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[ part 2: the completion: ]

Feeling fails, but not sense. It does not hurt, though he knows his arm throbs. Clive sees not the land he knows he stands on, feels the pulse of creation, knows the vastness of shadow sprawling about in all directions, swirling masses of pinpoint lights, and him in the center, an impossible giant standing on a spinning galaxy. There are pressures, somewhere, opposing him; he answers them by pumping his fist a few times, encouraging the flow.

Logic fails, but not thought. Clive feels just swell, though strength ebbs and endless madness dances on the head of a pin. Life and Death are placed in a box too small for them and blur to indeterminable state. Macro expansion continues, a rising tide, ever seeking the lowest point, but the in locality... yes. Optimum. Perfection. The pieces odd and even but the sum in balance. Less would be inelegant. More would be ungainly.

Slap! the burned hand to the smoldering wrist (though none are here to hear it). Something beautiful caresses, something horrid gnaws... something is amiss. The picture is incomplete. One more piece. An imperative remains, and his sense of self eroding impressively fast... Something that was obvious at the start but obscured by the end... he must adapt quickly or die, and the great work, mauled by the loss, collapse in on itself and take all those pretty twinkling lights with it...

Of course. That one bit, there, yeah, soft and warm and out of place. Clive takes one step forward, not onto a hole but to firm ground, and reels his mind back into its upper luggage rack. Relief and joy. The writhing arms of his creation slow to an unpredictable but soothing flow, though if he looks beyond the realm he can see the wave of thrashing propagate slowly outwards, and, 'tween Here and There, the middle vibrantly Changed. Above him is neither the sky before his Act, nor the sky of Chaos he expected. Sun continues along its path, a double handful of degrees further than before, and Moon peeks above the horizon, and Stars twinkle in broad daylight, though very faintly, and all stretch or contract or blur or smush, lensed by the new shape the world has been gifted with. Time races also, within the zone already covered by the wave of effect, though it will settle to something simpler when said wave has run its course.

Clive notices the chill at about the same time as he notices he's fallen to his knees.

Making his way out of his Logrus is to its creation as a game of solitaire is to the triathalon.

Clive would react to Polly's arrival with a "that was quick"... if he didn't suspect that he'd been poised at the edge of that final step for a several days. Instead he nods, runs a hand through his hair, and sits down in a friendly-looking patch of grass.

Before he can catch the stray thought, there's a blanket underneath him, a picnic basket beside him, and tray before him with thermos full of hot chocolate and two mugs. He feels a mental quiver as that miracle causes reflections a few shadows out... well, a minor quiver and minor reflections, given the limited scope of the minor miracle. It's already done, so he pours himself some and gestures for Polly to sit if she likes.

"How're things... outside? I can't see much through the stormfront yet, probably won't until it spreads out more."

Clive nods. He opens the basket... inside looks like the result of the serial muggings of a deli, fruit stand, and pastry shop.

"I thought I saw Corwin watching a while back, too, but I don't see him now. Which makes sense... I'm expecting the stormfront to lose most of its strength before it reaches any of the other poles, but Paris is a lot closer than the others... if I were in his position, I'd be putting in as many barriers and buffers as I had time for, just in case," Clive says, in between bites.

"You should be fine here," he continues. "You might lose touch with your trump node, on and off, and elsewhere that would mean being stranded while the world swirls around you. And if I'm wrong about the storm wearing out on its own, there'll be rebound pulses when it hits the other three poles."

He considers, then adds: "You probably don't want to get any closer to the Logrus than this. I was aligned with Amber when I made the node, and some of that power still remains from its creation. Hmm. And then if I were to make an additional node now, it would be compatible."

"We can start looking for a good site after I've rested up," Clive agrees.

He reaches out briefly with his senses... hmm. One of the smaller tribes is headed in this general direction, but several days away. He should probably put a wall or something around the Logrus to keep them from losing their minds when they get close... but it can wait. Between that, and the the storms, it's good to know no one will be around to kick him while he's down.

Clive's immediate choices are approaching the point of "pass out" or "pick a comfy place first, then pass out". He prefers the latter.

Clive wakes from some of the strangest dreams he's had in a long time. He could probably walk right to the rabbit-people now, having seen the full history of their civilization... maybe he was there watching instead of only dreaming it? Whatever.

"Thanks," he says, stretching.

And, "Argh. I'm in for a major tongue lashing. Do you know which ones tried to call? Can you open the block to allow a single person?"

If the second answer is "yes", Clive sits down with the Logrus at his back, asks for an opening to Random, and gives him a call.

Heh. Clive wonders if they'd been acting on their own there, and how much they intended to tell the others afterwards.

He feels he does owe Random information... and finds the attempt from Benedict intriguing. As for the rest, they can get filled in later by the first two.

Clive tries Random first.

"Trading one set of intractable problems for a better set of problems," Clive answers. "Wannabe Chaos powers kept popping up. Two that I know of before this. I've intervened in a third. End of problem, at least for you; no more worrying about some crazy guy getting getting ahold of a new power and blowing up Amber. Get someone you trust to be master of Amber's Pattern and the rest falls neatly into place. The Powers will naturally fall into two duels instead of some strange three-way or four-way; we have to, you see, because otherwise we'd be leaving an open flank..."

Clive pauses a moment, as if trying to recall some older information... things so recently important, but which fell off the bottom of his to-do list... "Oh. Final freebie: I still do owe you a report on the Abyss. I tried to call you about it earlier, but, wouldn't ya know, Flora's ghost in Tir answered and then I found a Logrus seed up there. Um. Deirdre is in the Abyss and Iris is with her. Supposedly Brand is down there somewhere plotting something or other. I saw Gareth arrive there too and apparently Wren was supposed to follow but betrayed him, or was betrayed by someone else, and cut off his exit."