((This scene took place on Oct 15. It is being posted now, as some of the info has had a chance to leak out.))


The sky is clear, thankfully, and the full moon is bright. Liam and Mordred were invited along by Deirdre, of course, on this journey to Tir. Dee has a grim look on her face, and determination in her eyes, as the final steps of Kolvir become the first ones of the Ghost City. At her side is a strange blade. Black, and decidedly not her usual style of weaponry.

( Deirdre, Mordred, Liam and Nazira take a trip into Tir. )

After numerous visions pointing her towards Lyonesse, Princess Deirdre finally puts the pieces of her puzzle together. She gathers up Liam and the two begin their journey to find Mordred, Deirdre's son whom she has not seen in well over a century. A sense of ill-fortune overhangs them, and Deirdre visits a land that was once beautiful and now has plunged into its own type of darkness...  

( Their journey, just begun... )

How does one chose between evils, and come to discover which is the lesser?

My list of people to speak with grows longer and longer by the moment. I've consulted the cards, the stars, the bones. Should I be surprised at all that they all give different answers?

Fate, you are a fickle bitch.

I'm going to be away from the game for the rest of this week and about half of next to deal with some RL goings-on that will have me away from internet and far too busy to pop on. If anything urgent comes about, my email is in my +finger and I'll be able to access that from the wonders of modern cellphones.

Try not to blow things up while I'm gone. Any matters involving the Moon Court can be directed towards Emma, Valentine, Taleyn, Rose or Kai. Matters involving AMINT can be brought to Benedict.

Also, please remember to be kind to each other OOCly even if you're on different sides of things ICly. If things get growly, it's important to take a step back, breathe, and try again. If you're in conflict with someone, take the time to check in with them OOCly and communicate  with them. Talk about what each of you wants to get out of things, and compromise. Help each other be awesome, and don't try to make someone look like an ass OOCly. If you've got a problem with what someone is doing, don't passive-aggressively OOC attack them in ways they can't respond to. And if someone tells you you're mistaken about something involving their character, chances are they know their own character's motivations/thinkings/sekrit desires much better than you do. Above all, remember we're all here to have fun. And when people aren't having fun, it's time to step back and find out how you can help those you're involved with find their fun again.

Game on.

The Moon Court is looking for a few good men and women to help fill out their ranks.

The Moon Court is the side of the Court dedicated to more 'base' persuits -- Drinking, gambling, hunting.



If interested, please comment or catch me on game.

And so, it begins!

I have taken up the mantle of Deirdre and very much look forward to discovering backstory and dragging old threads into current play. Along with this will come the setting up of the Moon Court, Amber's idle nobility. If you have a connection with Deirdre, or would like one, please send me a +mail on-game and we can hit the ground running.

May the games begin!

The scene around Deirdre as the trump contact comes is deep woods--not Arden, or anywhere familiar, but certainly dark. Her eyes are bright and her pale skin is smudged with the dirt of travel.

Coincidence is sometimes just coincidence, but for the children of Fate, it is sometimes more. Emrys, too, is surrounded by forest, though his is dark and forbidding, and the thick white snow is now stained with bright, fresh blood that steams. A muzzle is lifted, the fur around it dark with that same blood, and the wolf the trump contact seems to connect to growls a questioning sound as it looms over the corpse of a nightmare made flesh.

Deirdre is no stranger to the ways of the Weir, but in the same vein she is not truly familiar with them. Vibrant blue eyes are eclipsed by a blink, and the greeting is a hesitant, "Emrys." She has the look of a woman that may be apologetic for interrupting something...intimate.

The wolf's head is lowered and the form of it blurs, shimmers, turns into a man wearing leather pants and little more. "Your Highness," Emrys says, licking blood from his lips.

Deirdre is dressed for hunting, for her surroundings. She looks very little like her other sisters, travel-worn as she is. "I had been hoping for a fast route home and a conversation with a drink along with it. But I'd hate to spoil your appetite."

Emrys rises from the downed...thing, and moves off a few pieces. "They taste dreadful," he answers, reaching for some clean snow to start washing himself with. "But they need to die."

"We all have our duties," Deirdre replies, a grave seriousness to her tone, if only for those words. "You keep what you must well, Emrys. Clearly at least one of your uncles believed in that strongly. Given what he proclaimed."

Through the trump, Emrys can be seen tilting his head. "Which one is that?" He finishes getting the blood off of himself. Goosbumps run along his visible skin; but then, he is standing in snow.

Deirdre replies, "Corwin." There's a pause, and then she offers her hand. "Walk with me, speak with me, for a brief time. It has been some time since I traveled the wilds of Weirmonken."

The wet hand comes out to take Deirdre's. "As you desires, Highness." As to Corwin, Emrys says nothing.

Deirdre claps Emrys's hand and is pulled through. Her breath fogs the air and she looks down to Emrys's fallen quarry. "Thank you," she says, before continuing, "The world around us changes quickly. Sometimes we lose our balance because of the speed. Can you adapt your footing, Emrys?"

Releasing Deirdre's hand, Emrys begins to move across the snow, away from the fallen corpse. "I still stand, and the world has been moving quickly for a while now."

"I feel as if this has only been the warm-up lap," Deirdre says, walking alongside him. "The horse we ride has not come to its full stride." She looks towards the sky, brows knitting for a moment. "And there are others in this race that would see our horse trip and fall, us trampled beneath it. I imagine that the thought of a dark rider atop a dire wolf only makes the other jockeys even more nervous."

Emrys mms. "I have never been much for riding horses. They are nervous about wolves on them." He shrugs. "Horses need to be pushed to their stride in a race, Highness. And in the dark woods, they race because of the claws and fangs of those that run behind. If we are not at the pace we should be? Then we aren't flogging the old mare old 'nuff."

Briefly, a smile chases across Deirdre's lips. "Perhaps we have spent too long not giving the old mare what she needs. But that is another conversation, for strong drink." Hands brush over dark leather armor, and she looks sidelong to Emrys. "The question of the moment is this: If we let the dark rider and his wolf out of the gate, can we trust it to not bite our horse on the ass when it's hungry?"

"Terrible metaphor, Highness. Wolves always bite when they are hungry." Emrys shrugs one more, shivering from the cold. "But the Weir are not wolves. Not quite."

Deirdre nods. "Forgive me. They are something more. But not all see things that way. They simply see a predator with large teeth that has a history of trying to bite our hand off."

"Some do not see the oppressive hand, clad in iron that has set about crushing all that gets in the way of the dream of empire, either," Emrys points out. "My blood is both. My fangs are metal, my hunger endless, my blood the fire of the stars."

"You are different than them, but same. Different than your cousins, but with the same heritage in your veins. Destiny is ours, and very little can stand in our way." Deirdre looks to the woods. "And what can is not so different than us." Abruptly, then, "We are stronger with allies at our sides than alone. We cannot hold ourselves together if we are grasping onto other threads."

"You preach to the choir, as some might say," Emrys answers. The Silverspire can be seen in the distance. "Strength, as any wolf knows, is in the pack."

Deirdre smiles, "And the strength of the pack is the wolf. But didn't you just correct me in thinking the Weir to be wolves?" She looks to the Silverspire.

Emrys smiles back at his aunt. "Do we ever make sense?"

Deirdre laughs briefly. "Very rarely. It is a thing to be wary of, when we do."

"Then," Emrys says, "you have your answer." The gates of the Spire are thrown open, gaping like a maw of a giant, and Emrys walks on in.

I am looking for a few good (or morally ambiguous) people! To help build the Moon Court and add some new possibilities for social interactions. To accomplish this I'm recruiting for some roles within the Court! These can be old or new characters, a new or existing role for you. There's plenty of ways to roll with this. So if you're interested please let me know!

The Three Main Positions I'm trying to fill are:

Master/Mistress of the Revel - Parties, Masques, Dinners, etc.
Master/Mistress of the Hunt - Events related to Sport Hunting
Master/Mistress of Games - Late night Poker Games, Animal Baiting, Gaming Sessions.

Keep in mind, this is for Moon Court, that means that this person is the go to person to arrange these events with the idle rich, not the archetypal representation of these roles! If you're involved in these kinds of activities, but not a member of the idle rich, please let me know as well, we'll connect you up and get socialites to your events! If you want to participate in these kinds of events let me know that too!

As I have failed to be fired for incompetence from Field Marshal, I have come to accept that Deirdre will be taking up the mantle of the Amber Army.

Though, it's not too late for me to set fire to Lower City. Hmmmm.

No, no, it's okay, I accept it.

So, now that I've accepted it, I'd like to start building play for those who have come to find a renewed interest in military types of RP from our recent invasion.

As I see it, Dee will be most involved in amping up the Support Roles within the Army, those are:

Combat Support Services (e.g. Military Intelligence, Corp of Royal Engineers, etc.)
Combat Services (Army Med Services, Army Physical Training, Logistic Corp)

As a result the traditional Combat Arms branch will be run very much the way it has before with the played Corps and NPC'd groups getting on as they have, but possibly with more to do as we rustle up ways to defend Amber better. Also, with Dee's less hands on approach with the Combat Arms, there's opportunity for advancement and leadership of various troops.

If you have, had, or would like to have a hook within the Army, please, please, please page, +mail or comment! The goal here is play, and fun play, and play for EVERYBODY that wants some! There's a way to get you involved even if you're a one armed stick in the mud who thinks you're always right and secretly subsists on tea alone.

I know there are cool things I'm not even thinking of yet. So, let me know that too! You never know when a Golden Circle might get attacked, or we have an advantage we can press on the Black Road, or there's extra tea sitting around that just needs to be drunk.

Deirdre busies herself with the map, reviewing the regiments and the information as it has been received by those at the Headquarters.

Beatrice is not here to give orders. But she's in discussion with the men who are in charge of logistics and has been charting out for them how best to deploy resources. Already several of the ideas she's offering are changing some of the decisions being made.

Deirdre says, "Bertie is still out holding the line with the defenders. Right?"

--[ Docks ]-------------------------------------------------[ Amber City ]----
    Addison, Anae, Beatrice, Cyrus, Deirdre, Desirata, Dinah, Emma, Eva,     
    Gilgamesh, Molly, and Servalle are here.                                 
--[ ships ]-------------------------------------------------[ Exits: N S ]----

So, this is Deirdre Mark III, and as a new Deirdre, I would love for those with a background to please feel free to ping me (if I don't ping you first). My intention is for the histories to remain consistent, but the concept has changed a little and I would like to do my level best to never step on play.

I am working on some ideas that will hopefully get tons of people involved! If you'd like a hook, please feel free to ping!

Let the games begin!

Thank you to everyone who has made playing Deirdre such a pleasure.  It's been an honour to build relationships with people on Road to Amber.  However, all good things must come to an end.  In this case, it's prompted by the positive news that I've managed to find a full time job.  With, as usual, no access to play from work.

Deirdre will be open from Monday 21st April. My very sporadic play doesn't fit well with the responsibilities of a Feature, although I may be around in other bodies as the spirit moves me.   I hope Deirdre III  will have as much fun as I did.

The image of Benedict is under the protection of a rain awning, although it is not raining.

To the image of Benedict, Deirdre's cheeks are flushed, and she still has an axe in one hand. She wears her armour, and behind her are troops in her livery, although few seem to partake of the same ethnic background. Mismatched, but numerous, and by the looks of it, having seen combat recently. "Benedict. Excellent timing."

The image of Benedict smiles slightly, the sort of smile that has teeth metaphorically too. "I was hoping you would answer - how are you?" But he is glancing away to see what is happening beside him - scoping out the area.

To the image of Benedict, Deirdre says, "Apparently, about to go into the doghouse for you." She laughs, but there's a rueful edge to it. "Would you like to bring them through?" And she gestures with the bloody axe toward the men in her colours.

 

At the door to the Corwin's Suite, Deirdre calls, a little uncertainly. "Corwin? Are you in?"

From inside the Corwin's Suite, someone calls out, "Come in." 
Corwin sits at his desk with a pile of paperwork, and looks both tired and cranky.

Deirdre steps in with a cautious look on her pale face. She has a fading bruise on one cheekbone, and a subdued air that might be interpreted as guilt, as she crosses the floor to the desk. "I did not stay to command them," she says.

 

 

This log was a run up to the loosely connected hunt scenes organised by Deirdre around Christmas time.

Deirdre is standing near the gate, chatting easily to the guards there. She straightens up from her lean against the wall to lead two horses over to Mostyn, seeming to have little difficulty picking him out from the usual Amber crowd.

One horse is black as a moonless night, with leashed energy in every step. The other is a dapple grey, and remarkable only for its utter unremarkableness.

Mostyn makes his way through the crowd, face full of trepidation before he's even done anything terrifying for the day. He stops before Deirdre with a quick bow. "I, um, received your message, Your Highness," he says.

Deirdre looks Mostyn over, much the way she may have looked the horses over on first purchasing them. She does not, for a mercy, demand to see his teeth, but there's a critical appraisal there nonetheless. "Good," she says. Either in response to him receiving the message, or a verdict.

Note: first of three rather elderly logs concerning Vialle's disappearance. Clearing the log backlog:  the usual IC/OOC disclaimers apply.

The receptionist must have standing orders of some sort, as Deirdre is instantly directed to Servalle's office if she inquires about him. Servalle is in the office, reading a thick, probably occult book. His expression is intense, and his hands and face are covered in a number of small, shallow cuts.

Deirdre pauses in the doorway, her gaze taking in Servalle's face. "I'd make a joke about your shaving technique, but I fear it would fall flat. What happened, Servalle?"

Servalle looks up, his eyes tight. "Deirdre. It's good to see you. There was an...incident, last night. I may have broken a few mirrors."

Deirdre crosses the room in a few long strides, noiseless on the thick carpet. "Does the seven years bad luck superstition hold true in Rebma? For I am starting to wonder whether Amber can bear any more of it." Her eyes offer a sympathy and interest her light words do not.  

 

Note: Old log -- Part 2 of 3.

The image of Brand says, "Ah, there you are."

To the image of Brand, Deirdre nods. "And where else would I be? Well, considering some of the places, don't answer that." White teeth show in a brief smile. "What can I do for you, Brand?" Her image is clasping a glass of wine, and she has kicked off her boots.

The image of Brand says, "Martin mentioned that you had an idea how to help Vialle."