As you stare at the image before you, it slowly becomes more real.

The Worlds' End Bar(#250RFJ)

   This is a large spacious bar dimly lit by small oil lamps burning at each table, their smoke disappearing up into the rafters above. Around the edges of the room are booths, and a few tables are scattered in the middle of the scuffed hardwood floor. A long bar with a brass-edged wooden top dominates one wall, with a row of stools placed in front of it. Behind the bar is an old mirror, slightly marred with water stains; a bartender stands behind the bar serving drinks, while another server wanders the floor handling the booths and tables.

   A steep staircase against one wall leads up to a balcony facing the bar, just big enough for one large table. In the opposite corner from the staircase is a short hallway leading to the restrooms. The dusty corner under the staircase is glowing oddly, but none of the locals seem to much notice. To the left of the bar is a door leading out, with a sturdy coatrack in the corner next to it.

Contents:

Peter

Obvious exits:

Door Dusty Corner

Erika slips the trump she used to arrive in a vest pocket, looking around.

Erika walks towards the bar, offering a smile to Peter as she takes a seat.

You sit down at the bar.

Peter gives Erika an uncertain smile.

At the bar, Erika moves to find a cigarette and light it, saying, "You okay? You look kinda spooked."

At the bar, Peter mumbles, "I'm okay. This place is ...I'm still not used to...coming into places like this."

At the bar, Erika looks faintly surprised. She asks, "Why do you do it?"

At the bar, Peter mumbles, "Because I can, now. Because I...this place is different. I'm Lord Peter. That's what they say. I'm Lord Peter." He looks at his thin hands. "Not living on the streets now."

At the bar, Erika says "Lords don't live on streets, no. Peter, huh?"

At the bar, Peter mumbles "That's what Martin called me. It's not my real name."

At the bar, Erika says "What's your real name?"

At the bar, Peter says "Tymbre. Mother called me Tater, but that was a long time ago and I ran away."

At the bar, Erika offers, after a moment, "Erika."

At the bar, Peter mumbles "Hi. You're all...fixed up for being here. Guns and things."

At the bar, Erika says "You never know what creeps will come in here."

At the bar, Peter mumbles "I'm not a creep. I don't even have a gun."

At the bar, Erika says "Didn't say you were a creep." She offers an amused smile. "Just a mumbler."

At the bar, Peter mumbles "People didn't used to talk to me at all."

At the bar, Erika says "So why come here? Or why not talk to them?"

At the bar, Peter has a tic in his cheek. It starts twitching. "Have to start somewhere. Can't stay in the house all the time and eat."

At the bar, Peter's eyes light up, a brief flare. "Wish I could."

At the bar, Erika exhales a stream of smoke over Peter's head. "You'd get fat."

At the bar, Peter says "Might do me some good. You're tall."

At the bar, Erika says "I blame my parents. What's your excuse?"

At the bar, Peter mumbles "Hungry a lot."

At the bar, Erika says "Being hungry made you tall?"

At the bar, Peter mumbles, "I'm not tall."

At the bar, Erika says, "You're not short."

At the bar, Peter shrugs. The tic in his cheek jumps.

At the bar, Erika says "I'm bothering you, aren't I?"

Trump Scrying has arrived.

At the bar, Peter mumbles, "No, I'm sorry. I just...not use to people talking to me. Rapture pats my head."

At the bar, Erika says "I can stop if you want. I mean, shit. Not trying to unnerve you."

At the bar, Peter shakes his head. "No, I like it. The Aldari don't talk to me either."

At the bar, Erika says "Who's the Aldari?"

At the bar, Peter mumbles, "People in the house. We keep them around to feed us."

At the bar, Erika says "Um."

At the bar, Erika says "You eat people."

At the bar, Peter says "Not exactly."

At the bar, Erika says "I'll stop asking questions right about now."

At the bar, Erika inhales, exhales, and says, "You should relax more in public."

At the bar, Erika says "You'd be cute if you weren't so twitchy."

At the bar, Peter mumbles, "Need to eat. Don't think right when I'm hungry."

Trump Scrying has left.

At the bar, Erika says "So go. . . I don't know. Eat whatever you eat."

At the bar, Erika says "Lots of food here."

Peter orders a hamburger, with all the trimmings. But, though he eats it, it doesn't quite manage to settle him.

Dalt appears suddenly.

Dalt has arrived.

Dalt steps through near the far wall.

Peter sits near Erika. He's eating a hamburger. There seems to be some desultory, uneasy conversation going on.

Dalt sits down at the table on the far wall.

Erika turns, and flashes a beautiful smile to Dalt.

At the bar, Erika says, "Burger any good?"

Dalt says "Erika."

Dalt says "Come sit."

At the bar, Peter says "'s all right."

At the bar, Erika says, "Feel better." She stands, then, carrying a freshly ordered glass of wine with her.

Erika orders a glass of wine and goes to sit with Dalt, brushing hair out of her gaze as a seat is taken.

You stand and leave the bar.

You go over to join Dalt.

You sit down at the table on the far wall.

At your table, Dalt says "You adjusting to your new abilities?"

At your table, Erika says "It's just."

At your table, Erika says "It's fuckign weird. Cool."

At your table, Dalt says "Need to start your training."

At your table, Erika says "I'm ready."

Peter's haunted gaze tracks Erika over to Dalt's table. Appreciative at least, but more likely hungry.

At your table, Dalt says "Reality bends to your will now."

At your table, Dalt says "Best to start small."

Dalt digs in his coat pocket, removing a small pair of bone dice. He places them on the table before Erika.

Erika turns and glances a moment at Peter, before looking at the dice. She points at them and says something.

At your table, Erika says "That small?"

At your table, Dalt says "That small. Take them with you. Give them back when your concentration allow you to make the same roll every time."

At your table, Erika says "You serious?"

At your table, Dalt says "The possible becomes probable. The probable becomes fact."

Peter exhales and turns back, hunch-shouldered, to the bar.

At your table, Erika says "How's rolling dice the same as finding dice? I mean, it."

At your table, Erika says "How am I supposed to just /will it/?"

At your table, Dalt says "How do you breath."

At your table, Dalt says "How do you walk."

At your table, Erika reaches and picks up the dice, rolling them around in her fingers.

Dwight appears suddenly.

Dwight has arrived.

Dwight lowers his card the instant he steps forth. He tucks it at his waist, eyes skimming the room and its occupants.

At your table, Dalt says "When you mastered the dice, we move on to traversing the shadows."

At your table, Erika eyes the dice, her gaze drifting from them to Dwight briefly.

At your table, Erika says "You got it."

At your table, Dalt says "How you like Castille."

At your table, Erika says, "It's nice. It's just. Still takes a little bit to get my hands on things."

At your table, Erika turns her gaze on Dalt.

At your table, Dalt says "What kinds of things."

Dwight walks over to the bar, in no hurry. His treaded feet absorb the sound of his footfalls.

At your table, Erika says "Just, you know. Reality."

At your table, Erika says "I feel like someone twisted my head around without breaking my neck. I feel . . . " She pauses. "Stronger. Harder. More real, now."

Dwight sits down at the bar.

At your table, Dalt says "Can you see the Pattern in your mind?"

At your table, Erika says "I." She pauses. "In my dreams. It occasionally just. I don't know. Stress."

At your table, Erika says "Not willingly."

At your table, Dalt says "It will come. The mere imagination of that sign will protect you."

At your table, Erika says "How? Why?"

At your table, Dalt says "Nothing more potent than Pattern. If some fuck attacking your mind with spell or trump, the sign of the Pattern in your mind will save your ass."

Peter turns his haunted gaze to Dwight while he dips french fry after french fry in ketchup and eats them, mechanically and without evident enjoyment.

At your table, Dalt says "Logrus rubes can't even touch you with their Chaos."

At your table, Erika whistles.

At your table, Erika says "Wow."

At your table, Dalt says "You will need three accomplishments for me to accept your training complete."

At your table, Erika says "Dice one of them?"

At your table, Dalt says "Sail your navy to Castille. Find a shadow of your liking and connect it to my home with a path. Finally, you will seek out a weapon of significance."

At your table, Erika says "A nuke?"

At your table, Dalt snorts. "Figured something more practical."

At your table, Erika says "Well, I've got a sword. What do you mean?"

At your table, Dalt says "All will become clear."

At your table, Erika takes a drink of the alcohol at hand. "What've you been up to?"

At your table, Dalt says "Preparing my fleet for the attack on Amber."

Ophelia appears suddenly.

Ophelia has arrived.

Lisle walks out from behind the staircase, a blue glow fading.

Lisle has arrived.

At your table, Erika says, "Coolness." Her face brightens as she notices Ophelia.

Ophelia pops in against the wall, behind Dalt's chair. The card in her hand disappears into a pocket.

Lisle walks in from the corner, arms crossed tightly. Cold, even in her coat.

Dalt glances over his shoulder.

Erika's face brightens as she sees Ophelia.

Lisle drifts over to the message board, gentle hand touching this piece of paper, then that, hunting for something.

Dalt rises. "Ophelia. Explain to my second what will happen if she is assaulted by Chaos. I be back."

Dalt stands and leaves the table on the far wall.

Dalt has departed.

Erika looks mildly surprised at that, for more reason than one.

Erika simply blinks, looks at the big man. Then Oph.

Ophelia steps around to settle into the chair next to the one Dalt abandons. She nods at him as she sits.

Ophelia sits down at the table on the far wall.

Ophelia joins you.

Dalt says "Lisle."

At your table, Erika says, "I guess my promotion's official." She pauses, then manages a smile to Ophelia. "Hey, you."

Lisle turns from the board, turns so her skirts whisper the floor. She curtsies, hands folded together in a way that suggests she's cold, too. "Uncle Dalt."

At your table, Ophelia asks, with a grin, "Who's threatening to attack you?"

At your table, Erika says "No one that I know of."

At your table, Erika says "I think he meant Logrus?"

Dwight's eyes shift toward Dalt and Lisle. Momentary, then back to Peter.

Dalt says "Select a table for us to speak."

At your table, Ophelia's eyes brighten with understanding. "I see. I could show you what would happen, if somebody touched you with the Logrus, but that wouldn't be pleasant to me at all."

At your table, Erika says "Please don't hurt yourself. He just said you couldn't, is all."

Lisle glances, then steps a few feet away to a table.

Lisle sits down at the table near the staircase.

Dalt sits down at the table near the staircase.

At your table, Ophelia shakes her head. "I can't do anything to you with the Logrus. The Pattern protects you in all ways. My best bet, if I had to use the Logrus, would be to use it to fling chairs at you, or something. Anything that wouldn't involve contact on my part."

At your table, Erika says "What happens?"

Lisle sits, careful of her skirts.

Solomon emerges from the dusty corner in a fading haze of flickering balefire.

Solomon has arrived.

At your table, Ophelia says "It hurts. There's a backlash that hits the mind of the one who weilds the Logrus hard enough to knock their brains empty for a second or two. But it doesn't hurt you. At least, I don't think it does."

Solomon scans the bar, the table off to his right, and the table across the room against the far wall. His lip curls, and he trudges towards the bar. "If it isn't my favorite branch of the family tree."

Erika turns and looks at Solomon.

At your table, Erika says "Who the fuck is that?"

Ophelia glances up at Solomon for a second. Her gaze strays to Dalt before she turns back to Erika, talking quietly.

At your table, Ophelia's smile is tight. "That is one of my dearest uncles. His name is Solomon, and he has a temper."

At your table, Erika says "What the fuck's his problem?"

At your table, Erika says "WIth you, I mean?"

At your table, Ophelia's fanged teeth show. "Dalt took his arm."

At your table, Erika says "Over?"

At your table, Ophelia shrugs, "A disagreement, I guess. They'd had words a few times, and then they had a brawl, right here in the bar."

Dalt indicates the far wall table for Lisle.

At your table, Erika says "Ah."

Trump Scrying has arrived.

Lisle, still shivering, glances where Ophelia and Erika sit.

At your table, Ophelia says "It was Solomon who led the assault on Myal, and laid it to waste."

At your table, Erika runs a hand through her hair.

Pattern Lens has arrived.

At your table, Erika says "How're you otherwise?"

At your table, Ophelia says "I'm all right. I'm glad Dalt's home again."

Solomon's gaze meets Erika's for a moment, before he shoves a stool aside and out from the bar. The wood creaks in protest as he settles his bulk onto it. He absently scratches an apparent itch in the small of his back, though a careless obsidian finger might have dislodged the safety on his firearm.

Solomon sits down at the bar.

At your table, Erika says "Yeah."

At your table, Erika says "I just got my learn to bend the universe to my will lesson # 1."

At your table, Erika chucks some dice on the table, looking less than amused.

Erika chucks a pair of bone dice on the table in front of her with a flick of the wrist. Her look is, well. Not amused.

At your table, Ophelia gives the dice a curious look. "Dalt taught you?"

At your table, Erika says "No, is. He wants me to figure it out."

At your table, Ophelia wrinkles her face up in a grimace. "That sounds like Mallik, my teacher."

At your table, Erika says "You throw dice with the logrus?"

At your table, Ophelia shakes her head, "Never. But he makes me learn everything I know on my own."

Pattern Lens sits down at the bar.

Ryker appears suddenly.

Ryker has arrived.

Ryker, hands on hips, sniffs. Generous lips purse as he glances down, then at the mirror.

At your table, Erika says "I think I'll figure it out."

At your table, Ophelia says "So what exactly is the point of the dice? How do you throw them with the Pattern?"

At your table, Erika says "Make them come up the same every time."

At your table, Erika says "Apparently I can will it sometime."

At your table, Erika says "Somehow, too."

Solomon mutters something to the bartender, who rummages for a moment before filling a pint glass with a particularly dark brew. He deposits it in front of him, before returning to his duties.

Ryker heads for the balcony stairs after giving his order to a server. Violet gaze cast over Dalt and Lisle as he ascends.

At your table, Ophelia's eyebrows raise and her doubt of that is thinly disguised. She shrugs, though, and looks away from the dice. "So what else have you been up to?"

Ryker walks up the staircase to the balcony.

Lisle rises as Dalt does. To him she curtsies; urbane and polite.

Dalt stands and leaves the table near the staircase.

Lisle stands and leaves the table near the staircase.

At your table, Erika says "Working on the navy. Getting creeped out by the twitchy dude over at the bar who was mentally undressing me earlier. Working out. Smoking."

Dalt takes the few short steps to rejoin his family.

Dalt sits down at the table on the far wall.

Dalt joins you.

Lisle walks toward the bar, finally taking off her gloves. She sits next to Dwight.

Ryker sits noisily.

Lisle sits down at the bar.

Ryker orders a dark ale. The bartender hands it to a server who takes it up the stairs to the balcony and sets it before him.

Lisle lifts her eyes to the balcony, a tremulous smile for Ryker.

Ryker peers some.

At your table, Ophelia glances at the bar as Dalt sits. She asks Erika, "Which is the creepy dude?"

At your table, Erika says "Said his name was Peter. No matter. I'm more concerned by these fucking dice."

At your table, Erika picks them up and rolls them again.

Dalt has a server bring him a short glass of bourbon on ice.

Erika picks up the dice at her table and rolls them again. The resulting look is sour.

At your table, Dalt snorts at Erika.

At your table, Ophelia settles back in her seat, hands sliding off the table into her lap.

Ryker gestures vaguely, drinking and watching below.

At your table, Erika's slender fingers take the dice, rolling again. Still no dice, ha ha. She lights another cigarette, glancing and looking at the husband and wife.

At your table, Dalt says "Practice the dice when you are alone, Erika. No distractions."

At your table, Dalt says "Feel your innards."

At your table, Dalt says "It will come to you."

At your table, Erika looks at Dalt, half suspiciously and half of some disturbing value of Amberite fondness, before reaching to take the dice. "Right."

At your table, Ophelia touches the edge of the table with the suddeness of a forgotten thought remembered. "Dalt. I forgot to tell you something yesterday."

At your table, Dalt says "When you feel it, broaden your manipulations. Try card games. Anything you like."

At your table, Dalt then looks to Ophelia.

At your table, Ophelia's nails picks a splinter out of the table edge. "Jasra is holding for you a shadow of yourself, that someone was trying to auction off in Begma. I asked her to, until you decide what you want done with it. Kill or set it loose or whatever."

Solomon drinks, monitors the bar behind him through the mirror.

At your table, Dalt says "My shadow."

At your table, Dalt says "Who was auctioning this shadow."

At your table, Ophelia says "I don't know where it came from. It looked just like you. I didn't get the guy's name." She sits up a little straighter. "But Ryker was there."

Dalt turns a slow gaze over his shoulder towards the balcony.

At your table, Erika says "That sounds fucked up. I mean, why would someone want a shadow?"

Dalt calls out "Ryker." to gain the man's attention.

Ryker gives it, easily enough.

Dalt says "Word is some rube auctioning my likeness."

Dalt says "Reports place you there."

Dalt says "I wanna know who this fool is."

Ryker doesn't look particularly concerned, eyes shifting to Ophelia before he answers. "Words and reports - in this case - are accurate. As for the fool, he was merely a front man. That was obvious enough."

Dalt says "Give me a name."

Ryker returns with practiced neutrality, shifting some in the chair, "Give me a reason."

Dalt says "If this fool no ally of yours, would consider it a minor favor. If he your buddy, I'll spare him."

Peter spins on his barstool without warning. He hops down.

Peter stands and leaves the bar.

Ryker gives that due consideration (after getting off the phone). "Fair enough. The rube was Brian, but a shadow version of my long gone right-hand man. You may remember him - he broke your arm once. So someone must have shadow found him. Just who did, I couldn't say, and I'm only the slightest big curious myself."

Solomon's gaze snaps towards Peter, watching him, eyes narrowed.

Ryker adds on, "I had vague hopes Jasra would find out. But she did not."

Lisle also watches Peter go, her own glance hooded, hidden by the steam from her closely held cup.

Dalt asks "You got any attachment to this duplicate of Brian?"

Dwight says "Tater."

Ryker shakes his head. "No. It's not the same man."

Peter mumbles "What." "He fumbles in a pocket for a card. "Got to go home. Got go home and eat. Losing...losing...my feet. Losing..."

Dalt nods slightly. "Minor favor it is. Figure you can keep track." Dalt turns back to his table.

At your table, Dalt says "This Brian was a Hendrake. Correct?"

Dwight nods to Tater, commenting. "The path does not walk itself. Feed. Be well."

Peter mumbles "Come, will you? Later."

Lisle watches Peter. Not quite staring.

At your table, Ophelia nods, "Yes, he was. Adopted, sort of. Oathed, yes, a Hendrake."

At your table, Erika shakes her head out of some daze.

At your table, Dalt says "Investigate someone that would use his shadow or form."

At your table, Dalt says "Start with those at the auction."

Ryker pulls a knife from his boot and uses it to scratch a quick mark into the side of the balcony's railing. Returning it, he leans back again, attention spread out.

Dwight assures Peter, voice calm and brisk. "I will."

At your table, Ophelia nods, "Okay. I can do that."

At your table, Dalt says "Erika."

At your table, Dalt says "What is the status of your mama's chaosian house."

At your table, Erika says, "Tinzien? I don't know."

At your table, Erika says "I haven't tried to see them."

At your table, Dalt says "Find out. If they still active in politics find out their disposition towards me."

Peter tries to make the card work for quite a while before it finally does work. Of course, his focus isn't all that good, and his hands have a tendency to shake.

At your table, Dalt says "If you need a guide in Chaos Ophelia will help you."

At your table, Erika bites her lower lip. "Okay."

Peter moves forward and vanishes, leaving behind a rapidly fading afterimage.

Peter has left.

At your table, Ophelia's smile has an 'I told you so' cast to it as she glances at Erika.

At your table, Erika says "I'll see what I can do. So, I'm like, definitively your go to gal?"

At your table, Erika sounds half hopeful, half nervous.

Dalt swallows some bourbon, sucking the last sip through his teeth.

At your table, Dalt says "You are my second, Erika."

At your table, Dalt says "Nothing more, nothing less."

At your table, Erika says "Noted."

Dalt sets his glass down and digs in his coat pocket.

Scott appears suddenly.

Scott has arrived.

Dalt offers Erika some small item.

Solomon taps the rim of his empty glass with an obsidian encased finger, a chime drawing the bartenders attention. A nod sees it refilled momentarily.

At your table, Dalt offers Erika a ring identical to Ophelia's. "Your mama's ring."

Scott appears in the balcony. He slips away his card and looks around.

Ryker glances at Scott.

Scott blinks at Ryker, "Sorry, man. Didn't know someone was up here."

Erika looks at Dalt, for a moment. She grabs it almost too quickly, whatever he was offering.

At your table, Erika snags the ring, unsure whether she should have moved that quick; too late now. She looks at the ring, fumbling it with her fingers before stabilizing and admiring it.

At your table, Dalt says "She wore it many years."

At your table, Dalt says "I expect you to wear it longer."

Dwight rises from his stool, putting out a hand.

Scott walks up the staircase to the balcony.

Emily appears, grasping Dwight's hand.

Emily has arrived.

Dwight tells Emily, "I did not know."

Emily comes through on Dwight's hand and answers his own answer with, "Huh."

Emily takes stock of who and what is around her, squinting some at the further reaches of the bar.

At your table, Erika bites the ring, then, slowly and harsh; that couldn't have felt good. She looks at it one last time then slips it on, flexing her hand afterwords.

Lisle is sitting near Dwight.

Emily gives a nod to Ryker if he looks her way, and another to Ophelia. Then she joins her brother at the bar, expression neutral.

Emily sits down at the bar.

At your table, Dalt looks at Ophelia, his expression gaurded from Erika.

Dwight looks down at Emily, thoughtfully calm. He retakes his seat.

At your table, Ophelia smiles slightly at Dalt, but is quiet.

            Her straight brown hair is pulled back from her face in a long, loose braid, tied at the end by a bit of green ribbon. Her forehead is too high and her jaw a little too stubborn, but her

Erika slips on what is probably a ring, looking at it and flexing her hand.

At your table, Erika says "I'll wear it longer, unless it's removed from my dead body beforehand."

Lisle then reaches for her gloves.

At your table, Dalt says "Don't die. It'd piss me off and I would hire a sorcerer to torment your soul."

At your table, Dalt may or may not be kidding, its hard to tell.

At your table, Erika looks at Dalt, her eyes absolutely laughing. Her teeth show in a violent grin.

Lisle stands and leaves the bar.

Lisle says, "Good day to you, too, Dwight and Emily."

Lisle folds her gloves, putting them in her coat pocket.

Emily gives Lisle a fairly formal little nod.

Dwight dips his chin at Lisle.

Erika starts laughing at something, then, slender fingers digging and runnign through long hair as she tilts her head back and, well. Keeps laughing.

Lisle lifts her eyes to the balcony, to Ryker. She's nearly smiling.

Solomon's gaze follows Lisle in the mirror, and he says, "Good day. Take care where those feet lead you."

At your table, Dalt gets distracted by a trump contact, his eyes going distant and turning away.

Pattern Lens has left.

Ryker nods faintly.

At your table, Ophelia picks at lint that isn't actually there on her skirt, watching Erika a little oddly out of the corner of her eye.

Lisle says, "I shall," to Solomon, then walks toward the corner.

Lisle heads to the corner behind the stairs, and disappears in a blue glow.

Lisle has left.

At your table, Erika covers her mouth with a hand, clearing her throat delicately and slowly composing herself.

At your table, Dalt returns his attention. "Something has come up. Ophelia and I must go. Work your dice, Erika, see me in the morning."

At your table, Dalt says "We will traverse some shadows."

At your table, Erika says "Take care, you two."

Mortis walks in, the door showing a dark street littered with garbage, just before it closes.

Mortis has arrived.

Dalt stands and leaves the table on the far wall.

Dalt has departed.

Ophelia stands and leaves the table on the far wall.

Ophelia has departed.

Mortis brushes dust off of his sleeve as he enters.

Dalt reaches for Ophelia, removing a trump..

Celestrina has arrived.

Celestrina moves toward you, growing more defined as she approaches.

Ophelia steps to his side, looking over Dalt's arm at the trump.

Solomon's gaze shifts, observing the activity at the table on the far wall.

Ophelia has left.

Dalt moves forward and vanishes, leaving behind a rapidly fading afterimage.

Dalt has left.

*Erika lazes at the bar, then eventually books*