"All along the watchtower, princes kept the view While all the women came and went, barefoot servants, too." - Bob Dylan, popularized by Jimi Hendrix

*

Diomedes blandly smiles up at the exotic looking men and women but he does not dare to stare too long at one of them, or any of them.

But they watch him, even when they pretend that they're not.

As he draws alongside, a rope ladder is thrown down for his use. Murmured conversation and laughter drifting down to him from above.

Diomedes calls up, not grasping the rope ladder quite yet. He looks at it, and then looks thoughtful.

"Permission to come aboard and leave to depart at my own will?" he calls up, speaking in a formal, measured manner. He waits a timed thirty seconds for any response to come.

Right on cue, on the thirtieth second comes a feminine voice, soft and lyrical. "The former is a given, son of man. The latter depends solely on if you do, indeed, have the will."

Diomedes smiles, says nothing, and moves ahead with his plans.

Diomedes then mounts the rope ladder, confidently navigating the rungs one by one, preferring to look up at the sky, and the ship, to the distraction of the view of its beautiful and terrible denizens.

None of them overtly pay much direct attention to him, yet at the same time, he's aware that every being on this section of the ship's deck is keenly aware of him. When he looks away, he can feel their eyes on him with the quiet intensity of a pack of felines. When circumstance causes him to take a peek in their direction- they are looking elsewhere. At no point does Diomedes ever actually catch them looking towards or away from him. They just are. It is disconcerting, even to one who transcends Reality. There's nothing whimsical or playful about the ambiance of this moment, it's weird, like a David Lynch movie. The fact that it's a bright and clear day only seems to make it worse.

Once he reaches the top and steps over the edge and onto the deck, Diomedes moves slowly to the center of the deck, not letting his eyes settle on any one thing or person for a minute or so. Finally, he chooses one of the women, the nearest to settle his gaze upon, and address.

She smiles, ripe, full and radiant; despite the almost angular symmetry of her eyes and cheekbones. In the instant his eyes rest on her, to the split second it takes him to decide that she will be the one that he addresses, this creature somehow manages to appear expectant.

"I am here to see the White Lord."

Diomedes pauses a beat and then adds.

"I believe that I am already expected."

She tilts her head just a fraction, the sun glistening on her tawny complexion.. her dark wine colored eyes seeking his out if he'll permit it.

The son of Brand's green eyes lock onto the strange alien woman's wine colored eyes and holds her gaze. Calm, and clear, he lets his gaze and hers continue to meet.

And finally she raises one eyebrow just a fraction. Is this surprise registering? Perhaps.

She strides towards him confidently, sliding her arm into his and turning to stand beside him. "I suppose you would have to be, now wouldn't you?" she purrs for his ears alone. "Nothing else would be right," she adds cryptically.

With a slightly amused air, he allows the nameless lady the liberty.

"He seeks our 'White Lord'," she calls out to everyone around them. This is met with much amusement.. and feigned 'ooohs and aaah..' by many an admirer, female and some male.

Diomedes eyes quickly roam around the gathered alien beings, weighing and measuring those who he can spot in a gentle rotation of his neck.

If Diomedes doesn't do something remarkable, they will start to surround him. Some reach out to touch him carefully.. pluck at his sleeves or his cloak. The one who he first spoke to will try to cling to him fiercely, jealously. Outwardly, Diomedes will notice that the warrior caste among them are gracefully and discreetly fanning out to various points along the ship's railing- perhaps covering an exit? No direct threatening action is taken against him however. The mood is almost intoxicating, and the sun feels very warm..

What does Diomedes do? Or does he do nothing at this point but be carried along (to somewhere), since things seem to be happening of their own accord.. Your call Doctor.

Diomedes' outward mien is amused, and relatively relaxed, even as these strange beings surround him.

"Business before pleasures." Diomedes says, his voice conversant and easy-going, but firm. "I will see the White Lord, or the Commander of this vessel, or the prevailing authority."

Diomedes then lowers her voice solely for the ears of the tawny haired female trying to claim him. "You would not want to disappoint my taste for anything...later, now would you, pretty one?"

She laughs softly, not bothering to hide it, like he did with his whisper. She pulls in closer to Diomedes, facing him, and thereby blocking many of the others with her turned back. "The White Lord is patient, my bold one.." Her hair thick and full bodied and golden colored, running down her neck to the middle of her back. Her robe is saffron, with a provocatively open neck; a sheer thin satin that lies on loosely on her shoulders like a second skin.

"..but I am not," she smiles at him hungrily. The woman slides up against him without inhibition, while a chorus of disappointed groans fill the air. She reaches up to full his face close to hers, and taste his mouth upon hers. Her wine colored eyes pour into his..

And that is not all that tries to pour into him. Diomedes eyes are like a tunnel into his soul, and she slides right down them like a serpent. He can feel her intent, warm and dusky on this all too hot of a morning. He isn't going to see the White Lord; he isn't going anywhere but on his back. She plans to take him right there on the deck, with all the world to watch her in her glory. And if it shatters his sense of decency, so much the better. She is going to take him and take him and take him until his mind, body, and soul are broken to her completely.. and then she will take all of him..

A single thought forms in his brain. "No."

And then Diomedes reaches out calmly with his mind and throttles the psyche of this creature; like catching a snake around the neck just under the jaw. It is as difficult for him as squeezing a bicep. Her body stiffens instantly.

In that split second moment, the situation changes from Diomedes seeing nothing but her- to the astonishment shown in the involuntary widening of her eyes and the weak tug of her hand as she realizes that she can't look or pull away from him. Diomedes can feel the sensation of fear as she realizes that she is not the predator and he is not the prey- as well as her attempt to hide how that arouses her in a different way. She is a very pretty creature, but she is not his equal in any kind of struggle.

Diomedes is robbed of the opportunity to explore her mind further however. In the seconds that passed, the tableau around them has changed. She shoved back and away from him with an abrupt ferocity. A tall male in armor the color of sapphire, fair of skin with hair like silver, imposes himself between Diomedes and his recent admirer. There is a path behind him where he has barrelled his way through the crowd. All around them the others are stepping back; Diomedes can see their uncertainty, confusion and concern. They no longer look so envious of the woman in the saffron robe. As for her part, she stares up Diomedes in wonder from where she has fallen on her backside, with a bit of fear, and touching her chest with one hand.

The male in the sapphire armor clouds his comely face with a snarl as his hand moves down to the hilt of his blade. "Who are-"

Diomedes turns his gaze from the would be psychic vampire to the more martial opposition. His hand strays toward Pagono.

"STOP!" a voice cries out from above. The man in the sapphire armor doesn't take his hand from the hilt, but neither does he draw.. instead he steps back away from Diomedes. Everyone around him does, and they all look up and behind Diomedes to the one who just spoke up.

Diomedes keeps his hand on his blade's hilt.

When Diomedes turns to look, he sees a figure clad all in white the color of snow. A hooded cowl obscures the figures features, but judging from the voice, he is male. He carries a blade at his side as well, in a sheath the color of bone. This must be the White Lord.

"If he is to be my guest," he calls down, "then it is only appropriate that the question be mine."

His armored confronter bows towards the White Lord in silent obedience. Diomedes is no longer under threat, and the others shuffle back away from him, parting so that he might pass. The armored ones are less intimidated than the others however.

Diomedes only studies the reactions of the confronters out of the corners of his eyes, focusing most of his attention on the leader.

"Come," the figure on high calls to Doctor Dismas, already starting to turn away. He pauses though, and the hood swings back down to the deck below. The White Lord points to the tawny woman in saffron who is now rising to her feet. It is as if an invisible spotlight from Heaven just hit her square on, but she doesn't quite flinch. "*You*," the White Lord commands, "escort him. See to his care and refreshment."

The figure in white turns away to presumably walk in some cabin on that upper deck.

"Good." Diomedes lets go of the hilt of Pagono, the immediate threat now over. He looks at the woman and regards her for a moment.

She looks back at him solemnly until she has fully regained her bearing and some semblance of dignity. She lowers her eyes and curtsies before him. Diomedes has the impression that she waits for his pleasure or for him to reject her.

The courtiers around them turn their backs and disperse like a thin layer of grease on water when a drop of soap is dropped in a pan. They feign disinterest, except for a few who poorly disguise their contempt. The armored guards remain at the periphery of the railing but maintain the stoic disregard affected by guards everywhere.

Finally, with a smile that suggests he has no hard feelings for her attempt to take and break him, he gestures palm upward toward her. "Well, Saffron." He pauses to allow her to either accept the appelation or for her to supply her own name or title, "Let us be on our way."

She lifts her chin and looks at him with her strange colored eyes. She places her hand in his, her skin cool but particularly soft and supple. Saffron rises then to silently escort him to their appointment.

Diomedes will follow Saffron. If enquired as to what refreshments he desires, he will accept a glass of pure water, and nothing else, prior to being shown into the presence of the mysterious White Lord.

She leads him to short steep flight of steps to the higher deck, to the door of what is presumably a Captain's quarters. Saffron tests the door first and opens it for him, following and closing it behind him. The walls and floor are the same crystal, inlaid with silver or platinum, but the thickness and refracted nature of the substance makes for a translucent quality, not transparent. The furnishings within are a concession to the practical however. Ornate and exquisite rugs line the floor, and the wooden furniture is the masterwork of a master craftsman. There is nothing here that is not beautiful.

Another door is set in the strange glassy and silver walls of the cabin.

She takes him to a comfortable chair and offers it to him. Then gliding over to a nearby table, she returns with a golden platter and offers him fruit and wine. She merely nods in reply to his request, and taking the platter away she fetches him water at his request. If Diomedes bothers to use some spell to verify that it is not laden with some charm, he'll find that it is not.

As Diomedes is in the "trust but verify" stage, he will make the test, as subtly as he can. Once satisfied, he will sip the water.

Once he has been attended to, Saffron drops to her knees and sits on the floor before him, her legs curling beneath her. A bit of her smooth calves are visible from the slit running along the side of her robe.

Almost immediately the cabin's only other door darkens, with the presence of someone standing on the other side. The White Lord enters and closes the door quietly behind him, his face still hidden by the cowl of white samite. He too, wears a blade. Saffron shifts to face him, but remains seated on the floor by Diomedes.

"I had thought to ask you if your life came so cheaply that you would dare mock me so," he begins at once before even taking a seat. "But it would have been hollow thing to say. Cheap theatrics and unworthy of us both."

"It is not my style." Diomedes says softly, putting down the glass.

The White Lord takes a seat across from him on the other side of the cabin. A flesh and blood hand gestures from his snowy garments towards both him and Saffron seated before him. Even though Diomedes can not see her face, he can sense a trace of her fear. "After all, everyone aboard this Ship, including you and this one here, is aware that there are other worlds than this."

"So instead of asking who are you," the White Lord reaches up to pull back his hood. "Let me ask, why are you here?"

Diomedes finds his own face staring back at him. Almost but not quite perfectly matching his features. The White Lord has little in the way of facial hair, and has some of the telltale inhuman but perfect little traits.. High cheekbones and ever so slightly pointed ears.. and just a little feline in the shape of the eyes. Otherwise, the White Lord is his own twin.

"I would imagine even our swords are cousins," says Lord White, openly studying him.

"Blood of the Gorgon." Diomedes says softly, and looks at the glass. He then turns to look at Saffron, and favors her with a smile. "I think I will take a glass of wine, after all, if you please, Saffron. I think that I am going to need it."

She inclines her head in acknowledgement and starts to rise.

Diomedes then turns to regard and study the White Lord for a moment or two more before responding.

Lord White keeps his own thoughtful silence, while Saffron pours the wine. A second glass is poured and offered to the White Lord, who accepts it in silence without even looking up. Delivering the dark red wine to Diomedes, she takes her place again, just in front and to the side of him, her legs curled beneath her on the floor.

"Aunt Fiona once said to me that if traveled in Shadow long enough, I would meet myself. I thought she was speaking metaphorically, at the time."

"The question you ask is one of the three big questions to ask someone, that cover just it all. Why are you here? Who are you? What do you want? I think they are questions that we could each ask the other, profitably."

"If you are anything like me." Diomedes continues. "Then you know I stand by hospitality, and thus I will answer your question first, before asking of any questions of you."

"I came through this shadow in search of a relation of the Blood, but the presence of your ship, out of place and time for this place, drew my attention, although it did not similarily draw the interest of the cousin with whom I was travelling. The people of this town feel oppressed and scared of your presence, and so I was asked to come up with a solution to the problem."

"But, really, my curiosity as to find your ship, here, is why I have come. Now more than ever, given your visage." Diomedes admits and then awaits his host's response.

"There are other worlds than this," repeats the White Lord as if this explained it.

Diomedes slowly sips the wine and listens intently.

"I will abide by your standard of hospitality," he says. "But I will only ask three questions, so you are permitted just the same. Formal questions," he clarifies. "Also, if you are anything like me, then you are a thoughtful being. You are correct, those are the three primary questions. Yet observation changes the observed," he gestures to Diomedes gracefully. "The principle of uncertainty. The second question I would ask, after my first, will be different then the second question I would ask, after hearing your first. We will take turns like gamesmen. Do you understand?"

"I understand and I accept." Diomedes raises the glass toward Lord White. He glances down at Saffron, and then sets the glass back down and lets his host finish.

Saffron does not lift her eyes, but the White Lord returns his salute.

"We may discuss the complaints of the local population when we're finished."

He tilts his head slightly. "So, kinsman of Fiona, as you have named yourself.. for now, ask of me your first question."

"There are many I might ask, but I think I will take your idea, and not ask the immediately obvious one, in hopes of illumination and unexpected conversation." Diomedes begins.

"I found your ship in this river, in this shadow, but I sense that this place is much like any other to you, and no goal, not one worthy of my opposite number and his crew." Diomedes begins. "And even if your goal solely was to waylay me, or my kin in our travels, that has now been accomplished."

There is a flicker in his bright eyes, but it is difficult to discern what it means; other than perhaps that Diomedes has his counterpart's attention.

"The question I ask of you, Lord White, is, in the language of the Latins, Quo Vadis? Where are you and this ship bound?"

"Clever," concedes the White Lord, and then proceeds to sip his wine. He continues with no hesitation, the pace of the game not diminishing at all on his end. "I will say a little more than your question demands. I could perpetrate a trickery here and remain within the rules. Yet I'll give fair value. I do that, mind you, because I respect fair value. I trust you do as well."

"We were bound for nowhere."

"But now..?" he muses, "now when we have finished with this town and the dark skinned hunters and druids who lurk in the trees, spying on us, we will be bound for places that are both younger and older. Places that are more carefree and less rule bound than this. We will sail by southern stars."

He doesn't wait to see if this answer is satisfactory, but seems to assume that it will be. "My second.. Do you give orders, or do you accept them? Are you a man who does what he is told, or what he believes is best? Are you a force for change, or do you preserve the status quo?" The White Lord gives an off hand gesture. "Answer whatever variation you like- they're all the same question."

Diomedes takes a sip of the wine, nods and then begins to speak.

"Am I Apollonian or Dionysian? Do I favor Stasis or Change? I am not a philosopher, but I see the point of your query." Diomedes begins. "An answer to that delves into who and what I am, and what I do. Is not a person what he does?"

"I am an artist, although nowhere near as proficient as my Uncle Bleys' daughter." Diomedes begins. "Art is not a conservative medium, for even if it seeks to depict reality, it is a point of view of reality, and not the whole of it. Therefore, it does not maintain the status quo."

"Too, I am a sorcerer, as you no doubt have long guessed. My father Brand taught me, as did my Aunt Fiona." Pride is evident in Diomedes' voice. "And magic, esoteric arts, are inherently forces for change. In even those workers of esoteric arts which use only the smallest potentials of energy, the flows of chi, even they are changing the environment, they are forces for change, even if they claim that they are inherently conservative."

"And then there is finally what I have done." Diomedes continues. "I defeated and overthrew a Shadow sorcerer who was oppressing a small town, and arranged things to keep nearby sorcerers at bay at a time. I am the defeater of the Deathjack, casting down a foul alchemical blend of technology and necromancy. I played the game of Shatranj with the Djinn and ended his usurpation of the throne of Deryabar. I have been called Spellbreaker, for unraveling a spell that held magic itself at bay in the Shadow Ardneh."

"And finally, I am here." Diomedes says. "Although I was charged with seeking my lost Uncle, when my cousin and I came across your ship, I did what I thought was best, and rather than passing it by, continuing on our travels, I took the leave of my cousin, because my instincts told me to investigate who and what was aboard, and why."

"To answer your question in a single sentence." Diomedes finishes. "I am a force for change, without question. And now, if that answer is acceptable." Diomedes gives a pause to take a sip and let his host dispute that.

There is no dispute from his host and Diomedes can tell the other man's silence is not from a lack of interest. The son of Brand is free with his answer and it is not taken for granted. He was being watched carefully and listened to with a discerning ear.

"My own second question."

"What our friends think of us is important" Diomedes begins. "But equally as important is how we are seen by those who stand against us, those who have had crossed purposes with us for a long time."

Diomedes pauses and then finished.

"What would your enemies say about you?"

His counterpart stares at him.

For a few moments, it could easily be taken as an imperious stare, as if Diomedes has presumed to ask too much. But then it lasts just a little too long. How does he know? Diomedes was raised by Brand and Lady Botaneiates- a woman of strength and intelligence not to be subsumed by her child's father. He was taught by Fiona, and supped at a table with the likes of Prince Eric and Prince Caine of Amber. Even if he is young, Diomedes has experience. Valuable experience. The White Lord's pause is too long. Something is wrong.

Diomedes does not react visibly to the strange pause in his host's responses, but continues to watch him and the scene carefully.

"Would you like me to pour more wine my lord?" Saffron says softly to the ermine clad man, disturbing the silence like fingers dragged across the surface of still pool of water. With all the attention riveted on Lord White, she had at some point lifted her face to look at her liege from where she sat.

Lord White nods, stirring slightly in his chair. She rises gracefully to see to it.

White refocuses on Diomedes. "That I am a liar," he admits almost grudgingly. "That I am cruel, and take satisfaction in their suffering. That the master I serve most devoutly is myself. Those are the things that my enemies would say." He takes no pleasure in answering, that is plain.

"Whether they are to believed or not is.. relative," he adds accepting his refilled glass from Saffron. "They are after all my enemies."

Diomedes nods his head in acceptance of the answer.

She looks to Diomedes, her wine colored eyes devoid of any their earlier fierceness and pride. "Would you care for more wine?" she asks him softly.

"I would, thank you." Diomedes turns his attention to watch her do so, and he takes the refilled glass from her with a nod of acceptance. Diomedes finds his hand casually stroke Saffron's shoulder as she returns to her place, as if enjoying her physical presence there. She doesn't

react noticeably, but he feels a slight shiver under his hand.

"Final question," he says with something sounding like grim resolve, leaning forward slightly. He gestures towards Saffron. "This creature over-reached her station. She saw the similarity between us and thought to use that resemblance.. that resonance.. to further herself among our kind. Whatever sort of creature you are, you reflect me; and I take such a familiarity, such a disrespect upon you*- as an insult to *me. As a member of my court, she is mine to punish."

"Simply put, how would you have me punish her?" He reaches next to his chair and pulls a sheathed blade and lays it across his knees. "Shall I kill her? Or just strip her down and pour every humiliation and degredation my imagination permits up on her?" He shrugs slightly. "Or both?"

Saffron never looks up, but keeps her eyes fixed to the floor as she sits there at Diomedes feet.

Diomedes takes a long sip of the wine as he considers Lord White's question. His eyes flicker briefly to the woman at his feet, and then at the casually cruel, inhumanly so, host.

"Neither." Diomedes begins. "Allow me to elaborate, for you deserve far more than a one word answer to such a revealing question."

"True, she did attempt to overtake me, perhaps, as you say, because of our resemblance, or simply because I seemed like easy prey. A court, or the crew of a ship, must work under he who commands it. There is often little room for error when things truly go dangerous. Obedience to a ship's captain, or a liege lord can be a matter of life or death."

Lord White nods, bidding him to continue.

"The offense is not as large as it might be, after all, the attempt was quashed, the overreach was nipped in the bud. That in itself is a partial downpayment on punishment, but I would not dream that it is the sum total of it."

"I appreciate the delicate balancing act that one in command must do. If you do not punish Saffron here, you will lose respect and face amongst your crew, for open defiance of the captain without reprisal will merely lead to more defiance, and perhaps the next time, a more dangerous sort of defiance from some ambitious underling on your ship."

"However, you and your Court are not safely in safe harbor. Many things might happen between here and back at your home, and to remove a member of your crew, either by death, or by degradation and humiliation just short of it, would be foolish, my counterpart. No, if I were in your place, I would punish her, and publically. But I would be relatively merciful, despite any reputation for cruelty you admit to."

The White Lord raises one eyebrow and leans forward so that his palms rest upon the sheathed blade resting across his thighs. He is plainly speculative as to where Diomedes is going with this.

"Punish her enough so that she remembers her place and that the crew sees that you do respond to insubordination in swift and certain terms. Enough that if she considers such insubordination again, she will remember the experience, and know that far worse could await her still if she attempted to disobey you again. I know not what your culture would consider or employs for such a punishment; I am only familiar with my own shipboard customs and what I would do in your place, which may not suit your kind."

"But I would not, Lord White, punish her so severely that she either plots revenge on you forevermore, or you lose a member of your court and crew, far from the safety of the waters of home."

Diomedes takes a sip of the wine and awaits the Lord's response before continuing.

The stare Diomedes receives is a flat one. Then the White Lord sits up and rests one hand on the arm of his chair. The other hand grasps the sheath of his sword firmly under the hilt, his flesh protected by the scabbard. He extends it like a rod towards Saffron. The blunt end finds a place against her perfect throat. Like a dull and blunt hook, he draws it up slowly, making her lift her chin in the air. With a twist of his wrist he draws it to the side to force Saffron to look at him. Diomedes can not see her face, but he can tell that these two beings have locked eyes.

Diomedes watches carefully, having not quite risen from his chair, but certainly leaning forward.

"I think Fiona's Kin is a liar too," he tells Saffron. "And I think that he's afraid he'll never rub his dirty hands on you again." It is a taunt, hard and unkind.

Diomedes' eyes flash.

The White Lord snaps his eyes up to Diomedes, and the weapon is pulled back as fast as a serpent where it comes to rest point down on the floor like a walking stick. His hand finding the hilt, but making no move to rise, or to draw it from its scabbard.

"You are but one, albeit not a sheep, but a wolf. But you're still only one, Wolf. " The White Lord gestures around him. "We are not Legion, but we might as well be, as far as you're concerned. We stand poised to suck these mortals dry, drinking up their hidden little fears and shameful little fantasies.. watching their lifeforce burn bright and hot like.. kindling. And yet," he pauses, "it is for me.. that you worry."

The White Lord looks bemused. "You would advise me." He sighs, his smile fading to a discerning stare. "I do appreciate that. Truly. But I don't think you want me to punish her too severely because you care what is in my best interests. No," he shakes his head. "You don't want me to break her, because you've decided that isn't in your best interest."

He regards Saffron for a brief moment, and then rakes his eyes over Diomedes. "Finish this," he says with an impatient gesture.

"Very well." Diomedes' stare is hard, and has lost its congeniality.

"And now my final question. I have found the three questions you have asked, my host, intriguing for as much as what you have not asked, and either seem to know or guess, as much as what you have asked. Your questions seem to suggest a deeper game, and not merely a casual contact that will never be repeated. And while you in your position and role may not know definitively the answer to what I ask, the fact that you are here and I sit in this cabin suggests you can make a good guess of it."

Diomedes pauses and then says.

"Under what circumstances will my people and your own kith and kin meet again? Or I meet your people again?"

"I do not know," he answers simply and without melodrama. "Again, we are reflections of each other. I hold dominion over this lot here, but I serve other masters, just as I am sure you must do as well. We are not all explorers."

"Soon or never, or sometime in between. I do not yet know."

"Now we have other business, Fiona's Kin. I claim Evan's Mill as our lawful prey. I accord you with the distinction of being no mere man. What say you as to this matter? If you withdraw from this place, and do not interfere, I will give you my word that you will not be troubled."

Diomedes shakes his head slightly.

"You named me a liar, and wrongly, even if you followed it up with a compliment." Diomedes begins. "That was ill of you to say. I did not prevaricate, and mislike your statement that I have."

The White Lord's face stiffens at this rebuke.

Diomedes makes a chopping motion with his hand, to signal he is done with that aspect of matters. "Certainly, I could leave your ship,and not pass by this shadow in a generation of their lives, or longer. I could depart and leave them to you."

"There is just one small detail." Diomedes continues. "I told the people of Evan's Mill that I would deal with the situation, with their invaders. I am no Oathbreaker. And I did say, in response to your second question, that I am a force for Change. The predation upon this town is something that, since I have promised to change, I seek to do so."

"Certainly, we can leave if not on terms of fast friends, we can leave on terms of respect.To do so, I propose to you one of two courses of action."

"One, simply depart this place, for a nearby shadow where you can conduct your predation. I have made no bond or oath to such as they, you can have your prey, and I can be on my way peaceably. I could even accompany you to such a shadow, sailing, by perhaps the southern stars, for a while and aid you in your journey. I am a mariner amongst other things, and to be aboard this ship, freely, as it sails would be pleasing."

"Your other proposal?" his counter-part asks.

"Second, if you are determined to predate upon these people, in this shadow, then I challenge you, or a champion of your choosing upon this ship, to a contest for the right to do so. The stakes are simple. If you win, I concede your right to your prey, and freely depart this ship, and this shadow, leaving it to its fate. If I win, you depart this shadow and return back to your home straightaway, without molestation of these mortals or any others that lie on the course to your home."

Diomedes regards Lord White calmly for his response, with only the corner of his eye watching Saffron's reaction to all this.

His eyes rest on Saffron. "He has spirit," he says almost idly. Then he lifts his gaze to stare Diomedes in the eyes. of "And a sense of honor." There is a touch of grudging respect in his voice.

There is a pregnant pause.

"But there is no world where honor is the Law, and you don't have the spirit to stop me."

Diomedes snorts lightly.

"We are passing mid-day, our next opportunity is sunset," Lord White, explains, speaking briskly now. "There are observances to be made, and we must choose a fitting time." He looks at Diomedes up and down. "You don't strike me as wanting to wait until dawn. In any case, we will duel here, aboard my ship. You will have safe passage to and from. I accept your terms."

He gestures towards the door Diomedes was first led through. "Unless you have something else to say, I bid you to depart and make whatever preparations you wish until sundown."

"Sunset, aboard the ship." Diomedes agrees. "One question on the terms of the duel. Armor, or not?" he asks.

Lord White lifts his eyebrows, and glances at the still disheartened looking Saffron, and back towards Diomedes. "No armor," he replies. "Let the contest be decided by us and our blades alone, and not by our accouterments."

"Done." Diomedes replies.

After all that needs must be said, has been said, Lord White tells Saffron, "Get out of my sight until I call you." Never lifting her wine colored eyes, she silently follows Diomedes out, guiding him back the way he came. Yet before too much notice is drawn to them, she reaches out one hand on his arm, her fingers finding purchase on his shirt.

Diomedes does not flinch from the gesture, and turns to look at her.

"You must defeat him in spectacular fashion, if you can at all" she says very softly lifting her eyes at last to his. "Otherwise his successor may choose not to honor his covenant with you. He chose not to tell you that, for all his words of praise." Diomedes has only a moment to reply before they will be observed.

"A close victory is really no victory at all." Diomedes gives a nod of understanding to Saffron's words as he speaks. And then, lower. "Thank you."

Diomedes departs Saffron as it becomes clear that they are now observed, and heads to the deck of the ship, and from there, down to his rowboat and the shore.

Saffron is still watching from the railing as Diomedes rows his boat to shore and out of sight.

Diomedes heads back to the room he has been given. To the inevitable questions he will get from the townspeople, he will simply say that he met the demons on board the ship, and is going to return to the ship, at sunset.

Doctor Dismas is, of course, fed a hot meal. Any other demands of hospitality he might make are seen to as well. He is also not alone, for Diomedes still retains the lion's share of the followers from when he and Miho parted ways.

Those that followed him across many worlds are anxious to know what happens next, and their understanding of the local language and custom is poor. Yet they abide when Diomedes tells them that he must see to something in a place they can not follow. They've seen enough wonders to take that warning seriously.

As for the people of Evan's Mill, they are having a prayer vigil for the Doctor over at the Church. He is, of course, invited, but some of the wonder wounded menfolk- the ones that have seen 'them' in battle; they make the Doctor's excuses for him if he needs it. That 'they understand what he is up against' is what they tell the others- and they try to convince themselves of that in secret.

Diomedes will make a cursory visit. Its the least that Doctor Dismas can do, if the townspeople are praying for his victory. He will not linger, but will thank the townspeople for their prayers and wishes.

Inside of his rooms, in his privacy, Diomedes will meditate for a short while. Believing to be prepared just in case, Diomedes will modify and change the reflection spell he created earlier, making it protective against swords, and in the semblance of a cuirass and greaves and leg armor. The visual effect of the spell will be of bronze armor.

A contingent of the men, and some of his own followers march resolutely behind the Doctor, to see him off to this terrible confrontation. Quietly, they divert from his path at the end though, and take up places along the high and tree shielded embankment that overlooks the Ship.