Kayne shrugged his shoulders and spoke, "Depends on what you define a 'world' as. I mean, the White Council believes, well actually they know, there are at least three other worlds, if you use the term loosely to define a place where anything can exist. There is our world, Earth, where magic is defined by nature and life. Then there is the Nevernever, the Sidhe realm. The Nevernever is broken up into domains, sorta like countries or kingdoms, the most powerful faeries having a larger piece of the Nevernever, but it isn't all connected in any normal sense of the word. You have to tear a hole in the Nevernever to get from one domain to another or to get into or out of it all together."

He paused for a moment, considering whether he should tell these people, who, he reminded himself, he knew nothing about, about the Outer Gates. What the heck, he decided, it wasn't as if it could be any worse. Could it? In his line of work, you think he would have realized that things could always be much, much worse. But he went ahead and said quietly, "Then there are the Outer Gates, the realm of the Outsiders. The White Council—indeed all magical groups--know next-to-nothing about the Outer Gates or their denizens. All that is really known is that a mortal is required to open a door to the Outer Gates. Perhaps......." His voice trailed off in thought.

OOC: That's all I have time to write right now, but I'll post the other half once I get back to my computer. Should be in about two hours.

_________________
Four Gods wait on the windowsill,
Where once eight Gods did war and will,
And if the Gods themselves may die,
What does that say for you and I?

Now, three Gods wait on the windowsill
Where one God's blood was lately spilled
While black tongues lap at the spreading pool
And build the strength they need to rule.

Raign drew breath sharply. Only mages and the lawless warlocks created rifts between worlds, and the last time a King of the Isles had employed his own personal mage skirted the bounds of history as she knew it. That had ended in disaster, a palace razed to the ground and half the populace of Hevaedh dead. Or worse. "Cataclysmic," she repeated tersely. "Indeed."

It only took a moment for the full gravity of the statement to hit her, and the only sign Raign made of it was that her fingers tightened, white-knuckled, on the hilt of her scimitar. Rifts between worlds. This could be disastrous, a sign of magic banned, in the Isles, for centuries. No one meddled with such things. No one.

"Why hide our numbers?" she asked, bluntly. "It's not as though we have anything to fear from them."

_________________

"Nobody's 'going in,'" Ryairon said, flashing a glare at Devarion. The man stood in supreme confidence, casually brandishing his glaive. Not a good idea to contradict someone like him, but even her grudging respect for magic-users didn't excuse this. "The village is harmless. Fishermen and their wives and children. Why instigate a battle for show?" She turned back to the others, who seemed to be taking the notion of interworld travel well. At least no one had called her mad yet. Then she recalled the other half of Devarion's reasoning. The part about cataclysms.

"An unnecessary show of strength incites fear, and fear solves nothing in our situation," she said, glancing significantly at the weapons almost everyone carried. "We'll send a few emissaries to the village to obtain information - our whereabouts, recent cataclysms, and the like. If they know nothing, we can only conclude that an enemy is close at hand. A powerful mage perhaps, with an unidentified reason for bringing us here." She spoke firmly, her face deadpan, her authority apparent in the ringing tone of her voice. It occurred to her then that the formidable individuals here - the nobility, especially - might find no cause to heed her command. She shook the thought away. Someone had to take charge.

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Name: Merrick Toquene
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Age: 29
Profession: Smuggler
Appearance: Tall, bearded, and average weight.
Equipment/weapons: short-sword
Brief history/other*: Merrick grew up as in immigrant in a country of inequality, where the human race was under constant oppression by larger and more especial races. Once old enough, he joined the Revolution Meter, and became involved in a complicated plot for freedom. Now he works as the royal smuggler to the true king.
Description of original universe: Trella is a world I conceived as soon as my imagination began kicking in. Populated by a few typical races - and some I invented - it's main occupants are pretty humanoid. The world is yet fairly young, and has a very small history with only two major wars, one of which Merrick was active in.
How you came up with this character: Merrick was always the sarcastic voice in my head that insisted I write things differently. Eventually I gave him his own name, and started exploring his personality and background through random RP's and fragments of writing.

-------

The little group gathering on the beach looked anything but hostile.

Too, they didn't exactly look like the friendliest people either. Merrick mentally began taking a tally of the visible weapons, and those who had enough brawn to do damage without them. Of all the places... a beach. His palm smacked his face as he groped for a memory, a feeling, anything that would give even the vaguest of explanations to this.

None came. And standing around behind tree's all day wasn't exactly going to get him anywhere. Lazily he strolled out to meet them, keeping a wary eye on some of the more dangerous-looking ones, just in time to catch the woman's ending words.

Scars between world's?

"It's as good an explanation as any," he said carelessly. "But, speaking for myself, I don't really care so much as to <i>what</i> just happened, but rather, how to undo it?" He stared pointedly around, waiting for someone to volunteer a hopeful remedy perhaps.

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<center>
"The piano is able to communicate the subtlest universal truths by means of wood, metal and vibrating air."

OOC: Continuing from where I left off....

IC: Kayne let the others talk while he pondered the thought that had so recently popped into his head. It made sense, a lot of sense, at least to him, but that could just mean he was completely insane rather than the partially insane that people called him on a regular basis. Regardless of just how insane he really was, he finished his sentence, "Perhaps the Outer Gates don't just lead to one world where all the Outsiders live. Perhaps they are just that gates. Perhaps the Outer Gates are gates, or portals, to other worlds."

He then caught up to the current conversation. Sarcastically, he added his two cents, "Yes...ah, lady, sorry I can't remember your name (directed at Ryairon), but before we can ask them anything, we kinda need to be able to talk to them. Don't you think that could be at least a little helpful?"

"It's as good an explanation as any," the newest addition to their little gathering of lost souls said carelessly. "But, speaking for myself, I don't really care so much as to what just happened, but rather, how to undo it?"

"Oh, I think we all care a lot more about how to undo what was done, but it usually helps to know what someone did before you undo it," he said with just a slight hint of sarcasm. "Else you might not be undoing it, but just making it worse."

_________________
Four Gods wait on the windowsill,
Where once eight Gods did war and will,
And if the Gods themselves may die,
What does that say for you and I?

Now, three Gods wait on the windowsill
Where one God's blood was lately spilled
While black tongues lap at the spreading pool
And build the strength they need to rule.

Vincent listened to the few theories that were going around about how they got there. Vincent saw one problem in the rift idea, and possibly the man named Kayne's gate idea.

"If it was a rift or scar between worlds, how would it have opened to so many worlds at one time. And why would it lead here? I mean, if rifts were torn, we'd be scattered into each others' worlds almost randomly, would we not? Instead, we're grouped to this one world, to this one place. It just seems to be too much of a coincidence to be that.

"And if it was that someone opened rifts from all our worlds to here, I mean if it were rifts, would more be taken from our worlds than just us and what we have on us?

"It's deffinantly a spell. I can smell and taste the magic that brought us here. Someone or something powerful, definantly. It could be a mixture of a world rift or scar spell and transeportation spell. The rift spell weakening the 'walls' between worlds, to make a transeportation spell less of a strain to the caster," he said, then realized he was babbling on. Vincent had a habbit of doing this sometimes. He'd stay silent and listen, then tell his thoughts all at once. "If this is the case, undoing it would be rather difficult without knowing who is the spell caster."

(has felt like Vincent has been ignored by everyone... it seems to me like no ones even ackowladged his presence there....)

_________________

(}--{)Imagination Inspires Ideas -Zandain(}--{)
Married Cloud Strife 9/17/08

"Or casters," Kayne said thoughtfully. "And actually, Vincent, that is an amazingly sensible thought, not to imply that you don't think sensible thoughts all the time," he added hastily, which is when he realized that he had yet to introduce himself. "Oh, by the way, my name is Kayne, so now you don't have to call me weird guy with the big stick."

He smiled briefly, "But now back to the point. The Outer Gates and the Nevernever exist in the same relative space as Earth, like they're all layers on an onion or something except for being the same size so that really doesn't make sense but bear with me, and there is only a thin, permeable, curtain-like barrier between. With enough turbulence, things can just fall through without anyone's help; which is why so many people disappear when ghosts appear. But if someone had brought us here, and someone must have because the odds of us all coming to this exact spot because of some rift are astronomical, then, assuming that the barriers between all our worlds are the same as the barrier between mine and the Nevernever, then your idea, Vin--I can call you that can't I?--is likely."

Now rambling on with hardly a pause for breath, Kayne continued, "Cause enough turbulence in the barrier, making it....I don't know how to describe it.... Making the barrier like a curtain flapping in a slight breeze, allowing our worlds to overlap--in a metaphysical sense, nothing physical that anyone but a wizard could see--and making it extremely easy to pull one specific thing--namely us--from our worlds to this one." He turned to face Vincent, "You sir, might be a genius. 'Course, I could just be bonkers and this makes no sense to anyone but me."

"And as interesting as this conversation is," he said, turning to look in the general direction of the fishing village, "wouldn't a better place for it be, say, a boat heading for the mainland?"

_________________
Four Gods wait on the windowsill,
Where once eight Gods did war and will,
And if the Gods themselves may die,
What does that say for you and I?

Now, three Gods wait on the windowsill
Where one God's blood was lately spilled
While black tongues lap at the spreading pool
And build the strength they need to rule.

(I am here. I just returned back from my graduation, and it has been a bit hectic. So, I will catch up and post ASAP.)

_________________
<center>

Lord Raen endured the proceedings with the same dispassionately tolerant mien that he bore every time he was forced to partake in one of these absurd discussions that served as little more than fodder for the court gossips. If Raen had believed in such a thing as fate, he would have been rather convinced that it hated him. One year. One year and six months since he had departed - not escaped, of course, nor fled - from his own world, after the humans had found themselves in possession of more power than they could ever have possibly known how to use. Since he had detected a slight weakness in the fabric of space and time and exploited it to arrive here, where elves united as one to claim their rightful rule over humans. Since he had begun working tirelessly to gain position and reputation and favorable standing with the High Vassal. One year since all of his hard work and perseverance had been rewarded not with favor or position or power, but with the destable assignment of living among humans.

Yes, fate frowned upon him in abundance.

Ostensibly, he had arrived as a replacement for King Jyden's military advisor, who had most tragically fallen ill and died. In truth, however, he had been tasked with closing the gap between the Realm's military and the Supremacy's as much as possible. Oh, to be certain, a vast majority of his suggestions were perfectly sound - brilliant, even, one might say. But if reinforcing that wall happened to leave another wide open for attack, well, that would be a few hundred soldiers fewer for the elves to face. And with the state of the elvish military as it was, they would require every miniscule advantage that they could secure. Raen cringed to even contemplate some of the drills he had witnessed shortly after his arrival. A mere mockery of true elvish potential, in his opinion.

Speaking of fools, that had been Raen's secondary assignment - providing additional "motivation" for one Denaris Erydera (who had just been more than ten minutes tardy in responding to a summons again) to expedite his experiments in the realm of magic. Apparently, the High Vassal was less than impressed by the lack of significant breakthroughs reported over the past few years and felt the need to impress upon Denaris the importance of what he was doing. Of course, Raen was of the opinion that if the High Vassal desired efficiency, then anyone but Denaris Erydera should have been selected, but he was not in a position to argue with elvish leader. Not yet, anyway. So for now, he was forced to content himself with observing the experiments from a distance and continue to report on any progress made.

The remainder of the discussion passed relatively painlessly. Both elves listened dutifully, nodding and making comments where necessary. It was ultimately determined that the duke's daughter would be granted one week to produce evidence of an alternative suitor, and in the absence of said evidence, would be wed to Langrish's son on the very next day. This matter settled, they went on to discuss an assortment of equally trivial things, until King Jyden seemed to deem the kingdom safe from the threat of collapsing beneath them at any moment and dismissed the two advisors.

Raen did not speak until they had passed through quite a few corridors and he was entirely certain that they were at no risk of being overheard. "Your asinine smirk appears to be less sincere than is customary," he observed flatly. "I would rejoice, if not for the disconcerting amount of smoke that was coming from your study last night. What did you do?"

----------------------------------------------------------------

"I'm perfectly capable of finding my own trouble, thank you," Kjan replied, somewhat indignantly, before stepping forward to join the main discussion. Something about rifts in the universe or parallel worlds or somesuch nonsense. Not that he was particularly dismissive on any of the theories presented - far from it. He knew well enough not to discount any idea solely for its implausibility. But at the present, he was far more concerned with the 'where' than any other aspect of the predicament.

"I'm in agreement," he said, gesturing toward the man - Kayne? - who had suggested mainland. "Kjan Armadur, by the way, also of Kytana. If we can figure out where we are, then perhaps the more significant answers concerning 'who' and 'how' will follow as a matter of course. At any rate, I'd feel better knowing that we aren't limited to this one island. You all seem like lovely people, but I think it might start to get rather crowded."

Alanna had listened for as long as she could bear ... but really. Magic? Sorry, baby, but no cigar. Having gotten her boot on, she limped, wincing, over to the group that was doing most of the talking.

She cut in with her two cents. "Well, I don't know whether you want to call it a 'scar between worlds' or just 'wormhole', but I know exactly how I got here." The only reply was sharp looks from the rest of the group. Not encouraging. At least she had their attention. "It's a machine we call a Portal. It creates a tunnel - I guess you could call it a rift - between two parts of the space-time continuum. I would conjecture that, since I've never heard of these places you're from - except LA - that this is actually a parallel universe. They're completely theoretical, of course," and her voice rose in excitement, "but if I could prove that this is actually one ...

"But this magic thing. Complete bull-" and here her audience began looking decidedly unfriendly. Perhaps it wasn't terribly smart to say that magic didn't exist. "Erm, I mean, it's all slightly preposterous, isn't it?" Unless they were all asylum escapees who actually believed they had mysterious powers. It was quite plausible, really, since they all had different stories. Individual hallucinations.

_________________


<center>Nothing but the Rain</center>

"Uh...sorry to rain on your parade lady, but magic is real. All supernatural things are real. Goblins, faeries, ghouls, vampires, trolls, shades, ghosts, they're all real," Kayne said cordially. He was used to this speech, it wasn’t the first time he'd given it. "You see something supernatural, maybe a man being eaten by a ghoul. Okay, you’re freaked out and you don't tell anyone for fear of being committed. But, you tell yourself, it was dark out, so maybe I saw something else. It must have been a wild animal eating him, you say. And you tell yourself that enough times that you believe it, but what you saw really was a ghoul. Humans are incredibly adept at forgetting what doesn't fit comfortably into our reality, or at least the reality that we perceive to be ours. And what is real can kill you whether you believe in it or not, so you'd best start believing."

_________________
Four Gods wait on the windowsill,
Where once eight Gods did war and will,
And if the Gods themselves may die,
What does that say for you and I?

Now, three Gods wait on the windowsill
Where one God's blood was lately spilled
While black tongues lap at the spreading pool
And build the strength they need to rule.

Gramsil saw an opening with the unusual woman's words. She didn't believe in magic? Perhaps she could try to explain him away. He strode forward into their midst, ignoring the looks of fear or astonishment. M...A...G..I..C. I..S...R..E..A..L. Bah, the mysterious mage with the staff already beat him to it. He rose from the words now gouged into the sand. If only they would begin to attempt to acquire some vessels, instead of just repeating the need for them.

Silently, Gramsil turned his gaze to the horizon. Somewhere out there lay answers. Perhaps someone could tell him what he was, even if they couldn't explain why. He let his arms hang from his sides, diamond-tipped fingers catching the sunlight and refracting beams of color onto the earth. 600 years, and he seemed further than ever from discovering his purpose. Or creating one.

The others all had something to return for. Kingdoms, lovers, who knew what all? Slowly, very slowly, a thought, a hope, wormed its way into his mind. Perhaps I can help these..somehow. And someone summoned us all here. For a purpose. He had to find out what they were brought together for. Who brought them, and why.

"I don't think this is either the time or the place to argue regarding the existence of magic," said Raign, pitching her voice to the tone she used when on board ship. It wasn't loud, but it carried clearly over the various conversations going on. "Perhaps you'd care to turn your attention to more immediate problems."

It wasn't as though she didn't have as much interest in the reason for their presence as anyone there - on the contrary, Raign could feel the beginnings of a knot in her stomach. Valtair and her crew would be worried, very worried. And there was absolutely no way of telling them what had happened.

Determining that something had to be done, Raign turned to the quiet young woman next to her - Merrin, who'd asked something about her dragon. Well, if Ryairon opposite wanted a small unobtrusive party, Raign supposed she could have what she wished. "If someone were to go to the village - for a boat, say, and to find out where the mainland was, would you -?" She gestured, discreetly but enough to make her point clear, at the many that were outlandishly dressed or clearly nobility. Very little point in sending any of those.

Merrin had been watching the growing dissension among everyone there, feeling more and more as though nobody had addressed the core of the matter. What did it matter how they got there, or who was responsible? How were they going to get back? She was unconsciously biting her lip, trying to recall anything at all from what she'd learned as a dragon-page about rifts in space and time. Wyvern, whose mental presence was something she'd become used to and nearly dependent on, was still completely silent.

She listened, but did not respond to Raign's inquiry with especial enthusiasm; though just then, anything seemed more helpful than standing about discussing the existence of magic. She nodded, hesitantly. "I...I don't speak the language, but I don't think anyone -"

"No," said Raign, only half-listening. "No, they don't." This girl looked ordinary enough for the task - not intimidating, or possessing any qualities that would provoke uneasiness - but there was the small matter of getting all the clamor to quiet down for a long enough moment to speak about their next course of action. She fixed her thoughts determinedly ahead. First boat, then mainland, and then perhaps someone more knowledgeable than anyone here would be able to assist them.

"If none of you cares to suggest a variant course of action," she began again, glancing around at the assembled group, "I will be making for the mainland, and anyone likewise inclined is welcome to follow. I really fail to see the value in discussing magical theory at this precise moment in time."

_________________

[ I actually need Tur to post before my char can meet the others.. perhaps you could slow down a little? ]

_________________


O children, lift up your voice, lift up your voice,
Children, rejoice, rejoice..



It doesn't matter you don't believe in God, He believes in you.

Ryairon nodded, relieved. At last, they were accomplishing something. "I will accompany Merrin. Does anyone else wish to come with us? A magic-user would be of some advantage in communications." She glanced at Devarion, then at the druid who'd spoken earlier. He had mentioned being teleported here by a wizard. At least someone else had considered it too, though the idea wasn't a reassuring one. For all they knew, the hostile wizard might be returning at any given moment to deal with them.

Well, said hostile wizard would have his or her hands full. She cast a wary glance at the newest arrival, a seven-foot tall giant that resembled a rock golem. And then there was the winged woman, the black-skinned elf, the other man with the staff...

"I'm heading down the beach with Merrin Dragonrider," she announced, turning to leave. "Whoever wishes to join us, feel free."

[Will, perhaps we could bump into your character as they go down to the beach? EDIT - The rest of the group will be staying in one place for a while so you'll have plenty of time to join them. To everyone else: You can go to the village or stay. Either way, you'll bump into some action.]

_________________

At least these humans seemed to have a good set of brains attached to them, perhaps because they were from another world? Hardly, they still seemed all the same to him, which would be summed up as pathetic yet talented. Xarw smirked slightly at the proposal of anyone willing to join the group heading out to the village. He wondered how the residents of this world would react to him, especially elves, who might be curious as to what kind of an elf he was. In any case it would be best remained hooded and masked to the rest of the world, he didn`t need to cause anymore fuss with his heritage in this world as his appearance would be acknowledged as bizarre.

Xarw tossed his hood over his head and placed the mask over his face without a word, he gazed at Merrin and Ryairon as a sign, that he was ready to go. Despite their protests, that he might instill fear in the villagers, he wouldn`t stay here rotting in the sun. If there was an opening he would exploit, take a boat for himself and sail off to this so called mainland, if there was one. Yet then again he would have to be fast and help himself with some sort of a map, not to mention means of navigation. He could always improvise of course or just let luck decide his fate all tough the idea made him wonder as it was his bad luck, which had probably led him here in the first place.

"Shall we?"

He inquired, waiting for Ryairon to lead the way to the village. He would prefer to stay back once they were there or just go sneaking around to find anything useful.

_________________

Let him curse my name
On these blood stained pages of misery
Let him call me a tyrant so cruel
Let him curse my name, but remember the truth!