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Post by Solomon Moon on Sept 7, 2016 20:22:14 GMT -6
Sol's breath caught in his throat like a fistful of barbed wire and rusty fishhooks, as he gazed wearily through the widening of the twin gold encrusted doors. Though he could make out the many hued light spilling through stained glass on the most distant wall of the room beyond, he still had the distinct impression that he was watching as a chasm to the abyss yawned open before him. He'd been warned once by Dallas, (his second in command), about staring into abysses and the impact it might have on one's mind, and as he took his first step towards the glittering mural he wondered what the clerkish soldier would have said about marching bodily into such a void.
He was transfixed as he strode ahead, the steel shanks of his boots ringing upon the elaborately decorated floor, though for now it was not what held his attention. His golden eye shimmered with an unidentifiable emotion as he beheld the splendor of the Remnant's histories, captured in worked glass and golden frame. The effect that the sight had on him was profound, as it was immediate and utterly impossible to name. Or at least it was impossible for Sol, because he was not actually familiar enough with the sentiment to call it by it's proper title. The unnamed emotion that was filling him was, of course, reverence.
Sol stopped walking as he reached the exact center of the expanse. He did not realize at that moment that he had chosen that spot to pause because to move so much as a step in any direction would take him further from at least one of the stained glass scenes, and that would be an outcome of such blasphemy that he could not tolerate it. He also did not realize that this placed him directly upon the incredible mass of the actual vault that this room had been constructed to house, though that fact would become apparent soon enough.
The Moon Compound was not some shack, hid away beneath a mountain, and in fact it's older name, "Celestial Fortress", suggested at the grandness of it's scale and design. But unlike the Eisenheim Palace, Sol's home had been built as a fortification first, and then later modified to better reflect the nobility of it's occupants. Such an edifice simply could not compete with the kind of majesty achievable with the access to a royal treasury. It was a humbling experience to be exposed to such wealth as it took to make the most secure part of the building, also a centerpiece of artistic beauty, but the humility that inflicted was nothing beside that of the testimony of those shaped flecks of glass and precious metals.
Sol had to wonder if the rulers of Rift had felt in any way resembling how he felt as he met the silver gaze of those ancient legendary warriors, whose likeness was rendered in such breathtaking detail that he could make out the pupils in their glass eyes. Before their existence had been rendered obscure, even by the standard enjoyed of myths, by the fall of civilization, seeing such a representation of the silver eyed hunters would not have been half so awe inspiring. However, to find those silver eyes, a subject of worship within his own clan for their resemblance to the heavenly body for which Sol and his family was named, looking down upon him, judging him from their silicon thrones, was like glimpsing a memory of a memory of a dream long forgotten. It conjured up an old sense of disappointment from Sol's youth, when he had realized that he would never be able to match those legends, by simple virtue of the melanin content of his iris, and it also dredged up a sandbar of throat stiffening sadness for a myth that was slowly going extinct. Whether or not the moon gazed fighters had ever existed, to Sol's knowledge at least, none had been born since the resurgence of humanity, and their memoir only remained in select, typically isolated or desolate, corners of the modern civilization.
Perhaps being the last of his line had made him more sensitive to the passage of knowledge from sire to heir, as well as the knowledge his father had never been able to pass on, and the quiet death that the myths of his clan had suffered as a result. Perhaps he felt sympathy for things that no longer had relevance in this modern world, relegated to a withering, whimpering, demise by the blade of entropy. Perhaps the boy that he'd been, who dreamed of being a hero one day, still clung to those old legends whilst mourning the loss of their fantastic for the replacement of the mundane. Perhaps he was going insane, and this was just a specter of the omnipresent grief that reared it's misshapen head every now and then, or simply a post traumatic episode triggered by the unexpected stress of this particular day. Whatever the reason may have been, the effect was that looking up at that mural filled Sol with a bottomless sense of loss and sadness, that was so real that for an instant he seemed to be utterly alone within an empty world, with only it and the ghostly silhouettes of mythical silver eyed fighters for company.
The one eyed warrior was ignorant of the king's curious activities, or their significance until Aldous spoke up once more. His thin but firm voice shattered the spell cast by the stained glass windows like a mallet of sound, and Sol was shaken so physically from his contemplation that he nearly lost his balance and fell.
“It is believed that, beneath our very feet, lies one of the most powerful devices to ever exist. A machine capable of such compelling force, that every single creature across the world of Remnant - man, Faunus, or Grimm - would be forced to bend to its will. I have reason to believe that Amberleigh possesses the key we need to open this vault, and with the device that lies beneath, make Remnant a better world.”
At the sound of Barnett's explanation, and what it entailed, Sol actually did fall, though he artfully covered up the sudden unsteadiness of his legs by dropping into a crouch and placing his left hand upon the surface of the vault, as if he meant to inspect the craftsmanship more closely. Explanations for what he'd just heard were numerous, but followed two primary themes. Either Aldous was insane, in which case Sol and all the other mercenaries stationed in the city were already thoroughly doomed, or beneath that gilded, gem encrusted surface, lay a weapon capable of subjugating the entire world. It was no wonder that the rulers of Rift had less locked such a thing up as much as they had literally buried it. A weapon of such incredible power was fearful to the point of threatening to sunder Sol's mind. Not only that, but the possibilities of what Sol would do with such a weapon were so tantalizing as to be paralyzing with their volume.
Anyone looking at the young man as he crouched there, hand against metal as if trying to draw just a taste of the strength of the bounty within through the gleaming surface by his fingertips, would have been hard pressed to determine if the gold of his eye were simply it's natural hue, or a perfectly captured reflection of the vault door upon which he squatted.
Sol's fingers were shaking. With a weapon like that, he'd never need to be afraid again. No one would ever dare to take anything from him. With just the threat of his wrath he could build a world ruled only by the worthy and the strong. He could demolish injustice, and stamp out corruption, and set ablaze anything that stood in is path. It would be no slow death by obscurity for the line of Moon. His name would be law. Weakness would be forgotten, and he would leave behind an immortal legacy. He would be unto a god with such a weapon that held even a fraction of the power that Barnett claimed, and he could imagine it, somewhere below, just out of reach.
“If you help me, Solomon Moon, I will name you as my heir and successor - to ensure the Kingdom we are building isn’t stripped apart at the first opportunity.”
Just in time for Solomon to reconcile himself to the broad vistas of possibility opened to him by this development, Aldous unleashed the final arrow in his quiver. Luckily, by now the one eyed lord himself was becoming accustomed to sudden surprises of world shattering import, and he took this most recent with a great deal more grace than displayed previously. He raised his gaze to Aldous, the image of his perfect world glinting across it's golden surface, and fixed the other man with a determined stare. The expression he wore was what a smile would look like if the man wearing it had learned how to do it from a manual that lacked any pictures.
"My sword, and that of my men, are yours to command, my liege. I will find this girl, and I will bring her to you, and by your side I will stand as we build an eternal empire upon the graves of those who oppose us." He said, his voice dripping with sincerity and perhaps even salivation at the thought of wielding such strength as he was being promised. He punctuated his oath by bowing his head and dropping one of his knees to the shimmering surface of the vault, placing him kneeling before the mad king.
Somewhere within him, the storm broke, and in the parting of the mists of battle, a victor rose above the broken form of the innocent hero Sol had once dreamed to be.
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Post by Aldous Barnett on Sept 10, 2016 10:23:02 GMT -6
 On the branches in the ditches, it's now silent and without life, And breathing becomes oh so hard for me Woe is me,
oh woe, And the birds sing no more 582 • Solomon Moon • it begins | Perfect.
Barnett eyed Solomon carefully for a reaction, a hint of any sort as to the inner workings of the young man’s mind. By his expression alone, the King assumed his proposition was one that was accepted, but the elder gentleman knew better. Barnett had lived through many battles, led many individuals, and knew that it was never as simple as yes or no. "My sword, and that of my men, are yours to command, my liege. I will find this girl, and I will bring her to you, and by your side I will stand as we build an eternal empire upon the graves of those who oppose us."
A wide grin expanded over Barnett’s features, watching the young Huntsman as he dropped to his knees and bowed his head. There was no doubt in the King’s mind that Solomon could do the job, instead the doubt lingered with his ability to carry it out. He sensed an inner turmoil in the young man, as if even he knew the ramifications for their plan - and even moreso what would happen if they failed. Did he truly have it in him to take the Princess against her will - did he have it in him to hurt her if need be? These were all important matters in the King’s mind.
They couldn’t afford failure.
“Very well then, Solomon.” The King finally said, motioning for him to stand. “We have no time to waste. We must prepare you for the task ahead.” Instructing Solomon to follow, Barnett led the young man out of the room and closed the large door. The metallic clank of the latch closing echoed through the halls, and after a couple minutes of walking, the two were reunited with the two twisted black knights. The King remained silent as they approached the dining room, instead disregarding the door as they walked by. “I suppose you’re wondering what’s next then, aren’t you?” The cunning King finally said.
His voice was dry, any and all sign of emotion suddenly sapped from his tone. “You will be sent with a ship, of course, one of our fastest. I’ll be sending a few of…” He paused for a moment, glancing back at the knights. “Them. These wraiths that were given to me by the Rhagargoelion.” Barnett wasn’t sure of Solomon’s knowledge regarding the Cult of Saint Ashes, but there was no point in keeping his allegiance to the order a secret. “Were going to snuff out the evil, one after another, until Remnant is pure once again.” He added, looking to Solomon with a smirk. “You and I, Mr. Moon. We’re going to change the world.”
Their journey through the palace compound eventually brought them to a large open area, the perimeter of which featured a series of pearl-white obelisks that reached high into the skies above. Beacons for a ship to land, tall and white enough to draw attention and prevent such a vessel from striking the palace. “As I said, we must prepare you for this mission.” Barnett said, his left hand placed over his graying hair to prevent it from whipping in the wind. “Is there anything you believe you may need to see this through?” |
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Post by Solomon Moon on Sept 11, 2016 20:31:31 GMT -6
Sol obeyed dutifully as Aldous motioned him to rise. He saluted his liege, right hand clenched into a fist over his heart, as he rose to a height slightly taller than that of the graying lord. Sol still did not think of Barnett as his king, but only because Sol still considered himself a loyal citizen of Legion. Barnett was a king, but he was not Sol's king. All the same, the elder warrior was also Sol's employer, and if things went well, his patriarch as well. It was a lot to absorb, and naturally not all of it occupied his head in a neat or cooperative fashion. Thus, Sol determined that he would have to come to terms with it all later, and for now resigned to not think about any of it too hard.
Hopefully Aldous would not do much to test those dual loyalties until Sol had time to reconcile them to appropriate priorities in his mind. Of course, that hope was dashed as the pair reached the duo of obsidian sentries that had been left near the upper hall that had descended to the vault. Sol had suspected that the pair of black knights were not entirely human, as recently as that very hour, and Aldous terming them as "wraiths" was not what unsettled the one eyed soldier, as much as the revelation of their exact origins. The Cult of St. Ashes was an entity of nearly mythic obscurity, and not even Sol knew much of anything about them, save for the unpleasant associations one ascribed to organizations that were recognized as "cults". To discover that this group was aiding Barnett was both illuminating and a source of many troubling questions.
Sol was sure that their influence went beyond merely supplying insidious golems as bodyguards, and like many of the other questions swimming around in his head, he decided not to think about it too hard. For now he would just observe and try to absorb as much as understanding as he could manage by osmosis.
As much as he was trying to convince himself that this was just a job like any other, and that he was bound by the purse strings to the whims of his employer, Sol knew that this was like no contract that the House of Moon had ever taken, and there was much more riding on it than just a pay check. But all the same, he was so numb to everything by this point, save for the curious ache in his heart which had come just before he took a knee before the mad king, that he could hardly comprehend the scale of any of it. Of the global politics, and the agendas of shady religious organization, of grimm and the wills, Sol knew very little, though still more than the average twenty one year old. All that made any sense to him in the moment was the promise of that weapon hidden beneath gold plates and dust crystal beneath the Palace of Rift, and it was the thought of being as powerful as Aldous promised him that provided the only anchor in the storming tumult of his mind for which he could cling.
Sol walked in silence, his face it's typical bleak expression as if honed from sharp antarctic ice, whilst his eye sat vacantly in it's socket, like an oil lamp that had run dry. A light had gone out in the young man, or at least had retreated for the moment, and it made his entire face seem as dark as the shadow of the gallows.
When he and Aldous were outside, even the sun seemed unable to touch the guttered out emptiness in Sol's gaze, while the blustering wind seemed to perfectly suit the dying gasps of the storm that had since broken within him. It was then that Sol took his first good look at Aldous, not as a king, or his employer, but as a man.
Sol saw a man who had served his country for his entire life, someone who had taken orders and accepted his duty. He saw a man who had sacrificed much to a futile fight, who had labored all his days and only come to find his enemies all the more numerous for it. He saw a man who had made difficult decisions, never with any hope of a right answer, and only the chance that maybe one answer was less wrong than the rest. He saw a man called Butcher by some, and hero by others. He saw a man whose eyes had grown hard and pitiless, numbed like calloused flesh by constant exposure to abuse. He saw a man who had grown so cold that frost had collected in the stumble of his beard, and in the wings of hair that flew above his temples. Sol saw what he imagined he would look like before too long.
“Is there anything you believe you may need to see this through?”
Sol inhaled, teeth grinding as if he were literally chewing on the question. His eye slipped away from Barnett, looking towards the sky, and the storm that seemed to be blown in on the wind that had first greeted Sol that morning on patrol.
"I need any information you have on the princess and how she escaped, and where to. I need access to the personnel who are already tracking her down. I need every man, woman, and child who had interaction with her, gathered up, imprisoned, and interrogated. I need a reliable squad of the most capable hunters you have on the pay roll. I need my forces, and equipment, ready to move to wherever I need them at the notice of a moment. I need capital to pay for bribes or hire expertise as needed. I need a full background and profile on my target, and I need people I can trust who can move without notice through a population, people who don't look or sound like soldiers. I need to know what the Cult of Ashes has to gain from all this, and what those black suits of armor are. And finally I need to be able to operate indirectly, without anyone suspecting that I am the one in charge of this operation." Sol laid out his requirements as if giving a list of groceries to bake an entirely unremarkable cake, "Finally, I need your word that what we are doing will really make Remnant a better, safer place."
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Post by Aldous Barnett on Sept 13, 2016 8:27:52 GMT -6
On the branches in the ditches, it's now silent and without life, And breathing becomes oh so hard for me Woe is me,
oh woe, And the birds sing no more 925 • Solomon Moon • details | Quite the list of prerequisites, especially given the obvious nature of this task. As Aldous’s wise mind processed all the things Solomon asked for, he wondered how the young man would feel knowing that a considerable portion of his list would be largely unobtainable. It was a most unfortunate dilemma, and the King was curious what - if any - impact this would have on the arrangement. It was completely possible that, if Solomon was unable to carry out the mission, that Barnett could send someone else. However, Moon had been chosen because he sat in a position unique to most of Barnett’s warriors.
A student, studying at Vytal Academy, which meant access to the place Barnett was almost positive the Princess would end up eventually.
"Finally, I need your word that what we are doing will really make Remnant a better, safer place." Solomon finally concluded, leaving the ball on Barnett’s side of the court. It wasn’t often that Aldous was made to keep his word, but recently it had become a requirement in almost everything he did. He detested making promises, so much so that he often avoided them in an effort to end up a liar. That said, the King nodded slightly in response to the latter - the promise of making Remnant a better place. That, most of all, would be the easiest promise for the older man to keep. It was the goal of his people, after all, to see the world in its pure state.
“You have my word, Solomon Moon, as King of Rift and Chairman of Legion - we will make Remnant a better, safer place.” He promised, placing his right hand over his heart. Swearing such an oath brought him back to his days as a naive, young Huntsman - with a sly smile forming across his thin features. “However, some of what you ask is - unfortunately - unobtainable. And that’s not to say that my men - or my associates - couldn’t get it, it’s just nonexistent.” Slicking his hair back, Aldous released an irritated sigh as he thought about how better to respond to the requests made of him.
It would be better to start with what he couldn’t provide.
“As far as how the princess escaped and where she went, no one is completely sure. We’ve rounded up everyone and anyone that could have had any information, but everyone was as surprised by the disappearance as the rest of the Kingdom’s inhabitants. The most I have is a journal found in her room, and an eyewitness that says she left with one…” He paused for a moment, trying to recall the name. “A gentleman named Altimeda Fontine. A Huntsman and researcher. As far as a squad, that’s a task better left to you, unfortunately. There aren’t many that work under me that I’d consider more capable than the rest - and most of my men can be traced back to me with ease.”
Pausing for a moment, Barnett waved Solomon towards a canopy. It was tattered, purple and gold in the colors of Rift’s regalia, but served to shield the small area from the elements as best it could. A large wooden desk with six drawers sat beneath it, the finish chipped and peeling away. The King pulled one of the drawers open with an audible screech of the wood pieces rubbing together. It was enough to make the man wince, but once the drawer was opened, he pulled out a small book and a salmon-colored envelope. “Here is that journal, as well as a file with as much information as we could get on her prior to her fleeing. Our last report placed her in Setek, where she was living with and raising orphaned children.”
His hands slipped into the drawer once more, retrieving a leather roll with several multicolored cards placed in small slits along the strap. “As far as finding soldiers, paying for things and the like, this should do just fine. It should be much, much more than you need - and will be untraceable. You’ll be free to do as you please, without interruption unless by myself or al-Din.” He added, turning back to Solomon and handing him the leather roll. “As far as what the Cult has to gain out of all of this, that’s a harder question to answer. The Rhagargoelion’s goal has always been to rid the world of the corruption that draws the Grimm to us in the first place.”
Scoffing under his breath, Barnett leaned against the desk and crossed his arms. “Funny how their solution is to use the Grimm to wipe that corruption out.” He chuckled. “If you have more questions about them, you can ask Sayf when he returns. I’m told he’s already in Setek getting more information. I believe the two of you might…have a little in common.” At the latter comment, he motioned towards his eye - indicating Sol’s lack of one. “Was never sure how it happened, never bothered to ask. More than positive it wasn’t smallpox, though.”
Stepping away, Barnett clapped his hands together. “Is there anything else?” |
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Post by Solomon Moon on Sept 14, 2016 23:23:09 GMT -6
Sol, as was becoming a theme for him, waited patiently as Barnett spoke. He carefully catalogued each scrap of information as they were made available, devoting each to memory for at least as long as it would take to make notes on his scroll at a later time. The stream was as broad and protracted as his inciting requests, and it deeply and thoroughly annoyed the young warrior that Barnett had used the word "anything" only to reveal that what he actually could provide was limited to the point of being all but useless. A book, a name, some capital that Sol could likely have provided himself, and an unfamiliar contact. It would have saved a whole lot of time if Aldous had just said what he had, rather than asking Sol to draw it out. Though perhaps it served him right to have had his hopes up in the first place. Obviously if this was going to be as simple as he had hoped then Barnett would not be in a position to even consider handing the succession of Rift to a one eyed cripple.
The oath that this was all in the name of good was hardly something Sol was about to taker the chairman turned king's word on, for he had no experience by which to determine Aldous' credibility when it came to keeping his word. What it did provide was an excuse to pursue a trial of grievance if it ever came about that Barnett had misled Sol.
Though the name, Altimeda, tickled Sol's recollection somewhat, and a person who he could pressure for information certainly played to his strengths, it wasn't much, but still better than nothing. However the contact, another ill-fated cyclops by the sound of it, felt less lucky by comparison, and much more like a retainer or observer that could pull double duty as an illumination and eyes and ears for Barnett. Though Sol had nothing to hide, per se, from his employer, he decided he would not be drawing any additional attention by asking after the Cult, at least not until it became obligatory.
The effect of the exchange was that by the end, there was something menacing glinting in Sol's golden eye, a flame on the edge of perception that waxed first at the mention of the Cult and their use of Grimm, and once more at the flippant reference to his single eye. He felt a hollow forming in his breast, as his hearty rate spike, signalling that his temper had been kindled. Sol maintained an effort at civility, despite the fact that he would have challenged any other man who so offended him to a duel. Instead he contented himself with allowing the brewing ire to sear away what remained of his anxiety for interacting with Aldous. The king had made it clear that Sol was of some value to him, and thus was unlikely to ruin the young man or his house out of simple spite. Likewise the devil's deal had been signed and any apprehension Sol had felt for that had already vanished into irrelevance.
He was feeling more like himself, that being a proud, if melancholy, young nobleman, with a legendary temper, no tolerance for insult, and now that the moment of peril had passed, more courage than wits.
"The squad is not negotiable. I intend for them to be traced back to you." Sol snapped, as if it were patently obvious that this was the case, a suggestion of his irritation present in the way he crisply bit off each word like a guillotine harvesting heads, "No one will question a group of men on your payroll searching for the princess. Their being capable will give the farce credibility, but I really don't care if they are drooling, inbred, and incompetent, as long as they are YOUR best. They must be YOUR men. Otherwise it will be obvious to any fool what I am doing the moment I leave Rift. We need a red herring, otherwise we lose the element of surprise the moment I start asking around. The fact that no one but myself and your messenger know we have struck for this objective, is our single greatest advantage, and if I am to maintain it, I need this whole operation to seem as if it is being run by someone else."
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Post by Aldous Barnett on Sept 22, 2016 14:57:00 GMT -6
On the branches in the ditches, it's now silent and without life, And breathing becomes oh so hard for me Woe is me,
oh woe, And the birds sing no more 901 • Solomon Moon • war is coming | "The squad is not negotiable. I intend for them to be traced back to you." Aldous raised his brow at Solomon’s words, warding off the impulse to respond with a grin. The boy had quite the nerve speaking to the King of Rift in such a way, and were Aldous not sure this was the best route, there was a good chance he would’ve had the young Huntsman thrown in prison. Luckily, Barnett had other things in mind. ”The fact that no one but myself and your messenger know we have struck for this objective, is our single greatest advantage, and if I am to maintain it, I need this whole operation to seem as if it is being run by someone else."
The King folded his arms, lightly tapping his scruffy chin as he contemplated his options. With a long drawn out breath he finally nodded, standing perfectly straight and holding his thin arms behind his back. “Very well, Solomon, you will get your men.” Aldous declared, raising his left hand with its index finger extended towards the skies. “However, she must be returned alive - and unharmed. Anyone she is traveling with must go unharmed. We cannot afford any sort of backlash if the princess and her allies are hurt. Such an event would be catastrophic to our plans - and I would be forced to renounce my affiliation with you if accusations did so arise.”
Moving the raised hand to his mouth, Barnett produced a sharp whistle, prompting one of his guards - this time one that was certainly human - to approach the two. He was outfitted in a similar fashion to the Black Knights, though his armor was more a dull silver. “What is it, my liege?” The soldier asked, standing at attention. Aldous then waved for the man to be at ease, and the soldier promptly relaxed. “I’d like for you to round up some of our best, have them be ready at lord Moon’s beck and call.” He instructed the man, motioning to Solomon with a nod. “Waste no time. Go get the men prepared now. We need everyone good to go as soon as possible.”
With a slight bow, the soldier went on his way, leaving the two alone once again. Barnett prepared to send Solomon off, letting out a tired sigh as he opened his mouth to speak. A gentle rumbling cut him off, his attention scrambled as he tried to tune in to its source. A distorted ripple, just a few feet from where he and Solomon stood, floated just off the ground before a dull flash emanated from it. In its place stood an intimidating figure, donning a black hooded cloak. The figure’s face was covered in red bandages, presumably blood. The robe was tattered, sporting an “Æ” monogram on the shoulder cape. “Sayf! You’ve returned?” The King inquired with a puzzled look.
Approaching with a slight gimp, the figure removed its hood, revealing the face of a man - what could be seen of a face, anyway. “We have a really big problem.” The man said in a deep voice. Barnett’s expression became one of discomfort, his eyes shifting between Sayf and Solomon for a moment before clearing his throat. “Solomon Moon, this is Sayf al-Din - commander of the Rhagargoelion, or the Cult of St. Ashes.” Sayf nodded to Solomon, pulling the bandages to reveal the rest of his face. By all counts he seemed completely normal, leave for the scars and fresh wounds on the left side of his face - leaving the eye completely closed. His features were tan and rugged, his hair short and dark.
This was a man that had seen many things, killed many things - Grimm and people alike.
“Looks like you and I might have something in common, Moon.” He said, motioning to the eye. Pausing for a moment to crack his neck, Sayf turned his attention to the King. “As I said, Aldous, we have a problem.” He reiterated, retrieving the hilt of Excalibur from his robe. “Aisio Pendragon is dead. I had tracked the Princess to Setek and tried to secure her, but Vytal had sent a task force for her as well.” Again Sayf paused, glancing over to Solomon before settling his gaze back on the King. “The Princess got away, so I’m not sure where she is - but the big issue now is you.” Barnett’s expression grew pale, straightening himself in an attempt to appear undaunted by the Commander’s words.
“She managed to get word out that you were involved in the attack - that there’s a conspiracy. It’s sure to get to the Prime Minister and the rest of Vytal.” Sayf continued. “We need to prepare ourselves now. The war is coming sooner than anticipated.” He turned to look back to Solomon, his dark eye locking on the young man’s single golden one. “You’re a student, aren’t you?” He inquired, showing no sign of releasing his gaze on the young man. |
Can't color my text because of some stupid bug, so sorry :/ |
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Post by Solomon Moon on Sept 26, 2016 21:47:35 GMT -6
Sol was about as highly strung as a harp in the process of being lynched. So to state that having a stranger unexpectedly step out of a fold in reality nearby startled Sol would have been an understatement on par with the Legion general having once referred to a Will as a "somewhat large lizard." In fact, before the newcomer had time to place a second foot on the cobbles, Sol had all four feet of Whisper's steel bared, and his arm was emitting the low constant whine of red hot actuators as it ejected enough steam to make his sleeve appear to be smoking. In a startling show of his loyalty, the young man had actually placed himself between the unexpected visitor and his liege lord, and had his left hand held palm out towards the greying king. Sol did not think twice before making himself the first obstacle that a potential assassin would need to overcome, and the only thing he regretted about the situation was that he had chosen to use his left hand to hold the king back instead of unleashing a burst of his semblance upon the sudden caller.
His regret doubled when it became clear who the newcomer must be. As the figure raised his hands and removed his hood, Sol deduced who he must be, based on the general description that Aldous had provided, the description of cultists, and the fact the young cyclops was the only one who seemed to be threatened by his appearance. Sayf Al-Din, was head of the ashen cult, and as far as Sol knew, a wanted criminal.
Somehow, the fact that Aldous and this man had struck some sort of bargain did nothing to calm Sol's nerves, and he made a point of not sheathing his weapon, even as the point lowered and the dull song of his false arm whistled down to a barely audible hum. Even if it had, the fact that the man paid him nothing even resembling a greeting before talking right over his head at Aldous would have been enough to warrant a bare blade.
"If I have anything in common with you, I consider it a flaw." He snarled, as he pointed towards where he assumed the man's heart was hidden inside those robes with the tip of his sword, having finally reached the limit for which people could trivialize his disability, and thoroughly put off by the utter lack of respect that the cultist paid him.
That hollow look in Sayf's single eye was more than enough justification to keep a sword at the ready, and Sol had no doubt that putting the cult leader down would be a favor for every immediate nation and a few future nations as well. To say that Sol disliked Sayf the instant he saw him would do a disservice to the actual level of contempt that the cyclops felt for the other. The fact that much of what Sayf said could be interpreted as threatening towards Barnett, as well as the way that the king's grimace could be heard in his voice, did not help Sol like the man any more, and he was mentally rehearsing a dozen different, and he suspected useless, ways to close the gap between them and begin the bloody procedure of seeing if he could make their arms match as well as their eyes, throughout the exchange.
When Sayf finally returned his gaze, he would not find a man who would wither beneath it, and instead locked eye with a fiery golden gaze that seemed to suit the nickname Sol had earned among his forces. Sol was glaring defiantly at the man, issuing an unspoken challenge as well as a promise of blood should the cultist accept. Any of the abundant petulance present in his leer was matched and doubled by unflinching certainty in his ability to make the other man regret every insult with interest, and was perfectly willing to suffer the threat of death to prove it. There was not simply no love lost between the men, in fact, when their gazes met there seemed to be a literal vacuum of warmth between them, and most if not all of it was coming from Sol's end. If anything, Sol hated Sayf all the more thoroughly because of how much he suspected the two of them really had in common.
"I'm a soldier, and a lord. Who the hell is asking?" He growled.
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Post by Aldous Barnett on Oct 2, 2016 11:24:12 GMT -6
On the branches in the ditches, it's now silent and without life, And breathing becomes oh so hard for me Woe is me,
oh woe, And the birds sing no more 642 • Solomon Moon • it begins | Sayf smirked a bit as Solomon growled back at him in response to his question. "I'm a soldier, and a lord. Who the hell is asking?" The veteran Huntsman could appreciate such hostility, especially given what very little it about him - and the Order - the Vytal student probably knew. Glancing over at Barnett, Sayf nodded. “He’s definitely got a bit of spunk in him, Aldous. Good pick.” He commented, his tone almost with a hint of sarcasm, before looking back to Solomon. “The only question now is whether or not he’s got it in him to see this task through.”
Raising his hand over his heart, Sayf bowed as a show of respect to the young lord. “Forgive me, Lord Moon. I meant no disrespect.” He added in his usually dry voice. “I am Æthelwulf Cullinane. The people of Rift once knew me as Finn Cullen - or Finn Tosenslayer. I’m a Huntsman, at my very core, but I am commander to the Order of the Rhagargoelion - what some people have come to know as the Cult of Saint Ash.” Straightening his posture from the bow, Sayf ran his hand through his messy dark hair, letting out a quiet sigh. “Among the Order, I go by Sayf al-Din. Don’t know why, but it’s stuck ever since.”
The sound of Barnett closing a drawer, having started to rummage around while the other two were seemingly distracted, caused the scarred Huntsman to turn towards him. In the King’s hand was an envelope, one he handed to Solomon with a blank stare. “Everything you should need will be in here, Solomon.” He said. “Within this envelope you’ll find more Lien in the effort that the roll gets exhausted sooner than expected, as well as information for getting in touch with contacts throughout the Kingdoms. If you need money, weapons, more men - anything - you should be able to get it all through what’s in here.”
Stepping away from the two, Aldous took a moment to dust off his outfit before clearing his throat. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I’ve got some…political matters to attend to.” He said, offering them a slight nod as his goodbye. “Solomon, you’re free to head out whenever you’re prepared. You’ll have access to one of my ships, if you’d like, otherwise get around as you wish. Sayf, I’m sure you’ll be leaving us soon as well. I thank you for your…unexpected visit.” With a quick huff, Aldous excused himself from the small group, rushing back into the palace to tend to his business. Sayf, on the other hand, remained before Solomon - his single eye locking on the young Hunter-in-Training.
Reaching into one of the many pockets on his robe, retrieving a small memory stick and tossing it to Sol. “It’s not much - just information to get in touch with me and any of my men if you end up needing a hand.” He said, twisting his neck slightly to cause an audible pop. “It’s probably better to reach out to me directly, though. I’ve made a habit of responding promptly.” Tugging his hood back over his head, Sayf respectfully nodded at the one-eyed lord. “Until next time, Lord Moon.” He said - his voice almost threatening in tone. The space around him began to ripple as his Aura flared, followed by a bright flash - then nothingness.
Sayf was gone. Now, Solomon was left to his own devices. |
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