corwin_rta

What Are Brothers For?

2009-05-14T02:55:19Z

Corwin says, "Are you okay?"

Brand says, "No. This buzzing is making my head hurt."

Corwin says, "Would you like some heroin?"

Brand says, "Yes, it might help."

Thanks

2008-09-13T17:52:35Z

So, enough time has passed, and enough OOC cues are out there (like the transfer of the Crown prop to the RPG_System), that I feel comfortable making this post without fear of spoilering.

I want to thank everyone at RtA for their contributions to my experience during the year (give or take) that Corwin ran Amber, first as Regent, then as King. I was continually impressed by the quality and courtesy of the players with whom I interacted, as well as the responsiveness of the staff. It was, as a whole, a very fun experience for me.

I hope that I was able in some way to make it fun for you, as well. I tried very hard to play an authentic King... one struggling with the values he developed on Earth and the uncomfortable things he learned about Amber's past and foundations, but still very much a King who had to take steps to consolidate and maintain power, and deal with various threats to the realm at the same time. I'm hoping that, even if you weren't always happy with the things Corwin did, and even if your oxen were gored by him, your play was more interesting as a result.

They always say leave 'em wanting more. I can't speak for anyone else, but I know that from my standpoint, I was able to leave the throne in a way that leaves ME wanting more... I have long-term ideas and am eagerly looking forward with playing with people, especially those that, for various reasons, were estranged or isolated from Corwin while he actively ruled Amber. Even in a virtual Kingdom, power does tend to isolate, because almost everyone you encounter ICly seems to want something from you, or to replace you. I'm looking forward to exploring different aspects of the Corwin character in the future where I can focus more on the person and less on his job.

As for that future. Helix's +bbpost admonishment regarding reacting IC still remains sound. Corwin did not abdicate, at least to anyone's knowledge, and whatever else he DID do to provide for his departure is something that can be learned (and possibly obscured) IC. It is fair to say that in the near term, I have no OOC intentions for Corwin to try to reassert his rule. I do not rule out his being drawn back into Amber politics by other characters but that's not my goal. Beyond that... well, I guess we'll have to see where the IC leads us all!

Tea for Two

2008-09-04T18:25:50Z

Here is a log of Corwin and Benedict from a few weeks back. It has now been declassified and released under FOIA.

http://corwin-rta.livejournal.com/7153.html

Tea for Two

2008-08-12T02:44:54Z

Corwin seeks out Benedict to grill him on some ancient secrets, and instead the two find out other things.

Corwin trumps Benedict...

The image of Benedict is definitely in the lower city somewhere, and looks fresh as a daisy, although he is pausing for a cup of tea.
"Corwin." His voice is a touch hoarse.

Corwin stands just inside the door of his suite. He looks to see where Benedict might be, nodding to him.

To the image of Benedict, Corwin says, "Benedict. We need to talk."

The image of Benedict asks, "Here?" as if he does not want to give up where he is.

To the image of Benedict, Corwin shrugs and says, "I have some questions about things that happened before I was born. I am hoping that you are ready to be straight with me about them. If you are, then we should probably talk in private. If not... then I suppose we need not waste each other's time at all."

The image of Benedict looks rather irritated. "The matter falls as to whether I /remember/ them, Corwin. But other than being in the open, this spot is private." He looks around reluctantly.

To the image of Benedict, Corwin says, "All right, then." He extends his hand. "I'll come there."
RPG: Benedict offers to pull you through. Use '!accept' to go.

You reach forward and grasp Benedict's hand.

--[ The Great Lift (Lower Platform) ]-----------------------[ Amber City ]----
    The Great Lift of Amber City is the sort of elevator that only raw
    determination and a great deal of ox-power can accomplish. It is a
    complex, dangerous set of platforms and pulleys, and a set of spokes
    onto which sturdy, shaggy oxen have been slaved. It is used to move
    heavy cargo that comes in via the docks into the city above.
    Surrounding the lift proper is a warehouse district, kept in good
    repair and often guarded privately by the warehouse-owners.

    Harbor Road lies to the east, and leads to the harbor district and the
    docks proper. To the south lies the Little Market, the maelstrom of
    trade and poverty at the heart of the lower city. To the west, the
    road becomes Canal Street, an often-narrow narrow thruway of
    ill-repaired cobblestone that leads into, and through, the City Below,
    the lower district of the city nestled in the shadow of the cliff.
    Benedict and Corwin are here.
--------------------------------------------------------[ Exits: S E W U ]----
RPG: The Trump contact ends.

Benedict gives the arm without tea, carefully. He is standing in a spot that overlooks much of the lower city, thanks to a well-placed square and a good slope.

Corwin looks rather grim. He gets right to business, saying, "Benedict, what is it you want from me?"

Benedict says, "I don't want anything from you, and there's nothing you can offer me."

Corwin says, "What do you want to see happen to me, then."

Benedict says, "I don't actually give a fuck."

Corwin nods at that and says, "What do you want to see happen to Amber?"

Benedict says, "Survival. That is why I am trying to keep out of your way."

Corwin says, in a very matter-of-fact tone, "That's not going to be good enough." He looks around for someplace to sit.

There are fragments of wall nearby, remnants of a shattered building. "Mm," says the General without a job.

Corwin heads over to one of those fragments and does sit. "I've been working every angle of our situation, Benedict. You and I, we can see when a line is going to collapse, far before it actually does. And I know -- and you must know -- Amber cannot stand. It may be months... maybe years, maybe decades. But unless something changes the rules of the game, we are doomed."

Benedict says, "Yes. I can see it - but anything I could do will only hasten that."

Corwin says, "Do you want to rule, Benedict?"

Benedict says, "Hell no." He gives Corwin a disdainful look. "You may be realising by now that the question equates to something along the lines of crucifixion, save with the singular oddity of others fighting for a place on the cross."

Corwin nods slowly. He says, "Father made you do some horrific things," after a long quiet.

Benedict says, "Cry me a river," but he is smirking, making a joke as much against himself as against the world.

Corwin says, "Do you think it is all worth it? Is Amber worth the price he paid? Or the checks he wrote, leaving us to cash?"

Benedict says, "I made that decision before you were born. It is. Because it made us, I am loyal to it. It might break down to something a little more complicated if I wrote a thesis on it, but Amber is the way of life that /is/ us."

Corwin says, "Before I was born... That brings me back to my questions. You, and your brothers. You have fought these forces before."

Benedict looks down at his tea. "I have very few clear memories of that time. Something happened that left me badly injured, I think - if I was involved as more than a child, I do not recall it."

Corwin says, "I lost my memory. The Pattern restored it."

Benedict says, "I've walked the Pattern many times since then, but until recently was hardly even aware I might have lost those years. I suppose anything between ten and four hundred, although I barely even know how I'm calculating that."

Corwin says, "If I were your lieutenant, and you were sending me to battle, I know you would equip me with every bit of knowledge you might have to help me prevail."

Benedict snorts. "If I had any, I would. Don't think I haven't tried, but starting with-" He cuts off what might be bitterness, and thinks a bit further. "No. If anything occurs to me, I'll let you know. But don't hold your breath." He tends not to talk in the phrases others use unless unhappy with something, and now he is taking refuge in all sorts of tropes and vocal habits.

Corwin says, "What?" He looks at Benedict, probing. Not angry, not hostile -- just intent. "What are you holding back? I _know_ the forces of the Black Road are here to avenge what you, your brothers, and father have done to them. There _must_ be things you know."

Benedict replies, "Well, what you've just said is news to /me/, Corwin." Being him, he does not ask for sources, although he obviously wants to.

Corwin says, "Then maybe you can use that 'news' to think about it." He stands. "You know something? I wanted the Crown all my life. As you can probably guess, I now know my reasons for it were the wrong ones. And I know I'm probably not the right person for the job. I'm not sure there _is_ a right person for the job." He looks around and takes a deep breath. "What a fucking mess."

Benedict nods, and offers Corwin his tea. "There is a right person," he says with something like sympathy, "But it's not you."

Corwin says, "If you mean Dad, I'm not sure you are right, and I'm damn sure it doesn't matter. He's gone, and he's not coming back."
Corwin takes the tea.

Benedict shakes his head. Sugar must be short in the docks, as the tea is not army-sweet. "He's gone, but I still regard him as King. That's why you can't give me anything."
Benedict is still sympathetic, and any bleakness is directed inwardly.

Corwin says, "I'm not trying to give you anything. I'm not trying to buy you off." He shrugs, taking a sip of the tea. "All the trappings, they are necessary to keep a lid on the people, but they don't mean a thing when the foundations are rotting away. I don't know why you can't pay lip service to them, but I don't much care, anymore, either."

Benedict says, "Because if I did, I ... well, if you don't care, don't worry. What /did/ I do against the forces of the Road?"

Corwin tilts his head. "Maybe I do care... a little." He smiles just a bit. "Enough to wonder what your problem is with me, anyway."

Benedict says, "If I were to pay any sort of service, it would be after thinking about the name in question. My problem with you is based on your actions, which indicate to me that you are not the man you should be. The guns - I told you not to make Avalon your staging post... And other things. Eric. But you're changing. I still like you - I just no longer believe in you."

Corwin says, "I suppose that makes two of us. Except I'm on the fence about liking me." He takes another sip of tea. "As for what you did... I believe that you invaded these people, and waged some sort of war that might be described as a sort of genocide."

Benedict says, "Aaah. Yes, I suppose so - I think I said something of the sort to Fiona, of late. I..." And he shrugs. "Nobody prosecutes a winner for war-crimes, save the most advanced of societal democracies. I know I have a plan-book somewhere for the wiping out of shadows."

Corwin says, "Apparently it was drafted after this operation. If they'd been wiped out, they wouldn't be at our doorstep." He throws out the words in a casual fashion, but stumbles on them just a hint.

Benedict reaches out for the tea. "Execute someone," he says. "It doesn't matter who, but you need more trappings." Somewhere in those last four words is a hint of disapproval, probably at past choices. He is doing his best to keep it to a minimum.

Corwin says, "Perhaps. I'm sure someone will give me cause soon enough." He finishes off his tea.

Benedict probably does not take it as a threat, although he looks at the empty cup rather ruefully. "I'll assume you know more than I about the insects in the harbour," he says in case there should be a contradiction on the cards. "Have the Karms been alerted officially?"

Corwin says, "I know what Deirdre told me, which is that there is some evidence that the bugs were gated in somehow. She is coordinating the response and, I think, will probably do a good job at it. As for the rest of it, I think that there is critical intelligence somewhere in that 10 to 400 range you talked about. Maybe the only valuable intelligence that is out there."

Benedict says, "I was sent away for my own safety, I think." He is talking a little more easily now there is a different atmosphere between them, but he still has a lot of frustration in his voice. He hates not knowing. "A school something like the later public schools, for the sons of Princes and Generals. An institution that was surprisingly modern, given that the term 'modern' is so recent. There was something called the Beast, that everybody feared. And I must talk to those who woke me, on the day my double came from Tir. There was someone there who said I was remembering."

Corwin takes it in, listening, considering. He says, "Do you think he did it to you? Destroyed your memories?"

Benedict says, "No - his weren't mine. We parted ways when I decided what to be, and the Tir form of me took that path. Rather nerve-racking to think that the price of remembering that decision was having it walk down in the flesh. I have to hope it is the other way around."

Corwin says, "I think we are... I think we are talking about different things. I am asking if you think Father destroyed your memories."

"Aah. Pronouns can be tricky things... I do not know, but the timing of the way I am recalling things indicates it is possible." Benedict reaches his hand for a cigarette case, looks at it for a moment, and decides against a smoke. Back in his pocket it goes.

Corwin says, "Usually trying to remember never works. But if it was an intentional thing..." He shrugs. "Perhaps a Mandrake could help? Or someone with knowledge of the Pattern?" He pushes himself up from the wall. Now it's his turn to emote some sympathy. "There will likely be some things you don't want to remember."

Benedict says quietly, "Most certainly. However, they are also turning up as a matter of course. I can date the point I killed my friend Rodney, wiping out the last of that family, and I can put into order a lot more of my childhood than recently - it seems to be more a matter of recovery than attempt, and occasionally I have an idea that sparks something. But I know what I am already. I have fought with that for longer than I have studied war."

Corwin says, "We cannot escape what we have done, but that does not make us who we are. Or who we have to be." He looks at his brother now in a way that is slightly, but measurably, different than in the recent past. "I should get back to the trappings, I suppose."

Benedict says, "Not what I meant," but again any darkness is directed against himself. "You know I don't wish people luck - but if you don't get me more tea, you may find yourself requiring it." Although he never makes empty threats, he is known to like Assam with milk and sugar.

Corwin says, "I already require a casino's worth of luck. But I'll see what I can do."

Benedict looks back over the lower city, and calculations are already beginning. Time and motion studies, how to get to the bugs, whether there will be napalm... He cannot help being a general even if he refuses to be a Field Marshal.

Surveying the Damage

2008-08-10T15:31:15Z

Corwin, back in Amber, calls on Julian so as to bear witness to the devastation in Arden.

You concentrate on Julian's Trump...

The contact with Julian comes like an icy wind.

To the image of Julian, Corwin stands somewhere in the Palace, on a balcony. He says, "Julian," looking around to get a sense where his brother might be.

The image of Julian is in soot covered leathers against a backdrop of ash and burned out trees, with only his eyes showing through the layer of black that's accrued. "Your Majesty. I hope that's the palace."

To the image of Julian, Corwin says, "I wish it it were Caesar's Palace, but unfortunately, yes. Bring me through? I'd like to see what's going on there."

The image of Julian looks around, looks at Corwin's lack of filth but shrugs and offer's his blackened hand.

You reach forward and grasp Julian's hand.

--[ Black Road Through Arden ]-----------------------------------[ Arden ]----

Everything here is on fire.

Corwin and Julian are here.

--[ watch ]-----------------------------------------------[ Exits: N S W ]----

Corwin comes through and, if permitted, clasps Julian's shoulder briefly before turning to look around.

The smell of fire is still here, and the sounds of crews can be heard in every direction, looking for sparks and flames that still burn. It is flat and blackened in every direction, so much so that the line of the black road hardly stands out at all.

Julian says, "We could use rain, if you have any in your pocket."

Corwin takes it all in. He says, "I suppose I do..."

Julian nods, "They'll be back, of course, but they're no longer entrenched here." The words are an explanation but the tone is a man justifying an action to himself.

Corwin echoes Julian. "They will be back, of course. They seek vengeance." He stares now at the Road itself, contemplative.

Julian shrugs, ash falling off him in grey flakes, "They'll find death. The old powers of Arden are beginning to awaken, and they are hungry."

Corwin turns to Julian. He takes a deep breath, then says, "What do you mean by that. Old powers."

Julian points over to an indentation, perhaps 5 or 6 feet across which, upon inspection, bears an uncanny resemblance to a footprint. "The Giant of Ull is awakened from his slumber, and goes to battle with an oak in each hand. There are others - beasts, dragons, a few gods I suppose. Ancient beings of Arden who will answer the Warden's call or who can be driven like animals to a purpose." He shakes his head, "Eric knew more of their names than I, but that changes with time."

Corwin takes that in, and stands in silence for a while, staring at the footprint. He eventually says, "So, yet another force comes loose... And another gaping hole in my knowledge is revealed." His hand strays to his chest. "Do you know anything of a war long ago, carried out by our three oldest brothers? A war of genocide?"

Julian considers for a moment. "Not specifically, though I know that Dad more or less cut a swath through the ranks of gods in Amber and beyond. Enough so to seriously depopulate the area and scare the crap out of the rest of them. Given how long ago that was, it might have involved them. Or it might not. But that's all I can think of."

Corwin nods to that, slowly. He says, "Benedict knows a lot he isn't saying. Fiona has called it 'selective amnesia' about his early days." He shrugs, looking around once more at the devastation. "You know, in the place of my exile, I used to go for long drives. I would just get in my car and drive, for days, all along the coast where I lived. Smoking, listening to the radio, or just putting down the window and letting the air blow in. And for some reason an image from those times has come back to me, and I can't seem to shake it."

Julian laughs. "I think the greatest curse of your exile is that it has given you a new lease on life. The temptations of youth are upon you once more."

Corwin offers a faint smile and says, "Perhaps, but this story is not... uplifting." The smile fades. "I was in this town called Easton. Not even in Easton, outside of it. This area is filled with rivers and inlets and the ground is very fertile. Lots of farms. And there was this large field, I guess someone was still farming the land itself. But in the middle of the field was a small farmhouse that, some years before, had been abandoned. Curious, isn't it, that someone would work the land but abandon the home for it? Anyway, it was surrounded by trees, brush and weeds, and covered with crawlers, ivy, vines. They grew not just up the walls, but in and out of the windows. Between the siding, prying out nails, breaking wood." He shrugs again. "It was the natural state of affairs. The land was slowly but surely restoring everything to parity."

Julian nods, and just looks around. There is no sign of pain in his expression, only the mask of self control, perhaps held a bit more firmly in place than usual.

Corwin says, simply, "Father did not prepare any of us to tend to his house."

Julian says, "I doubt he saw any necessity in it. Though I note, we have no witnesses to how it started out for him, so who is to say?"

Corwin says, "His reasoning doesn't really matter, anymore, does it?" He looks around once more and says, "So you want me to turn on the sprinklers, then."

Julian says, "Very much."

Corwin says, "All right. I'll do what I can." He walks away, not far, but enough to create a space of privacy, and he just stands there, concentrating.

Julian looks down as a single drop reveals a tiny circle of flesh on his hand. In the distance, thunder rolls.

Further thoughts on play

2008-03-18T17:31:13Z

Not long after Corwin became Regent I posted some thoughts on play, explaining a bit about how I approached things and why my play manifested the way it did. It was generally well received and so I thought I'd update it now that Corwin's gotten a promotion.

Corwin or Someone Else?

From my "Some Thoughts on Play" post in November:

"There are a lot of people in roles that are between Regent and everyone else. People like Culver, the Lord Exchequer, a very powerful bureaucrat; Connor, the Commander of the Black Gulls; Erasmus, the head of the Hounds; the various Military Princes; and let us not forget Florimel, who ran the Court under Eric as if she was his Queen, and who looks to be continuing in that role under Corwin. (This is not a comprehensive list.) If you try to run straight to Corwin when you have an issue, you may very well be cheating yourself, and some other people, out of interesting RP, while at the same time causing them IC insult."

And of course now there are many others. Llewella is now Exchequer (replacing Culver). Random heads the Foreign Ministry and Godfrey serves as Ambassador at Large. Addison is the Court Counsel. Dylan has a Letter of Marque that places him in charge of the Amber equivalent of the X Files. Lucretia is Royal Physician. And so on...

A full list of appointments can be found at http://crown.roadtoamber.com

As a general rule, if there is an appointee with obvious jurisdiction over a specific subject matter, you should try to seek out him or her first, rather than going directly to Corwin.

Smash-Mouth Politics

One of my MUSH peeves over the years has been IC monarchs who take interest in things that simply shouldn't be on their radar. Similarly, I do not think it is appropriate to take actions which, due to the imperfection of MUSH as a simulation of "real" politics, can be done relatively cost-free even though in reality the cost would be quite dear.

As such I try to always check myself, before reacting to things, to see whether it makes sense for Corwin to care, let alone to actually do something about it. And I will almost always err on the side of not getting involved, because by and large people don't want their play to be unduly interfered with. (If you do want to be interfered with, feel free to let me know!)

(Similarly, I try very hard to say "yes" to IC ventures that will give rise to play for people. This led to the nickname "Rubber Stamp Regent," but that's okay, because I think some good stuff came out of it.)

That said, against this basic backdrop, there are a couple of overlays. The first is, there are a lot of IC problems confronting Amber in the game, and Corwin has little patience for people who engage in conduct which is likely to divert Amber's resources from the main "battle fronts" threatening the realm. The second is, Corwin has fought quite hard for the throne, passionately believes it belongs to him, and isn't going to sit idle as people threaten his position. If you choose to venture into either of these territories, and aren't good at covering your tracks, you should expect aggressive reaction.

Storytelling Versus Openform RP

Here is my own personal view regarding storytelling versus openform RP. If you want to discuss a cool story that involves strife, and with an outcome that is limited in consequence, the time to do it is before-the-fact, not after you get busted or fail. If you venture into those territories discussed above, that's fine, but in my view that is also a conscious decision to accept whatever reasonably foreseeable (and likely harsh) consequences may come your way. This is to me a basic matter of courtesy.

The MUSH has a storytelling system in place to manage large plots that go beyond the limits of the basic conflicts system:

g http://roadtoamber.wikidot.com/storybuildin

If you have any questions or concerns about this, I'm happy to discuss potential plots in very broad terms or very specific ones.

The Time Factor

We all have to deal with RL. On top of that, on MUSH we have to deal with different other people's RL. Timezones, work schedules, access. Most larger issues that present themselves to Corwin require input from different people, ranging from a few to many. So it takes time to make things happen on his side of the ledger.

In contrast, often times people who are on the other side of a plot from Corwin do not need to vet their "next move" past anyone but themselves. As such there is often an asymmetry in plot pacing. Quick moves on one side, slow moves on the other. This can be frustrating, but at times is simply unavoidable. Please don't automatically assume a few days' delay is an IC response, and more generally, if it seems like I have dropped the ball in an OOC sense, please feel free to prod me.

The time factor also plays into the courtesy issue I raised in the preceding section. I spend a lot of time dealing with basic management and supporting the plots of others, and that is fine with me. Ditto being involved in plots that very clearly are going to create a lot of fun and play for a lot of people. Please be kind when you plan plots that are likely to consume lots of Corwin time, and do not hesitate to talk to me about your ideas.

Corwination

2008-03-15T04:10:13Z

Wherein a meeting of Amber's ruling elite (Princes, Dukes and Royal Appointees) turns into a brouhaha and then a coronation.

You walk towards the south.
--[ Music Parlor ]----------------------------------------[ Royal Palace ]----
    In the center of this modest-sized, sunlit room a late century
    harpsichord rests in the center of starburst loomed upon a rich,
    chocolate carpet. Surrounding the pearl-inlayed instrument is a small
    host of chairs and two couches, each simple in line but composed of a
    complex inlay of wood and mother-of-pearl. Bench seats with fluffy,
    forest green cushions rest beneath the bank of windows in the south.
    The sand colored walls are covered in hand-painted, stylized birds. In
    the evening, the velvet green curtains are drawn and the crystal
    chandelier above lit with over a thousand candles. Here and there on
    the wall, covered candle lamps perched upon brass fixtures.

    A single door, opening to a hallway, is the only entrance and exit.
    Addison, Carolyne, Connor, Corwin, Emrys, Erasmus, Flora, Martin,
    Random, and Rose are here.
--------------------------------------------------------------[ Exits: N ]----

Erasmus slips into the room, looking tired, and takes a habitually guard-like position off to the side. He returns Connor's nod with a brief smile.

Corwin comes in, looking tired and distracted. He manages a few idle nods and smiles.

Emrys has slipped in a few minutes previous and found himself a corner to hold up.

Carolyne is sitting on one of the benches by the south windows. She stands when the Regent enters.

Martin is quiet and standing somewhere near Random.

Random shows up a little late, and hurriedly. The gleaming brass arrow on his codpiece spins around the wheel of fortune with little metallic pinging sounds.

Connor's hand comes up in a salute to the regent - respectful, but not particularly crisp or military.

GAME: Flora changed the setting to: At present, the musical instruments have been pushed off to one side and draped with white tarps. Additional chairs have been brought in as well as a small self-serve bar with wine, brandy, and cognac.

Rose helps herself to a glass of cognac.

Isabelle comes in, not looking tired, in fact, her expression is no less full of verve as it is a half, dianalike smile.

A valet opens the door for Gerard, who sails in some moments later. Or, at least, his codpiece does. The man himself follows after.

Caine seems to follow Gerard, though has come from some other direction that does not involve codpieces. He's rather dressed down, actually, and moves to a seat apart, though by no means in the background.

Corwin clears his throat, moving to a place more or less in the center-front of the room.

Dylan nods politely to the assembled and quietly finds a space beside friends.

Rose nods politely to Caine and then to Dylan as she moves toward a chair.

Caine flashes Rose a conspiring grin, soured as he turns his attention to Corwin.

Corwin says, "Thanks to you all for coming. I've got a lot to tell you and it's all important. You are all likely to have a lot to think about and say about it all. But I'm going to ask that you hold your thoughts and comments to the end. First let's dispense of the easiest of the orders of business. The shadowpaths that serve us are crumbling. We are going to deal with it. I am creating a task force. A Prince or Duke will be at its head, but we will also need a capable administrator to see to day-to-day matters. I invite suggestions, and volunteers, to come forth after this meeting.""

Brand wanders in, and subsequently wanders to the back of the room.

Vialle walks in, but shortly steps aside, hand on a nearby wall.

Corwin says, "Okay, moving right along along. As you know, I brought with me on my return to Amber the news that Father was still alive. This was true, and may yet be still, but it's not all of the truth."
Corwin says, "When Oberon and I spoke, he -- in no uncertain terms -- directed me to take the throne. It has been under this authority that I have acted, and those who have criticized my actions to date have criticized also his Royal Will." He continues to speak, quickly but not too quickly, and voice clear despite his tired appearance. "I have followed his directions as best I am able, though it has not been easy or without cost. Cost to me, for sure, but also to others. And I have done as he asked of me, except that I have not go far enough. I did not immediately take the Crown he had given me, because it was clear on my return that Amber was too dangerously splintered. Because many simply did not -- and would not -- believe the simple truth of the matter, and others still would not care about the truth of it, because it was inconsistent with their own ambitions."

Corwin says, "And if truth be told, there is one more reason. Part of me hoped that Oberon would save us all a lot of trouble and come back, and deal with the things that beset us."
Corwin says, "Unfortunately for us all, he has not come back, and things continue to get worse. So, a week ago, I decided to make one last-ditch effort to find him. I walked the Pattern and asked it to send me to that place where Oberon was, when last we spoke. Gerard and Random were in trump contact with me, and were going to come through, along with several others, to help me out. Best laid plans and all that. I blacked out on the far side, and when I came to, trumps weren't working. Meanwhile, Gerard, Random and company got jumped by the Black Road. Anyway, I'll let them talk about that part later, but meanwhile, I am going to tell you what I found. It's going to take a while, because there's a lot going on we don't understand, and we need to get to the bottom of it all."

Julian comes here from the direction of the Entrance Hall - Royal Palace.

Corwin begins to describe, matter-of-factly, what he encountered.

NOTE: As shorthand, a link to this log was given: http://corwin-rta.livejournal.com/2334.html#cutid1'.

Julian's tardiness seems to trouble him not in the least, but he makes no great display of his entrance.

Random shifts in his seat as Corwin talks. He glances towards the door, rises quietly, goes over to Vialle, and guides her to a chair. His expression is impassive.

Vialle, purely by accident, discovers the Wheel of Fortune Codpiece almost instantly by almost running into it. Normally she's not the sort of woman to frown but she's frowning now.

Julian exchanges a few words with Gerard about something below waist level. Corwin's words seem of secondary interest to him until the halfway point. Julian is nothing but focused attention after that.

Caine listens with the slightly sour smile on his face, an expression which does not change with the additional details.

Carolyne stands by the southern windows, listening, face impassive. Her hands are folded before her abdomen.

Corwin concludes his tale by saying, "So, that's that, and I'm going to ask you all to think on it. If you know _anything_ that might help us figure out who it is we are fighting and how we can fight them, we need your help. Our situation reminds me of a quote, which is namely, 'We must all hang together, or we will assuredly hang separately.' Though here, instead of hanging, we're more likely to wind up stacked in parts in some gruesome display of Order. This is not a time to sit on secrets, however valuable they may be. Spend them now because in a few years, months or even weeks, they might be worth squat. Prince Dylan is the coordinator of Amber's investigations into the arcane forces assaulting us, so please seek him out. Anonymous tips are discouraged but accepted; stock tips are appreciated."

Connor looks like he's hearing something way, way over his paygrade.

Corwin smiles, and pauses for breath, and to survey the assembled group.

Dylan clears his throat and steps forward just enough that when his name is mentioned, people might recognize that he is the Dylan in question. He steps back, once that's done.

Corwin says, "And so with that, we return to the matter of business I alluded to earlier. It is now apparent to me that I can no longer delay in doing as Oberon has ordered me to do. In the coming days, I will assume Amber's Throne. This will come as little suprise to most of you, good news to some, and no doubt terrible news to a few. That said, no matter how you feel about it, I will expect you all, as loyal subjects of Amber, to support Kingdom and King."

Julian scratches his thumbnail on the stubble on his chin, and remarks "Horseshit."

From somewhere near Isabelle is a loud, "Woof!"

Caine's little smile blooms into full, and he glances back to Julian.

Random shifts his gaze to Julian. "Yes, I can smell it too. Scrape your boots the next time, huh?"

Rose rolls her eyes and takes a sip of cognac.

Corwin jabs a thumb at Julian and says, with a smile, "See?" He shrugs and says, easily, "As when I assumed the Regency, I will again pledge myself to Her, to give her my all in order to guide her through these times of turmoil, and to bring her back to days of halcyon and glory. And that's it. Just a few minor tidbits."

Martin conveniently manages to find an inconspicuous spot.

Julian says, "Are you entirely certain Eric did not, also anoint your brow? Wash your feet? It seems so long as you are willing to misuse his name for this fiction, you should go for the gusto."

Isabelle edges her way toward Dylan.

Caine returns to watching Corwin closely, his smile only a hint now.

Corwin looks to Julian, "I now realize there were traits in Eric I should have admired, but did not. That said, I act in the name of our father."

Emrys crosses his arms over his chest, but says nothing. He just watches Corwin.

Gerard tries to be discreet about undoing his codpiece straps and setting the massive pewter vessel out of view.

Julian says, "Who is also conveniently absent. I imagine that you have managed to find support from Osric and Finndo as well? Cymnea perhaps?"

Corwin ignores Julian, saying, "Does anyone else want to throw barbs? Or would someone instead choose to share information that can save us all from oblivion?"

Caine lifts a boot and thumps it onto a small table before him. The sole is notably lacking in horseshit.

Isabelle murmurs something to Dylan and then says, "Uncle Corwin. I'm not sure what you're looking for really. Is it a mass of small facts that might lead up to something important? Like the shadow paths eroding?"

Rose shrugs and looks around the room. "I've got nothing to add. If there is something I can do to assist..."

Julian turns to the room, "He is looking for fear, since fear drives the need for authority."

Corwin says, "Hope, actually, is what I'm selling."

"And perhaps a few pats on the back to spur him to acting in some way," Caine adds richly. "Momentum that he sorely lacks."

Gerard frowns. "I don't understand. We are fighting the Road, aren't we? I mean, no one's making that up. What would he be lying about." He scratches at his beard, confused.

Corwin turns to Isabelle, then, and says, "I'm asking people to think on what I've said. There's a lot there. Surely there are pieces to the puzzle that we need to gather. It may take time to sift through it all, I realize." And to Gerard, a smile, a nod.

Julian says, "Some of us more than others, Gerard, but that's true enough. But those enemies have not been enough a foundation for ambition. We need new ones, it seems."

Isabelle says, "Yes. And the shadow paths really are eroding."

Gerard's eyes widen. "We have new enemies?" He straightens, as if quite prepared to find them behind a nearby armchair.

Random takes Julian's bait. There's no love lost between them. "And what do you plan to do about it?" he asks challengingly. "I don't give a damn whether or not you believe Dad told Corwin to take the throne. What matters is, the realm needs a King. Are you going to stop him, or is this just grandstanding, huh?"

Julian looks over at Random this time and laughs, "Corwin's dog has more balls than he does. Perhaps _you_ should be on the throne little man? Or is reflected glory enough for you?"

"Let him take it," Caine says loudly, adding a shrug to the mix. "Without other options, he is the bottom of the barrel we scrape." He seems disinclined, however, to interfere with Julian and Random's argument.

Martin is glad he chose an inconspicuous spot, no one will notice him turning slightly pale at Julian's suggestion.

Random does not take this further bait. "You did not answer my question, brother," he says flatly.

Martin forms a cluster with Carolyne.

Corwin watches the exchange, quietly, impassively.

Rose speaks quietly to Addison. Her knuckles whiten as she grips her glass.

Brand clears his throat.

Corwin looks to Brand.

Brand says, "I believe Corwin on the matter of Oberon."

Lucretia enters, looking tired and gravitating towards the back.

Julian snorts, "That is because you have no comprehension of what you ask. To you a king is a hat and a chair. You are content to celebrate while others push papers and drink fruity drinks with decorative umbrellas. That is your place, and I'm glad your happy in it, but you say the realm needs a king?" He shakes his head, and the anger there is tempered by something, "You understand _neither_."

Brand gives Julian a look.

Julian does not return the look and tosses up his hands, "And the artist weighs in. That is almost as good as someone not here at all. Corwin's army grows."

Caine remarks, with infinite patience, "Task force?" in the manner of someone who wishes a meeting to get to it's agenda-bound end, and quickly.

Brand says, "I'm not done yet. But I'll give Julian a moment to wash the sand out of his undergarments if he needs it."

Vialle's head is turned to one side, listening.

Some angry retort is probably on Random's lips, but he defers to Brand.

Caine looks to the ceiling, then to Brand.

Gerard rumbles, "Hey now. Julian might be hitting a bit below the belt." And he gives his brother a look. "But it's not like he's not out there fighting the important fights with the rest of us."

Flora returns from the mini-bar with two glasses of brandy. One is offered to Caine when she passes by him.

Brand says, "Oberon would have said it to any of us. It has nothing to do with Corwin, really. While Amber has no king, the Black Road grows stronger. While the Black Road goes stronger, Oberon can not return. Hence, someone needs to take the throne."

Caine glances to her, a ready frown there, but takes the glass.

Carolyne arches a brow at Caine. Or maybe it was Flora.

Julian laughs and holds up a hand, "Thank you Gerard, but I think Caine has the most valid point of all. There is a task force afoot, and we've great need for a mission statement that we may properly synergies and leverage our assets." He nods to brand, "Let's get this project plan going. We shall consult our enemies back to hell itself!"

Caine smirks at his brother's words, swirling the drink rather than actually drinking it. He looks to Corwin, expectantly and sardonic.

Rose's glass cracks in her hand but does not shatter. Cognac runs onto her wrist and then to the floor. She places the glass on a table.

Flora continues back to her chosen spot, drink in hand. She looks to Corwin, lifts her glass to him, and sips.

Brand takes a step back. It appears he is done.

Addison reaches into his waistcoat and hands Rose a neat white handkerchief to clean up the cognac.

Dylan takes a breath. "With all due respect, your Highness, is your position that organization and strategy have no place in this current conflict?" His expression has a certain element of resignation to it - as if he quite expects to be flayed.

Isabelle reaches, patting Dylan on the shoulder with encouragement.

Corwin, for his part, is smiling as well. He says, "Don't worry, Dylan, Julian is just testing the waters. Perhaps not finding him to his liking."

Caine lifts his voice then, "And is this information you ask for two-way? For those of us who cannot attend the cluster meetings?"

Brand says, "His master has left, and the kennel is cold when the fire is rekindled nightly for him."

Julian says, "I find, young man, that they are poor substitutes for resolve and action." His tone is surprisingly patient, all hints of previous anger or sarcasm gone - he could as easily be explaining matters of archery, "And a good king is surrounded by men capable of committing themselves fully to the petty matters that allow the grand to move forward. It is the nature of things, and there is no shame in such pettiness. But it is not the place of a king."

Caine lifts his glass to Julian, though most of his attention is on Corwin.

Rose says, "Well, as he's still the Regent, perhaps he can be granted a pass."

Dylan, for his part, makes his nod something of a bow. "Yes, your Highness."

Julian bows slightly to Rose, "He is, indeed, well suited to regency."

Corwin looks to Caine and says, "I'm not sure what you mean by that?"

Brand says, "Neither Oberon nor Eric are coming back, Julian. Obviously, you are choosing not to back Corwin, but at least he is presenting a solution. What is yours?"

Random is more blunt. He turns to Julian. "Do you have some alternative in mind? Because if not, Corwin's the man. And you can shove it up."

Addison opens his mouth and then, wisely, closes it again.

Caine clarifies, "I mean that does one have to buy into the fan club to get the kind of information that would be helpful? I cannot see how quarterly group meetings such as this, with vitally important information, will help." He lifts an eyebrow, challengingly, to Corwin.

Julian looks genuinely pained, "Your brother, for all his poncery, would understand this, Brand, and I had hoped you might as well. That Random does not..." he shrugs at the inevitabilities of life, "There are matters better done not at all than done poorly."

Martin remains quiet. He takes a cigarette from a case and sticks it behind his ear to use later.

Corwin says, "Caine, your help is more than welcome. If that's what you are asking."

"It isn't, but I'll find my answers elsewhere, as usual," Caine replies, looking to Julian with an air of finality.

Llewella walks into the room without fanfare. A glance around, and she makes her way towards Flora with a nod to Dylan.

Emrys looks thoughtful as he goes to pour himself a tall glass of cognac.

Isabelle says, "We might man another effort to go down the black road. Past the sentinel."

Dylan offers his mother a respectful nod as she passes, then, brave or foolish, steps forward again. "I agree. It is better to do a thing not at all than to do it poorly." He looks to Corwin for permission.

Corwin nods to Dylan.

"I'm willing to tear Silverspire apart to find an answer if it's there," Emrys says, looking to Corwin. "But I can't do that and repair the Path at the same time."

Flora bends her head to Llewella, murmuring softly and perhaps filling her in.

Brand says, "Has all your time in Arden addled your brain, Julian? Or are you simply choosing to ignore what I said? If we don't put someone on the throne, we may as well tie a nice pink bow around the keys to the kingdom and have them delivered to Dara. Perhaps you'd like to be the messenger? I ask you again. If you do not back Corwin, what is your plan?"

Martin nods to Brand, he seems about to say something but refrains from it.

Dylan breathes. "So, let us do it -grandly-. Let us do it like it has never been done before. We speak, always, of shoring up the legacy of King Oberon's singular reign. And there is no question that he was a man unequalled. But what we have now is a unique opportunity for collaboration. A golden age is -not- outside our grasp. And if it is, then are we not compelled to reach further than we ever have before?"

Isabelle enthusiastically applauds.

Rose looks to Dylan as he speaks and her eyes widen.

Carolyne arches a brow at Dylan now. She's good at that.

Caine gives Dylan a flat look, and keeps it upon him.

Julian says, "Brand, if you're so damn smart that you understand the importance of the king, then you should be smart enough to know what happens if we put a _bureaucrat_ on the throne. Take two minute to think what that suggest regarding the current threat and the state of shadow, then shoot your mouth off." He stops at Dylan's remark and looks at Dylan again. "LLewella's brood, yes?""

Dylan nods. "Yes, your Highness."

Isabelle, who is standing beside Dylan, stops applauding when she sees Caine's flat-look.

Random says staunchly, "Corwin's not a bureaucrat."

Llewella, not to be left out, looks at her son with calm support.

Julian looks over at Llewella and a thin lipped slash of a smile crosses his features as he nods to his sister.

Corwin says, "Emrys, we'll do what we can to free you up to search the Silverspire. And well said, Dylan." He looks to Julian, then Random, and laughs. "Bureaucrat. I've been called many things, but that's a first."

Llewella's mouth quirks to the side in silent reply to Julian. She turns a little to Flora.

Addison has the calm look of someone watching a tennis match and mildly curious why no one is hitting anyone with furniture yet.

Carolyne looks sideways at Martin. Leans slightly away from him, as if to emphasize the look.

Julian shakes his head, "The boy's plan has merit, and the man you were would have been capable of at least shoring up the thrown, but I'll be plain enough for Random to understand. You have grown soft. You are a man of paper and lawyers and sycophants now."

Martin just shrugs at Carolyne.

Caine smiles at that, and lifts his glass once again. Mutely.

Lucretia lightly touches Erasmus' shoulder, then walks to her aunt, bending to murmur something to her.

Llewella steps a space forward. She lifts her brows at Julian, "Help me understand, brother. What are the qualities you seek in a King?"

Julian says, "Strength." He looks at Gerard thoughtfully for a moment.

Gerard's eyes widen. "I was only thinking out loud," he blurts. "I should stop doing that."

Llewella says, "Indeed, it does come in many shapes and vessels. Which sort had you in mind, Julian?"

Caine adds dryly, "Intelligence." He does not look at Gerard.

Julian says, "A king can turn to advisors for wisdom." After a beat, he adds, "Thankfully. But the strength to be loved or hated is a simple enough yardstick. Not to simply be tolerated or compromised upon."

"Seems to me, brother," says Random to Julian, "that the last time we fought, you were the one who was staring at the edge of a cliff with a pistol to his head. You feeling your Wheaties for another go?"

Gerard's expression shifts, neither convivial nor bumbling now. He remains silent for the moment.

Caine snorts, looking to Random. "And now, the trash talk from the hood. Wonderful."

Flora speaks then, her voice quiet and calm, "While you have been guarding Arden, Julian, Corwin has been seeing to the kingdom as a whole. Perhaps if you came out from the trees more often you might better appreciate the forest."

Julian snorts, "I shall not be king, I know that well enough. But Gerard is a better man than I. Caine and Bleys more cunning. Benedict wiser. Even Brand has his strengths. That Corwin is an able administrator I do not question, but that these men, these men of _greatness_ should yield way to such mediocrity? Let him put those talents to use for a better man and a better king.

Brand says, "Everyone. Shut. Up. We aren't going to solve this by talking."

Julian says, "My point precisely."

Caine's nod is almost sharp at Brand. "Aye." He sounds irritated.

Random, typically enough, doesn't obey. "And who do you propose this better man is, Julian?"

Julian says, "Random, you magnificent, malfeasant, misbegotten mistake of a man, will you shut up and think for just a _moment_. Even you should be able to see the board here."

Lucretia briefly looks reluctantly admiring of Julian's alliteration.

Corwin says, "It doesn't really matter, in the end, what Julian proposes. It should be clear that he's just trying to split us up, though to what end I cannot imagine." He looks to Julian, but continues to address the group as large. "He has no answers, and the point is moot. I have not asked Julian's permission to take the throne, nor anyone else's."

Llewella's eyes widen a little bit. She turns her head just a little, to look at Corwin.

Julian, deadly quiet, "It would appear otherwise."

Corwin looks to Julian and says, "I beg your pardon?"

Random glances at Gerard and frowns. One eyebrow might twitch the slightest bit upwards in question.

Julian's tone is absolutely level, "If that were so, you would bear the crown now. You wait, to _appease_. Because you are _afraid_. If you were as bold as your words you would already have the crown. The rest is foul air."

Caine looks up with stead interest at Corwin, with Julian's words.

Addison watches Corwin, looking drawn, with a /now or never/ look in his eyes.

Corwin says, "You bait me, Julian, and I do not know why. But I can tell you why I resist." He pauses, looks around the room, then back to Julian. "What besets Amber, I believe, is a force of vengeance. Vengeance for the way our predecessors ruled. I do not believe that baths of blood are the only way to get things done. I do not believe, either, that your blood need be shed, for me to wear a crown." He says, with total sincerity, "Do not do this, Julian."

Flora and her brandy glass head for the exit, storm clouds brewing in her eyes.

Caine simply says, "Just fucking do it, Corwin."

Llewella steps the other way at the same time as Flora leaves, creating a little space.

Julian sounds sad, "Whose vengeance?"

Rose's follow her mother's course through the room.

Corwin says, "Whoever has the power to hunt our father to the point where he cannot return to Amber. That's our enemy, Julian. Not me. Not you."

Julian says, "That is not what I asked."

Flora slips out.

Corwin says, "That's the whole damned point. Weren't you listening? We. Don't. Know. And if we don't find out, this stupidity that you are trying to pull won't matter one small bit."

Erasmus listens, his mouth a line, until the door opens a tad and a whisper from one of the Hounds outside prompts him to step out silently.

Julian says, "I know only one vengeance that great, and so do you."

Lucretia glances over her shoulder at Erasmus' departure; then looks back at the tableaux.

Random squints at Julian. "What are you talking about?"

Brand stands up on a chair, and says, "Everyone, quiet. NOW."

Caine leans to set his unsipped brandy down, cracking his knuckles and eyeing the door almost longingly as he sits back again.

Brand looks to see that he has everyone's attention, and then speaks. "We all understand someone has to sit on the throne. We all understand it has to be someone strong. I didn't choose Corwin, but Corwin defeated my choice. We need someone with anger. We need someone with fire. We need someone with daring. In the past months I have seen Corwin fight. I have seen him fight Benedict. I have fought him myself. I have hated him, and I have resented him, and I have felt him burn. Witness the chance he took to find Oberon. If anyone feels they have the strength to take the throne and hold it better than him, they should step up and do it NOW. Otherwise, you are just as weak as Julian claims Corwin is. If not, then I am ready to bend to knee to him."

Addison scoots a bit in Brand's direction just in case he needs to take, say, a punch for him. Just in case.

Llewella turns to Corwin, "We require a King with strength - intelligence, balance, who listens to advisors and thanks them as you have had the intelligence and wisdom to do. We require a King with nerve. Will you take the Crown?"

Julian's focus is on Corwin now, seemingly nothing else. "Even the fool sees it, but do you yet? Are your eyes healed enough?"
Random complains, "Just set a date for the damned coronation and let's be done with this."

Isabelle says, "Why not now?"

Martin seems in favor of -now-.

Caine remarks dryly, "Why not indeed."

Corwin nods and says, "Now it will be."

Brand gets down from his chair.

Addison scoots a bit closer toward Brand.

Julian turns and shouts, "One of you bastards bring me the damned crown!"

Llewella murmurs, "Legitimate, and a woman, but it should suit - sister?"

"The public pledges of fealty. The Crown is more than just holding the sceptre," notes Random. "I want to see the lords of the land gathered to bend knee to Corwin." He shrugs. "But hell, now will do for starters."

Flora steps in with the crown on the pillow and the sceptre held like she might beat the living crap out of someone.

Erasmus follows Flora, sword drawn. Sheathing quickly, he shuts the doors and stands there, guarding for egress with a face of proper stone.

Rose looks to the door and her eyes narrow.

Carolyne says, quietly, "The Duchy of Mandrake is present to do so."

Godfrey enters silently, taking a place at the back.

Addison finally speaks up and says, "If you are going to do this now, someone should at least say something that sounds official, your Royal Highnesses."

Julian, for some reason, spares Gerard as small smile, and places himself before Corwin, in Flora's path. "Unless it is your intent to crown yourself. Again."

Corwin watches Flora enter, with the crown and scepter. Then he looks around the room, meeting the eyes of all who meet his, as the reality of the situation strikes home.

Irene sweeps in, a little green about the gills.

Gerard rumbles, "Gotta admit. That had a certain amount of pluck to it."

Martin pushes away from the wall, "Rebma supports Corwin." He says quietly.

Caine glances to the door, and Flora, and smirks, looking back to Corwin and meeting his look.

Lucretia says nothing at all, remaining where she is. She glances back as the door opens, then returns her attention to Julian and Corwin.

Llewella closes her eyes, pained, at Martin.

Corwin looks to Julian, then, perhaps some realization dawning. He pauses, perhaps for any objection to his brother's proposal.

Flora stares at Julian and does not release him from her eyes as she lifts her voice and announces, "Good people of Amber, hear me now. Corwin will be crowned this evening. There will be drinking afterwards." Then her voice slips into a snarl, "Anyone fucking with me gets beat." She offers up the Crown to Julian, perhaps expecting him to do the right thing and bean Corwin over the head with it.

Random grins at Flora, in a rare moment of appreciation for his sister.

Caine stands, perhaps readying to hold Regents down. Or depart for a better party. It's unclear.

Llewella's lips twitch. She watches Corwin steadily.

Irene's smile flares. She folds her hands together, looking entirely pleased.

Godfrey rests his hand on the pommel of his sword.

Addison mostly wants to see if they're actually going to hold Corwin down or if he'll squirm out of their grasp.

Erasmus glances to Godfrey, uncannily, and watches him.

Brand's attention is already wandering.

Addison tries to bring Brand's attention back toward the actual coronation bit and says something quietly.

The crown is a delicate looking thing, all points and gems, but it is tougher than it looks, or so it must be, for Julian roughly closes his hand around one side and holds it, indecorously, blood running from his hand onto the floor. He looks at Corwin, "Do you see it now?"

Flora's knuckles whiten as her grip tightens upon the sceptre.

Random stares at Julian, as if the man's gone mad.

Godfrey's face is without expression. He watches Julian. His hand doesn't move from its resting place against the pommel of his weapon.

Corwin nods to Julian. He reaches out to take the crown from Julian's hands.

Llewella steps up by Flora. She does not fist her hands, but something in her posture suggests that she may as well have done.

Isabelle steps away from Dylan and makes her way toward her mother. Though she is dark haired, when near Flora, she looks more like her than different.

Julian holds up a restraining hand. "Some words are traditional, but I've little patience. Amber is sorely pressed on every side. Good men die every day, and things we don't understand press at our borders. Men will give their blood for this, to the last. So tell me now, who is responsible for this? On whose head does it rest? If we fall, who will those who remember blame?" He balances the crown in hand, eyes still locked on Corwin, looking for something, awaiting the answer, blood rhythmically dripping.

Corwin says with a clear voice, "It will be mine. Corwin."

Julian hands the crown over gravely, dropping to one knee as he does so, "Your Majesty." He might say something else, but it is too low a murmur to carry.

Corwin takes the crown, holding it in both hands for a moment, then quickly places it on his head, saying, "I crown me, Corwin, King of Amber!"

Julian says, "Long live the King!"

Irene sinks to her knees, head bowed.

Lucretia waits for Carolyne, nodding very slightly to her aunt, then moves to follow her example.

Erasmus drops to one knee by the door, echoing, "Long Live the King!"

Rose kneels.

Flora steps up beside Julian and takes a knee, offering the sceptre to Corwin. "Long live the King!"

Emrys draws his sword and puts the point tot he floor, going to one knee behind it with his hands on the hilt. His voice rises with the others in the common chant.

Martin kneels as well.

Dylan bends the knee.

Random draws his blade, and lays it at Corwin's feet. He, too, kneels, and echoes.

Carolyne sinks to one knee. Sometimes, pants are practical for a woman.

Addison glances at Rose and then also kneels.

Godfrey lowers himself to a knee, sweeping back his blade. "Long live the King."

Connor kneels hastily.

Caine lowers to one knee, his expression unreadable.

Isabelle, beside Flora, bends the knee also.

Llewella clasps her hands together, green eyes blazing for once. She takes a deep breath, and sinks to one knee, gown or no gown.

Corwin takes the scepter from Flora, favoring her with a smile, which fades as he looks around the room and watches the others.

George The Dog, when he is the only one standing, will self consciously radar his wily black dog brows from one side of the room to the other and self consciously lay down.

Brand kneels as well, just like he promised to.

Gerard waits till he is the last one left standing, save the newly crowned king (and George). "Don't screw up. No pressure, now." He grins and takes the knee.

Vialle, beside Random, also kneels.

Irene lifts her head, "Feldane wishes to offer an oath of fealty to the King."

Corwin's smile is replaced by solemnity. He nods to Irene and says, "I will take your oath with great pride, Duchess Feldane, but first hear mine. I swear by the Unicorn that I will rule with justice and strength, and do all there is that can be done for Amber."

Julian says, "Hear, hear."

Corwin says, "And now I bid you all rise. There's work to be done."

Carolyne raises her head, then to her feet.

Emrys rises, sheathing his sword. And not even in anyone's stomach.

Martin rises.

Brand pops up like a jack-in-the-box.

Caine rises, a quick clap of hands seeming to emphasize the work bit.

Random rises, picks up his blade, and sheathes it with a rasp.

Flora ever so carefully checks to make sure no one has kneeled upon her gown then rises.

Addison rises, brushes off his trousers and straightens his waistcoat.

Llewella rises without fuss; she looks over towards Dylan.

Rose returns to her chair and sits primly.

Julian raises and slaps his brother, nay, the king on the shoulder with words of encouragement. The blood is a minor oversight.

Lucretia rises to her feet, expression composed. She smoothes her gown down, glancing back towards Erasmus.

Irene finds her feet and brushes out her skirt.

Dylan rises and approaches his mother.

Erasmus stands, his posture proud.

Flora says, "If everyone will excuse me, the kitchen need direction and the cellars need opening for celebration."

Gerard brightens visibly at mention of cellars, though he's grinning quite broadly already.

Corwin says, "Hear hear."

Flora smiles up at Corwin and inclines her head. "Your Majesty," she murmurs, and in a rare show for her, actually backs carefully away until enough distance is achieved for her to turn and walk out.

Caine moves forward toward Corwin, his hands clearly in view for those pessimists and realists.

Addison leaves his current cluster and forms a cluster with Rose instead.
Addison wanders back toward Rose now that the majority of the Drama has ended.

Corwin nods to Julian, an acknowledgment, then looks to Caine's approach.

Julian bows to his majesty and returns to Gerard.

Lucretia flicks her hair back over her shoulders with a shake of her head, then turns to approach Erasmus.

Muttering to Corwin, Caine smiles, showing teeth. "... my help, though... constantly."

Isabelle watches her mother walk out.

Irene walks up to Corwin, waiting a respectful distance.

Corwin mutters to Caine, "... from wherever..."

Caine nods to the King and turns to weave through chairs, departing.

Brand rocks up and down on heels, looking at the crowd around Corwin.

Vialle also rises and stands back. She might be entirely missed.

Corwin looks to Irene and smiles.

Erasmus moves aside from the door, as people begin leaving, and talks low with Lucretia.

Brand murmurs... something strange under his breath.

Irene steps up to Corwin, curtseys rather formally, and keeps her voice low.

Erasmus glances up, gaze roving the room a moment.

Irene mutters to Corwin, "I... you my... although I... need... be said,... conviction."

Corwin listens to Irene, somewhat distractedly. His smile broadens and he says, "Thanks," to her, loudly enough for any nearby to hear.

Brand whispers to no one.

Muttering to Corwin, Irene adds, "... hope... about... Solaris;..."

Corwin nods to Irene, the smile fading.

Godfrey remains quietly at the back.

Julian produces a handkerchief and wraps it around his bleeding hand as he crosses the room. Departing Gerard he remarks, "I'm uncertain that's the word I'd use, but thank you."

Erasmus moves, his hand on his blade, to head for a better position of guard to the King.

Corwin looks away from Irene towards Brand, and gives a him a nod.

Isabelle makes her way toward her sister, Rose.

Irene spreads her hands in silent acknowledgement; she takes three steps back, as formal, and turns aside to allow the next person to wish the King well and offer support.

Julian joins Dylan.

Isabelle joins Rose.

Addison lifts a hand as Isabelle approaches.

Corwin nods again to Brand.

Brand smiles.

Lucretia looks at Erasmus, then turns, looking around with a little frown.

Emrys takes some steps towards Corwin, though does not complete the approach. He waits for some acknowledgement first.

Corwin nods to Emrys.

Brand examines a trump.

Llewella turns slightly, so that the crowned Corwin is in the background. Her brows lift, although Corwin is also about to leave, it seems.

Addison begins to pat down his waistcoat in search of his cigarettes and Begman lighter. His eyes are on Rose and Isabelle.

Brand concentrates upon a Trump, and begins to fade away.

Irene walks across the room to Carolyne and Martin.

Llewella says to the mirror, "murmurs, "Unlikely." She puts away her mirror and turns back to Julian and Dylan."

Irene joins Carolyne.

Isabelle mentions something to Rose and Addison, then makes her way out.

Corwin nods twice to Emrys, and then heads out, after exchanging greetings with anyone else who approaches him.

Corwin's Story

2008-03-13T05:10:04Z

Following is the story Corwin tells at the meeting... the internal thoughts are left in for your reading pleasure but are, of course, not ICly known. Similarly, Corwin does not use these exact words to describe what happened, but in all material respects describes the details in the scene.

At first it seemed like nothing was going to happen, but then there was a familiar twisting sensation, and you felt yourself starting to shift. But something went wrong - it felt like you slammed into a brick wall, and maybe blacked out. It's hard to say - you could have been out for a while, or even for just a few moments. Probably not long - your mouth isn't dry enough for that, but that's small consolation, since you seem to be sprawled out on the floor of a prison cell. Maybe 8 by 8, cinderblock and mortar by the look of it. The door is heavy wood, and what light you're getting is coming through the small barred window near the top of the door.

Corwin pulls himself to his feet slowly, reflexively dusting himself off and perhaps checking to see if all his parts are still there. Then, remembering his plan, he searches his mind and says, "Random? Gerard?"

The silence is profound.

Corwin tries again. Pauses. Then says, "Shit," apparently to no one in particular.

From somewhere outside the cell comes laugher - deep and masculine with a hint of bitterness to it. "Most certainly." The voice echos, as if bouncing around before reaching you.

Corwin looks towards the sound and then walks to the door and tries to pull himself up to look through the window.

The bars are too narrow for you to lean anything but a hand out, but you can see well enough. Outside the cell is a narrow hallway, lit by fluorescent lights overhead that buzz and flicker, adding a touch of the surreal to what otherwise looks like a dungeon. Across the way, and in each direction as far as you can see, are more windows and more doors much like this one.

Corwin drops back down and pats himself down: checking for his sword, his trumps, his pistol, the jewel.

Everything seems to be more or less intact. The prison, or whatever it may be, has grown silent again, save for the intermittent buzz of a light cutting in or out.

Corwin fishes out Gerard's trump, then, and tries it.

Nothing. Then some more nothing. Then more nothing after that. There's no way this is good.

Corwin puts the card away, muttering a silent curse, and draws Grayswandir. He calls out, "Hey, laughing boy. You still there?"

The voice echos again, still bitterly amused "I'm unlikely to be elsewhere for the foreseeable future."

Corwin now very quietly and gently tests the door handle, if there is one, covering the sound with, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"We are adrift upon the same raft, I fear, though we are hardly the first." The amusement fades some, and more seriously he adds, "If your people have prayers, best pursue them while you still have your strength. It is a tragedy for a man to be too mad with thirst to see to his own soul."

Corwin continues to test the door, saying, "Do you have a name, fellow traveler?"

The handle is solid enough. Good construction, could probably take some serious abuse. It would take some doing to see exactly how much. "Laughing Boy amuses me sufficiently to be apt. And what would you like to be called in my prayers?"

Corwin says, "Let's try 'Unamused,' for now. Let's move onto some more practical topics, like, where are we? And how long have you been here?" Eyeing the door now.

"Difficult to say, Unamused. No night or day to judge by. Two dozen sleeps perhaps, and two other visitors, both gone. And as to where..." You can't hear it, but it's clear the punctuation there is a shrug, "...in a trap, I suspect. I would hazard a guess you were hunting someone?"

Corwin says, "Hunting? No... Not exactly. Trying to help. But no good deed goes unpunished. Where are you from, Laughing Boy?"

"What the hunter does with his prey is his own business, but I find your philosophy admirably suited to the situation. I come from the Deep Green River Valley, but that is far from here. And you, Unamused?"

Corwin says, "Funny thing -- not too long ago I woke up in a place just like this. Judging from the lights, I wonder if I've come full circle. But as for where I'm from, I'll see your 'Deep Green River Valley' with 'Shining City on a Hill." He gets ready to kick at the door where the latch might be, then pauses. "Are there any guards, Laughing Boy?"

"A great many, I fear."

Corwin says, "In earshot?"

"Sometimes, but I suspect they observe remotely. It took a minute for them to respond last time a visitor tried to force the door, but the door was sturdy enough that he did not have a minute."

Corwin says, "How many showed up?"

"Half a dozen that I saw. They used a spear through the window, then a crossbow." A sigh, "He died well - better than starving."

Corwin says, "Huh. No guns?"

"Firearms? None that I saw. They seem locally defunct, or so the visitor who was here when I arrived said."

Corwin says, "Hmmm.... Do they come ever to open the doors? To feed us?"

"They do not."

Corwin says, "Hmmm... All right. Decision time, Laughing Boy. I'm going to bust out of here... Are you with me?"

The laugh, again, is bitter. "If you can get the doors open, I most surely am, but I warn you my hope does not run deep. But if you fail, I shall certainly pray for you."

Corwin says, "Here goes nothing." He kicks at the door, hard, aiming where he best thinks it might splinter.

The first kick does a good job of showing that the handle and lock are sturdy as hell, but the door is just not up for this sort of abuse. It deforms badly, splinters scattering, and the second kick ends this whole business decisively, the door flying open, clattering loudly as it swings into the wall. From two doors down comes something that might be a prayer, might be a curse, but either way expressing deep surprise. There's no sign of alarm yet.

Corwin moves carefully into the hall, looking for the door or doors that look like they don't lead to other cells. Also for anything obviously handy such as a keyring on a hook. He also tries to determine where Laughing Boy might be.

The other doors seems identical, but the hall is long, and far to the right, it terminates in a slightly different door. A quick peek into the other doors reveal empty rooms, though one or two have bodies in them. A hand, presumably laughing boys, is waving through the small window of the cell two doors down, human in shape, but blue. The doors look easy enough to open from this side. In the distance, rhythmic footfalls can begin to be heard.

Corwin tries Laughing Boy's door quickly to see if it opens from the outside, or can be unlocked. If the door does not readily open, he runs towards where the footfalls are coming from and tries to take up a position of ambush, next to the door.

The door opens easily. The figure who steps out has to stoop to exit. He's tall, taller than Benedict even, but similarly sparse of frame. He is dressed in simple pants and tunic, with what appear to be a pair of swords on his back, which he makes no move for, hands up in a clear indication of a desire to not make trouble. His skin is sky blue, and he is bald, possibly hairless, with swept back ears and eyes of solid black. His smile is odd to behold, but it's sincerity is absolute, "I'll be thrice damned, unamused, you're strong as hell for your size." The rhythmic footsteps grow louder - they're likely right outside the door now, and the blue man falls into step behind

Corwin with long, easy steps. As he draws a pair of slightly curved blades and takes position opposite Corwin, he says, "If you get there first, you may tell them my name was Nuadih."

Corwin grins and braces for whatever might burst through the door. "Corwin, here. But let's send these bastards to tell their names, instead."

Nuadih's laugh is interrupted by the door flying open. Two figures burst through, wielding spears. They are manlike, with piggish features, and the move in almost perfect unison, though that unison does not come with any great grace. They are entirely unprepared for what follows and go down without even time to shout. It is evident that Nuadih is capable with a blade, for his goes down almost as quickly as Corwin's. Two more figures were right behind them though, and while their perfect unison is interrupted by coming up short, they are at least ready to fight, each bracing a spear to engage one of the prisoners. Behind them, a larger figure, perhaps an officer, is drawing up short, still trying to grasp the situation.

Corwin slashes at 'his' guard of the second pair, with a mind towards rapid dispatch by any means possible in order to get to the fifth, behind. If bladework is not doing it quickly enough, he lowers a shoulder and tries to blast through, fullback style.

The guard's fighting style is stiff, overly formal, and Corwin's blade leaves an impression across his neck. Nuadih trades blows with his as Corwin comes face to face with the lieutenant, who has drawn his own sword. Whatever surprise has struck him, long practice or dumb luck puts his blade in the right place, knocking Corwin's first blow aside. Like his underlings, he seems a very formalized fighter - unlike them, he seems lightning fast.

Corwin says, "Surrender," to the lieutenant, while taking up a more careful position to fight him. Taking the Duncan Idaho view that it's best to forego opportunity for quick victory in exchange for observations that will make more certain one later.

It's possible the lieutenant doesn't understand him, but it's equally possibly he's just an opportunistic piece of shit. He seems to consider for a moment before striking, blade moving just on the inside of the vale of visibility.

Corwin moves to parry and, if feasible, counterstrike, saying, "I'll take that as a 'no.'"

The lieutenant says something, his language seeming crisp and precise, oddly out of place with so crude a form, but it's gibberish. He parries and ripostes in turn, his feet placed exactly right, but perhaps too exactly. His form may win points in the technical category, but he's left an opening anyone with real experience would see.

Behind you, the second guard gurgles his death, and the lights all flicker on at once, the humming stopping.

Corwin tries for the opening given, at the same time saying, "Uh oh..." Directed, if not aimed, towards Nuadih.

The blow strikes home. Less blood than you would expect, and more resistance, but he falls all the same. The path to the stairs up is clear as Nuadih steps up and asks, "Uh oh?" As if on cue, a single set of footsteps can be heard coming down the stairs, with no sense of urgency at all.

Corwin pulls his blade free, again moving to position near, but not too near, the stairs. If there's going to be another swordfight, no one will have the high ground. "'Uh oh,' as in, 'Uh oh, these feels like a setup. Right down to stage lighting." But he shrugs, accustomed to this sort of thing.

Eric has arrived.

Eric is looking well for a dead man, dressed in white and trimmed with gold. It's not a great color for him, as it bleaches him out somewhat. His silver blade is sheathed at his side, and his hands are bare. If anything, his beard and hair are more perfect than usual, but something about his eyes is...off. There is no hatred there, but no cunning either. Just flat assessment. His voice is correct in tone, but entirely wrong in cadence - too precise, too clipped, too mild. "Return to your cells, I do not have time for this interruption."

Nuadih looks to Corwin, uncertainty on his blue features.

Corwin's eyes narrow, reflexively, all the feel-good warm-fuzzy he-basically-died-for-the-good-of-Amber thoughts gone as if they had never existed. He stares at Eric, all the old hatred back, serving as a filter for the words, and tempered only by the suspicion that this may be no more than another simulacrum, only more realistic than the clockwork version. "What have you done to him, Eric." He points Grayswandir at him. "Where is Dad."

Eric's face twitches for a moment, a nervous spasm that seems entirely out of place with the calm facade. "The query is irrelevant. Furthers queries will be considered oppo..." He pauses, eyes widening fractionally then narrowing, and a hint of something - hunger, perhaps - "You have the tool."

Corwin, in turn, squints, staring the Eric-like man in front of him. "Oberon... Where is he."

Nuadih is moving slowly sideways, trying to get into a better attack position as subtly as possible.

Eric says, "Give me the tool and I will find him for you, and I will allow you to live out your natural span."

Corwin says, "What tool is that?" He, too, carefully and slowly adjusts position.

Eric says, "The Maker's Loupe. Now, or I will take it and my offer will be rescinded."

Nuadih makes brief eye contact with Corwin (or so it seems, hard to tell), waiting for his cue.

Corwin glances to Nuadih, a 'bear with me' sort of glance, and to 'Eric' says, "How do I know you'll deliver your end of the bargain? Where is Dad?"

Nuadih nods.

Eric's laugh is entirely wrong. Like a man who has had laughter explained to him attempting an imitation. "I do not have your capacity for deceit, abomination, but if I have the Loupe, I no longer need to find him."

Corwin says, "But if you have it, you can?"

Eric's reply is all sneer. "Trivially." There's that twitch again, though.

Corwin says, "Tell you what. Let's bring him here, and if he says to give you the 'Loupe', I will."

Eric shrugs. You did not see him move, but his blade is in his hand. "I have a more efficient solution." He takes a step.

Corwin says, "Wait... There's something you don't know." Meanwhile, he tries to 'think' Oberon here, focusing through the Jewel. He doesn't have much to go on, granted, but it's worth a shot.

Eric seems disinclined to slow down. Focusing on the Jewel is very nearly fatally distracting, but Nuadih step in, his blade intersecting with Eric's. The blue man barely holds his blade under the force of the blow, but he does not step out of Eric's path. But as you concentrate, the twitch has gotten more pronounced. _Something_ is happening, and in a few moments more, you feel like you might get through to something. But Nuadih is badly overmatched - he may not have those few moments.

Corwin considers for only the briefest of instants. Hard decisions -- this trip is about finding Oberon and the future of Amber. Something is happening and who knows if this is a one-time event. If armies can die for it, so can one prisoner, if that is his fate. Mouthing a silent apology to Nuadih, he opens up the floodgates and lets loose, more of the same, through the Jewel.

Nuadih's Blade breaks under the second blow, and he tries to shift to compensate, but Eric is too fast. As Nuadih parries the blade, Eric's free hand reaches out and seizes the taller man by the throat, and with no more effort than a man turning a glass to empty it, he empties the man. What was Nuadih simply falls away in neat piles of flesh, skin, fat and bone. Even the blood separates neatly, though it quickly pools, washing over the otherwise tidy remains. Eric merely steps over what was a man until a moment ago.

The Jewel responds, though the sensation is like being kicked from a direction you cannot sea - for a moment you see Eric, but superimposed on him are layers and layers of truth. You see his mass. You see the manner he displaces air. You see the manner of the weave of his clothes. Everything, more than your mind can comprehend, is visible for a moment. In that vision, two things sine brightest - a core of pure light, with no detail or information, and the webbing of the pattern, which it has overwhelmed until this moment. As if in sympathy with the Jewel, the Pattern you see surges, and your vision snaps back to the mundane, and none to soon. Your mind could not have handled that view for much longer.

Eric's sword clatters to the floor as he comes to a stop, hands going to his head. All smoothness is gone from his features - they are tense, with great effort, as he forces out the words, "Strike, you ass, strike!"

Corwin's eyes flash in both recognition and realization, and he lashes out with his blade, a thrust intended to kill.

The thrust strikes true. A good angle, the blade flat to slip between the ribs, clip one lung, pierce the heart and clip the other lung before a clean exit on the other side. It's a textbook strike, Benedict could not have done better, but something feels off. The resistance was wrong - to uniform, all smooth mass, none of the feel of organs giving way to steel.

Eric's face relax and looks relieved, closing his eyes as the blow strikes home.

There is a half a beat pause before it becomes apparent that Eric is not falling.

And that is all the pause Corwin takes before pulling free the blade and striking again. This time a slash at the neck, to decapitate.

Eric pulls his hands out of the way, and the blow strike again, but stops with a *thud* on the spine, as if the bones were stone. Eric's eyes open and he looks down the length of the blade half imbedded in his neck, pattern glimmering on its surface. With disgust he says, "Leave it in."

Corwin stares at Eric and his hatred is suddenly gone again. He does as Eric says, though remaining wary and ready to pull back at any moment. No desire to be 'emptied' here. He says, "Eric... Where's dad?"

Eric's face strains, but he seems to be having an easier time of it. Three feet of pattern-imbued steel in his flesh may have something to do with it. "I don't know. It was looking for him and came to this place. It fears him, and fears Dworkin more, but it wants something." He starts to shake his head, but the gesture is somewhat limited by his situation. "I have not been this coherent since the battle. I've seen only snippets." More urgently, "Tell me Amber still stands? That it is not my mad imaginings?"
In the prison hallway, a light goes out.

Corwin says, "Amber still stands..." and he is flooded suddenly with pity. This is his _brother_ and so very much like him, moreso than anyone else save perhaps Deirdre. What went wrong between them? He looks to the blade in Eric's neck and feels sick. Suddenly the words come out. "Tell me how I can help you?"

Eric winces. "Just keep the blade there so I can think- I don't have much time, then you must take the Jewel and ride like hell is behind you. I don't know why, but it must not get it. Maybe Dworkin can explain what this thing is, I just know it's ancient. Older than the Pattern, it remembers strange old things. But the Pattern can _bind_ it. It's using me as a..." the words drip with something you have never heard from Eric: self-disgust. "...vehicle. The image I bear is enough to shield it - if we could scour that...but we have no time."

Corwin says, "I'm sorry. But Eric," and the words do not come out easy. "Dworkin is dead. Murdered... You've _got_ to tell me how to find Dad. You said you knew how, before, with the 'Loupe.'"

"It's what it call's the Jewel, though damned if I know why." Another light flickers out, "It was just going to destroy shadow until it found the one with Oberon. I know this - Dad's gone to ground. He knows he's being hunted, and we've already hit a number of traps." His eyes are wild, he's clearly turning over everything in his head as quickly as possible trying to find something useful. "Dad fought these guys I think. Maybe Osric and Finndo too. _Someone_ must be old enough to remember it. Find them. Try Silverspire or Daro. Maybe Whitehall. Or the Damned Pathi even." He face compresses in an expression of pain as two more lights go out. He relaxes slightly, but it's clear he at his end. "It won't be much longer. Get out of here. As fast as you can."

Corwin nods, for once at a loss for words. He reaches with his free hand for Eric's blade. He finally says, "I wish it could have been different between us."

Eric's look of pain becomes more nuanced, but the manages a small smile. "We'd have ended up a pair of useless sots like Caine and Julian. Life needs challenges, and the day I die I can be proud for my life to be judged by the quality of my enemies." He looks a little sour, "Though that day should have already passed. Go now."

Corwin nods and smiles, just a bit, as well. "I will. But I need you to die, first, Eric. I don't want to have to go through this a third time."

Eric smirks. Without a word he pulls himself from the blade bloodlessly, and begins running down the corridor, away from the stairs and Corwin, as fast as he seems able. Three more lights click out, and the walls are starting to shimmer and smooth themselves.

Corwin looks after him, shaking his head, and then turns and starts to walk, trying to shift out.

The immediate area resists, but up the stairs things loosen up. There's a small guardhouse there, with the well sorted remains of more of the guards, and one or two who show that same stiffness as the ones downstairs. They are none of them enough to bar the passage of a Prince of Amber. Stepping outside reveals a great plain, which the concrete bunker emerges into. That there is a horse is certain, and as the shadows part before you, the grasses line up in neat rows in your wake, before breaking down into component parts, then chemicals, then the very building blocks of matter. The explosion is not enough to pass through shadow, but its ripples spread, and it is a fiery hellride, but no other pursuit comes.

Corwin rides until the way is clear, trying to sort out the jumble of thoughts in his head. The meaning of what he saw, to be sure, and what next to do about it, but also memories of long ago, when he was just a young boy, fighting off the cruel jibes of his older brother, and, every so often, soaring elation at the smallest kindnesses from him. A compliment, a small gift, a secret shared. He rides much longer than he needs to ride, before he breaks out his trumps to find a lift the rest of the way home.

Some thoughts on play.

2007-11-13T05:53:12Z

Following are some thoughts which have come out in recent conversations. Since they may bear on the play of many if not most RtA players, I thought I'd put them up here for your consideration.

From an OOC perspective, what do you want Corwin's regency to look like?

Enough of a grip on power so that it's not an active throne war (unless someone actually makes a real, concerted, meaningful challenge), but not enough so Corwin can act without carefully considering consequence. A corollary to this is that clever manipulation of political forces can force Corwin to do things he might not want to do.

This is not a permanent thing! I don't believe I am entitled to anything, or limited, for that matter. But it feels like a good spot, to me, for now. Not just for me, but for an atmosphere of intrigue and interesting play. And it's what I'm going to be trying to play to support, for now.

Why does it seem like you play with some people (including features) more than others?

Because I'm playing a guy who's trying to keep a grip on power. That entails a lot of gladhandling of my immediate family, as well as other key people. That takes time, and effort, and energy.  It doesn't leave much time for casual play, or scenes with 'random' (from Corwin's perspective) folk.

But there's something else, too. There are a lot of people in roles that are between Regent and everyone else. People like Culver, the Lord Exchequer, a very powerful bureaucrat; Connor, the Commander of the Black Gulls; Erasmus, the head of the Hounds; the various Military Princes; and let us not forget Florimel, who ran the Court under Eric as if she was his Queen, and who looks to be continuing in that role under Corwin.  (This is not a comprehensive list.)   If you try to run straight to Corwin when you have an issue, you may very well be cheating yourself, and some other people, out of interesting RP, while at the same time causing them IC insult.

IMO, the more players appreciate that power is diffused -- especially under Corwin's still-nascent Regency -- and play accordingly, the more we can all help build a fully realized and complex world.

Why haven't you talked to me/sought me out?

Well, there are lots of possible reasons. It could be because Corwin doesn't want to. Sometimes, for example, he sends intermediaries or is deliberately snubbing people, for reasons which are completely grounded in IC.  Or it could be that Corwin's player doesn't realize we need to speak. If you want a meeting, IC, you should send an IC note (or page me). If you think Corwin would know to contact you (but for some reason has not), please send an OOC note or page.   And also, please bear in mind the above point about how power is diffused. As much as I might like to have every last player on the MUSH beholden directly to Corwin, that's not very much fun, is it?

Hope the above helps