Jeffery raised his shotgun from dragging position and cocked it. The shell flying out but swiftly caught and shoved back into one of his many second trench coat pockets. "I remember back during the war... Blood everywhere. No escaping it. German blood. 'Talian blood. It was feckin' hell I tell ya. Front lines troops got shit jobs I'll tell you that." His shotgun assumed dragging position again. "So... boss. We close to where we need to be? Or ar we still a times away?" He chuckled at his time reference it wasn't particularly clever but he was bored so it worked out.
Walls of text... Make me feel sad and inadequate. Anyways here's your generic fluff post.
"Almost there" said Bastian, looking up at the Tower of Eternity.
The guards at the gates were Avalonian Sentinels, ancient statues brought to life by ancient magic long forgotten to modern mages. Bastian and the group climbed the one thousand steps and passed the memorial to those lost in World War 2, a fountain and wall of names of those mages and monsters who fell during the war for their country. The guards uncrossed their long halberds, they were expected...
The tower within was a mass of confusing, rotating staircases. Modeled after the Obsidian Flame's tower, this was useful for the Far Veil, where invasions meant the interior of your citadel should be confusing to navigate. The rotations, however, were helpful in transportation and the group rode up a section destined for the middle of the tower. "Well, we should part ways for now. This place is massive and has everything any mage or warrior needs. There's more than five lounges...I expect the Chronomancer's Guild is here as well...feel free to explore but do not enter the Council Chambers or the Illrian Shadow's quarters. We'll be...busy for a while. Reuben, bring Kin with us."
Reuben nodded and the group divided, another section of staircase rotating to link to the staircase leading up to the Illrian Shadow, held steady almost making it feel dramatic.
~~~
The chambers were somber and paneled with teak and mahogany, accenting the obsidian and iron that made the room seem gothic and foreboding. There he was, at the center of the circular space. It was his receiving room, where banners from all of the members of the Conclave hung, and sconced torches burned orange. He had his black robes and hood up, the black leather and steel curiass and graves made him look ready for a fight. He was meditating, waiting.
"You've arrived." he said, his voice flat and emotionless.
"We have. I am..."
"Sebastian Wyre of the Guardians of Light. I know of you, I have seen your life unfold through the Veil. You have....potential...this one, however, wears something I assume they stole. Who are these others?"
"Well, this is Anastasia she is both an Illrian and a Rhyle."
The Illrian Shadow's eyes raked over Anastasia, she visibly winced at his glare.
"I watched you with great anticipation of your future. Yet you vanished from my sight. I had assumed you lost to the void."
"It is..." she tried to say, swallowing "Nice to meet you, the voice in my head says hello also..."
"Ah, Sareleous. Malachi and I have missed you. This one I can already feel, Zjar'q you have been too long in your coming."
"I was...delayed. The Nandorian Puzzle Box's keys have been mostly recovered, I lack one." said the Golden Skull, his voiced tinged with regret.
"There is no need for sorrow. The Box will be ours, and it's secrets out of the hands of the enemy. Now..to you...you bring a great memory with you, Reuben Chantal."
"How did you?" started Reuben, but the Illrian Shadow cut him off.
"I know of you...but what I wish more is to know is how and why."
The mask flashed and words appeared saying simply "Hello, Silas."
The Illrian Shadow stepped back, aghast.
"It cannot be. You were destroyed, turned to dust by the glory of the Light. You were destroyed!"
"I think we should leave you two to catch up before we figure out what our mission is, since you explicitly summoned us and it is not by chance the Golden Skull hitched a ride with us."
The Illrian Shadow took the mask and looked into it, before placing it on his face and descending into Kin's mind.
Two men stood near a cohort of their own kind. Masses assembled, trudging forward into only God knew what.
Suddenly the rush of battle flooded the memory.
Three iron constructs, living suits of armor.
The first figure raised a hand, firing a bolt of some ethereal energy at it. It was struck with considerable force, almost knocking it over.
The second man was not entirely himself. He rushed the construct without a second thought. It made to bring down a hammer on him, but like some football player, he juked to the side, swinging his arms wide. His wrist blade found a weak spot in the knee, between two larger metal plates. The construct was brought to a knee, and the figure was already climbing up its back. Yanking the back of the head off, it jammed a sawed off shotgun in and pulled the trigger, causing the construct to falter and die.
As the second man stood back up, he was joined by the first. Together they looked up at a large tower, black and twisted in the distance.
Again the memory faded.
They stood in a small workshop, a small stone construct, crude, but astounding none the less looked up at the two of them. Riley was its name.
Suddenly a flash and fire as Kins mind collapsed.
The shadow gasped for air, lying on his back like he had been thrown to the ground. He looked up to see infinity above him, and a white floor below. Then a figure...
"You arent real..."
"Hello Silas."
"Projection..." His face full of shock, disbelief.
"Its me Silas, this isnt a projection.Projections are..."
He interrupted "I know, I know, per-recorded memories."
"Could a memory know that Lenin took over Russia, or that you became the Shadow?"
"How did you survive? Your brain was turned to scrambled egg so fast your heart was still beating a minute after you were dead."
"Its true, I am dust now, unless all these things they have told me about embalming are true. But even dust has its place in the world. Part of me survived, and made it out and into the one safe place only I have complete control of."
Silas laughed, still staring at the "ceiling"
"Crazy son of a *****."
Kin could only grin. "Cmon." He offered a hand to help him up. "We need to catch up, and we have all the time in the world in here."
The seconds were hours, the conversation dragged on. Personal lives, politics, war, jobs.
"Remember that awkward tinkerer phase you went into Nick?"
"Awkward? Please, I was making progress."
They walked through old buildings and neighborhoods, memories reconstructed by Kin during two compressed lifetimes worth to sit and think.
"Okay, what did you ever make that worked?"
"Plenty. Remember how busy I was? Check it out, I stuck a secondary charge on a grenade, stuck it in a tube and lit it. Viola! Rocket Propelled Grenade."
"Hate to break it to you, but somebody else thought of it about a decade ago."
"Shame... Okay, how about this? Using sound waves, I was working on a device that sends and receives sound, and measures where it bounces and when to map out a surrounding area."
"Some guy in Norway has the patent right now."
"Godammit! That was my breadwinner." Silas could only laugh.
"Well lets hope they havent thought of using the emitter to track moving objects by covertly fixing it to them."
Silas thought for a moment. "Okay you may have something there."
Sitting on top of a roof of an old building in Egypt, It was Kins turn to ask questions.
"So how did you end up.... head of the shi-bang? Doesnt seem like your kind of gig. I mean, yeah, you had the whole "touched by the ethereal" thing..."
"I was Chosen. Part of a prophecy thats been perpetuated for hundreds of thousands of years. I was meant to lead the Illrians, unite them. The religious caste of Anchorites ad the common warriors under the High Lord and the Lords of Illriss. My magic was awakened, well the magic I got from the Far Veil...Perditiomancy replaced my old magic..."
"How, exactly. You're born with something and you keep it right?"
"It takes a lot of power to switch it up. Apparently the World Tree had other plans whe I was born. I've fallen into my place, the Illrian Shadow. Something for the Darkness to fear and for the people to look to. A saint and champion...but thats not all."
"The golems..."
"They work now. Shadesteel, the metal we mine here, and those maroon and black crystals, the Nethercyte. We found a way to make them, magecraft them, into vessels. I spent a month meditating, communing...when my soul was ascended into the Light's realm. I walked the Hinterlands with Libra and Scorpio, they gave me the power to create a soul from light energy. I forged a soul and placed it within a vessel....we have golems now. We call the Mara...well, I call them Mara."
"You made a living thing? It has personality.."
"Everything...it is a person. My first creation was The Spear, and he is their ruler. They call him "Warmaster" and they are doing a lot of good work, pushing back the Darkness in Arcania."
"I was wondering...how is that girl both an Illrian AND Rhyle?"
"How did you know that I would know?"
"I just knew, you've gained a lot of wisdom..."
"I've been looking into it..."
"What?"
"Come, I will show you."
Silas created an image, a massive mirror that filled a chamber. It was truly huge. It was held up by a Chinese dragon and other images of the zodiac.
"The Ghostmirror. It's an ancient artifact, divine. Created by the Great Guardians to look upon the mortals they left behind. I've seen much, the fates of everything and everyone I watched. It...changes you."
"That dosen't answer my question."
Silas sighed "She was meant to be Rhyle. The Steward's Mark appeared, meant for your order. However, when the Bolsheviks took over they had them executed. The family's Illrian, Sareleous, jumped into her and kept her from dying, apandoning the child Alexi. She carries both now, and it's a problem. Her Illrian is cometing with the Steward's Mark for dominance so they both are weaker...one must become dominant. The Illrian can pass to another family if bequeathed properly, but the Mark....she could die..."
There was a silent pause
"Why not help her?" asked Kin
"It's not my way anymore. I'm old, I have a lot on my mind...so much to do..."
"So you have changed....you sounded so flat and emotionless...out there."
"Malachi helps, but seeing thousands die and many more thousands born.....no man can comprehend it. I hold the weight of all worlds on my shoulders."
"Such a burden. Why?"
"I am the Illrian Shadow. I am the most powerful force of magic allied with the Light apart from the Great Guardians and the Saints. You need to know, that Shadow is coming. I can't tell you where, or when, or on whose footsteps it follows...but I can tell you that Arath has its eye on Earth. It is preparing itself to do what it could not do to Thassaria..."
"The Destroyer literally annihilated Thassaria. Gone. All that's left is the Maw of the Maelstrom."
"You forget it wanted to corrupt it first. Humans have lost the faith, they are prone to corruption, strife and misery. Earth could be darkened. The Light survived because the World Tree was razed, and a seedling brought ot Earth."
"It wants the World Tree."
"If it can take that, dim its light...Earth would be defenseless. No magic, no Light, we would be devoured by the Darkness. It would only be a matter of time before Aurica and Arcania fell...the Light would be destroyed. Chaos would tear the universe apart....existence as we know it would end."
"But the balance between the Light and the Darkness?"
"Gone. That's chaos...it doesn't care. The Hellfire Club are the agents of the Forsworn Legion, the Darkness's servants. Whatever they seek, take it. Talk to Zjar'q. He will know...he will tell you what we seek."
"One more thing, Kin. I have something for you. I saved this...I think you should use it some day."
It was a small sphere of light, burning bright and strong.
"What is it?"
"Remember you said you'd give anything to commune with your patron Great Guardian...use that at the moment of your greatest need. They will come to you."
Silas faded away, leaving a shadow in his wake. "May the Light guard you and guide you and your new apprentice down the Path. Ashlardi'im, my friend."
"Hey!" Kin shouted as they faded further apart. "You know we made better constructs, two of 'em, and we didnt have the guys upstairs helping us!" He said with a grin, something about seeing an old friend sparked a fire of youthful energy.
"Yeah" Silas acknowledged. "And one tried to kill us... twice. So how is the new guy?"
They were almost out of sight in the shadows. "Hes got some chops, Ill give him that, he can get the job done." Kin shouted back.
Then he shook his head. The head honcho now? Kin knew Silas was in some deep stuff but he couldnt have imagined him becoming the shadow. Sliding his hands in his pockets, a sort of glib thought came to his mouth. He smiled.
"We made them first, a life time ago. Hmph! Shadesteel my ass....."
He sat down on the ground, and laid back, looking at the white vastness that replaced the shadow. Things had changed... the game had changed indeed.
It was estimated that only a few hundred Rhyle were left. An all time low. Back in the days of guys like Namaka and Maylen, there were tens of thousands at least, and numbers had fluctuated over the years, but nothing like this. This was what some feared to be extinction. Only the strongest were surviving.
Rueben wasnt even Rhyle, and never before had an "outsider" been given such unprecedented access to the organization. Weapons, contacts, resources, training for combat, imperiomancy, negotiations, physical fitness, infiltration etc. Fortunately, Rueben had lived a very spartan life a long time ago. Some new concept America was testing called "Rangers" for their army. A step above regulars, with excellent skill sets. Rueben, aside from mental setbacks was the perfect candidate, and even with only a few days of training, he was showing significant results. Especially in the refining of his raw imperiomancy. Kin was pushing him to the limits, most regular folk couldnt handle it, but Rueben could, and it was paying off.
And now this girl, Romanov. A mix, a hybrid, halfbreed. Nothing like this had ever happened, but he had seen to much in his life to shock easily. And it wasnt like he was opposed to the idea, he was willing to investigate and try to understand. However, this girl was facing a very dire situation, and exploration would have to wait. The mark could be removed, the seal lifted. It was possible, but the few times it had been recorded each had different results. It could kill her, or it could leave a rash for a few days or anything number of things between. It would have to be her choice, and they would need a willing substitute the mark would accept.
----
Rueben took the mask back, he bowed and began to make his way out.
It keeps eating mah posts, this is the 5th attempt for this post:
Lord, is that invitation to rejoin still extended? I couldn't check before today since my parents still stubbornly refuse to un-block The Escapist, however by tomorrow they'll almost certainly decide it'd be better to just let me have the website lest their inboxes drown in 'unblock request' and numerous other things.
Silas's brow furrowed.
"Things are...amiss. The future is clouded and uncertain. I will meditate upon this, and my word shall fly to you if I discover anything. Thank you, Reuben. There is one more thing, before you depart."
Bastian nodded and said "This...thing that the enemy wants..."
Silas nodded "It is a box. It is a complex lock holding in a valuable secret. It is the only surviving portal to Faerie."
"Faerie? Where the Fae came from...I thought it was a myth." said Bastian. The Golden Skull put a hand on his shoulder "Once, Avalon was a myth but we were proved wrong. Now many go to contemplate their faith and join the hermit's path on Avalon."
Bastian lowered his head. "Why is the portal important?"
"The Enemy has forever been short one of their most...influential persons. Sulerain, The Temptress of the Night. You would be lucky if you even remembered the name. Her plans are unknowable, she weaves webs of lies and betrayal among all peoples. When she invaded Faerie, she set neighbor on neighbor...it drove a wedge between two families. She showed herself as a necromancer, lording over demons of the darkness and putting forth a reign of terror. Her army plunged their world into chaos. The Fae fled to earth, and we protected them...we destroyed their faerie gates and Sulerain was trapped forever. One portal was kept, in case we ever had the power to defeat her...now we do. You have it with you as we speak. "
"Me?" asked Bastian, Silas shook his head.
"The girl, Sebatian. Zjar'q was meant to guard her, only one with purity of soul and the conviction of the Light can slay a Lord of Shadow. However, Zjar'q was wailaid in his quest and his original master and line destroyed. I lost him then, but it seems he has come back to me. It takes many paths to find the true essence of faith, she will have to conquer her inner fears to undo Sulerain. However, she is not an Illrian...for she plays host to another already. She must deicide...not now but soon. Is she Illrian or Rhyle?"
"I think you can speak to me as if I were here, asshole!" shouted Anastasia. "I'm not invisible."
"Girl, you are young and I will forgive your insolence. But you must understand I cannot allow any of you into my mind and heart. I have seen all of your lives, caring would simply crush me. I do what I must."
Bastian sighed, the Illrian Shadow was not polite and not willing to open up...not to them.
"Go to the Temple of the Red Moon. When the lunar eclipse is total, you will be able to enter the chamber of the box. Within are the puzzles...solve them and you will enter and claim your prize. Remember, the enemy is following you. Be swift. Go with my blessing. "
Bastian bowed, and turned to leave.
~~~
Outside the room, Bastian tapped his communicator and said "We're going to Egypt...everyone get back to the ship."
::Five minutes previously::
Jeffery had just started winding down the conversation with the Chronomancer receptionist. He was just about to leave when she tugged on one of his sleeves, pointing to a piece of paper with a series of numbers and words on it. She handed him it. He scanned the sheet of paper and paused. He then began searching his pockets for a similar if not incredibly wrinkled looking sheet of paper. He scanned his sheet of paper and paused around the same part of the paper eyes widening. He handed the paper to her blushing. She scanned the sheet and shrugged. Jeffery then pointed to a certain point. She looked carefully at it, eyes widening, and face reddening. They then awkwardly signed each others sheets and Jeffery headed out, face a bright crimson hue. Then the communicator rang. Jeffery shyly waved back to the receptionist and ran back to join the group, blushing like a maniac.
"Look, I know it wasn't long but we've probably not got a lot of time. Pick yourselves up, get outside the Tower we'll put our heads together and talk this out." said Bastian.
As they left, Bastian asked Reuben "Can you as Kin something? I need to know something...I wasn't given much of a breif on the Rhyle before. I had a basic introduction when a nice member of their order came for a meeting of the Midnight Council, but nothing big. I want to know...what are Steward's Marks. Is it like an Illrian Mark? It means some Illrian is inside you, melded to your soul and is giving you powers...like our masked friend's ability to warp time."
"I could already do that, Zjar'q made me stronger. He also gave me powers you will wish you see used on someone else..." said the Golden Skull.
"What is your name, Mister McStabby?"
"It's Khazad Ibn La-Ahad II, I was born in the Siani...came here to Switzerland, felt drawn. Silas and Malachi led me to England, told me to tame my voice and fade away and wait for my charge to appear. She was supposed to be looking for me, but she was so afraid I couldn't find her."
"I was running for my life, the Red Guard have agents all over the world. If Rasputin got a hold of me, I would have been killed or worse." said Anastasia, snapping.
"I apologize, my lady. I am sworn to protect you and Sareleous. He can keep you safe from within, I will keep you safe form without."
"That's nice and chivalrous, but I'm capable of defending myself."
Reuben was not speaking, he seemed to be in silent conversation with Kin.
"Both of you, don't fight...we need to remain cohesive. We'e all friends here," said Bastian, calimng the two Illrian Knights.
"Reuben? What did he tell you?"
"The Stewards mark is a symbol appearing typically on the forearm. Typically composed of circles and triangles arranged in some intricate pattern. Many have speculated what specific patterns mean, but no conclusive answers have been presented. The mark is a sign of divine power. However that power has been manifested in many ways. We have had just about every kind of individual one could imagine, and apparently that now includes Illrian."
The mask over Ruebens face began to flash examples of different stewards marks. Sure enough, they were arrangements of circles and triangles.
"Some have been werewolves, some magic users, some just ordinary people. But the thing that unites them is a process of training. Those with the mark thrive. They become sharper in every way. Even normal people who work as hard dont seem to gain the same results. It cant really be explained, as even we have no explanation. Its just something we take on faith I suppose."
He recited Kins explanation word for word.
"As for ideas such as destiny, the very word Rhyle comes from an ancient language called deep speech and literally translates as "steward". It was originally our purpose, and still is, to hunt down demons. Not the "daemons" and otherwordly figures that seem to in one way or another resmble or relate to demons. What we hunt are demons in the purest sense, monsters of the underworld visiting this realm in one form or another with the sole purpose of inflicting harm upon its residents."
"I see...so we have no idea if removing it will kill our new friend." said Bastian, rubbing his chin.
"I'm surprised the deep voice finds use with people other than Athames and the denizens of the lower planes. You do know the planar structure yes?"
Reuben shook his head.
"Well, were in the Far Veil. It is the place all panes exist, and where they can overlap. There are the upper planes of Aurica and the Light's Realm, there's the middle planes where we live and where Shadow and Faerie are. Then there are the lower planes of Arcania, the Abyss and Ou'Rus...then there are the realms outside of the planar system. The primal nether, where the Destroyer exists, and the plane the Forgotten come from...I'm surprised you haven't seen a planar orrery. We use them to track when which planes will converge or diverge, it helps predict things. The upper planes speak the high speech, Selentic. The middle planes speak the common languages we speak, and the lower planes speak the deep speech, Acrypha. There is Silrian, the base language that was spoken long ago. Only the Shadow speaks it, well Athames use it too but for less nefarious purposes. Silrian speech combined with magic is powerful, using words and not inner power to use spells...it's what made Athames so feared."
Bastian spoke at length as they walked, running into the rest of the group, looking impatient.
"Sorry we kept you."
[spoiler-=OOC] Happy Christmas, one and all [/spoiler]
The group was mostly together, conversing about the possible approaches to the mission at hand.
"To make this as simple as possible, we should just go there and scope this place out. Then make a decision," said Bastian.
The others nodded, the Chronomancer spoke up, his words a little disjointed "Should we to look at where Egypt we land and map way Temple to the..."
"Try again, Jeff. I can't understand you."
He breathed and said again "We should look at where in Egypt we are landing and map a way to the Temple."
"Good idea, figure a route before we go. Anyone else?"
"We should discover everything we can about this Temple from the people of Egypt. Maybe they will know things we don't," said Hadrian.
"Again, a good idea. But we should start walking...by the way where is the Russian."
"Drinking, I think he stepped into that bar there..." said Hadrian.
"I see..." said Bastian, motioning for them to wait.
The bar was a low-light bar for the common folk. Pytor was drinking from a bottle of vodka, knocking back shots. "Pytor..." said Bastian, slipping into the booth.
"Sorry sir, am I holding you back?"
"No...we're just getting ready to leave. A short visit of a few hours, let everyone look around. We'll be seeing more of it after we find whatever it is we are looking for."
Pytor nodded and took another shot, motioning to Bastian to see if he wanted some.
"No, thank you. We're going to Egypt."
"Great. Sand in my everything."
"We're looking for an old artifact. Hidden in an old Necromancer temple, this thing is as old as the Egyptian Pharaohs. You've got a skill we don't..."
"Getting drunk?"
"Your eyes. You've got the best eyesight. This thing is ancient and probably in the middle of nowhere but if the enemy is there first I want your eyes to spot them. You are one of the best snipers that the Guardians have, I wouldn't rather have anyone else out there."
Pytor looked at the empty shot glass and pushed it away.
"What do you need, boss?"
"First, let's get you to the airship and back to earth. Then we're going across the sea to Egypt."
Pytor hiccuped and nodded "Let's go then."
Outside the group was still waiting and conversing, continuing as they walked back, Pytor stumbling a little.
Jeff was still mildly blushing as he chatted, gesturing madly with his shotgun and laughing maniacally. His laugh wasn't evil, although it was very sudden and unrestrained making him sound odd. When he spoke normally he was blunt and to the point. Most forms of subtlety eluding him like a shy girl being pursued by a loud obnoxious lover. He looked grinning at Hadrian and Reuben, putting an arm over each of their shoulders, "Ready you for guys this? Wait can't long too." He revised his sentence structure. "Ahem. You guys ready for this? Can't wait too long. Our enemies might get the drop on us."
The airship pulled out, proud and steady. The High Masters would be in debate with the Conclave for weeks, maybe months. They would not miss their transport while the luxury of the skies that was the Wind and Sail IV appeared out of the Monolith back on earth and crossed the storm barrier towards the Mediterranean Sea.
Bastian was at the railing watching the mountains fall away towards the plains. The Golden Skull was there, drumming his fingers on the brass railing. "Solid...threaded with Orichalum as well. It couldn't be better..."
"Why would the Guardians skimp on their largest transport?" said Bastian half-heartedly. His mid was elsewhere.
"Missing home?" asked the Golden Skull.
"No...something your Illrian said. Something you said. It's been ruminating."
"The scar within you?"
"I would like clarification, Zjar'q"
"Zjar'q is resting. I can answer for you to the best of my knowledge, and you may use my proper name. Muhammad Ibn La-Ahad, that is my full name. I am from Turkey but spent many years travelling, I lost my accent and gained many others. Only my friends back home would know me...and the Illrian Order."
"That's nice, Muhammad. Tell me what this scar is." said Bastian, serious.
"Well, imagine your magic unravels a cloth when you spin it. You open rifts the more you take, as the universe can close what you take. When you do something unbelievable or complex, you open holes in places they shouldn't be. There is a hole in the universe deep within your soul, thats where you unwind the energy from. Fortunamancers reach into themselves to pull the threads, those holes they make exist deep inside their soul. There is a tear and that tear opens into Shadow. The darkness over there is creeping out, faster with every spell you cast. It cannot be stemmed or stopped without someone skilled in Phasmamancy closing it themselves. However, we can exploit this...because the dark creatures you may meet will see the gap and try to win you over but you can also win THEM over. The gap lets you hear and feel the power of the darkness, and you as a Fortunamancer can simply will that power to serve you and bind the creature to you service or even banish it beyond the barrier into the Primal Nether. It is a kind of mixing that is perfect, and all dark creatures will be loathe to encounter you...but there must be care taken...the Destroyer in all it's fury and power can feel you now and may worm its way into your spirit and body. You could be corrupted..." said Muhammad, unloaded the information and the landscape dimmed and the sun set.
Bastian breathed and said "Blessing and a curse?"
"Yes. I am sorry I had to dump this all at once but it needed to be said. You've got a peculiar advantage as well as a hobble. We wary of how much power you use, opening it too far means you might open it far enough a Shadow Lord or worse could invade you and turn you against your will."
"Corruption...I've seen it before. It's ugly..." said Bastian, remembering the man dissolving before him as tentacles and teeth, eyes with cat's pupils and animal's parts blossomed and faded, dissolving into total chaos and finally a protoplasmic goo on the floor. His long fight with Corruption ended, the finger of Astos had destroyed his mortal form but the darkness he had brought with him had faded, one solution to a problem among many...the High Masters had chosen to let him be destroyed over anything. Bastian knew why, but in his heart it felt abhorrent. Letting a man die...
"What do I do?"
"Control yourself...don't fall prey to temptation." and with that Muhammad left, patting Bastian's shoulder.
Jeffery grinned and left the two nursing their shoulder wounds from his heavy coats and headed back to his room. As he lay the first coat down on the bed he grinned with pleasure as the bed began to creak from the weight of the first coat. The first coat was moose hide with several layers of ceramic plating and chainmail. Jeffery was a lot stronger than he seemed however most of his strength was dedicated to supporting the monsterously heavy bullet proof coats he wore. He had more than 2 dozen hand grenades stuffed on his person, several German combat revolvers, an American pump action shotgun, and an English folding trench shovel, in addition to a ridiculous amount of lighter weaponry. After he finished the inventory he sat down on his bed and rested for a little. Letting his mind rove through his life, past, present, and future. Nothing really surprised him. He'd seen his death at the hands of many a foe, but this was different. He was looking for a certain someone he had just met.
Kin had hit pay dirt. He remembered along time ago, shortly before the collapse of everything in his mind with his physical death, he had been working on the fail safe. Along with it he had dumped much of his memory. keeping a small archive, he was able to categorize several subjects both by his interactions chronologically and by subject alphabetically. However in the collapse, it had been shoved around and lost in the depths. Now that he had finished his other tasks concerning Rueben, he began digging.
Deep in a dark corner, so dark he lit a torch, he rummage through the oldest parts of the masks memory. Since the masks augmentation into a storage device, it had learned and searched for knowledge and memory.
Rueben tapped Bastian on the shoulders. "Just thought I would say, when you have time, Kin has something to show you later."
He promptly left. Heading back to the lobby where guardians regularly recreated. He walked in with a smile. "How are things?" He asked openly to the group.
We're back on the airship, yes. Expect me to post soon. I'm writing a book and posting bits on tumblr so excuse me if I'm not playing. Also, Duels of the Planeswalkers 2012...that is all.
Luckily, Pyotr remembered to purchase a few bottles of his favorite vodka before boarding the airship once more. He had already gone through a little over half of one, rapidly gaining on the quarter-mark, and was sitting in one of the lounge chairs in the lobby. Interaction with the other passengers was almost nonexistant; they made no effort to strike up a conversation and he felt even less inclined to do so with them. In the middle of another, rather large, gulp of vodka, the man called Rueben stepped in.
"How are things?"
The Russian just grunted, in both acknowledgement of his presence and an effortless answer to his question, as he finished his gulp. Heaving a great sigh, feeling that his response was quite rude but knowing he may regret further elaboration and the social interaction that would undoubtedly ensue, he drummed his fingers on the armrest for moment.
"Things are okay. Things have been better though. And worse. Much, much worse..." Pyotr paused, taking another swig of vodka before continuing with a hint of mild disinterest in his tone, "how are things with yourself?"
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