A New Dawn
The Fall of Ghenesh

I have finally rid myself once and for all of an annoying nuisance, namely, Ghenesh. It has been a somewhat long, though satisfying day.

When I woke up a bit more, after my impromtu hellride on that ill-conjured excuse for a horse (with tremulous apologies from NAME ringing in my head), I was not in any mood to deal with any more shit. While Tim peacefully gathered a bit more rest, I spoke with Injarda-o, Talen and Carl. It didn't take much to get Injarda-o to agree to side with me in dealing with Ghenesh. Talen was, as always, reserved and reluctant, but in the end I figured her right. She came along with Injarda-o. Carl, his usual encouraging self, was happy to chronicle whatever I may be up to. Whatever.

I had decided that I was going to command and demand the respect to which I am so obviously entitled. I remodled my clothing, into something Court appropriate and yet still unencumbering. I, of course, kept my colors. NAME was very helpful, apparently trying to make up for his serious blunder with the horses, and assisted me with a spell designed to perpetually keep my clothing and appearance as would befit a Lady in my station. I will bide with this for now.

I had Injarda-o open a trump gate for me...it will be annoying when he's gone...back to my rooms in Ghenesh. I was prepared to lay things out and deal with them, but they pushed the limits of my tolerance almost immediately upon arrival.

I heard a skitch skratching noise outside my door. I reached deep within for the Sign, loosing the flood of Chaos that waits there patiently, always, for me to call it to expression. An unfamiliar thought flickered through my mind, wondering if we truly mastered this power or if it mastered us, but it was unworthy and I dismissed it again. Extending a logrus tendril I opened it to see a rather startled and terrified boy with a notepad. I soon learned he was the 'Chronicler' and the first words on the damn page were, "So it was written." As I would shortly scream at Tigana, I never wanted to hear those words, or any derivation of them, again. I will not have these miserable shadow creatures going about predicting my life and my actions, how DARE they, and recording every move I make for some mythical prophetic posterity.

I ordered him to bring me Tigana at once, and so he did. I did actually speak with her, well, a little, trying to get some straight answers about the nature of their Pattern, the original incarnation of the Chosen, and something less airy about the damn Prophecies. I told her I would not, under any circumstances, bring her the head of any Amberites, and that Tim was in total agreement with me.

She was, unsurprisingly, vague and uncooperative, and went so far as to not acknowledge that I would not do it. She said something about that being my belief, and such, and I felt my temper snap. I had just had enough of Tigana. Her very existance wore into me like an infection.
The 8000 Logrus tendrils I extended through her midsection didn't even leave enough DNA to scrap together for a positive identification when I tore them out all in different directions. The action felt good, felt right somehow, though I could see it clearly disturbed at least Talen. But after so long of letting people not worthy speak to me as if they were equals, it was strangely liberating. It was hideously wretched to have that moment of satisfaction minutely depleted by the instantly appearing cleaning crew of seven so I strangled the bunch of them. The priest that appeared to give them final rites (and himself, I noted) followed immediately behind them. For a moment, everyone there stood in silence, whether it was approval or shock I do not know, nor really do I care. It was...needed. After, for a little while, Ghenesh was blissfully quiet, still enough to hear a pin drop. Much better, really.

Cedric, as always, appeared in his dour, sarcastic way to my call to bring me wine. I was amused when he glanced around at the gory mess, then back to me, very matter of factly telling me, "It's about time." I couldn't agree with him more. If it wouldn't make him more dour, I'd see to it he was titled.

Using NAME, I cleaned up the mess, only to discover it he'd simply moved the whole deal into my closet. I sighed, trying to be patient. I redeposited the whole bloody disaster where it would do the most good, dumped on Kinley's head.

I relaxed a bit with that, discussing recent events with the others. Talen pointed out to me that since she'd just learned of Oberon's return and subsequent disappearance, it was hardly likely that Random had been informed yet. So I took it upon myself to inform him. I trumped Random. He answered, asking me to wait for a moment. Wait? To impart news this sweet? Most certainly.

"Random" I greeted him indifferently, "I thought it might be politic to bring to your attention that Oberon is out and about somewhere." I smiled, sweetly. Because I'd taken such care in my appearance, I noted with no small pleasure that he was disheveled and looked somewhat run down. This too was satisfying.

"What?" he asked, voice slightly cracking.
"Oberon?" I repeated patiently, "Remember, your father? The King?"
"What?" he said again. "He's alive?"
I briefly relayed to him the story, enjoying beyond measure the color draining from his face.
"A moment" he finally managed, "can I contact you again in a few minutes?"
"Of course" I agreed magnanamously.
He returned the trump contact in a few minutes, having apparently taken a few minutes to gain his composure and smooth his appearance. Inwardly I laughed.
"Was there more?" he asked, seeming a bit more reserved.
"Not really" I told him, "that's about all of it. I assumed, of course, that was news enough for contacting you."
He agreed, looking faintly ill.
"Oh" I added casually, "about that little Gheneshian problem?"
"You've decided to take care of it?" he inquired a bit sharply.
"Yes, but it will be my way, not yours" I retorted, and severed the contact on the instant. Let him chew on that for a while.
I smiled winningly at Talen, though something inside wrenched at me for baiting her. "Will that do? Now Random is informed" I told her, knowing full well that they'd all heard my side of the completely unconcealed trump contact. She was, as ever, infuriatingly gracious in her acceptance of this. Quietly I felt slightly ashamed for a moment at taunting her loyalty, then that unworthy thought fled my mind as well.

Timtallegay finally woke up from his nap on my bed, stretching and smiling happily at everyone. Still that amazes me. I offered him wine, but he demurred for breakfast. It was no task at all to pull his order from shadow, though it never quite looks right. I should consult with Lord Mandor on that. I don't seem to have the knack for food quite down yet.

After filling Tim in on the morning's activities, in carefully worded sentences to let him believe I had been duly aggreived to take such dreadful action, and of course it was deserved, we discussed metaphysical matters for a time. Talk turned, as ever, to all these extraneous patterns and the Jewel Tim covets so desperately. Myself, I want it for him mainly to see Random no longer have it, but I do not feel it necessary to add this to our conversations. I can rationalize and construct logical reasons for them to believe I have chosen a path just and reasonable for the benefit of all. And for now, they at least go along if they don't truly believe. Dara taught me, inattentive though I was, political savvy, from the Courts I learned the value of careful wordsmithing, from Merlin I learned to conceal my intents (I will have answers from him soon though) and from Suhuy I learned to be indirect. All these and more have shown me the power of names. What you call a thing defines that thing, and if you call it differently than what it truly is, it is concealed from all but those who know it hidden. Vague, you say? Not at all. Ask Suhuy, I'm sure he'll explain it to you in a way that won't clarify it one whit.

At one point, though I paid little attention to the verbal fencing except to bear it onto my intended track, I do recall the delightful idea that developed. It was made clear that Talen bore the gifts of the shifters, something I had not known, and wouldn't it be delicious if she were to go to Random in the guise of Oberon, blazing with the Pattern, and demand the Jewel from him? I added that it would all the more rattling for Random if she were to happen to get wet at the time. I believe she was dumbfounded by the concept. She told me she was amazed at the depths in which my thoughts operated. I would not tell her for all the worlds, or the combined thrones of Thelbane and Amber themselves, that it only occured to me because I would dearly love to have something she desired enough to focus such attention on me. As it is, whenever that eerie effect of hers is loosed, my power of concentration is stunned into silence. Now more than ever, useful as he is, I can't but hope that Father decides to avenge himself successfully on Injarda-o. The artist is most definately getting in my way. But again, not quite yet. It's foolish to discard a tool you are not finished with, even for vengence satisfied. Perhaps...loathsome though the thought is...perhaps I can cajole him to tutor me in the making of trumps. Then I will not be so handicapped when he's been disposed of.

Talen has requested of us that we are not to reveal her condition to any outside of our small group, as that is her business and hers alone. Her choice of phrasing, and the reasons she's brought to bear, make me foresworn to break that request. I am however, torn. I have no wish to see her develop any more reason to be bound to Injarda-o. Perhaps...just perhaps...if his actions could somehow be directed to lead to her... No, not an honorable thought. But one decidedly worthy of a daughter of Sawall. Yes, even Dara might be pleased at that.

Talen eventually decided on a more tasteful tack for herself. She told us she would simply tell Random the Jewel might be used to oppose Ghenesh and destroy their Pattern, and ask him for it's use. We agreed that she should try this, though I voiced my misgivings about her reasoning that she needed privacy for the request, simply to force her to state out loud that she intended no treachery and that she was in fact on our side. She did so, but in a manner befitting a daughter of House Amber. I was satisfied with that.

While Talen was gone, we took sudden interest in a strongly felt presence moving through Ghenesh. It fairly radiated Pattern, and with no small interest in who was invading our current corner of reality, we took off after it. The presence belonged to a young man, green of eye and hair, dressed in modest browns. The Pattern was Amber's imprint, not Ghenesian, so he was clearly family to the Amber line of some form or another, not to mention his coloring which led strong argument to his relation coming by way of Rebma. He was, shall we say, a bit startled to find us so attentive to him. Though he wasn't familiar with most, he of course knew of my name and eyed me most cautiously and speculatively as well he should. But he remained polite and so was not insufferable. We noted about this time as well that the crowds in the town square were a bit stirred up. Half of them seemed to be arguing that the Chosen must know what was best for them while the other half seemed to be all riled up about defeating the foul Defiler. I could only imagine they meant me, which was an immensely pleasing notion, giving me far more cause to kill more of them.

All of this was brought to a sudden and dramatic halt when Injarda-o trumped Talen in, still damp from her recent shower. Our conversation died, as did, apparently, the entire town meeting, all eyes turning to Talen. I felt myself grow lightheaded and dizzy, and as if she enjoyed making this impossible for me to stand, she came over to inquire if I was well or if I may be with fever. The hand she laid on my forehead burned like ice and colors swam in my eyes.

I realized, after a moment, that we were sitting again back in my rooms (mind you, I haven't the slightest idea how we got there) and Tim was rather nauseatingly cuddled up next to me, gazing at me with soulfully blissful eyes. Rather revolted, I told him to get away from me, which he did just as happily as he does everything else. Ick.

While we all talked for a moment, it soon became clear that the noise level in the center of town was getting annoyingly invasive. It was obvious they'd broken out in a fight. Tim felt some need to handle the situation, and I told everyone we ought to back him up, to which they all, Marcus included, agreed. So we went to the town square again.
There stood Kinley, still covered in gore, atop a roof and shouting to incite the crowd further. His eyes found me and he pointed, shouting.
"Destroy the Defiler!" The crowd turned toward me, it's intent clearly ugly, and I let the Logrus surge through me. I reveled in it, digging deeply for the strongest connection I'd ever tried to attain. My vision swam with the infinite probability of the Logrus and I felt the chaos within rising. Into this field of vision, Tim stepped up to the foreground, his own voice raised decidedly.

"No! Stop!" The crowd paused undertainly, looking from Kinley to Tim to Kinley, not sure how to proceed under conflicting signals.
"The Defiler has contaminated the Chosen One and controls him with evil spells" he shouted from the rooftop, or something to that effect.
Over my shoulder I sought out Injarda-o.
"Injarda-o, open a trump gate! Quick!"
His voice was filled with amused sarcasm, "To where, my Queen?"
I didn't have time to shoot him a glare. "Chaos. Corvinaways."
"As you wish" he replied, easily focusing those energies to the task. Kinley leaped off the roof, disappearing in a blue flash. He reappeared instantly, much closer, charging me with sword in hand. I concentrated on the chaos energies growing, some vague notion of a plan beginning to form.
Tim jumped, placing himself between us, yelling at Kinley to stop. Carl gestured, opening up a trump gate to Serpent knows where about three feet in front of Kinley's charge. The crowd, still uncertain but too stirred up to think, began it's forward press again.

"Injarda-o?" I yelled over my shoulder, "Is it open?"
"Of course" he replied, as if I should have to ask such a stupid question.
Kinley, meanwhile, was caught against the trump gate as if slammed into a wall, struggling to push through but not falling into the conduit. Interesting effect. I made sure my back was to Injarda-o's escape route.
"Go on!" I yelled. "Everybody go through, get out of here, go! Injarda-o, hold that open!"
He left, Talen and Marcus close behind him. Tim I pursuaded to go, and noted that Carl still stood beside me.
"Carl, go!"
"I'm holding him!" he retorted, indicating Kinley. I felt the chaos energies building, drove myself deeper into synch with them, letting them begin to surge up. The Primal Chaos of the Pit danced in my vision and I tingled everywhere with the power surge, that little spark that had been attuned to Ghenesh dying entirely in the process.

"Carl! Go or die!" He spared me the briefest of glances and went.

Kinley, thus freed, lept for me blade outstretched. Before he connected that probably deadly swing, I let go, releasing the energy buildup into the space between us. He was struck and pushed back by the pulsing, growing mass of raw Chaos energy swirling against him. I felt myself smile through the strain, and I began to feed it, urging it's growth to the point where I knew it would get out of my control. A tendril of the mass swept to the side, flinging itself in the direction of the Gheneshian pattern, and at that moment I realized exactly what I was doing.

Reaching deep into my link with Chaos, I pulled energy and fed my insane creation. I think now, perhaps, the open trump gate to Chaos at my back may have enhanced the effect slightly, unintentional though it was. Injarda-o certainly took one hell of a nasty backlash.

I balanced precariously at the edge of the gate, feeding more and more power into the thing until I felt it was ready to grow with no more assistance. As it surged over the edge into unchecked destruction, I threw myself backward into the trump gate, feeling hands reaching to catch me just as the backlash from the power surge knocked me out entirely.

I woke up in my own Ways, looking around through a haze of red-tinged pain, afterimages of the Chaos explosion coloring my vision. Seemed as though everyone had made it out, even Cedric was there in what looked like a disjointed body cast. That was almost amusing, but laughter was far too painful a concept. I realized Tim was cuddled close against me, Raven spread protectively over both of us. I just wasn't up to dealing with this, so I pulled myself and Raven away. Tim, looking utterly miserable, curled up into a little fetal ball.
I sighed, looking around. Carl, Marcus and Talen seemed alright, though Injarda-o was out cold. The backlash through the trump gate, I estimated, could have almost been enough to fry circuits. I wondered how he'd be when he woke up, with a detached curiousity.

Talen was leaving, shuffling a few cards. In a cracked voice, I asked her to request Random to contact me in a little while, when I had a mind again. She nodded, going out through a far too stable way. I realized, watching, that my Ways had been amazingly stabilized in my absence and I shuddered faintly.

Carl was well into his we live to serve you my Queen act, and being in no mood to cope, let him play at it. I had him send servants out, to Mandor to request more wine, and to Merlin, to request audience. I have a few things to discuss with my dear brother. I am not satisfied with the answers I've received to date and I am not satisfied with his mysterious comings and goings. I will need to get his answers on these fronts.
Mandor was gracious enough to send more wine (I really will have to do something nice for him, though I am hesitant to deal with him after that disturbing dream. And I'm going to have to ask Ghostwheel if it was truly a dream or if he really did something that dumb.). Random, of course, I intend to discuss Ghenesh with, as well as letting him know I intend to come to Amber. I want to discuss this still remaining surplus of Patterns, and my access to the Primal level one. I need to know his intentions on dealing with the current problems, namely Mr. Happy Scourge of Shadow, and Corwin's scribble.
Of course, I do have other, pressing business to deal with as well. For one thing, I want to find out where 01 has gone, and what he's up to. That long ago vision still disturbs me greatly. I want to know what has happened to Gwen, and if she's alright. I need to find out whether or not Merlin is attuned to the Logrus Item, and where it is. Oh, so many things to do, and not enough minions to do them for me. That Throne is looking more attractive every day.

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The following actually takes place at the beginning of the 4-23 session, but isn't appropriate for that journal theme, so is included here
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Random finally did trump me, as we discussed Ghenesh for a time. He did point out, annoyingly, that the Primal Pattern was likely not destroyed and would still be a problem. But at least he was willing to grant that his immediate concerns with invading armies was dealt with. Interestingly enough, he informed me that Corwin's scribble was not a destabalizing influence on Amber, to the contrary it was occasionally helpful. So I suppose it can stay, for now. Unless.... Hmm. Well, that can wait until I have more time and energy.

After Random's call, I realized I still had a few things to do while we were resting and talking. It occured to me that I should really send some polite word to my mother now that I was home. Besides, a political reconciliation might be very useful at some point. Dara, no matter how obnoxious, is a better thing to have for you than against you. And since I sincerely doubt the ability of anyone to do anything against their will, I apparently owe her on a few fronts. I decided that, if I were to make this even mildly convincing (though no doubt she'll be suspicious in ANY case) I should do it with style.

With a bit of concentration, I conjured her a proper Lady's hair piece, as in something decorative and in style to hold hair up in the current proper Courts style. I made it delicate and beautiful enough to be fit for a Queen, but appropriate for a Lady of very high rank not on the Throne. It was a lovely thing, all in jewels and materials in the colors of Sawall. Lastly, I imbued it with a harmless, non-invasive sorcery that allowed it to shift along with it's wearer to be a tasteful, appropriate decorative piece in whatever form the wearer shifted to. That should at least please her. Giving it to Raven, I bid him deliver it with the following message:

Lady Dara, Duchess of Sawall,

Allow me to extend greetings and to offer you proper hospitality of my Ways, should you allow the time for a brief reception at your convenience.

Please accept a small token as a poor gift in effort to render a proper greeting upon my return home at this time, and in respectful dues afforded my Lady Mother.

Permit me to offer such reception and hospitality as a pale shadow of thanks for your efforts on my behalf, so ungratefully regarded until most recently.

Yours in humble respect,
Your daughter

Lady Corvina of House Sawall
Emissary of the Serpent

I made sure that Raven delivered this with ALL the bells and whistles that would accompany a proper diplomatic courier. Well, one can hope for the best.

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