RuneScape Forum Archive | ~¤×¤×An Eschaton's Gambit¤×¤×~

tmac attack

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"A sneeze and he lost the redwooder?" Deris Octavor had to confirm, "envision the frown on Old Red's face."

“Aye. twenty yards east, his shot pulled. Utter miss. You would have loved Johann’s face. Gods, just right then he was envisioning his estate's wall above the hearth, the measly thirty point redwood on the trophy mount instead for the year's competition, a desperate replacement, Rex enjoying the fruits of first place, and Aery has restless nights for all to come."

They drank to that joyfully. Hunting stories brought them home, and Marcus knew all seven of them loaned for that more than anything, whether they liked to admit it. He could see his younger self, thirteen years a boy with Brutus by his side and Father in the eastwoods. He remembers Father’s lesson about serving as a Templar, about ending a life. The bronze bear they struck in the heart was the first step in understanding the nature of death, how violent it could be.

“Alas, Aery’s been a decent gentleman for our First Justicator’s sister,” Handriel said with a ruthful grin, “she fairs well, Marcus?”

“Well enough,” Marcus said, trying to match the grin. It was a weak one—other things took his mind. The travels, Akol-Atial, leading his brothers into a strange and foreign war. He could see the corpses scattered along the pavement of the colonial street, tattered and marred from the bomb’* explosion. He wondered if there were children in that body count—there had to have been, he figured.

"I tell you. He’s been stirring himself up as of late," Kastier* continued, "I take it Cecilia’s banquet of knowledge stored up in that head of hers was nothing short of an unexpected fascination. He’s not used to that kind of thing. Is that how she draws them in, Marcus, that flattering wit and refined charm a kind of web for the flies to fall in, and your sister the impending spider that grabs hold of her prey afterwards?”

14-May-2016 10:39:21 - Last edited on 31-May-2016 08:27:16 by tmac attack

tmac attack

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He was enjoying the jest too much to stop, “An experimenter like her. She'll pull him right out of duty, or into it, if the proclivity is there. I swear it. Heed my words, she’s to be the death of him !”

It must have been a bird that slammed itself into the stain glass. They did not flinch or jump, really it only demanded but the calm turning of heads. Marcus did think it the quëërër that a small bird would be this high in the reach--only hawks and eagles roam these tops.

“Easy now, Kastiero. You’re stirring up omens,” the Rex lad joked under a gulp of wine.

“For the better, or worse? An omen may be required for good fortunes up top. The Scarlet Gloves,” he replied, half serious.

“Hmph. Hardly,” Braxton forked his trout and took a great bite from it, the juices trickling his muddy blonde beard, “that strike in the city, it was an unfortunate one. Blessed the lost and the injured. I was grievous sad to hear of it. But let us speak militarily on the matter—this was nothing short of a rare instance, the Scarlets have been beaten into the dirt in the past decade. This was a forlorn attempt to strike fear back into the hearts of the colonists. Nothing more.”

“A Templar has hardly even received a wound in battle since the Black Phoenix scourge. Forty years. Those were real enemies, with real weapons. As if the Legion’s already given them a difficult time. Our father’s vanguard has sent the Gloves on their heels, I’m told. If anything, we are but mopping up their broken pieces.” Flavius Rex asserted, the younger brother to Braxton, a clone to the former. The brothers were all the Rex could have been—tall, broad shouldered and of the Kulli. They had a shot of cedar brown thrown into their feathered flaxen manes.

14-May-2016 10:39:21 - Last edited on 31-May-2016 08:29:08 by tmac attack

tmac attack

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"Word of good deeds spread rapidly. I hear your brother Brutus brought one their strongholds to the ground with his Triithien--the Breaker has claimed almost a hundred justices since his arrival." Handriel added. Brutus was a favorite matter of discussion in the armies alike.

"He dispenses the Edict thoroughly," Aldraxxus spoke lightly, but the orotund bellow of his voice seemed to reverberate through the dining hall.

"The guilds work day and night on his war-gavel for when he returns. It's to be laid at his feet by the Temple. Maisis-Ocula , they're calling it, His Majesty's Justice ," Handriel said, "the patrons fought in line for this project."

"I can drink to that. Here's to the Breaker ," and they drank in unison. Marcus drank sourly. It wasn't the first time his brother's name turned to the obsequious conversational fodder between a feasting table.

The metal doors creaked from behind. A small mouse of a squire wrapped in a sash of pure milk white under luminous chainmail entered and bowed a gracefully rehearsed bow. "Lord Marcus, your father has summoned you to his solar."

The journey through the mountain reach was lengthy enough for Marcus to plan out what the conversation with Father would be like, and what to say. Up huge turnpike stone stairs and through the aged, austere hallways that forced their way through the mountain like giant wedge stones. He had to cross the upper chambers and across the hanging arcade bridge that shot a full view of the Reach's outer bailey. The helio-platform carried him from there on upon a wash of gold light, and stopped almost to a swishing whisper in front of a single cloister that led to two monstrous doors.

He entered under vague suspicions. But Father surprised him, drawing cloudy white breaths from his erudite herb pipe. He was reading, or glancing, over something that glowed with white letters and symbols.

14-May-2016 10:39:22 - Last edited on 31-May-2016 08:15:06 by tmac attack

tmac attack

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"Marcus," he said with a bass formality to it. He didn't motion to the seat, but Marcus knew the routine intimately.

Lord Victor did not lift his eyes from the meta scroll while he sat. Marcus could barely make out the contents of the material, but he could never miss the sigil of the senate: a chimera of an eagle, blood bull, and lion woven around the burning sun.

The wall sconces coruscated off their dark faces. The chamber was rather dim. Father did this when he was thinking. The dancing sconce orbs made the grayish streaks in his iron mullet light up. An incense that smelt of woodland pines and cinnamon breathed a snaking trail of smoke.

"The hunting stories were enjoyable, I suspect," Father said as he wrote handsome words into a barren meta scroll.

"That usually depends on the orator. Handriel was always one for decent narratives," he did a kind of half effort chuckle, "is this a common discourse after coronation?"

"And before war. Home and hunting are the small morsels of comfort between the two giants," he placed a golden pen with a blue triquetra floating on its tail. Father stared at his son with old, powerful blue eyes. "When my twenty eighth name day came, and it was Ark Lord Desmor back then who rested his blade on my shoulder. That was the only thing my brothers aspired to speak on afterwards. Home, and hunting, and family."

Now you'll be going to the same place I did forty years ago. Yet your reason is but a shadow to mine," the darkness in his eye sockets grew dimmer, "All our revels soured in our mouths when we took foot on the land. A scout and his comm report provide dull insights at times. When our eyes made real contact with the real enemy, well, that was a different matter entirely. I was compelled to true fear."

14-May-2016 10:39:22 - Last edited on 11-Jun-2016 04:40:04 by tmac attack

tmac attack

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Had there been words in Marcus' mouth, he had swallowed most of them come that admition. Fear was seldom inspired in Lord Victor. "It had been the greatest reason to fear."

"No. The Lord's wrath is the greatest reason to fear," he commanded the words as hard and certainly as iron, "You and your brothers were but the prenatal innocence of nothingness when I first embarked. Nothing a scholar could explain to you with all his historical wit about him would ever succeed in illustrating what it meant to fight those beasts ," Father said through his hardened teeth.

"Now," he tossed his hands in reproach, "they send my boys off to this mess. Gyrridrox denotes it a product of what I've dreaded as well. The political-entropy of our realm has been a matter of discussion before your first name day. The dissolution, is what I call it. The State has overextended it's reach, but should one be surprised when you try to appease the world with one hand and dispense justice with the other?"

He shifted closer. He was a giant of a thing, hulking and stern as the great stone chair he sat upon. "Blood Kingdoms, 4:17. What are its words?"

"That the State's Justice is the Lord's Justice," Marcus knew the verse well enough. It was not one he had privately thought reasonable. But those aren't the kinds of notions you express to your Ark Lord, and Father above all.

Father nodded approvingly. "And so it is. We are the Hand of the Lord's Justice. What the State decrees, we must abide to. Our blood is of the Old, it does not run in the veins of the State, and we are not permitted influence over the governing agents of Man."

The Ark Lord's eyes flickered back and forth, furious blue stones sharp as diamonds. "But I would sooner let worms devour my eyes than nod a sign of endorsement to this new reign of policy."

14-May-2016 10:39:23 - Last edited on 18-Jul-2016 11:00:15 by tmac attack

tmac attack

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His face became ice. "And should any discourse be held on this matter, I and only I will be the one conducting it with the premier. You, Marcus, will abstain from expressing any of your misgivings to your superiors. I will not have The Rex complain to me that my newly anointed son holds his blade with reluctance. You're at the head of a Triithien of the Sun Temple, boy, not galavanting to and fro with some petty platoon of drunken legionaries. To lead a Triithien is one of the greatest honor in the Realm."

"Not for a moment do I doubt the honor, Father. The validity of the cause should be taken in acc--"

"The cause could be hunting squirrels, and you're still to do it with unwavering loyalty. Is the matter clear?"

There would be no victory here. "It is clear, Father."

The Ark Lord seemed unimpressed. Strings of ghost pale smoke rolled out from his pipe when he pulled it with a long breath. "I'll take it as acquiescence. You'll deploy within a fortnight. Your division will accompany Legator Taurus's Bull Fleet. A portion of it, specifically. He's to keep what remains of his Flotilla docked here, on the Sky Harbor." Hannibal Taurus was unofficially Three Horns, a namesake earned on account of his war helmet. His blood was not of the Old, but he had brought glory and triumph to the Legion, and any man owed their share of loyalty to his command.

"The Rex's Vanguard is garrisoned at Pearl Falls. You'll find your brother there. I suspect he'll have a mouthful of anecdotes to share in good spirit." He was joking entirely. Brutus probably blinked more in a day than he spoke a word, and always the talk was earnest.

Father and son exchanged glances at the meta scroll. "You'll stay?" asked Marcus finally.

"Unfortunately the Old Bull saw it fit, it seems. He wants a strong host come his summit with the Federation's King."

14-May-2016 10:39:23 - Last edited on 14-Jun-2016 08:30:49 by tmac attack

tmac attack

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The Old Bull was eldest to his brothers Hannibal and Carson, and his days as a commander of the Legion had been long retired. Where he had put away his sword, he had replaced the vacancy with politics. Head of State, to be sure, Paxe*to Taurus was the Lord Premier of the Republic, the Iydes, and Providence. He had a certain affection and loving trust for the Old Blood line of Marcus's family, and that had been an amicable union Father had performed especially tender care to maintain.

"We'll return to the capital afore dawn's break on the morrow. You can farewell your brother and sisters at the College. Your mother ceases not her demands to see her youngest son. She's a fine woman, Marcus, and she seldom can find time for you and you for her."

"Alegron made an art out of pressing us hard and stealing time."

"Hmm. Then the Scarlet will have bitter fruits to bite from." For a moment, there was a silence. Such a deep one, that the sound of the incense crackling seemed the loudest noise he had ever heard. Then Father broke the peace, "One last thing, Marcus," he said slowly, surely.

But the sentence was to never be finished. Marcus saw it too, the creeping crimson, faded just slightly, bleed through the plated traceries of the solar's stain glass and spill onto the table between them. It did this, sometimes, even in the heart of day. Aercal seemed to take idleness more readily come the day, but restless Mora was not always so easy to slumber.

Father shifted uncertainly in his chair. "You do not forget, Marcus. Our like does not neglect."

"We watch, we hearken, we wait vigilant." Marcus answered with creed. Those were old words muttered by Old Blood, and breaking the dust on them had always come as a wintry gesture.

The whole air about Father underwent a metamorphosis. He was to be alone. "Go pray with your brothers," he commanded.

14-May-2016 10:39:23 - Last edited on 15-Jun-2016 16:03:37 by tmac attack

tmac attack

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Marcus paid them his company but briefly, however. The Triithien convened in the armory, talking of war, of the instruments of war. "First Justicator" they addressed him as upon entry and henceforth. He was still adjusting to the title. It felt good to be called that. His mood did not incline to care for war talk, so he gave them an ephemeral description of their coming wanders to Pearl Falls, to meet the Rex, concluded that the full briefing with finer details would be held at the capital, and ordered that they rest early for the trip home. A short visit to the Reach indeed, and yet so much had changed.

He sauntered the great halls now. The day quieted and evening spilt into the world like a bleeding wound. Marcus was tired, in truth, a soreness had taken his legs and tightened his temples. Wine had sounded too appealing a thing to pass up. He had drank the consecrated red since morning, but sipping to ritual and desire were at times in contrariety. He sought the latter for once. The walk brought him through the Sanctum, where the marbled statues of the Tryo, the Sisters, surveyed his movements. The Brother of Edict looked down from the upper apse, war gavel held at chest. Their vestal child spun behind, a young diamond of a woman in fiery habiliments and an aureole of the sun. The Paragon Vaercyllus had always warmed him, he felt, and when he had trembled at the sight of her elderly deities as a child, he felt ever stronger in her presence now.

All faiths had their vestals, their vïrgïns. Tyronism was the doctrine of the planet, in the east they took virtues from the Lord Brother's Edict, as did they in the southron providences, or in the sandstone holds of Al-Qaencia. But the vïrgïns were a different matter--paragons, embodiments of strength, or wisdom, or compassion. He thought of his mother then, of sweet Eileen.

14-May-2016 10:39:24 - Last edited on 18-Jun-2016 09:11:23 by tmac attack

tmac attack

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The notion that the mighty Ark Lord Victor Solaras had drawn bloodlines from across Maker's Spine into his own had not gone without curious discussion amongst court ladies and lads alike. But none should be bold enough to express their take to Victor himself. Paltry as it was, the gossip bothered Marcus, and his mood soured as he approached the entrance to his chambers and while he unburdened himself of the heavy plates of armor that dressed his flesh.

They knelt to the Maiden of Tempest in the east, the Lady of Storms. Not for a moment had the disparity begged for conflict in his own mind. That was his mother, she had carried him in womb and had fed him at tït. Besides, cultures fuse, bloods spill into one another, it was all a natural game of entropy to him. And as he would hold his tongue on the Scarlet Glove question, he would practice the same in regards to his mother. The stern, purist mentalities of his praepos, of the Temple, were ample in their tenacity.

The red vintage swirled into his goblet. Up here, the curved balcony that protruded from his quarters was a proper place to contemplate and to drink on the issue. The gilded tunic of white and gold he had dressed into had padded sleeves that was to break callous mountain winds, but this evening had grown placid and still. A stone kind of still.

The darkness of twilight veiled the sky, and nebulous flowers of onyx clouds blossomed in a hundred directions. Save for the humming of the Solar Ray's apparatus, and the distant calls of night hunters in some far corner of the wilderness below, the world was shushed like an adolescent. Aercal struggled for visibility amongst the whirl and twirl of gaseous black, a tearing claw mark of pearl through the shadowy garment. Marcus paid it little heed, though, spinning the drink in hand, watching the liquid vortex in a blood red circle. Through the obscurity, the majestic crimson was rising.

14-May-2016 10:39:24 - Last edited on 21-Jun-2016 09:49:04 by tmac attack

tmac attack

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•~´¨``”~•~"´´¨`~×¤×¤×¤×¤×¤×¤×¤× Eileen ×¤×¤×¤×¤×¤×¤×¤×~´¨``”~•~"´´¨`~•

She had thought it a fine blessing that Sunreign was the cosmopolitan stronghold of the Realm, as her brothers in the east were not so polished in their worldly views. The Tempest Shrine had been lifted in the prayer woods for her like especially. Seldom that easteners came to the Republic with Old Blood in their veins, but the College was impartial to ethnicity. It's trade was erudition and it's language was knowledge.

It was a modest place of worship, but a child to the grand cathedrals that kissed the skyline of the Federation's capital at Mordaggum, their pointed spires like sharp fingers of black steel reaching for the heavens. When you forded meandering rivers and traversed the wuthering moors of viridian with mossy boulders, they'd be the first glimpse you'd catch on the horizon of the eastern capital.

She loved that land dearly, it was home. But Sunreign was home too, and the landscape here was kind, at least south as Folich's Ridge was concerned. She felt safe amongst the thick stands of bronze oaks and the air spiced with sap and pine filled her with a kind of earthly comfort.

But inside, the Maiden of Tempest had dawned a hard silence onto her, and the stone walls, dark and gloomy, made her feel cold. Like home, she pondered. The Maiden stood over in her metal form, with angry flurries of electric blue shocks zapping from her eyes, her hands. Occasionally, one rogue string of blue lightning would whip at the walls with a loud, crackling hiss. A frightening thing to some, but she was Stormkrauss, and this was her way.

"Eily," he had left the iron gravel of his Lord's voice at the door.

At that signal, she waved her hand over a glowing panel of neon turquoise which responded with a descendo of airy wisps. The Maiden ended her weeping storm, and the interior dimmed and quieted.

14-May-2016 20:39:52 - Last edited on 18-Jun-2016 13:22:03 by tmac attack

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