Outstretched to the knights was a folded up paper, one that obviously wasn't upon the man's list of concerns. "I believe that this will eliminate any doubt you might have over him," the man quickly said to the knights, his frustration and anger over the situation still very present in his voice.
The knight closest to the man reached his hand for it, until the man let it out of his grasp. The knight made haste to catch before it hit the ground, using both of his hands to grab hold of it. Now having possession of the paper, he peeled it open and revealed the words written upon its visage. He carefully scanned the letter, words written in a golden, rather elegant font.
"Greetings Lord Elliott Cayrel,
You have been invited to attend the private funeral ceremony for Lord Speaker Momus Bres Barn, brother of departed King Divus Nomos Barn. It is scheduled to be held in the palace gardens at around 8:09 on the thirty-first morning of the month of Pentember. We would like nothing more for you to arrive with one guest.
Thank you,
King Balor Pallas Barn and Queen Lucia Gaiane Barn"
The signatures down at the end of the letter were beautifully written down with a very sharp and accurate quill, and they alone allowed the knight to confirm this invitation's legitimacy. He began to feel mortified with himself, having rejected and even threatened the guest of such a high member of society. The knight then scrolled his eyes downwards, seeing a pair of white robes carried neatly in the nobleman's right hand.
Knowing now this shameful truth, the knight moved toward Telvern and looked straight at him. His armoured torso leaned forward, respectfully bowing to the genius. "Please pardon our conduct, lord," the knight of white armour apologized with his regret. "We meant no disrespect..."
Telvern's pretend anger washed away with this instance of acknowledgement, raising his right hand up. "It's quite all right," the genius replied.
The man's scornful eyes swayed between each knight, burning holes through them. "Now, are you finished threatening my friend, or are we finally free to pay our respects?" he asked them in a fitting, serious display of his annoyance.
The two Loyal Knights trembled, parting ways to allow passage. "Y-yes, of course..." they responded quietly. "You've our most sincere apologies, my lord..."
Telvern and the strange nobleman moved on through, passing by the knights. They quickly grew back a spine, standing tall and sturdy once more. They reputably bid farewell to those that passed them, saluting them with a closed left hand upon the right side of their chest.
The two entered into the castle's courtyard, one could look up and gaze in awe of the castle which personified the Solasúian race. It, like the city and entire courtyard themselves, was encased in adamas. The castle so grandiose, piercing the sky with its might and glory. The adamas was jagged and rough, yet so luxurious and alluring.
The courtyard was a large space, square in shape. Reflecting the exquisite motif of the castle's body, the entire courtyard looked alike the style of a church. Everything was so extravagantly decorated with such clear, brilliant imagery of Solasúian symbols representing their beliefs and culture.
Their feet pounded upon a pathway, one which led into several sections of the castle grounds. But where the paths all started was in the heart of the courtyard, and that was where a ten-foot statue stood. This man was powerful in appearance, standing with his hands resting upon the pommel of a sword stamped into the ground.
This man's face was so life-like, a mastery of craftsmanship. He had a very strong, imposing face, the spitting image of Balor. His overall expression appeared very solemn, reserved. He possessed bold, chiseled cheekbones, a nose angled slightly inward, a jawline as rigid as rock, and eyes stern like he were fearlessly peering Death itself in the face.
He had a long, thick beard, matching well with his long hair. He had one long row of braided hair to the left side of his face, and the top of his head bore a crown with four tall prongs, one for each side. His body was clad in armour befitting his status, an ornate, otherworldly armour vaguely reminisce to an Ancient Greek-esque style. He wore a long mantle of fur upon his shoulders, one which stood atop a lengthy, glorious cape.
All around the plaque just at the statue's feet were offerings of all kinds: be it flowers, fruit, vegetables, or bread. Words were etched into the plaque,
"Dias Pallas Barn, the lord of lords. It was by he that we tread upon this fertile ground, and in its defense, he valiantly sacrificed his life in his battle against the demon goddess Lamia. He is our lord and savior, but above all, he is our one and only Hero King."
But the environment was the last thing on this very suspicious genius' mind, the thing that truly weighed on his mind was this man. Not just of his motivations for assisting Telvern, but who he was. He recognized his last name, a surname which was highly honored and respected throughout the Solasúian society.
His mind began quickly scrolling through every single name he could remember of those of the Cayrel family, but none of them matched up with the face of the one before him. This nobleman's face truly gnawed on Telvern's brain, a teasing flicker without a flame. He could see him somewhere in his memory, yet was unable to place him by name.
He spent some time on this question, from even before they entered the courtyard to now as they walked through the castle grounds. The genius hit one thought after another on his quest to answer the question, to find the key to unlock this mystery. That was until it struck him like lightning, walloping him straight and squarely in the face. Telvern knew him for a very brief time before he faded from this place... Yes, he was a member of the Ruler's Counsel.
"...Elliott Cayrel, I believe it is?" Telvern proceeded to ask, attempting to confirm his belief.
The man nodded his head, having unclothed the persona of an angry nobleman. "Yes, indeed," the nobleman calmly confirmed his identity to the doubtful genius. "It is good to see you well, Telvern."
Now with this answer tightly clinched in his fingers, Telvern dared to never let it go. He wanted more answers to more important questions -- no, he
needed
them. Telvern's steely gaze darted to the ground, barreling down until he reached the point where he could see this Elliott's hands.
Going from one finger to the next, his search concluded the moment his eyes settled upon Elliott's right middle finger. He wore a ring there, a ring made of smooth, polished adamas. It was glistering, breathtaking in appearance, being the exceptionally rare color of green.
It looked nothing more but a very spiffy accessory, but Telvern knew better not to dismiss it as such. He knew well what it truly was, something far beyond a mere trinket. It was a ring assigned to those who sat amongst the Ruler's Counsel, the face of a lion carved into it.
It's a very effective device, one made to ward off those who would abuse their Solasúian gifts for personal or any otherwise gain. Telvern realized that fact, forced now to seek out his answers without his Solasúian ability. He pursued those answers, ripping off his guise and aiming straight at this man -- this Elliott.
His trademark glare bore downwards upon the nobleman, who was not fazed at all by this. "One does not simply help another if nothing is to be gained," the distrustful genius said. "What is it that you require of me?"
Regardless of Telvern making him out to be a suspect of an iniquitous crime, Elliott maintained his composure. ""Require" is a particularly severe choice of word, one I find a tad... excessive," he replied. "No, I don't believe that there is anything I "require" of you."
This response only further agitated Telvern's harsh, negative outlook upon the calmly walking noble. His glare intensified, sharp like the tip of a blade digging in. "Stop avoiding the question and answer me," the genius spoke back in a very demanding tone.
"This funeral is quite somber enough, is it not?" the man named Elliott returned. "There is no need for such brooding disposition, not when the air is already charged with it."
At this moment, Telvern knew that Elliott was not going to answer him. The nobleman was avoiding him entirely, so the genius simply ceased all efforts. But still, this question continued to hang like an axe over Telvern's head. What could be the motive of his assistance, the string attached? How much could he know, how much
did
he know?
But as he and Elliott ventured further into the castle grounds, the genius carefully concluded that it couldn't be something truly ill... at least not to him
directly.
If it were, then Elliott would have announced his appearance the moment he spotted Telvern. Even still, Telvern didn't want to discredit Elliott's ulterior motives, whatever they might be.
The nobleman then looked questionable, thinking of much of his own. "Although, now that I mention it, this funeral is a bit... peculiar," he expressed to Telvern.
Telvern eased up on his glare, reclaiming his stoic exterior. His stern eyes upon the path he walked, the uncertainty just ahead. "Indeed," he replied back to Elliott. "It's silent, empty... No, this isn't like a typical funeral for a member of the Barn family. If it were, these grounds would be covered, the entire city in attendance."
"Yes," he was quick to concur with Telvern's observation. "As it appears, only members of nobility were invited to attend. A rather unusual qualification for an event traditionally held open to the public, wouldn't you agree? I must confess, it puzzles me as to what great mystery must be contained and hidden from the public eye..."
Telvern started to ponder the chance that the crier's rhetoric might be actuality, Momus truly might be dead. All of this so far only supported such a claim, such a statement. The smell of a ravaging fire rushed up both of their nostrils, a reminder that they were getting closer to their destination. As the genius swam in his own mind, he completely ignored that fact.
But the nobleman could not, his sense of smell far more potent than Telvern's. Knowing that they neared their arrival, Elliott extended his left hand out towards the genius walking beside him. Taking notice of this motion, Telvern's scrolled his light brown gaze to have a look at what Elliott presented him, seeing then a neatly folded up white square of cloth.
"I believe that you'll be needing these," Elliott said to him.
Quite reasonable, Telvern thought, now beginning to smell what Elliott had been able to for a while now. The genius quickly stole the robe from Elliott's hand, almost like a snatch. But it was one that this nobleman accepted, understanding Telvern's distrust and dislike of the situation. Telvern began putting it on. He pulled it over his head, bottoms-up.
It was an easy fitting, able to get his head all the way up into the torso portion of the robe. That was until his shoulders came into the equation, rendering this outfitting most difficult. It should be a simple motion, but this smooth dressing suddenly became an up-hill battle. He was unable to fit his shoulders without a massive amount of effort, beginning to began squirming around in the robe.
It was a rather harsh, animated battle, one that would go down as historic. As Telvern fought a terrible, all-consuming battle with the fearsome robe, Elliott took one glance upon his robe before he too began the process of fitting it to himself. But unlike Telvern's process which had already spent an overabundance of energy, Elliott's try was as easy and as simple as breathing.
He effortlessly glided into his robe, even through the rather tight parts of it. A flawless fit for this rather unusual attire, Elliott then corrected any wrinkles this robe might have to give it its seamless, lustrous appearance.The moment he finished ironing out those flaws, his hazel eyes couldn't help but to fasten themselves upon the very apparent and very vivid war being waged in front of him. The struggle was real, like life were trying to swallow him whole.
Elliott crossed his arms as he watched on with intrigue, watching this raging strife play out. "A bit of a tight fit, I'd imagine," the calm nobleman jokingly commented, poking fun at Telvern's struggle.
After a tremendous and costly conflict, the chaos finally settled. His head somehow,
somehow
managed to pop out of the hole. His arms managed to worm their way through those small, thin tunnels called sleeves. The moment of his release from that cloth cage, he began stretched and pulled the robe to make it better fit him. "Quite..." he replied to Elliott's remark, annoyed by the whole situation.
"An understandable dilemma, considering that they were tailored to fit a woman," Elliott responded, able to comprehend Telvern's problem.
The genius paused immediately in his work to get the robe to better fit him, hearing Elliott's words. Finally, the years of him constantly losing weight provided some benefit. It was a sick sort of blessing in disguise, since there would absolutely be no way he'd fit into such a garb if he were of average weight and build.
Telvern looked to Elliott curiously, hearing him refer to the true owner of this demonic thing as a woman. "A woman?" he asked, wondering the truth of this.
The nobleman nodded his head. "Indeed," he confirmed. "she is a good friend of mine and was to accompany me here as my guest. It's quite unfortunate that she couldn't make it today."
After the irritated genius settled down in his new skin, the two marched forward. Telvern started to hear noises, the funeral itself seemed to have begun in earnest. A familiar, strong voice of a man, the crackling of a fire, the trembling breath of those abiding all echoed through the morning's graceful light.
The palace gardens just around the corner, prompting both Telvern and Elliott to reach their hands behind their shoulders. The tips of their fingers gripped upon the hood of these robes, pulling the excessively long cloth falling well past their faces. The massive hood hanging down from their faces, concealing their identities. A perfect cover for Telvern, a person attempting to avoid all contact.
Of course, such a mission had already ended in failure, but at least the two people who found him weren't hostile... for now, anyway. Telvern still didn't want to risk getting comfortable around the nobleman, knowing nothing of the motives which drove him.
Ready as ever, the two turned the corner. They stumbled upon a beautiful, sombering display of life and death. A myriad of delightful colors and shapes brightened their world with their splendor, this absolutely stunning arrangement of flowers pleasing their eyes. There stood statues of kings and queens upon fountains, showcasing triumph and glory even long past their lives.
Eternal sunflies float about like they were without gravity, suspended harmoniously as they floated around the crowd. Before them laid the bodies of many gathered here from all across the land, all of them wearing the exact same outfit as them. They stood there in somberness, no noise to break their solemn silence.
The crowd abiding listened to the eulogy, giving to it their utmost attention. Telvern and Elliott swerved around the bodies standing in their way, strangely no one making a noise as they passed. The two blended well in the midst of this mass congregation, a harshly rigid range that was as white as the driven snow.
It took very little leg work to encase themselves in this white-cloth armour, standing abreast with the others who were invited to this event. They settled down in the heart of this soulless abode, allowing Telvern to investigate the outside. He could pick out at least a dozen Loyal Knights and a few unique characters...
He was barely able to see through this white-cloth veil over his face, the fabric of this wardrobe was similar to watered silk. Before the crowd stood a casket of sorts atop a large, decorated slab of adamas. On each corner of the adamas slab stood a tall adamas pole, standing at least six feet in height. The top of each pole became an emptied out circle shape, and inside that circle held a bell.
At the left of the slab, a strange, anvil-like object stuck out from the ground, its body too made of adamas. Atop of it laid an adamas hammer of sorts, being very similar to a smith's hammer. He then focused his brown eyes to the front, seeing the calm pyre as it spat out embers.
This empyreal devourer obsessively building a spiral staircase of gray smoke, one that could climb all the way up to the heavens. The staircase meant as a escape for the soul who perished, to free them from this place. This good-intended fire, however, did not know that its life and work was sustained entirely upon the flesh and blood of a man, a very mortal man.
A body laid in the burning, opened casket, appearing nearly charred away. Telvern's eyes examined the body further, but it wasn't long before he found the truth. Yes, it seemed now Telvern could confirm all the rumours he had heard: Momus truly was dead.
He knew this by just looking at what was burning in the fire, able to see something clenched in what was left of the hands of the corpse inside. It was a blade of adamas, a weapon which appeared much like a gladius. The genius' heart knew the moment he saw it, that was Momus' blade, an heirloom of which he inherited from his mother.
The genius felt a sudden swift in the air, a slight lightness of his stomach. An already grim future for the Resistance had turned even further south, near pitch-black at this point. Momus was a key component to their plan, he was absolutely essential. Such a plan to attack the capital was madness even with Momus, but now...
No, Telvern simply couldn't allow the idea to blow a hole in his boat. He couldn't let it drown him, he had to figure a way to swim back to shore. His eyes scrolled across the area, his ears listening well to the eulogy being given by a man at the front who carried an adamas urn in his hands. His body was cloaked in the same white robes as all others, but his face was revealed since it was not hidden beneath the hood.
He was a man who appeared to be in his mid-thirties, but in reality he was at least in his seventies. He was a perfectly groomed, powerful looking man whose face bore a few scars. His hair dirty blonde and slicked back, its length going down to about the bottom end of his neck. His face bare, his eyes a commanding teal blue.
Standing right beside him was a Loyal Knight equipped in ceremonial white armour, one that shined with a luster greater than the other Loyal Knights. There was even a cape attached the back of his armour, a sign that he was a Loyal Knight of importance. The genius concluded that that must be the Orderer of the Loyal Knights, the head of the order. "...worked tirelessly beside his brother, striving for the betterment of our society, of our country, of our very quality of life," the well-groomed man spoke out about Momus to the crowd who listened sedately. "You need only look for a moment to find the plethora of opportunity we've received because of his work. Our civilization has near doubled, bolstering in wealth and prosperity..."
The man in voice and in face was recognizable by the genius, his steely gaze observing over all. "Caerus Kórakas," Telvern muttered softly as the man kept on speaking.
