But maybe they could be freed from this dismay, this eternal tail-spin. They could bash the face of their attacker, pry themselves from this stranglehold. After all, there was no way the Resistance was going to get into this city without losing countless. Telvern thought of all the ways that Elliott could be useful to him, to the Resistance's cause.
Elliott awaited Telvern's reply, seeing his stern, callous face as he thought it over. Lingering a while longer, Telvern could see the sincerity of Elliott's plea to him, his ardent and honest words. "Needless to say, Momus' death has certainly thrown our plans into chaos," Telvern thought out loud. "No, I did not foresee its happening. His is a part that our plan hinges on, and his loss will result in an insurmountable number of casualties."
Coming out of his thought cloud, Telvern's steely brown gaze found Elliott's face. "But I'm quite curious," confessed the genius. "To what would happen if Raphael becomes a king that you do not find contentment in?"
"Lord Divus held the utmost confidence in Raphael's abilities," believed the nobleman. "He passed onto Raphael everything, taught him as he would his own son. If I cannot place my faith in him, then there is no one."
Even still, Telvern continued to count every possibility for this budding relationship. He went into his thoughtful silence once more, scanning all the many different scenarios. Though the idea was killing Elliott was still very present upon this negotiating table, Telvern found using Elliott to be a better use of time... and effort.
"If you refuse me, I do understand," said Elliott, being left in the speechless dark. "But regardless of your choice, I will continue my work against Balor. I will simply do so independently."
Telvern simply closed his eyes and sighed, forced into a corner. He reached his decision, knowing it truly had only a single answer. He opened his eyes, revealing his callous, steely light brown eyes. He stared upon the familiar calm stance of the nobleman before him, seeing him as he appeared interested in what Telvern had to say.
His hand clenching the dagger hid in shame of his decision, putting away his weapon. The hand fought to keep the dagger, but eventually Telvern's mind won. Now that the dagger was secured in its sheath, the genius readied his voice to speak. "We've little time to make delicate decisions," the genius regrettably admitted. "Someone from within is absolutely paramount to our success, and we will not find victory without it. I will accept your proposal, but only because we're in a desperate situation. Do not delude yourself into believing that I accept your presence, or that I concern myself at all with your life or your ideas. You're an advantage to us Elliott, someone who I will use and a tool that I will exploit. That's all you a—""
"—Excuse me!" hollered a voice from behind Telvern, funneling down this narrow passage. The echo of footsteps then followed just behind it. "I think it best you don't linger here, sirs! There's been a recent series of robberies around these parts, and I'd rather you two not become the next victims."
Elliott immediately responded to this voice, looking past Telvern. His hazel eyes gazing down the alleyway, seeing a guard in steel standing there. He had a handle upon his weapon, a sturdy, simple mace at his waist. Elliott acted perfect for this situation, bypassing the feeling of tension and intensity shared between him and Telvern.
The genius was quick to react against this person behind him, latching his hand onto his dagger's handle. He glared behind him, making sure not to reveal his face too much. But then, Telvern could feel something stop his motion. He glanced downwards, seeing a certain nobleman's hand grabbing onto his wrist of the arm which handled the dagger.
Telvern pushed his eyes upwards, finding a very solemn Elliott looking back at him. "Contain yourself," he strongly advised Telvern in a quiet whisper. "there's no need to take such an action. Allow me."
The guard began giving the two a rather curious, peculiar look. He heard some weird stuff coming from their way, treading closer to them with the utmost care and caution. Elliott then quickly but casually turned to the guard, appearing like nothing was out of the ordinary. "Ah, my apologies, good sir," he said in his reply to the guard. "My dear friend and I just required a solitary place to speak in privacy. You've my thanks for your concern -- we shall take our leave momentarily."
Being able to see that the one who spoke to him was one with eyes that glow, the guard found himself at peace. But he stubbornly stood there, keeping watch over the two. He didn't want them to fall prey to the serial burglar, whoever that was. He leaned his back against the wall of one of the buildings, gluing his eyes ever so closely upon them like he were a surveillance camera.
Telvern and Elliott's eyes met once more, their time to talk finally finding its end. Still, the threshold of their talk was rather keen on surviving. The last words spoken by Telvern set the mood, having told Elliott that he was expendable.
Despite such a cold statement, Elliott didn't even so much as bat an eye. He didn't speak, didn't react at all to Telvern's disregard for his life. Perhaps this was because the feeling was mutual, at least that's the only reason that Telvern could think of. Regardless, it wasn't completely out of Elliott's character. He was a rather calm, controlled fellow after all.
"I'll contact you at the appropriate time," the genius then told Elliott in a hushed voice, ending the battle fought with the eyes.
"Very well," Elliott acknowledged.
In that moment, Telvern took his leave. He began to walk away from Elliott, departing from his and the guard's presence. Elliott kept his eyes on Telvern as he was caressed by the alleyway's shadow, watching him descend further and further into the darkness.
Even as he worried, the guard couldn't shake off this nagging sense of suspicion over the strange black-coated man. "Sir!" yelled the guard with authority. "It's dangerous to go alone! Sir! Sir!"
Telvern just blatantly ignored the guard, continuing to calmly walk along the path set before him. The nobleman Elliott then simply looked away from him, turning to the guard. "You needn't worry yourself over him," professed Elliott, walking forward. "It's the mugger you should be worrying about."
An eventful day had come and gone for the genius, pondering many of these events and more as he walked alone through the shady, desolate alleyways. Momus was no longer theirs, but his death was barely even an afterthought. His life had come and gone, and the stolid genius didn't worry himself over it.
In any case, Momus' role was changed like a new pair of clothes. He was merely a broken wheel on a caravan's wagon, a hindrance at best. He could just be replaced, and that replacement was found in Elliott. It was a rather unexpected harvest, Telvern found, not having foreseen its arrival. But he made sure to take advantage of it, ever the opportunist.
But this thought clung desperately, the idea of Elliott's motives remained quite an enigma. Why does he
truly
wish to assist the Resistance? Just what was his aim? He drew not even a wronged breath when Telvern spoke, uttering not even a crossed gasp. Telvern knew that something had linger below the surface, something that Elliott didn't fully explain to him. After all, revealing everything to someone you practically just met was beyond moronic.
Telvern started to battle against those thoughts, not allowing them to get the better of him. He had to channel his energy in a more positive way, in a way that would work for his benefit. There were still many ideas that required finalization, there was still a path and a city full of enemies in his midst. And so, he used those to deter him from casting doubt. He walked onward, cautious of the way that the future laid out before him.
From the genius' trek through a land fraught with mystery and uncertainty to an odyssey of a different variety, the cohesive union of the Desert Assassin and the remnants of the Lumbridge Resistance arrived to their destination. It was a grueling trip which spanned several days, and much of those days were spent travelling in silence.
They slyly stuck on by the eerie, seaside town of Foirfeach, formerly known as Draynor Village. It was a thriving community of active workers, mostly human slaves. Buildings anywhere too close to the sea were left in shambles, primarily used to shelter the humans when they required rest. The Solasúians of Foirfeach lived quite happily in their fancy, luxurious houses.
The houses furthest from the water were the most expensive, most Solasúians were rather frightened to stand aside the massive body of water alongside the pleasant little town. It was quite deep and it ran off further than even their eyes could see, causing them to fear it endless.
Regardless, the former village had turned into a town due to the rather booming business of fish and wood. It lived off of the willow trees and trees of the nearby forest, although most noble Solasúians preferred mahogany or yew. But to any willing to work for a profit, the town was rich and abundant with opportunity.
They ran past this place under the cover of night, though it seemed the place was under a shroud of darkness at any point of the day anyway. They quietly rushed by the town of Foirfeach, being incredibly careful. Along the path just north of the town was a large gate of adamas, the divide of the primary state and the lesser one.
But just off to their right laid yet another leftover from the past, devastated by the Solasúian Invasion nearly a century ago. It was the ruins of a former civilization known as Port Sarim, a place where sea shanties would run through the air like its lifeblood.
The piers that were the first step into an adventure laid broken, its wondrously weathered wooden planks laying rotten and decrepit. The wreckage of brave ships laid smashed upon the shores, their splintered bones spearing out from hills of a sparkling beige sand. Unlike Foirfeach, this place was largely deserted, barely a soul to walk its empty streets.
Passing by the decimated port town, the group headed off toward a place that would allow them safety when planning their attack. It was a far, harsh journey upon the feet, but eventually they stumbled upon the settlement sitting on the horizon. It was hidden away in trees and tall hills of grass, the beautiful, little village known as Rimmington.
It was a very small community of about seven houses huddled around the village central, humble homes that most nobility would scoff at. These buildings were made of neatly built, aged wooden planks and brinks of gray stone, their roofs made of weathered, peeling black shingles. The center of the village was made of a stone-brink that was very barely even there anymore, but a few brinks remained.
Coming into the village from the northeast, the morning sun bore down upon them. Just coming toward the village, the group felt a sense of security and tranquility. It was an odd sensation, since from a distance they could see the glow of Solasúian eyes. They passed by a very old mining site, still teeming with precious material.
They glanced upon those at the mine, presuming them to be humans who've been worked to the bone. But much to their surprise -- and they made doubly sure of this -- there were actually Solasúians working their way through the tough gold deposits. Handling pickaxes of rusty iron, they swung at the rock with all of their back put into it.
Bits of rock scattered like fireworks, the clamor and smell of their laborious efforts fogging up the air. Droplets of sweat emitting from their brow as their pickaxe crashed onto the jagged earth, building hills of their priceless bounty atop carts with two round feet. It was so incredibly unusual, truly believing as if they've walked into some kind of imaginary world.
Such a reality was everywhere their eyes glanced, watching gods actually working their hands callus. Entering the strange village, they watched as gods engaged in an exhausting craft. Be it working at the earth, tending to crops, cutting down trees, gathering and purifying water, the group had a very animated backdrop.
Shinon looked like he stepped into a foreign country, unable to fathom the language. He looked confused, his hateful black irises shuffling around in disbelief. "The hell are we?" he muttered. "These people can't actually be gods... right?"
"Indeed they are," the merchant-turned-assassin Kereske confirmed, drawing closer to the village. "This is Rimmington, seized quite early on into the Solasúian Invasion. The Solasúian settlers who revisited this place after its capture rejected the laws and principles of their kind's modern society, one that would see the humans forced into slavery. They wished to honor the humans, so they kept the village's old name and stuck to the old ways of life."
Walking into the small village, they passed by lanterns with eternal sunflies inside of them. They were much akin to a fire, a brilliant source of light and warming heat. "I've been here a few times to do trade," Kereske went on. "These people are kind, simple folk, but are willing to defend themselves if provoked. Don't do anything wrong to them, and they won't try anything on you."
"So how come Governanti hasn't monopolized this place yet?" curiously asked Daevarro. "I mean, this village is on Imperial Kingdom grounds, isn't it?"
"Indeed," confirmed the merchant. "but like Foirfeach and Al Kharid, this place is far outside of the capital's reach. Although Foirfeach is more ripe with resources and workers, Al Kharid and Rimmington are not. As such, Governanti tends to neglect and leave both towns to themselves. Unless humans were to rise and rebel or take shelter here, I highly doubt the capital would turn its eye in this direction."
"We don't have time to waste," Raphael's voice then surfaced, being straight-forward and to-the-point. "Where can we stay for the night?"
"Well, there's an old building just to the village's north," Kereske answered. "No one is certain of what its actual purpose was, but it's been abandoned since the invasion."
Raphael moved on, not wanting to waste anymore time on anything he deemed unimportant. He was the only one who was moving, everyone stopping take a break. He kept on going without falter in his step, forcing people to move out of his way. He headed along the beaten, ancient path, attempting to find the aforementioned building.
Daevarro's eyes had followed Raphael as he moved through the crowd, looking on as the fallen heir to the throne slowly disappeared from sight. The dark-robed young man couldn't help but to feel a little concerned over Raphael, insisting his feet travel in his stead. The compelling urge was enough to push him forward, the young man following loyally behind his silent leader.
The red-headed archer had the urge to move too, but it wasn't out of loyalty. He just didn't particularly enjoy the Desert Assassins' company, so he parted ways with them. Having been left behind, Kereske simply sighed. He then turned Libitina, his superior and figure of his praise. "With your permission, I'd like to go ahead and scout Ormemel," he requested, bowing his head.
"Ya sure dat's-a hot idea?" Calvin raised a question. "Ain't ya tired from the long trip? What if ya git caught?"
In response to Calvin's concerns, Kereske turned to him. "I appreciate your concern Kéz, but I'll be fine," the merchant returned, shaking his head. "We must have a strategy in order to be successful, and scouting out the patrol and city is essential to that."
"Guess yer right," the assassin responded in his regret. "Still... I ain't too thrilled wit' it."
"I am confident in your abilities Keresk*," the stoic voice of the mysterious black-robed woman Libitina suddenly tossed itself into the fray, taking the merchant by surprise. "Go, and do not fail us."
Not sure exactly how to react to this rare conveyance from her, all Kereske could think to do was lean forward and respectfully bow to his leader. "I-I won't, my queen. You have my word."
"
Julasit, Dimri.
" she then said to him, speaking in the foreign language.
"A-as to you, my queen," he graciously and hesitantly replied, lifting up his scrawny body.
Being given the blessing of the embodiment of the one he worshiped, Kereske was all ready to go. He turned away from a very worried Calvin, from his brothers and sisters in black. His body then took to motion, speeding off in a whirlwind sprint. His rush drew many eyes, then again, so did the group's overall appearance.
The glowing eyes of the many -- primarily a blue cascade -- showered down heavily upon the group like an avalanche. Well, so long as they weren't doing anything
too
alarming, then they're not something to worry the world over. They had better things to do after all, lowering their heads and returning to their work.
Suddenly in the silence, the growl of a ferocious tiger took to the air! It startled and surprised every black robe, that loud, snarling sound. It forced everyone to look around to locate its source, expecting a monster of some kind....
...Until they realized this frightening roar came from Calvin's stomach, causing the assassin to chuckle lightly to himself and everyone else to clinch their faces. "Well, guess I ain't goin' nowhere wit'out some grub!" he laughed before settling down. "Y'all follow 'n Raphy's lead, I'mma try 'n' git us some food..."
Calvin then quickly turned to Libitina, a tad nervous that his words might have off been a bit disobedient. "...S-so long's that's good wit' ya, boss!" he said to her, correcting himself.
Libitina turned to her second-in-command Calvin, and with a brief flash of a gentle smile, she nodded her head. Once more she demonstrated rather uncharacteristic behavior, but Calvin accepted this task with happiness and glee. Was she finally recalling herself, finally beginning to unravel this mystery?
