny coffee cup in contentment. "Ash, you'd be proud of me," he murmurs.

Editor's Note: Ash is Ashby, one of Carmichael's knights.

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