Kin sighed and sat down, the world around him changing to reflect inner thoughts and the events of which he spoke.
"Even we dont know where we came from. That much is lost to the obscurity. However, some have speculated that we find our roots in Biblical stories. The book of Judges, Chapters 6 and 7. Gideon was rumored to have taken the 300 men he led to victory against the Medianites as his personal army. They were gifted as warriors from that day on because of their faithfulness. So they branded themselves, to never forget their sworn oaths to protect that which is good. Without explanation, the marks began to appear on others, who then proved themselves to be as capable as the 300. They joined in, and the numbers began to swell up. But that's where the story gets fuzzy. Afterwards, no records of them exists except for a journal found in India in 1204. It belonged to a spice trader on his way to Mecca who reported meeting warriors on their way to what was known then as Germania. They were unusually gifted, and the man felt terrified to even see them from a distance. They bore the mark as well."
"The actual organization of the group was in, according to our records, 834 AD. This roughly corresponds with the dates given in the journal. The Rhyle lived in secret, always have. But our implications have been far reaching. William The Conqueror, credited with unifying Britain into a single entity, was trained by us. Both King Richard and Saladin have records of men on their sides refusing to fight the others. And would you like to take a guess at which U.S. Presidents refuse to take any pictures with sleeves rolled up past the fore arm? Ill give you a hint; it starts with an "R" and rhymes with "nose and felt"
Silas shook his head in a mix of admiration, disbelief and shock.
"Incredible, you have been working the system for years..."
Kin grinned. "Do you think the Christian armies, outnumbered two to one, really took Istanbul on their own?"
"But what about the actual inter-workings? How does one become Rhyle?"
"The twenty dollar question indeed."
Kin stood up and began pacing.
"When a mark appears on an individual, both sides are alerted to it. It often becomes a race against time to find them first. We may only know vague locations at first. We have to narrow it down quick, because a fresh mark can be an easy target for the enemy. They would love a chance to bump one of us off early and easy.
After we actually get him in, he is moved to a secure location not even you would be allowed to know. We call it "Epsilon". Think of it like our 'home base' if you will. It means everything to us. Loosing it is unacceptable. And only two non-Rhyle in the history of.... anything.... ever.... have ever been in it. One was the prime minister, and the other a pregnant woman on her passing way who went into labor. We werent going to leave her out in the cold to deliver her child.
There, the new Rhyle is trained for years. Usually two or three. Their abilities are brought out, nurtured and perfected in an ongoing process. They learn to hunt, kill, survive, resist torture, situational awareness, infiltration, espionage etc... the whole nine yards. And it isnt easy training. We breed hard men and women for a hard life. Its considered dull any day without a bloody nose, broken arm, seizure, or vomiting.
At the end they must make the pilgrimage. They are given a year to find two men, the architect, and the engineer. The engineer is the easy one. Its the architect that is tricky. The must find the architect, a blind man who has always been there, even if not the same man as the one in the previous century. As with many things in the Rhyle, fate works its ways, and there has always been an architect and an engineer since as far back as we know. The journey to find these men is long and hard, and tests the Rhyle as they must go alone.
The architect is a blind man, he lives with only one other, his assistant. Together, the assistant writes down everything the Architect says, and the Architect ply's the Rhyle with questions. Everything is taken into account. His occupation, his family, his beliefs, his hobbies, his accomplishments. I have never had a more thorough screening in my life than with that man, it took days and days of questions and discussion. At moments, the architect would pause and begin to speak to the assistant. The language is strangely cryptic, and though it is plain english, only the architect, the assistant, and the engineer know its true meaning.
From there the Rhyle is given scrolls, many of them, in a sturdy wooden cylindrical container. Now the young Rhyle must find the engineer. This man, this blacksmith uses some unique fire, and his forge is unlike anything known to the outside world. He will spend two to three months deciphering the cryptic scrolls, and crafting from their words, a set of armor unique and perfect for that Rhyle. It will be unlike anything else made ever again. Though they all follow similar aesthetic to a degree (you have no doubt noticed the pattern of white steel and gold and yellow trim) they are all wholesomely unique. During these months, the Rhyle must spend his days in silence, contemplating the fire and the forge and the stroke of the hammer and living outside in the cold bitter wilderness at night. When it is finished, the armor fits perfectly, and is light as a feather on him or her. However it may feel on another, it will never be quite as good on them. As suitable a replacement Rueben might be, the suit will never serve him like it did me.
From then on, the Rhyle never wear the training armor he used to, the old set is sent back to the armory for a new trainee to dawn. He returns to Epsilon a true Rhyle, adorned with the robes of his office. You see, the armor is something special to Rhyle, it becomes a part of them." He held up a copy of his mask, the one he currently inhabited. "This was part of the armor, it took me a while to truly understand everything the architect and engineer wanted me to know. No eye holes, no mouth slot for breath, nothing. I realized quickly that i had to project my Imperiomancy through it to use it, and that has become a great advantage to me, giving me eyes in the back of my head and other such useful applications.... but there is still more... much more hidden underneath practical application....."
In Kins mind, a copy of his armor appeared. Upon closer inspection, Silas found that the shape, weight, type etc were not the only things making it unique. Looking closely enough, writing could be found. Many languages, from English, French and Arabic and Japanese to deep speech, demonic languages, ancient tongues, dead languages, all in text no bigger than a marble. Symbols and murals also began to show them selves in small text.
"The marks and writing appear over time with the life of the Rhyle. Some of it makes perfect sense, but some of it is but more mystery."
He sighed, reminiscing for a moment.
"We may not know everything, but we know we have purpose. That is all that really matters...."
