A Constable Calls.

Postby Carnath-Emory » Thu Apr 26, 2007 2:32 am

Disguised as irrelevant, if only by lucky chance: oh, strange things flourish in atmospheres of outright chaos. This is one of them, this pawn's very solitary journey, and Ariane's fingertip is set lightly upon the square that is its destination; very gently, it traces its outline, angle after angle.

"Whatever it needs to be..." she echoes Cinnabar. There follows a moment's attention for the plight of that pale queen, for if he should follow the direction of her gaze, the movement of the bandaged hand, he will discover that the bishop has turned, the planes of its face towards that one after all. Oh, the white king's threatened yet: there are black pawns scattered amidst his white, after all, so that the great host of pieces is grey, to an eye that glances their way too quickly. But the bishop's intention is clear, the queen's doom hastens, and Calomel presents a question --

"...to do everything that it must."

-- and receives its answer.

The pawn takes the final, necessary step into the dark king's territory; it emerges in a great, angular leap that sends it far across the board to topple that bishop at last. It is tilted gently onto its side, is plucked from the playing field entirely, to be sat upon the tabletop just rear of white's territory. At that, the woman very slightly smiles. And meantime the brave knight bedevils the dark king, but what of the other? The white queen's safety is made sure, but for her king...

There is a question in the gaze that lifts to Cinnabar's, now.
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Postby Cinnabar » Thu Apr 26, 2007 2:57 am

He watches the play thoughtfully, brow raised at this... unexpected direction. And then he reaches to the new-crowned pawn, to move it to and fro; having taken the black bishop at last, it now rests in the midst of the black pawns, who in turn find themselves bereft of that support which protected them. Their close-grouped positions first protected and then impeded the bishop, and now permit their final doom; the enemy pawn in their midst, empowered by its journey across the board, moves among them with impunity. Some critical few are taken, which weakens the line and allows the white pawns to fall upon their now-defenceless foes, robbed of the protection of their comrades. Soon the black pawns' formation collapses entirely, the new queen wiping up the scattered remainders at leisure while the black king rages impotently under the knight's guard.

"The black bishop is gone; his followers scatter. The white pawns rally, and find themselves able to also reach the far side of the board - a new generation of courtiers arises, stronger, perhaps wiser. And the black king is at last alone. No one to serve him, no one to save him." One hand stretches out, and with a light touch the black king tumbles.

"It ends."
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Postby Carnath-Emory » Thu Apr 26, 2007 3:25 am

Unexpected, this being what results when a woman does not make her allegiances clear -- or her pieces named. But she leans slowly back from the playing board, as Cinnabar concludes this episode: watches in narrow-eyed silence as pieces are set this way and that, and allows a small, satisfied smile as dark pawns fall to the new queen's zeal. Are Calomel's senses as acute as those of the scholar whose visit had preceded his? Then he might note the moment at which the breath slightly catches in the observer's throat, the space of time during which it halts there utterly.

As if this game were the world; as if the world echoed this playing field.

But she is extending her hand, at Calomel's conclusion, to set a fingertip upon the crown of the triumphant king. It is tilted slightly, this way and that; it is thought upon for a time, before she lifts her gaze again.

"This king, mn? He is alone for so long, and there are so many threats. He must be very trusting. He must ... Believe. And he must let those pieces fall." A tilt of bruised chin towards the field of toppled pawns. "Even though he thinks he cannot stand to know of it. Even though he hates it more than anything. And that knight..."

The king is left to be for a time, as she turns her attentions to queen and new-crowned pawn. Her hand hovers there for a moment, a moment more.

"He must have courage, and he must be strong, for this one ... will not make that sacrifice. Do you see? Not even to win. So he must be strong. He must be sure. And careful, for that black king, sometimes it is a bishop, and sometimes it is a pawn. Sometimes it even a knight itself." But despite the solemnity of these cautions, the slight smile is lingering, is nurtured upon the sight of what Calomel has set before them, and as the swordswoman settles back in her seat:

"I am not sure that I like this game.

But I think that I will learn it."
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Postby Cinnabar » Thu Apr 26, 2007 9:26 am

Watching her hands moving thoughtfully to and fro, listening to her explanations, Cinnabar nods. A slow smile creeps across narrow-boned features as the light of understanding, of comprehension dawns in her - the realisation of layers of meaning in it all, of how the board can mirror life, and how life might be played like a board.

On the white king:

"He is afraid of treachery, and so pushes away everyone - even his own. While he must learn to trust, must learn to Believe," Echoing her emphasis on the word. "his men must continue in their roles, must continue to protect him and thwart the foe. For he is still the king, and if he falls they will fall with him."

He absently lines up the captured black chessmen, a row of wooden pieces along the edge of the board.

"The king is always the king, but he is not always a man - sometimes he might be an idea, a belief, a way of thinking. He is what unites all of the other pieces, for they all serve their king. If he falls - if the leader is slain, if the servants are caused to lose faith in the idea - all fall. Which is why the king is always the ultimate goal, the ultimate target."

He picks up the black bishop, turning the carved figure back and forth between his fingers. "Sometimes he cannot be assaulted directly - he is too well-protected, or the costs involved are too high, the risk too great. But there is always another piece that is central to his defence, another piece which, if removed, will cause his walls to fall in and his armies to rout, leaving him vulnerable to the final blow."

He sets the bishop down with the other black pieces, a click of wood on wood. A grin lights his features, and he sits back in his chair.

"It is a useful game to know. It is a good way of learning to consider things carefully - strengthening the mind as exercise strengthens the body. It teaches you to think not one move ahead, but several, to anticipate how a foe might react, to react to their reaction and so on." The grin fades somewhat, grey eyes upon her once more. "It teaches that it is very hard to win without some sort of loss on the way. The key is to recognise this, and arrange it such that you only lose that which you are prepared to lose."
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Postby Carnath-Emory » Thu Apr 26, 2007 10:23 am

How life might be played, if a woman were any sort of strategist. If she commanded anything but herself. If her interests were not so tightly focussed, and Cinnabar's seen evidence of that for himself, this very hour: when faced with immediate threat to her concerns, she had left the rest of the board to flounder. Without shame, without any visible regret at all, except that she has clearly not forgotten their existence, for already there comes an interjection:

"He must find finer men," she suggests of this suffering king, but with a shake of the head, amends almost immediately: "He must have a force whose loyalty he will command; Janeiro is excellent, I place myself in their hands gladly, but Karolinger..."

Some small, quiet grin.

"Captain Karolinger is his own man, and selects his own loyalties."

They have reached the point to which their conversations seem always to turn: that in which a swordswoman means to cast aside metaphor, and is made to discover that the scope of it is far broader than she'd imagined. Here it is again, this notion of ideas and ideals, of men who are neither and both. Questions lurk just behind her closed lips: he will mark this in the wavering of her bruised features, in the frowns that pass across them.

"I think," she begins -- and changes tangent almost immediately: there are fingertips set upon this scattering of white pieces, small touchstones as she explores her way through the untangling of metaphor. "It is as well to exercise both, mn? There is so much to be done..."

I will not be found insufficient.

"I like to win." As her head lifts, at last: with an easy, open grin, a frank shift of the shoulder. "Like your Governor. I know that some loss is inevitable: I sacrifice what I must, and I choose my regrets carefully. Ser, your Governor will place three pardons in my hands, and I will give you that ... piece, that central piece."

For his sake. For Bromn's. For Myrkentown, even -- but for Kerrak al'Nerun, most of all. This sacrifice, a woman dedicates to his memory.

"But ... you've the advantage here. Yes? For you know my loyalties, I think. I very much think that. But I wonder at the idea .. which you serve.

Helstone cannot be the whole of it."
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Postby Cinnabar » Thu Apr 26, 2007 10:40 am

And at last, the clear speaking. Setting aside the masks of metaphor, of code and allusion and the delicately dance around saying anything too unequivocal. That can end for now. While it is an entertaining diversion, this clarity is much better for reaching a proper understanding.

"I gather the finest I can find. To do his job well, he needs not to be distracted by worries over whether those he sets as guardians need guardians of their own. He needs that confidence. I hope to provide it. I feel he is a good man, but has been sorely wronged such that he finds it hard to trust. If he can be protected from further such injuries for a time, perhaps he can learn again." A candour that might be viewed as treasonous by some. Word of it brought to the governor's ear might lose him Helstone's favour, and as such it is a sign of trust in her, a token by which she might undo him. And her final hinted question has him grinning, watching her with keen grey eyes. Pleased at her acuity, encouraging her to think on.

"Act as your heart advises and you will not go far wrong." Spoken as if quoting it from somewhere. Cryptic, a not-answer to her not-question.
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Postby Carnath-Emory » Thu Apr 26, 2007 11:48 am

The clear speaking, the blunt, frontal approach which he'd described, during their talk of pawns; which Cinnabar has seen demonstrated, on the very few occasions that she's drawn a sword before him. While capable of feints, Ariane's have a practised air to them, a sense of tutoring and rote repetition; they do not flow. That Calomel is accepting enough of this trait to answer in kind is ... gratifying.

"He has been wronged," she confirms, when the time for it comes. "He has been besieged. Who is he to trust? Drow upon his Council, a General whose service takes him far from here; Janeiro in Straka's place, and it's a fine, fine exchange, if one does not fear outlanders. He does. He must, yes? Perhaps he can -- "

Learn again. It is more hope than the swordswoman had thought to discover here, and later she will question her willingness to place faith in Cinnabar's judgements. But Now is for tackling the questions placed immediately before her, and there are so many of them, because like certain other of Ariane's aquaintances, he wields them as if they were answers. This last one prompts a skeptical lift of the brow, battered features drawn into grotesque new lines.

"But I think that I will. Would you advise all men in this manner? Do you think -- "

Pauses, then. Pauses, seized.

"Is that what you Believe?"
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Postby Cinnabar » Thu Apr 26, 2007 8:24 pm

Still that grin, that perceptive gaze.

"It is what I do."

He looks down for a moment, choosing his words.

"Belief is that which guides a man's actions, yes? In which case, that is what I Believe. It is... it is advice that has guided my actions for as long as I can recall. I trust it, as I trust myself."

The young man leans forward in his chair, absently setting the board up once more as he speaks, each piece carefully placed in its proper position. Courtiers and pawns, light and dark. That ambiguous pawn set to watch from the side again, poised on the centreline between the two forces. He glances up again, a self-conscious grin making him look almost boyish in spite of silver hair and insightful gaze.

"But I don't know where it came from. Is that how Belief normally works?"
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Postby Carnath-Emory » Fri Apr 27, 2007 2:17 am

Seized: thrust a pike through the woman's shoulder and she will be paused in just this manner, just as still, just as staring. Oh, after a time she must jerk that gaze aside, before it reveals more than she cares it to, but still, here is a forefinger to jab the air between them, and:

"You Believe ... that a man's heart is always so fine, so fine that it will guide him well."

As if she meant to accuse the man on this count. As if it were a crime, except that there's a reckless grin flickering about the corners of her mouth, a brightening to the ash of her eyes, as she sinks back in her seat. A hand covers it soon enough, clutching the chin, half-smothering features that are sharpened by thought.

"Belief," Ariane slowly begins. "Belief is ... what guide's a man's spirit, I sometimes think. Not his soul," she adds hastily, "but his ... his spirit, the sense of what he is. It transforms, it goes past the mind, so that -- that -- hah! I cannot say it rightly." And for an instant, the woman's frustration is clear and keen; when it resolves, it is with a slow shake of the head, a tilt of the bandaged hand to set the question aside, with:

"Belief ... changes the world. I know no thing more powerful."

But this is difficult ground: it is rocky with guilt and old hurts, it is lined with regrets and treachery, so that for a time her lips have sealed closed to end that exploration for true. She is content to watch Calomel as he sets out these pieces, to watch the amassing of white pieces and dark, until at last:

"I ... am not sure. Belief is not for me: of that alone, I am certain, so ... I cannot say. But I do not trust a thing that I cannot understand, cannot explain.

How can you stand to?"
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Postby Cinnabar » Fri Apr 27, 2007 2:43 am

He shakes his head slightly, a correction:

"I believe that my heart will guide me well. I cannot say it would apply to everyone, though I've noticed that it's most often when a man hardens his heart and ignores what it tells him is good and right, when he chooses instead what his head tells him is more profitable or expedient - that is when he goes astray." A brief glance to Ariane.

"Belief guides the spirit, the spirit guides the hand, the hand changes the world for good or ill. Belief without the means to carry it out changes nothing. But belief can lead one to seek the means to carry it out. For example: I believe I should listen to my heart. My heart tells me that for innocent people to suffer and fear is not right. So, I seek some way to correct this - belief guides my spirit, my spirit guides my hand to write a letter to Governor Helstone, and suddenly I have the means to fix what is wrong."

He sits back in his seat, regarding the chessmen thoughtfully.

"Imagine that you know nothing of the world - nor of yourself. You know not who you are, what lies behind you, what lies ahead of you - nothing. You have nothing except some small pieces of advice left ready for you. You know not by whom, except that they claim to be a friend. Should you accept these scraps of guidance, consider them, follow them? Or should you distrust them, ignore them, disregard them - and if the latter, what do you have to guide you instead? An uncertain direction, set by someone unknown, or no direction at all?"

He blinks, glancing up self-consciously as if caught talking to himself, and watches the swordswoman carefully.

"What sets your] direction? How do you choose which way to go?"
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Postby Carnath-Emory » Fri Apr 27, 2007 7:57 am

What illuminates the woman's battered features, as she eases back at last into her seat, is neither relief nor disappointment, but some very strange blend of both. Evidently it proves less bitter than the tea she drinks, though, for at a sip of that there comes a very wry face indeed...

"There is always the means to act on one's Belief, I think. If only since a person will -- ah! As you say, yes? So that even a child whose heart is filled with it, all of his life will be sha --

"Mm. When there are pardons set in my hand, Cinnabar, I shall tell you such a tale of Belief, of how it will change a boy. But not of hearts, for I have ever heeded mine very little, and while I am told this is a flaw... Hah. I find that to do differently leads me far further astray." There's a rueful edge to her laughter, an ironic note to the tilt of her mug.

But there come questions now, the sort which best fascinate the swordswoman's fledgling mind, and a description of circumstances which strike a disarmingly familiar chord. Wanting for wine, she takes tea instead, for the acerbic tang of it inspires clarity.

"And if it guides me false? This nameless thing, what difference between that and these cultists? Who heed their faceless god, who do such things in his name for that he wishes it, and they reckon him beyond fault. Better to do as you have, perhaps: to heed my heart and mind, and reckon later with such awkward things as Belief. It has served you well this far, yes? Ser Constable," she grins, despite herself, despite the gravity of such talk. "I would hope to do as well.

"But I..."

And here Ariane lapses into silence: there is an uncertain gaze fixed upon the man, and there are fingertips drawn across the rim of her mug, and there is nothing else at all. But while Cinnabar might have feared it would stretch into actual minutes, there comes eventually a shake of the head to dispell the reverie, and quietly, now:

"For most of my life, there has not been this choice. You see? There has been only a single direction, and I do as well with it as I'm able, mn? But now it is all so different, and these choices, there are so many of them, and I...

"I wonder this too, how to choose. Each day, it seems that I find ways that do... not work."
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Postby Cinnabar » Fri Apr 27, 2007 8:16 am

"But you cannot know if it will guide you false unless you follow it. It may equally as likely carry you safely through many troubles." He thinks for a moment, pondering metaphors once more.

"What about this: A man awakes in a wilderness - a wasteland, a desert, nothing familiar around him, no knowledge of how he came to be there, what path he might have travelled. It stretches around him flat and level as far as he can see, and clouds blot the sky, hiding sun and stars from him. The only hint, the only guidance he has, is a compass in his pocket and a scrap of paper pinned to his shirt which tells him 'Go North'." He glances up to Ari, to make sure she follows.

"What is he to do? He knows nothing of where these things came from. Should he do as he is told, and follow the compass North? What if the compass is wrong, and it shows East as North? What if the note is a trap, intended to lead him into a mire or deliver him into the hands of some unknown enemies? Or even simply a cruel prank, something to have him wandering lost in the wilds until he drops, when had he but travelled a few miles in the opposite direction he would have found civilisation and safety? Should he follow the instructions, trusting that if someone cared enough to give them to him they will probably help him find safety? Should he strike out on his own, possibly walking aimlessly in circles? Or should he sit where he is, in the middle of the wastes, trusting that some kind soul will find him before something less friendly does?"

This has him thinking for a time, turning over his own words in his head. "Perhaps this is how the beast attracts its followers - it finds those who lack direction, who lack Belief, who are wandering in the wilds... and it gives them a path to follow. They are happy to finally have a guide and a road, no matter that the guide is a demon and the road leads to places they would never have chosen to go otherwise."
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Postby Carnath-Emory » Fri Apr 27, 2007 8:43 am

"Ah, but this is far simpler!" More immediate a reply, this time; a sip from the mug moistens her throat to permit its conclusion.

"This desert, mn? Sand in each direction, and overheard the sun, and all the world smells of burning things. Why, of course he should move in the direction he's been directed towards -- for a little time, at least. What loss is there in that? Perhaps there await fell streltsy, yes. And perhaps they await to South as well, perhaps the desert is thick with them; he is not to know. Perhaps there is swamp, and perhaps there is not, and --

Bah. He must choose something. North is the only choice which suggests the possibility of ... Better Things. But this is a different question. It does not say... 'Let Nothing Prevent You From Going North'. It does not say... how he is to travel, but only that he must. That is far simpler!"

This of smug satisfaction lasts only until Cinnabar's question sinks in. It is a quieter thing which lifts her gaze to his, then; which nods her slow agreement. But:

"It was not this way in its first days, I think. Nor even now, not for them all. But that ... that is for later, yes? I will not recite the tale piecemeal."
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Postby Cinnabar » Fri Apr 27, 2007 10:03 am

"As you wish - better to have it at once, where it might be looked upon as a whole, than revealed in scraps and pieces to be stitched together afterwards."

He picks up his long-neglected cup now, taking a long draught which near drains it from half-full.

"You see why I choose to follow this mysterious advice, though - with no real reason to disregard it and take a different path, I go north. Adrift in choices which we have no way of distinguishing between, when we cannot tell if one course of action will turn out better or worse than another, we cling to that which provides us with something to guide us. Even if it is so vague as 'go north' or 'heed your heart'."

The youth stares into the dregs of his cup for a few moments, tilting it to swish the last drops of wine around and around. His next words are murmured, spoken to himself as much as to Ariane.

"Look to where you are going rather than where you have been; act as your heart advises and you will not go far wrong; ask questions, as this is a good way to find answers." A pause, and he looks up to the swordswoman once more.

"Sound guidance, do you think?"
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Postby Carnath-Emory » Fri Apr 27, 2007 10:59 am

"But this is more than a direction. You do not simply walk: you act!"

This is the startlement of a woman who has realised a great many things, all in a single, brief instant. This matter of compasses and advice, of very lovely swords, and utterly blank eyes. This matter of a very equable young man who has seized the office of Constable with a vigour that she'd not nearly anticipated: who has displayed a level of competence and comfort that had frankly shocked her.

And ... that quite remarkable sword. One does not forget that.

"I ... I do not understand this. There: I confess it freely. I do not know what it is to lack direction; it has always seemed clear to me, and when it was not," a shrug, a moment's dry laughter, "I was glad of such leisure, mn? Even now, when it is not so difficult, still I -- "

A question occurs. Not much caring for the shape of it, its owner sets it aside for much later.

"It has been simple. If I hunger, I must have coin to feed myself; if I wish coin, I must practice a trade; having no trade but one, you see? They are such simple choices, that are left to me. But you, you have --

This has befallen you. That is what you say, yes?"

Quietened for a time, now, and with a hand slightly lifted, to indicate that it is not distaste which has muted her. Perhaps he will understand that such revelations demand this, that her mind is not quite a ... scholar's, say.

"Questions," she echoes eventually. "I agree with this, this asking. Even should you question a chyort beast of a villain, still you receive an answer worth knowing, even if it is not the answer to your question."
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