Ham06 - An Inch an Hour

Hammett found himself backtracking for the first day of his journey, he had stayed a little too long with Calvera and his army, but that was alright, the journey was easy going for the time being, just returning to shadows they had already passed through, but he was making better time of it on his own, then they had when marching a whole army along the route.

When the time was right he began shifting away from the army's path and things got a bit rougher, but he had spent years shadow-shifting and wandering, so any hardship was displaced by the nostalgia of his younger years when every twist or fork in the road would bring new wonders and discoveries. He adjusted his clothes to match the weather and terrain as he went, another old habit of his that he was quickly falling back into.

Heading towards the Golden Circle made the journey a bit easier, shadows were more civilized at this end of things, so he was never to far from some sort of village or town if he desired, but over the next few days he did that as rarely as possible, only when he needed to pick up food or supplies. The rest of the time he spent in the varying woods and wilds, enjoying getting back to nature.

On the fifth day of his travels he came across a battlefield, the fighting only maybe a few days passed. Fallen soldiers from both sides of the conflict littered the field, only crows and vultures paid tribute to these dead. But not all the vultures were of the avian type. Across the field he could make out a scattering of people picking over the dead for whatever items of value they could find. Poor villagers from a nearby settlement, he saw as he drew closer to them, probably a settlement previously ransacked by one or both of these forces now trying to rebuild and salvage what they could now that the fighting had seemingly ended.

Still, poor villagers or not, it was best to be prepared. It didn't take long for him to find a well made and balanced sword amongst the fallen, and while he didn't approve of looting the dead in theory, this man had obviously already gotten all the use out of the sword as he was ever going to, in this life anyways.

He gave the sword a few practice swings, making sure any nearby looters saw that he obviously knew how to handle the weapon, before sheathing it. It wasn't as good as his old knife, but it would do for now. [[OCC: You never actually said that the Amber guards took away my knife. You only said my trump cards, but for now I will assume they took my knife as well. If not, awesome, but Hammett will still take up the new sword, more for making the display to the villagers, then really needing it.]]

His point made, the villagers keep their distance as Hammett's path takes him across the battlefield, before beginning to shift away from the battle.

Another few days passed, but try as he might he was having trouble escaping the battle as shadow versions of it seemed to be occurring everywhere he ventured. Sometimes he arrived just before the battle began, and he had to quickly race across the field, in what must have been an amusing and probably confusing display for the troops on both sides, to avoid being caught up in the conflict. Other times he came across the remains of the battle as it must have happened years ago, armored covered skeletons and rusted weapons filling the fields as far as the eye could see. Once he arrived during the fight, and had to spend two days camped out away in the woods listening to the sounds of battle and the dying, as he waited for the conflict to end. There never seemed to be a clear victor in all the versions he came across. It was as if both side kept fighting until the last man, never retreating or surrendering, but also never winning. And if there truly was ever a "last man standing" from any of the wars, Hammett never saw the man, and counted himself lucky of that, but he hoped whoever that man was he was able to return home and never have to fight in such a battle again.

Eventually Hammett was able to move beyond this shadow cycle of violence, and was happy to have it behind him, but even over the next few long, lonely days he couldn't help but wonder at what had caused such a conflict to ripple across so many shadows with always the same conclusion. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good, and he worried that it had something to do with the current situation Amber found itself in, but how or why, he had no idea. But it did add more pressure to him to get back to Ceridin as soon as possible.

At the next little village he steered himself to, he picked up horse; well trained and well bred. Experienced in long journeys, but of course never one going as far as Hammett's command would be taking it.

[[To be continued]]

The horse makes the journey across shadow much quicker, but removes the laidback quality of foot travel, still Hammett knew once all this drama was over he would have time again to travel casually across shadow like he did in his youth.

His journey over the next few days was relatively uneventful except for the one night night when a pack of hungry, well wolves would be the closest way to describe them, took an interest in his horse and he had to fight off and kill a few of them before they got the message that their would be easier pray out in the wilds then here at Hammett's camp.

Two days, and a few shadow worlds, after the encounter with the wolf-things Hammett found himself traveling a well worn path through a massive forest when he noticed a man riding towards him, his horse pulling along merchants wagon. Both riders pulled to a stop a few meters way from reach other, sizing each other up, as was often the custom on lonely stretch of road where any stranger could be trouble.

But Hammett wasn't concerned, and it had been so long since he had a chance to chat with anyone, any company, even for a short time would be welcome.

"'hoy there, good sir." He called over to the merchant, "How do you fair this day?"

The merchant he saw was past middle-aged but still physically fit, and had a wizened and scholarly look about him. He gave Hammett a cautious once over, then replied, "Well met, fellow roadrider. And you are a sight for sore eyes, I haven't seen hide nor hair of any other man nor beast along this road in many a days time."

"I neither, it has been unusually quiet for days. Are you a merchant, do you have food and supplies for sale?"

"Not much food, I'm afraid, but if its goods you are looking for I have much for sale from so many of the unusual places I've encountered in my search for my home."

Hammett slid of his horse and closed the last little distance between them on foot, "You are lost?"

The old merchant stepped down from the front of the wagon, "Aye, for more years then I can even remember now. When I originally set off from my village I was but a lad of 17, eager to take over my father's wagon and trade route, but I got lost along the roads and byways, and have never been able to find my way back to fair Kingsport. Yet still I keep searching, plying my wares wherever I find myself, and acquiring new goods as a need or that catch my fancy." He offers out his hand, "Kuranes."

Hammett shakes the offered hand, "Hammett."

Kuranes goes around to the side of the wagon and lowers a panel, revealing shelves of goods, both common and exotic. Very exotic Hammett quickly notices. Items from all across the breadth and width shadow. This man must have been unknowingly travelling between Shadows for decades to acquire a collection like this, some were even from close to the courts, others like a very nice bottle of Kashfa wine, from the Golden Circle.

Hammett looks over the good, "You must have seen some incredible things and met some very strange people in your travels."

"Aye. Things my father never warned me about or that teachers never made mention of in my years of schooling. But now I've come to learn that that is because they never travel like I have, or like you, I'd reckon. You seem familiar with most of what I have here. That usually isn't the case with most people I encounter."

"Yes, I also travel between these different worlds, but that ability is more common where I come from, I haven't met someone like you before."

Hammett powers up his eye and begins to study the man, his wagon and the goods with his special sight. Some of the good the man sells have minor enchantments, but his attention is drawn to a silver horseshoe Kuranes has attached as a decorative piece to the front of the wagon, just behind where he sits and rides. It has a strong enchantment on it, similar to what Hammett's ring, and now his eye, contains. An enchantment to travel through shadow, although hung where it is, Kuranes would have no direct control over its ability, but possibly it was powerful enough that it fed just enough off of the old man's thoughts and desires, and kept randomly shifting him through shadows are he travelled.

Kuranes catches him studying the horseshoe, "That's not for sale I'm afraid. That is my lucky charm. It was part of the very first deal I made after I left home. From another old traveling salesman like myself that I met the first few days out on the open road. I knew it was valuable, and he must have known as well, but I was still able to haggle it, and a few bags of a strange grain, from him. I've kept it all these years, at first to show my father, but now it is my good luck charm. I've seen what bad things can happen along these never ending roads, but I've been fortunate enough to always make it through, and with a profit."

Hammett smiled. Kuranes was a man after his own heart.

[[OOC: its late will continue tomorrow.]]

He was in a mysterious little shop, in a mysterious and mystical shadow, that reminded him strongly of Carcosa, when he found what he wasn't looking for. It was in a pile of recently acquired, but so far unsorted, goods from a local estate sale. The pile contained various other items of interest, ancient maps, books of occult knowledge and research, small roughly carved figurines of a primitive era which held some form of power and other odds and ends he didn't have time to study, because his main interest was his set of trump cards. He shuffled through the deck, they were all there. How they ended up here was a mystery even Old Dwarkin probably couldn't answer even on his most lucid days, and Hammett wasn't inclined to ponder the puzzles of the universe at this moment.

It took some haggling, and a little vailed threat of possible violence and retribution, to get the shop keeper to part with the whole pile of goods for a reasonable price, gold coins in this case and his horse which he had left tied up at the edge of town, but in the end the deal was made. Hammett put everything into one of his travel bags, and slung it around his shoulder. The trump deck went back to his inner pocket until he had left the store and travelled a few blocks away.

Then he drew out his card for his Wormwood's office and quarters and trumped back to home, or at least one of his homes away from home.

Hammett is rather shocked to hear that but tries not to let on, "Conrad, you know I always come back eventually, and that is most disturbing news."

"No time to rest and relax, I guess" Hammett thinks to himself, he goes up to his VIP area and takes his usual seat with a view of the main club. A waitress brings him a drink and he sips it while slowly reaching out with his intent and attunement not only to this place, but the shadow as a whole. First he checks the spells and magical effects he has layered over the building to keep it safe. Maybe one of those is acting up, mistakenly trying to keep trouble out. If none of the spells and magical effects seem to be off, then he begins to check the building's "shadow matter" and the current condition of his shadow. Has their been any attempts by outside parties to force their way in or effect the shadow from outside? He will summon some of the guardians and question them on the matter and if anything unusual at all has transpired. If nothing along those lines pan out, then he begins studying the doors into the club with his trump vision, watching people coming and going, seeing how the trump doors are working and if there seems to be any tampering, glitches, pauses, stutters or anything else like that. 

If still, after all that, he hasn't discovered anything unusual, he asks Conrad to give him a run down on on who the door was injuring and losing and where they were coming from. Is there any commonality? Like were they all coming from Diega or something? 

[[OCC: If Deiga was a important or popular place in or around the Golden Circle, one that did business with Amber and Ceridin, or had a strong criminal element to it, then Hammett would have put a door there (or it would be on his list to add a door if we say he hadn't gotten to it yet. We just said he hit up a bunch of shadows he knew of. So it is your call). ]]


Hammett sees that the issue is being done on purpose and is not pleased. Who would be messing with him like this? Why not just come after him directly, instead of screwing around with his trump doors and Wormwood's? Probably not anyone on the Amber side of things, if they really wanted him they would just come get him when he wasn't here in his own shadow, and he had spent plenty of time away over the last few weeks. And not anyone from the Court's either. He only had friend's back there as far as he knew, not counting Lady Vada and her minions, obviously. But he didn't have a doorway to Kasaba, yet, but it was likely that she had agents in other shadows, but again, to what end would doing this be worth her time? The fact that it was shadow material-based tampering could be a clue. If it was directly Pattern or Logrus interference that would be one thing, but Shadow based, meant either a shadow based power or source, or someone using the Pattern indirectly. 

He tries to study the how the fraying or tampering is occurring. Is someone slightly altering the shadows or "rules" of the shadows to cause the trump doors to not be as accurate? Like when his room at Castle Amber changed so much that his trump would no longer work for there? Is someone slightly changing these shadows so that while the trump doors still work, they just don't work as well as they should be? Or is it more of a direct "assault" on the doors themselves with Shadow Matter? 

As he continues studying the cause he also begins adjusting the flow of power to Wormwood's from the primal source. Can he focus more trump power to the doorways to make them stronger and more stable for the time being, at least until he figures out who is messing with him and his business and deals with the situation? 

[[OCC: can I fix the issue? Like if I go to each door and redraw the trump door and mold the shadow issue that have been created would that fix the problem? At least until whoever is messing with them does it again? ]]

[[OCC: Well I can't very well have random customers getting decapitated, so I'll have to make the time.]]

Hammett gets some necessary items together and changes his clothes and begins travelling through the trump door to the different shadows it connects to and begins making the needed repairs to them.

As he does the repairs he also tries to gather any "Psionic" residue or impressions from whoever caused the damage. He knows that it will be hard to pick out anyone specific from just working on the first door or two, but after more then that the odds of the same person being at the doors in three or more shadows would be almost impossible unless they were the ones causing the damage, add to that that the person causing the damage must be pretty powerful in their Psych abilities and powers, so then the chances were good that they would leave a strong "psychic" fingerprint.

He also spends a little time in each of the shadows he goes to, to ask around the local shops that are near the Woromwood's doorways if anyone there had noticed anything or anyone unusual in the area last few weeks, or if there had been any unusual events happening in the city.