Deep Shadow Adventure: One Spork Full
...Martin carefully explains their mission....and then they begin their journey....
"Oh, okay. What does a spork look like?" Cyndre wonders, at this point not even remotely thinking it is what it is. She leaves her wrecker right where it is, and starts walking around the counter, aimed for the kitchen and, ultimately, the fry vat.
"Oh," Bashar is momentarily distracted from his quest for the quarter by Cyndre's query, "it's like a spoon except it has these notches on top so it can function as a low grade fork. Usually made of synthetic materials." He doesn't seem to think it odd at all that an inanimate object could qualify as a 'prince'.
The kitchen staff don't stop her. They back away slightly at a look from Martin. "A spork is... well a hybrid of a spoon and a fork." He glances about, the trucks continue to roll by, they never end. "So... We should go very soon. This place can get some odd customers from time to time and since there are three of us, we may attract unwanted attention before we make it out of here. Have either of you been to Deep Shadow?"
"No idea." Bashar said. He scowled at the jukebox, intimating to the music machine that he would be -back-, and next time he'd be carrying a screwdriver. Turning his attention to Martin, he added, "Probably. Don't recall walking silverware, though. That one's new to me."
Cyndre says, "Yes. I can..." she pauses, peering into the vat. "...travel there myself, after a fashion. From hearing your relatives talk, I probably can't go as far out as anyone who's walked the pattern, but my journeys so far take me pretty far from Amber. Even Ember is beyond the golden circle."
Cyndre pauses again, "Wait, what? Living utensils? Are you serious?"
Bashar turned his attention to Cyndre and grinned, "New to you, too, eh?"
"Ok, well we're going in and you both need to be careful to not lose sight of me. Deep shadow is very difficult to move through. It's a bit like navigating Swiss cheese and full of impossible things. If you do get lost. Sit tight, you have my trump. We're going to find this thing. I asked what it looked like and was told... we'd know when we saw it."
Martin nods, "yes, living Utensils."
Cyndre says, "I've only just learned how to move about in shadow this way." plunging a hand into the vat, and drawing it out to be rewarded with a handful of curly fries. Munch. Chew chew. She seems pleased with the result. "So I've not seen a whole lot of the weird stuff.... Yet." Then, "Are we going so far out into shadow that Pattern's influence is almost nothing? I've heard things about it, so I wondered.""
Bashar, a little more familiar and at home with the unusual, just went along with what Martin was saying. It was the usual speil. Stay close. Yeah, yeah. If you get lost, wait for a grown-up to find you. Usual stuff. "So when do we head out?"
Martin chuckles at Cyndre's delight and Bashar's ease with just jumping into things. "Yes. I spent several years roaming around in Deep Shadow, I got trapped in an arcade world for a while once, it can get hairy but eventually you can make your way out of the maze. You just have to remember that it's all possible and you're not crazy. The universe is."
Cyndre asks, "Is it far enough out that even I can manipulate shadow?"
Martin adds, "We'll go now and come back here for dinner."
Martin considers, "That I'm not sure, Cyndre."
Cyndre nods, "Fair enough. I won't try, just in case it could cause things to go crazy."
"You still haven't convinced me that we're not -now- actually living in a game world, Lord Martin." Bashar said. "I mean, for all we know there could be some people at a computer somewhere manipulating our every action, articulating our every word. I mean, I'd feel sorry for the poor saps if they are but, when you look at it from a metaphysical sense, our own awareness of reality is what our senses perceive. But those senses are, by definition, limited to a degree that we can not intrinsically comprehend."
**Time Passes**
The journey is longer than expected because it takes time for Martin to manipulate this part of shadow once they get to it. He has to concentrate a great deal and does not talk much. He does, however, manage to do this with greater ease than an initiate of pattern would. He changes concentrates, changes again... and the changes just become more and more bizarre as they keep going forward. It’s almost like going down the rabbit hole in Alice and Wonderland. Things that should be upside down are right side up, the sky is the ground, over there... is a person is talking with his foot.
The journey was additionally delayed by a wrong turn, the result of a disagreement between Martin and back-seat shadow shifter Bashar, who between the three of them was the only other person who'd actually been somewhere as zany as this place. But the important thing was that the three humans and lone horse finally arrived at their destination safely. "I still think we would have saved some time if we'd stopped to ask that guy directions."
Eventually, things begin to even out and you come up onto a ledge overlooking a great Valley below. The sounds of battle are deafening! Warcries, horns trumpets... everything crashes together as you get closer and closer to the edge to look down at... the battle field! Below you are three hordes swirling together in a mass of chaotic combat. Spoons, Knives, Forks.... all about the size of humans, or are you the size of flatware now? All fighting. Stabbing... biting... sticking... dying... metal ooze runs thick over the landscape below... Blood?
**"So... basically you've got something that makes no sense at all... but go with it!**
Martin is actually sweating from the exertion. "Damn, I forgot how hard this is." He has to find some ... water .. to drink. "That guy didn't know what he was talking about!"
Martin smirks. "I knew exactly what I was doing!"
Cyndre inquires, "We're looking for the Spork, right? Like a spoon with tines you said?" And as she's inquiring, she's eyeing the battlefield to see what factions, exactly, are fighting.
Bashar reached down to the hilt of his sword, tightening his fingers around it for reassurance. Knives were deadly enough when they fit in the palm of oyur hand, he suspected these life-sized ones weren't going to be any less so. "SDo we have an idea on this guy? The Prince of Sporks; so that we'll know him when we find him?" He hoped so. The three flatware clans had a tendency to all look the same to him.
Martin nods, "The Spork, yeah." He looks down below again at the sound of clinking utensils. "I don't think I see any down there. Seem like forks, knives and spoons..." he glances at Bashar, "That's pretty much it, yeah. Supposedly he's rebellious or something."
Bashar furrowed his brow. "So, what, we're looking for a guy who dyed his prongs purple? I guess we should probably ask around if we're going to actually make and headway here." He paused, surveying the carnage before them. "Do you suppose they've spotted us? I know they're pretty occupied with that battle down there but what if some of that flatware decides we look like a threat? We could potentially be a secret weapon for any one of those clans down there, and they all know it."
"Don't assume purple, never assume in Deepshadow! It could be... I don't know.. yellow... here." Martin seems to have a little trouble concentrating and staggers slightly back. "Ugh. They seem to be really busy with their war. The spoons don't look so dangerous, maybe we should find one of them and ... ask." Even he isn't sure how to ask a spoon something.
Bashar nodded. "If anybody has the scoop on this guy, it'd be a spoon." he concurred. Then he scrunched his facial features into an awkward frown. Turning his attention to Martin, he asked, "Say, do you suppose that's racial profiling? I mean, I know we haven't much to go on here but we should probably avoid coming off like jerks if we can."
Cyndre frowns, "Damn. No sporks. It would be nice if we had sporks down there. Do we know who sympathizes with the spork?"
"I should think a spoon would, I mean they could help defend against knives that way." Martin recovers from his dizzy spell. Were they actually having this conversation? "I think they will probably just have to accept that we are not from here." He peered around the valley looking for signs of army camps or something to suggest where generals might be overlooking the battle. "Cyndre, what if we look for scouts?"
Reaching down into his horse's pack, Bashar opened the leather flap and rummaged around a bit, looking for something. After a moment, he retrieved a patch of leather and two glass discs. As he proceeded to form these items into a workable spyglass, he said, "Might be we want to avoid this bunch altogether and see if there are any civilian settlements nearby. Someone," remotely, "less prone to violence."
Cyndre says, "Scouts are more likely to find us than we are to find them. They're set up to see what's going on from a distance, and actively looking for reinforcements and other dangers so their generals can react accordingly aside from being caught with their pants down and going 'Oh shit!'. Me, I'm inclined to go down there and start tossing flatware about, but I don't know which to attack."
"I'd rather avoid violence if we can, particularly as we don't know it is it we're fighting, much less their capabilities." said Bashar. Popping the second lens with a satisfying thump, he tied the spyglass together with a thong and brought it to bear, scanning the horizon to see what he could see. He was interrupted, though as his horse neighed. The white mare stepped in place as the knight errant looked down upon her. "What?" he asked. His head jerked back up and looked around them intently as the mount pioretted. "Ummmmm... you might not be far off the mark on that first part, though." He wasn't sure, but Maggie sure seemed sure that -something- had found them.
Martin was too busy focused on finding the place to remember that particular bit of wisdom and he's happy Cyndre did. Unfortunately, they really do stick out and already drew attention. Luckily, however, they are running around with someone who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and tends to have uncanny luck. They -are- surrounded... but not by knives or forks! By a group of angry looking spoons! Ok... it's impossible to tell if they are angry, but they are hopping up and down and there's a great deal of excited chitter happening. "Anyone speak spoon?" Martin wonders.
Cyndre grows. She lifts her wrecker. She drops her wrecker. *THUD* People can actually FEEL the ground tremble there. Holding one hand out to the side with the chain used to swing the thing about, she uses the other to beckon forth a spoon. "Confirm whether you understand what I'm saying."
Noooooooooo problem, Bashar thought to himself. As a knight errant, communicating with varied cultures was his forte. Smiling broadly, he raised his hand to reveal his empty palm to the spoony scouts. "How!" he exclaimed by way of greeting. "We come in peace. Take us to your leader." He enunciated the syllables of each word deliberately and loudly with an earnest calm. He was entirely confident of a favourable response.
The spoons are a fretful bunch since they are at a decided disadvantage in this war. Three strangers and a beast could be to their advantage. They confer amongst each other and study the strangers. One spoon raises its head larger than the others and trots forward and very calmly speaks a common tongue. How exactly... isn't immediately evident. A voice presumably the spoon's states. "What you want?" Martin stands between Bashar and Cyndre and smiles friendly. "We're looking for something!"
"Shut. We no talk you, yellow hair." States the spoon. Oh dear, someone who doesn't like Martin.
Cyndre steps forward, all the metal she's wearing making a bit of a racket. "Specifically, we are looking to meet with a spork, Prince Percer."
Setting his spyglass slowly into the confines of his cloak, Bashar clasped his hands together clerically and bowed to the haupt-spooner. Dovetailing Cyndre as if translating, he said, "We come from far away land," he extended his arms, as if he'd caught a really big fish, "in search of the Prince of Sporks." He brought his hand together to mimic with one hand a spoon by holding his palm concave, while using three fingers of his other hand to protrude prongs from his fleshy apparatus.
As Cyndre steps forward they all lean back at all the metal and there's a collective "Ooooh..." sound.
Martin Grumbles but keeps quiet. Why don't they like him? That's not fair, he did all the work getting here.
Their heads swivel to Bashar at his words and there is more chitter. "Prince Sporks! Prince Sporks!" There is a great deal of muttering now. It's hard to tell if they are pleased or not. They start moving off, and clearly look like they expect the three to follow.
Bashar turned his head to look at his two companions, the self satisfied smirk on his face clearly conveying the confidence he held in his capacity as a communicator. "Well I would say we're off to a fortuitous start. Good thing Maggie here picked up on them or we might have missed our guides altogether!" He reached down to lovingly pat his horse' long neck. "With any luck, we're be back in Amber by daybreak. Tally ho!" Maggie stepped forward, ready to follow the spoons.
Cyndre starts walking, and rattling, banging, and clanking, and hauls that big wrecking ball along for the ride. Which, by the way, looks like a black lump of pig iron wrapped in the chains. As they walk, "This is just a single shadow, right, Martin? Not sprawled across multiple points? Because I'm curious whether I can establish a link out this far through the fire realm."
"Shadows don't work the same way out here, they have less definition. It's very hard to link back. You can find it again but then you have to do a whole lot of sifting and you probably won't come across the same thing." Martin tries to explain. He's not a very good teacher.
The group are lead quickly through a lot of trees and to a small encampment. The spoons curiously swivel heads as they come by and such. Eventually they are lead to a big ... tent and one of the spoons goes into it. He comes out with another group of spoons all in varying sizes and shapes. And behind them, another thing hops out. It is brilliant and silver and shiny and it has tips of crystal and little delicate etchings all down it's sides. In the handle, there is a swirling globe. This... is the spork of legends.
"Strangers. You are." It states.
"We come as strangers." Bashar said. "We hope to depart as friends!" Gesturing to himself, he said, "I am Bashar, wandering warrior. This," he gestures to Martin, "is Martin, lord of sea! And this," a nother gesture, this time directed toward Cyndre, "is Cyndre, lady of fire! And this," he patted his horse, "is Maggie..." He ran a few descriptives through his head as to how he intended to identify Maggie, who even now whinnied and shook her head, but he decided in that moment that sometimes discretion was the better part of valor and left it at her name.
"Aye," Cyndre replies, and doffs her helm at this point. "Strangers, but as my friend here explained, we hope to be as friends before we leave. And it would appear you have a battle going on. Would you like some help with it?"
A quick scowl was reserved for Cyndre in that moment, but Bashar went right back to used wagon salesman in short order. "Ehh, what friend Cyndre means is, we would be happy to help negotiate a peace settlement between your clan and that of the forks and knives in the hopes of creating an accord and preserving the lives of all."
The Prince of Sporks responded, "Always battle. It is life way. Never ending here. You no help. You Go. You still be friend." His words, though broken, are clear.
Martin tries hard to think about something as he keeps quiet. He sighs as understanding begins to dawn. "Guys. I think I may have misunderstood the request."
"Always battle." Bashar echoed the sporks words. "What then know ye of peace? Like swordplay, peace must first be learned and understood before it can be practiced." Clearly Bashar wasn't ready to give up on 'give peace a chance' thing yet. Maggie meanwhile turned her head to face Martin, shook it and nighed before lazily looking away. "Hrmm, wha?" Bashar said, his face quizzical as he too looked to the Lord Marshal. He then added cautiously, an eyebrow cocked severely, "How... misunderstood?"
Cyndre also looks to Martin for the response here. "Do explain."
"I think it was meant for me to try and find a place where a prince of sporks would exist in a realm this deep in shadow, and I have." Martin rubs his forehead. "I don't think it was actually meant that I take it back with me. I mean... It's big! We should go. We shouldn't interfere here. I should get more clarification."
Bashar says to the spoons. "We go now. We seek wise sage for advice."
Martin quickly smiles, "Consolation prize... We can eat at the diner?" he looks up at Cyndre and beams at her.
The spoons all murmur about.
Martin adds. "With our fingers."
There is much more content with that.
.... Fade.....
OOC: This was just a fun little interlude for the Deep Shadow Packet.
"Oh, okay. What does a spork look like?" Cyndre wonders, at this point not even remotely thinking it is what it is. She leaves her wrecker right where it is, and starts walking around the counter, aimed for the kitchen and, ultimately, the fry vat.
"Oh," Bashar is momentarily distracted from his quest for the quarter by Cyndre's query, "it's like a spoon except it has these notches on top so it can function as a low grade fork. Usually made of synthetic materials." He doesn't seem to think it odd at all that an inanimate object could qualify as a 'prince'.
The kitchen staff don't stop her. They back away slightly at a look from Martin. "A spork is... well a hybrid of a spoon and a fork." He glances about, the trucks continue to roll by, they never end. "So... We should go very soon. This place can get some odd customers from time to time and since there are three of us, we may attract unwanted attention before we make it out of here. Have either of you been to Deep Shadow?"
"No idea." Bashar said. He scowled at the jukebox, intimating to the music machine that he would be -back-, and next time he'd be carrying a screwdriver. Turning his attention to Martin, he added, "Probably. Don't recall walking silverware, though. That one's new to me."
Cyndre says, "Yes. I can..." she pauses, peering into the vat. "...travel there myself, after a fashion. From hearing your relatives talk, I probably can't go as far out as anyone who's walked the pattern, but my journeys so far take me pretty far from Amber. Even Ember is beyond the golden circle."
Cyndre pauses again, "Wait, what? Living utensils? Are you serious?"
Bashar turned his attention to Cyndre and grinned, "New to you, too, eh?"
"Ok, well we're going in and you both need to be careful to not lose sight of me. Deep shadow is very difficult to move through. It's a bit like navigating Swiss cheese and full of impossible things. If you do get lost. Sit tight, you have my trump. We're going to find this thing. I asked what it looked like and was told... we'd know when we saw it."
Martin nods, "yes, living Utensils."
Cyndre says, "I've only just learned how to move about in shadow this way." plunging a hand into the vat, and drawing it out to be rewarded with a handful of curly fries. Munch. Chew chew. She seems pleased with the result. "So I've not seen a whole lot of the weird stuff.... Yet." Then, "Are we going so far out into shadow that Pattern's influence is almost nothing? I've heard things about it, so I wondered.""
Bashar, a little more familiar and at home with the unusual, just went along with what Martin was saying. It was the usual speil. Stay close. Yeah, yeah. If you get lost, wait for a grown-up to find you. Usual stuff. "So when do we head out?"
Martin chuckles at Cyndre's delight and Bashar's ease with just jumping into things. "Yes. I spent several years roaming around in Deep Shadow, I got trapped in an arcade world for a while once, it can get hairy but eventually you can make your way out of the maze. You just have to remember that it's all possible and you're not crazy. The universe is."
Cyndre asks, "Is it far enough out that even I can manipulate shadow?"
Martin adds, "We'll go now and come back here for dinner."
Martin considers, "That I'm not sure, Cyndre."
Cyndre nods, "Fair enough. I won't try, just in case it could cause things to go crazy."
"You still haven't convinced me that we're not -now- actually living in a game world, Lord Martin." Bashar said. "I mean, for all we know there could be some people at a computer somewhere manipulating our every action, articulating our every word. I mean, I'd feel sorry for the poor saps if they are but, when you look at it from a metaphysical sense, our own awareness of reality is what our senses perceive. But those senses are, by definition, limited to a degree that we can not intrinsically comprehend."
**Time Passes**
The journey is longer than expected because it takes time for Martin to manipulate this part of shadow once they get to it. He has to concentrate a great deal and does not talk much. He does, however, manage to do this with greater ease than an initiate of pattern would. He changes concentrates, changes again... and the changes just become more and more bizarre as they keep going forward. It’s almost like going down the rabbit hole in Alice and Wonderland. Things that should be upside down are right side up, the sky is the ground, over there... is a person is talking with his foot.
The journey was additionally delayed by a wrong turn, the result of a disagreement between Martin and back-seat shadow shifter Bashar, who between the three of them was the only other person who'd actually been somewhere as zany as this place. But the important thing was that the three humans and lone horse finally arrived at their destination safely. "I still think we would have saved some time if we'd stopped to ask that guy directions."
Eventually, things begin to even out and you come up onto a ledge overlooking a great Valley below. The sounds of battle are deafening! Warcries, horns trumpets... everything crashes together as you get closer and closer to the edge to look down at... the battle field! Below you are three hordes swirling together in a mass of chaotic combat. Spoons, Knives, Forks.... all about the size of humans, or are you the size of flatware now? All fighting. Stabbing... biting... sticking... dying... metal ooze runs thick over the landscape below... Blood?
**"So... basically you've got something that makes no sense at all... but go with it!**
Martin is actually sweating from the exertion. "Damn, I forgot how hard this is." He has to find some ... water .. to drink. "That guy didn't know what he was talking about!"
Martin smirks. "I knew exactly what I was doing!"
Cyndre inquires, "We're looking for the Spork, right? Like a spoon with tines you said?" And as she's inquiring, she's eyeing the battlefield to see what factions, exactly, are fighting.
Bashar reached down to the hilt of his sword, tightening his fingers around it for reassurance. Knives were deadly enough when they fit in the palm of oyur hand, he suspected these life-sized ones weren't going to be any less so. "SDo we have an idea on this guy? The Prince of Sporks; so that we'll know him when we find him?" He hoped so. The three flatware clans had a tendency to all look the same to him.
Martin nods, "The Spork, yeah." He looks down below again at the sound of clinking utensils. "I don't think I see any down there. Seem like forks, knives and spoons..." he glances at Bashar, "That's pretty much it, yeah. Supposedly he's rebellious or something."
Bashar furrowed his brow. "So, what, we're looking for a guy who dyed his prongs purple? I guess we should probably ask around if we're going to actually make and headway here." He paused, surveying the carnage before them. "Do you suppose they've spotted us? I know they're pretty occupied with that battle down there but what if some of that flatware decides we look like a threat? We could potentially be a secret weapon for any one of those clans down there, and they all know it."
"Don't assume purple, never assume in Deepshadow! It could be... I don't know.. yellow... here." Martin seems to have a little trouble concentrating and staggers slightly back. "Ugh. They seem to be really busy with their war. The spoons don't look so dangerous, maybe we should find one of them and ... ask." Even he isn't sure how to ask a spoon something.
Bashar nodded. "If anybody has the scoop on this guy, it'd be a spoon." he concurred. Then he scrunched his facial features into an awkward frown. Turning his attention to Martin, he asked, "Say, do you suppose that's racial profiling? I mean, I know we haven't much to go on here but we should probably avoid coming off like jerks if we can."
Cyndre frowns, "Damn. No sporks. It would be nice if we had sporks down there. Do we know who sympathizes with the spork?"
"I should think a spoon would, I mean they could help defend against knives that way." Martin recovers from his dizzy spell. Were they actually having this conversation? "I think they will probably just have to accept that we are not from here." He peered around the valley looking for signs of army camps or something to suggest where generals might be overlooking the battle. "Cyndre, what if we look for scouts?"
Reaching down into his horse's pack, Bashar opened the leather flap and rummaged around a bit, looking for something. After a moment, he retrieved a patch of leather and two glass discs. As he proceeded to form these items into a workable spyglass, he said, "Might be we want to avoid this bunch altogether and see if there are any civilian settlements nearby. Someone," remotely, "less prone to violence."
Cyndre says, "Scouts are more likely to find us than we are to find them. They're set up to see what's going on from a distance, and actively looking for reinforcements and other dangers so their generals can react accordingly aside from being caught with their pants down and going 'Oh shit!'. Me, I'm inclined to go down there and start tossing flatware about, but I don't know which to attack."
"I'd rather avoid violence if we can, particularly as we don't know it is it we're fighting, much less their capabilities." said Bashar. Popping the second lens with a satisfying thump, he tied the spyglass together with a thong and brought it to bear, scanning the horizon to see what he could see. He was interrupted, though as his horse neighed. The white mare stepped in place as the knight errant looked down upon her. "What?" he asked. His head jerked back up and looked around them intently as the mount pioretted. "Ummmmm... you might not be far off the mark on that first part, though." He wasn't sure, but Maggie sure seemed sure that -something- had found them.
Martin was too busy focused on finding the place to remember that particular bit of wisdom and he's happy Cyndre did. Unfortunately, they really do stick out and already drew attention. Luckily, however, they are running around with someone who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and tends to have uncanny luck. They -are- surrounded... but not by knives or forks! By a group of angry looking spoons! Ok... it's impossible to tell if they are angry, but they are hopping up and down and there's a great deal of excited chitter happening. "Anyone speak spoon?" Martin wonders.
Cyndre grows. She lifts her wrecker. She drops her wrecker. *THUD* People can actually FEEL the ground tremble there. Holding one hand out to the side with the chain used to swing the thing about, she uses the other to beckon forth a spoon. "Confirm whether you understand what I'm saying."
Noooooooooo problem, Bashar thought to himself. As a knight errant, communicating with varied cultures was his forte. Smiling broadly, he raised his hand to reveal his empty palm to the spoony scouts. "How!" he exclaimed by way of greeting. "We come in peace. Take us to your leader." He enunciated the syllables of each word deliberately and loudly with an earnest calm. He was entirely confident of a favourable response.
The spoons are a fretful bunch since they are at a decided disadvantage in this war. Three strangers and a beast could be to their advantage. They confer amongst each other and study the strangers. One spoon raises its head larger than the others and trots forward and very calmly speaks a common tongue. How exactly... isn't immediately evident. A voice presumably the spoon's states. "What you want?" Martin stands between Bashar and Cyndre and smiles friendly. "We're looking for something!"
"Shut. We no talk you, yellow hair." States the spoon. Oh dear, someone who doesn't like Martin.
Cyndre steps forward, all the metal she's wearing making a bit of a racket. "Specifically, we are looking to meet with a spork, Prince Percer."
Setting his spyglass slowly into the confines of his cloak, Bashar clasped his hands together clerically and bowed to the haupt-spooner. Dovetailing Cyndre as if translating, he said, "We come from far away land," he extended his arms, as if he'd caught a really big fish, "in search of the Prince of Sporks." He brought his hand together to mimic with one hand a spoon by holding his palm concave, while using three fingers of his other hand to protrude prongs from his fleshy apparatus.
As Cyndre steps forward they all lean back at all the metal and there's a collective "Ooooh..." sound.
Martin Grumbles but keeps quiet. Why don't they like him? That's not fair, he did all the work getting here.
Their heads swivel to Bashar at his words and there is more chitter. "Prince Sporks! Prince Sporks!" There is a great deal of muttering now. It's hard to tell if they are pleased or not. They start moving off, and clearly look like they expect the three to follow.
Bashar turned his head to look at his two companions, the self satisfied smirk on his face clearly conveying the confidence he held in his capacity as a communicator. "Well I would say we're off to a fortuitous start. Good thing Maggie here picked up on them or we might have missed our guides altogether!" He reached down to lovingly pat his horse' long neck. "With any luck, we're be back in Amber by daybreak. Tally ho!" Maggie stepped forward, ready to follow the spoons.
Cyndre starts walking, and rattling, banging, and clanking, and hauls that big wrecking ball along for the ride. Which, by the way, looks like a black lump of pig iron wrapped in the chains. As they walk, "This is just a single shadow, right, Martin? Not sprawled across multiple points? Because I'm curious whether I can establish a link out this far through the fire realm."
"Shadows don't work the same way out here, they have less definition. It's very hard to link back. You can find it again but then you have to do a whole lot of sifting and you probably won't come across the same thing." Martin tries to explain. He's not a very good teacher.
The group are lead quickly through a lot of trees and to a small encampment. The spoons curiously swivel heads as they come by and such. Eventually they are lead to a big ... tent and one of the spoons goes into it. He comes out with another group of spoons all in varying sizes and shapes. And behind them, another thing hops out. It is brilliant and silver and shiny and it has tips of crystal and little delicate etchings all down it's sides. In the handle, there is a swirling globe. This... is the spork of legends.
"Strangers. You are." It states.
"We come as strangers." Bashar said. "We hope to depart as friends!" Gesturing to himself, he said, "I am Bashar, wandering warrior. This," he gestures to Martin, "is Martin, lord of sea! And this," a nother gesture, this time directed toward Cyndre, "is Cyndre, lady of fire! And this," he patted his horse, "is Maggie..." He ran a few descriptives through his head as to how he intended to identify Maggie, who even now whinnied and shook her head, but he decided in that moment that sometimes discretion was the better part of valor and left it at her name.
"Aye," Cyndre replies, and doffs her helm at this point. "Strangers, but as my friend here explained, we hope to be as friends before we leave. And it would appear you have a battle going on. Would you like some help with it?"
A quick scowl was reserved for Cyndre in that moment, but Bashar went right back to used wagon salesman in short order. "Ehh, what friend Cyndre means is, we would be happy to help negotiate a peace settlement between your clan and that of the forks and knives in the hopes of creating an accord and preserving the lives of all."
The Prince of Sporks responded, "Always battle. It is life way. Never ending here. You no help. You Go. You still be friend." His words, though broken, are clear.
Martin tries hard to think about something as he keeps quiet. He sighs as understanding begins to dawn. "Guys. I think I may have misunderstood the request."
"Always battle." Bashar echoed the sporks words. "What then know ye of peace? Like swordplay, peace must first be learned and understood before it can be practiced." Clearly Bashar wasn't ready to give up on 'give peace a chance' thing yet. Maggie meanwhile turned her head to face Martin, shook it and nighed before lazily looking away. "Hrmm, wha?" Bashar said, his face quizzical as he too looked to the Lord Marshal. He then added cautiously, an eyebrow cocked severely, "How... misunderstood?"
Cyndre also looks to Martin for the response here. "Do explain."
"I think it was meant for me to try and find a place where a prince of sporks would exist in a realm this deep in shadow, and I have." Martin rubs his forehead. "I don't think it was actually meant that I take it back with me. I mean... It's big! We should go. We shouldn't interfere here. I should get more clarification."
Bashar says to the spoons. "We go now. We seek wise sage for advice."
Martin quickly smiles, "Consolation prize... We can eat at the diner?" he looks up at Cyndre and beams at her.
The spoons all murmur about.
Martin adds. "With our fingers."
There is much more content with that.
.... Fade.....
OOC: This was just a fun little interlude for the Deep Shadow Packet.