Orso took a deep breath and nodded to Igraine, but he was still apprehensive about Vylrath . . . and, sure enough, Vylrath's words confirmed his worries; it was brief, but Orso considered losing Vylrath on the trip over. Igraine's demands had been vague enough that such was a possibility. So long as Vylrath accompanied the Queen of Ulster to the Unseelie Orso would have completed his job.
He sighed, inwardly. That would have solved some problems but he didn't want a hot-tempered demon-not-demon-whatever-thing angering the powers that be, either. Shit.
"Mister Xanathi," Orso looked at the other man with harsh, unfriendly eyes, "Don't pretend to be something you aren't," he would've spat if it wouldn't have been rude, "and unless its self-defense, if you attack King Pendaran, you will get your family killed. Suffice it to say," Orso took a sharp breath, "None of you have any worry of glamour or violence so long as you don't break the truce first. If you do forego your only protection, well, it was nice knowing you,” Orso stuck his thumb out and made a gesture across his throat.
Unless stopped (or attacked, he now assumed), Orso focused his attention around the room, grabbed a hold of the various particles of light, began to bend and repulse photons, until, eventually, a large, rectangular doorway was erected in front of him. The door way as darkness incarnate, absolute and impenetrable, and flat, almost sheet thin. It lead nowhere, yet . . .
Walking around the doorway, Orso held out his hand, the scarlet light of the rune on his glove flaring to life, and he uttered a long, incomprehensible word; it was a word that flooded the room with a sweet, yet somehow bitter magic that danced across the surface of the doorway.
“I’m sure the trip will be gentle on your stomach,” Orso mocked, “but, so be it, ladies first,” he smiled and made an exaggerated crossing gesture with his hand.
FATAL KERNEL ERROR_
Mind link to COMP disconnected_