Very quickly did he glance at the way of each enforcer that he noticed, seeing only Loyal Knights everywhere he looked. It was one thing to have them protecting the city entrance, but the entire city itself? This was so bothersome, this was absolute paranoia. Balor must truly believe that a Desert Assassin will show up at his doorstep, and such a thought completely petrified him.
It was then that a shrill voice was flushed down Telvern's ears, thundering down upon his eardrums as if they truly were the instrument. It was cheeky and high-pitched like a tricky, mischievous imp. "—has passed away over the weekend," the voice of an older man spoke. "He was a well respected member of our society, having been a member of the Ruler's Counsel for over fifty years where he eventually became Lord Speaker. Momus—"
Wait a moment, "Lord Speaker," "Momus," "passed away"? Telvern just stopped listening right there, finding the city crier's voice turn into a big blob of sound. An exclamation mark raised like a red flag, his heart skipped a beat, feeling it heavily pound soon after. Did Momus... die? When? How!? This stunning, very unsettling premise shook him, made him question his purpose here, question everything.
Trying to determine if he heard it correctly, Telvern continued his indulgence of the talker's plethora of words. His brown eyes gaze evasively upon his face, finding it draped with wrinkles, making him appear like a hairless rodent.
"—But do not be deluded by all the titles and grandeur, my dear brothers and sisters," the speaker warned, drawing a crowd higher than he could count in fingers and toes. "The truth is that he was a fanatical traitor! Evidence has been found revealing that he has been assisting the Resistance for decades! So fanatical was he that, in fact, he has been found responsible for murders of former King Minos and Queen Atere! He even attempted the assassination of our much beloved King Balor Pallas Barn and Queen Lucia Gaiane Barn!"
The world seemed to pause in Telvern's wake, his thoughts so powerful that they froze time to him. He lost all ability to listen to those words, even as they kept on coming at him. The genius had now only himself to think of this potential situation, of the real possibility that Momus may be dead. What would drive him to attempt an assassination of Balor and Lucia? Did he truly believe the Resistance to be finished, that it was time to act in Lamia's cause?
It would be the only reasonable conclusion for such a hasty reaction, and even so he never should have attempted it. Telvern overlooked the possibilities in his mind, feeling this like a sword in his side. It was absolutely deadly, a coup de grace to the Resistance's cause.
A single cell hidden within the enemy's body was imperative, it's what the plan revolved around. But it seemed now that this plan had been tossed carelessly into the fire, and Telvern could only speculate upon how they could recover from this. Feeling time now quickly return back to normal, his ears caught the sound of much disapproval within the raging sea of bodies.
There were ireful bellows from the crowd whom flocked to the crier's side, their stomachs thoroughly sickened by the words fed to them by the producer. Their faces revolted with rancor, exploding like a keg of dynamite with animation."Is there no decency anymore!?" Telvern's ears could hear one god ask.
"Traitor!" he could hear another yell out with such resentment.
"But fear not, my dear brothers and sisters," the crier went on with his propaganda. "He dared to challenge them, dared to think that he had the ability to take their lives. But this was just pure arrogance, pure foolishness! He has thus been justly punished for his crimes, his life taken by our king and queen!"
Yes, it's beginning to seem more likely that Momus did believe that the Resistance was destroyed. He reacted as any opposition would, having seen an opportunity to strike and taking it. But unfortunately, luck did not favor him that day. He lost his life as a result, stripped away from those who needed him the most...
But it also made Telvern question, wonder... If Lamia can sense her followers, why didn't she tell them of Momus' death? The crier declared his death happening over the weekend, nearly a week ago. This discovery only further clouded her with a mist of distrust, a shroud of mystery. Regardless, the genius needed to seek out more answers to this anxious finding.
He left behind the crowd encircled around the speaker, his ears popping with the blaring sound of their cheers. The steely genius made haste for his next destination, but made sure to do so under a low profile. He made his way to the city's heart, further into the market district. There was where the situation with the hopeless humans was at its worst, seeing their faces literally looking as though they prayed to die.
The market was teeming with life, as it usually did. An overabundance of bodies cramming this long stretch of stalls and shops, people flocking from all across the Imperial Kingdom to partake in the goods for sale. But still, the grotesque sound of a horrendous beating bruised the air black-and-blue, the slavers needing to teach their property a lesson.
As the anonymous genius walked the streets, he couldn't help to notice a strange happening within one of the many alleyways of the city. He passed by quickly, staring his brown eyes down into its throat for just a moment. Reflecting off of his callous gaze, the left side of a familiar man. His scarred face towards a group of three, each of them dressed in ragged clothing and dirty hair.
It was General Sergius Ishvara, the one frequently referred to as "General Gallows." He was near entirely encased in a sublimely detailed, gorgeous white armour, save his head. A helmet tucked under his left arm, kept off for a moment. His neck was tied with a cape equal to his armour, both in color and decoration. He was there in a shady place, dealing with what looked to be humans -- slaves in fact.
How strange, Telvern thought... He spoke to them, yet it appeared like they were talking to a trusted friend. Gallows then suddenly turned his head to his left, catching Telvern just before he reached the other side of the alleyway. Telvern's body ran with a cold chill, a mad dash of worry and anxiety ran down his spine.
His heart froze in place, but his body kept on moving in a calm, orderly fashion. He could feel as Gallows thoroughly scanned him, watching his glowing eyes scroll from the tip of his head down to the last inch of his toes. The general knew who he was looking at, obvious to him that he was looking at a man who was supposed to be dead.
His face may have not reacted to it, but the look in his eyes certainly gave it away. They seemed surprised, just as Telvern was. And yet, despite this, Gallows simply turned his cheek the other way. His focus back upon the human slaves before him, completely ignoring Telvern.
Telvern found safety behind the following building, falling back into the current of glowing eyes and happily singing pockets. The faceless swarm, guffawing without care, without burden. Amidst this course of daily life, this moment caught Telvern in a bit of a quandary.
How should he proceed after this? Should he keep going, knowing now that someone among the enemy's forces realized his presence? Gallows recognized him, that's something he didn't question. He knew he couldn't allow himself to be swept in useless speculation... But still, there's definitely an uneasiness gaining ground in him.
Knocking him from his near-trance-like state, Telvern could hear as bells ring off in the distance, echoing throughout the morning. A sign of Utopia, he realized, a sound usually made illegal unless under certain circumstances. This only fueled the increasing tautness in the genius, making him walk that much faster. His eyes fixated only upon what was before him, dodging bodies and good deals with each step.
A while later, Telvern found his way out of the massive scene of buyers and sellers. The northern section of the city, home to the nobility and royalty. He was just a block away from the castle gates, his feet planted upon a narrow vein leading into a large, opened space. He could see it now, the glorious gates leading into the castle grounds.
A two-story building was just off to Telvern's right, one that had been used by many over the year to conceal themselves. Telvern followed behind those ghosts, hiding behind this building just as Calvin, Libitina, and Daevarro did... His steely brown eyes gazed around the corner, honing in on the scene at the gates.
They stood before gates, knights clad in a splendid suit of armour. Snow white and crafted to perfection, each piece was carefully decorated with images that symbolize the Imperial Kingdom and Solasúian culture. Four tall protrusions stood erect upon their great helm, one for each side.
A practical sword upon their waists, but their hands carried ceremonial spears made of adamas. The spear's head shaped like an eagle looking straight up, its wings spanned outward. Clenched in its mighty talons was the majorelle blue banner of the Imperial Kingdom, the triumphant winged lion and all of its abounding majesty.
The knights before the gates were Loyal Knights through-and-though, just wearing a very particular suit of armour. Telvern knew white was a rather unusual color for a Solasúian, one they wouldn't traditionally don. He examined further, squinting his eyes and focusing in on smaller, harder to notice bits of information.
As the Loyal Knights stood posted, they saw as a woman in a very peculiar robe come to them. It was as pale as the barren moon, marvelously embroidered and near seamless. This woman approached the members of the Loyal Knights before the gates, her being the only soul out here.
The knights looked to her as she stood just in front of them, the one closest to her then reached his left hand out towards her. Her hand pulled out from under her robe, revealing a strange piece of paper. She handed this paper to them, some kind of invitation?
That would be bizarre, truly so... Funerals for Barns typically do not require such things, so why would this one? The knight then looked upon the invitation, scrolling his glowing eyes upon its surface. With a nod of his head, he and his fellow brother-in-steel turned to their sides to open the way for her. They show their respect, bowing their heads to her as she passed through.
As she did, her hands reached behind her shoulders. They clenched upon an large excess of cloth from behind her head, pulling it over. This massive hood went across her hair, draping down her face and ending towards the center of her torso. Once the woman passed, the knights returned to their stationary positions.
But their eyes immediately bolted for a shady stranger who just appeared out of thin air, rather startled by his appearance. They noticed as he attempted to walk straight through as though his lofty entry should be guaranteed, quickly dismissing his intrusion. They latched and dug their fingers into his arms, causing him to react swiftly and erratically, squirming around like a worm trying to run away.
"Argh," the man named Telvern grunted, acting out in pain and offense. "Wh-what do you think you're doing!? Get your hands off of me!"
"Get back!" one of the Loyal Knights shouted with authority, outright rejecting his passage. They ruthlessly spat him out, shoving him back out onto the street. Telvern stumbled backwards, stepping off-balanced as a play. The knight to the left then held his hand out before him, waiting for something to flutter upon his palm. "Do you have an invitation to attend this private funeral?"
Telvern began to fit the mold of a hasty, indignant nobleman, shuffling his head between the two. "Well, of course I do," he quickly declared. "Th-there's been a bit of a mix-up with my arrangements and, well, it would appear that I am empty-handed... for now! You see, I have this friend -- a rather nice fellow -- he said he'd meet me here! But I imagine he must have grown tired with waiting around and headed on in... So if you'd be willing to provide the chance for me to retrieve my invitation, I'd be more than happy to properly present to you!"
The Loyal Knights just turned to each other, unable to believe this rather absurd tale being told to them. Who was this joker, this fool? They kept slinging questions of that nature back and forth to each other, not believing this hoodwink being played on them.
From behind this rather electrified commotion, another took a rather sluggish approach. He was there, walking along this area as if any other day. But his ears couldn't help but to take notice of this unusual event, ripping his gorgeous, glowing hazel eyes off of the path before him. He paused in his step, looking in from the outside.
The knights then looked back at Telvern, holding out their free hands before them as a sign of rejection. "Apologies, sir," they said. "But no invitation, no robe, no entry."
Telvern impatiently tapped his foot and crossed his arms. "Ugh, this is absolute ludicrous," he spitefully sneered. "I assure you, my friend is in there! If you would just permit me one
measly
second to find him, then surely I could produce you your invitation!"
The man in the back continued to listen to this heated exchange, hearing the voice of the hasty, impatient noble. Something about his voice... it sounded so familiar. He couldn't quite place why that was, forcing his legs forward to investigate. He began to move onward, his eyes glued to the near-black haired noble.
The man slowly crept up onto this scene, tuning his ears to further dive into this mystery. He required more pieces to this puzzle, and this was the only way to acquire them. "No invitation, no robe, no entry..." the man heard as the knights reiterated, sounding frustrated with Telvern. "Move along now, sir."
Telvern sighed angrily, shaking his head. "Absolutely not," he swiftly denied. "You cannot honestly bind me to these needless requirements!"
"It's by Lord Balor's decree, not ours," the knight clarified, reaching for his blade. "Now, unless you meet those requirements, I advise you scurry on back home... before my hand is forced."
The man from the back moved undetected, both parties too focused on each other to notice. At the right of Telvern's face, he could get clear details of just who this person was. It hit him hard, bringing out an alert in his head. It was Telvern Thaddeus, a revelation that bemused him immensely. He had to get the answers for himself, suddenly springing into the line of fire.
He popped into the conversation, and like Telvern, he too began to take on an odd behavior. He appeared happy, joyous to have found Telvern. "Oh, there you are, my friend," he said to Telvern with a light smile on his face. "I've been looking for you!"
The moment he rose his voice to speak, he drew the eyes of those in the blazing discussion. But Telvern's steely brown gaze revealed in inner thoughts, suspicious and distrustful. He looked upon the man, he too found familiarity with the man.
The knights were quick like their heartbeat in their reaction to him, respectfully saluting him the moment they knew who it was. "Lord Cayrel!" they acknowledged, a showcase that he was above any average nobleman.
Telvern was immured in an iron box of questions, leading him to flee reality and coil up in his world of thought. He scanned the man from head to toe, trying to get answers to why he seemed so familiar. The man's appearance was so innocuous, being of an average and unimpressive height. His body wasn't much to sing songs about neither, appearing thin, fair-skinned, and of less than average weight.
He didn't appear very old, somewhere in his middle twenties. But given the fact that his eyes were glowing, middle twenties wasn't actually his real age. Upon his head sat neatly-kept, short, brown hair. His eyes were a strong, beautiful hazel, their appearance reflected a true sense of nobility and strength. His face held fairly strong facial characteristics, yet another display of the true nature of nobility that seemed to resonate with him.
His attire would agree, being rather well dressed. Over all else, he wore a very distinctive, faded blue coat. It was wondrously designed with a lustrous golden trimming that wasn't too oppressive. It possessed five large golden studs on the front and a small, very discreet collar. It was rather long in length, reaching down to his ankles.
The rear section of his coat was split in the middle when it reached the center of his thighs, similar to a duster coat. In the front laid two, knee-length appendages of cloth, adorned with the silhouette of a snake slithering up from the bottom edge.
Beneath this coat laid a gray, long-sleeved shirt with a tight-fitting collar. He wore a pair of slacks upon his legs, a slightly darker blue than his coat. Upon his feet, he wore long cuffed, brown leather boots which reached just below his knees. They appeared pretty well worn and beaten, the color having begun to fade.
Overall, this man wielded a rather underwhelming appearance in terms of his physique, but was rather affluent in wardrobe. But still, his surname was Cayrel... That name truly bothered the now very alert genius, knowing well what it entailed. Telvern felt spotted, found out... He could feel the situation bear down like the thumb of a titan, crushing him.
Did this man recognize him, know his identity? One thing was for certain, Telvern did not trust him at all. In any case, he wasn't so much of a fool that he didn't know a fruitful situation when it sprouts before his very eyes. He held a golden ticket in his hands, all he needed to do was punch it. He acted in the man's relief, quickly turning his head towards him with an allayed look of his own.
"Ah, thank Dias," he happily declared. "And here I was worried you had went on ahead without me!"
The knights were puzzled, turning to this man in the coat in confusion. "...I-is this an acquaintance of yours, sir?" the knight on the right politely questioned the man.
He very rapidly set his gaze upon the knight who sheepishly spoke, showcasing his anger with an acute glower. "He is a family friend
and my guest,
" the man in the coat very furiously stated, his voice especially ireful towards his last three words.
They nervously cowered in their armour, appearing ashamed, disappointed for their treatment of the one whom he had named his guest. The man then closed his eyes and sighed heavily, attempting to alleviate some of his infuriation. His right hand began to move from below, carelessly pulling up something he had clenched in his fingers.
