"It is known as adamantite," Kereske informed the archer, taking his attention. "Before the Solasúian Invasion, adamantite was rare, but not impossible to find. Humans used it for all sorts of things: weapons, armour; even nails for their homes. But nowadays, adamantite is a hard find, since it's now mostly put to use for the Solasúians. Adamant is much stronger than what you'll find on traditional Solasúian sentries, so I believe you'll find it most useful."
"That right?" asked Shinon, looking up at the merchant. "Well, that oughta come in handy."
"But they are quite heavy, so I might advise you to aim high," the merchant made sure to inform the archer.
Shinon took a look for himself, and indeed he found truth in Keres*e's words. He kept it in mind, now blocking any contact he had with anybody until it was showtime. He was just too enchanted by his new toy to really bother anymore, examining it from every corner and angle. He found it to be quite the compelling, well-crafted device, raising his chin up a bit as his face became infected with a smirk of confidence.
If only some of the assassins shared in Shinon's rather elated buzz, humming away to a beat like the beckoning of a sweet, harmonious battle. Trepidation ate at their guts as if their fears were ravenous, blood-starved beasts, wearing them down to a hollowed-out shell of themselves. They gripped their teeth in their mouths, trying to cease its rather nervous trembling.
Sitting at the lap of an old yew tree, Raphael could just feel the less-than-positive air like a splash in the water. His eyes peered across the black-robes, able to pick them apart. The anxiety devoured them, the terrible thought peeking out of the windows of their souls. The impending foray was the first for several of these newbloods, and perhaps the biggest moment of their lives.
"Permit me a word with them," Raphael then suddenly heard to his left, the voice of a rather concerned mother asking him for assistance.
Yes, perhaps a word from her would lift their spirits. Raphael sighed and closed his eyes, not wasting a second on second thoughts. His body lost of its tension, made easy and undone. He opened himself up to her, allowing the goddess to take the reins.
He felt himself evaporate like water, watching now from a screen caught by the eyes that were no longer his to control. His adamant, stoic eyes reformed, becoming hollow and soulless, yet so full of malice and fury. He stood up to his feet, taking a rather powerful, commanding stance.
Libitina, Calvin, Kereske, and a few among the black-robed flock were able to detect a change in the air, stealing all their attention. A single breath ushered out from Raphael's lungs, appearing as a mist even upon this warm, Summer night. Those who could detect Lamia's presence immediately pay her the utmost honor and respect, humbly and graciously bowing to her.
Those of the former Resistance too took notice of this happening, but each had a different reaction to it. Naturally, Telvern did not trust Lamia, not even a little. His eyes cast out of his skull like bullets, piercing through sharply and precisely. Daevarro was a mixed bag of emotions, angstful and suspicious, causing him to tense up as he did the previous time she came before him.
The others began to notice this change, seeing as their superiors' heads have turned in a different direction. Thus began the process, one-by-one did bodies fall apart as though their spines were made of paper. Every black robe hid their face in the grass, too glorious and wondrous was her presence that they dared not believe themselves worthy to look upon it.
Too sheepish was their voice to speak in full sentences, but they could think of but one thing to say. "
Jeen caza áljin betun...
" each black robe softly mumbled as they dropped.
Like a shroud of night laid out at her feet, Lamia stepped into the blackened field. She brushed by the bodies of her worshipers, looking to them with utmost care and affection. They heard and felt as her majestic being drew near, sending static up and down their spines. "My children," Lamia spoke, treading amongst the bodies of those she addressed. "The future is enshrouded in thick fog, rendering all embraced by it blind and wayward. 'Tis the dance with the unknown, a cloud which conceals the stars. We are not meant to comprehend its choosing, but accept it as if a gift to us."
Daevarro then found himself the target of a pair of gelid, yet warm, tender eyes. Through Raphael, Lamia stared directly towards one she knew shared in the group angst. "I have come to know the dismay and apprehension of this uncertainty in your hearts," she stated, continuing to gaze solely and directly upon the dark-robed young man. "We stand now at the crossroads of a thousand paths. We know not which path our feet shall cross, but we must chase it to its end nevertheless. The battle of the few against the many warrants such kismet, and many of you tremble at this unknown. You condemn yourself as dastardly and impuissant for feeling as this, but you could not be more wrong. Think not it irrational to fear the invisible, think not yourself a coward for fearing your uncertain future."
Lamia paused in a moment of silence, hiding her vision behind Raphael's eyelids. She found a rather strange familiarity in this situation, almost like a case of déja vu. She could remember it as if it just happened a minute ago, a day where she was the one being told these exact same things. His face like a light, gazing down upon her: a heartless, soulless shell filled only with the most painful sense of utter sorrow and grief conceivable.
"Courage is found in the stand against adversity, not in the fearlessness of it," she then said to her people, opening her eyes. "Every action you take requires your fortitude, simply opening your eyes and waking to a world as this demands strength. You have chosen to stand abreast your brothers and sisters, and that alone merits my esteem."
Those among the frightened fold found inspiration in her words, feeling it welling up inside of their hearts. She could sense such a change of emotion in them, her words managing to break down the walls. Lamia turned away from Daevarro, looking down upon her children. "Fear the future, but fear truly a future without your hand to carve it," the Neheztelian goddess went on, her voice gaining power. "To what would the future be if you've not a say in its design? But a blank canvas staring back at you, until another's hand puts color unto it. Its final image might be one you find contentment in, but to what would become of you should a picture you reject come into fruition? To who is to blame for this abomination's birth? 'Twould be all but yours to endure, for in your absence of action, another took control of your fate without your voice to testify. We shan't partake in this disguise of possum any longer, feigning our allegiance to the Sólszemek. 'Tis time we cast aside this idle carcass and speak in the steel tongue, to sprint instead of stand still."
These were words that those upon their knees felt very strongly about, feeling as their goddess filled them with all of the resolution they needed. Like mending together a bridge, those scared or even terrified of the hours ahead of them felt connected, integrated into this following. She cradled them in the arms of valor, lifting their spirits into the starlit sky. "I come afore you as a beacon to illuminate the path and emboldened your step," she continued. "I emit a blinding light to quell your darkest fears, albeit your eyes cannot find my incandescence. I am everywhere, yet I am not. My voice unable to reach you, my arms unable to hold you; but know this truly:
Ist nem foyuuné eef Ihe...
"
Feeling as her words had been imprinted upon the souls of those in her presence, Lamia believed her efforts were paid in full. With eyes closed, she let her hold loosen gently. But as she left, she couldn't help but to take one last peek upon them. She gazed down compassionately upon those brought to hand and knee by her presence, truly desiring to stay at their side eternally.
Alas, such was not a possibility. Her consciousness flowed out from Raphael's body, allowing him control over himself once more. Raphael felt as if he had just awoken from a dream, regaining consciousness after he willingly surrendered it. Raphael had to readjust to himself again, had to get used to every cell in his body. He slowly regained feeling again, taking his first breath once more.
His stoic purple eyes cast out from his head, a sharp gaze scrolling across the area like an archer's arrow following behind a moving target. Raphael felt slightly drawn out, as if he were still sort of out-of-body. Although he could feel and move correctly, he just didn't feel quite... there. Something was off, feeling something toggle upon his consciousness.
"Ya all right?" asked the familiar voice, causing Raphael to turn to face what was behind him. He saw Calvin sitting on one knee and looking upon him, a concerned look draped his face as he took notice of the rather dazed young man.
"Yes..." he muttered back, trying to regain focus. But something strange occurred, the moment of his voice passing through his lips almost ceased this odd feeling entirely. Well, regardless, Raphael wasn't going to allow any feeling impede his march. It was steadfast, and hope was riding on it like a patch on a sleeve.
He simply shrugged off the feeling, not letting something so small and mundane put him down. He looked across the assassins as well as the Lamians who followed behind, expecting to see some still left unconvinced. However, Raphael was rather impressed by what he saw, immediately finding this threshold altered.
Like the warmth of a sun, the air was radiating with a glint of conviction and determination. Even those Lamians -- who believe in the nature of passivity -- were ready to battle, armed and prepared. How swiftly this change occurred, Lamia truly was a powerful, driving force in their lives. But it was enough to sustain their flight, propelling them to new heights.
And now, they waited... patiently. The city was utterly filled to its brim with the clamor of cheer, laughter, and celebration. The Earl -- a proud, egregiously affluent individual -- was blissful enthralled, being enveloped by an extravagant variety of colored lights. He truly was in Utopia, surrounded by table-loads of delicious food and drinks by-the-barrel.
All around him were thousands of faces he knew and didn't, but the unknown mattered not to him. After all, there was no threat to his life now that Utopia had come to this land! The ringing of bells was commonplace, confetti showering down upon his head. The vibrant colors of each strand like a shiny coin, a display that truly made the Earl feel like he was in Utopia.
Fountains of the finest wine were found on the west and east side of the courtyard, food stretched from one side of the courtyard to the other. Ormemel became the place to be, partying not only to the day of their Earl's birth but the sound of bells as they welcomed Utopia. Its coming was one that all Solasúians have waited for, some even thought it would never come.
But now that it had arrived, everyone looked to the future with stars in their eyes. The fruitful, prosperous dream of dreams soon to come, being just beyond their grasp. It was the grandest celebration conceivable, and an utterly spellbinding statue of a mysterious, beautiful woman was the object in which everyone gravitated towards.
She was the centerpiece, the shepherd, and the person everyone wanted to stand beside. They gazed upon her majestic stature, stupefied by her illustrious ruby shine. The Earl stood before his priceless statue, raising up a chalice filled with exquisite wine. He proposed a toast to his people, to the endless future and all of its opportunity before them.
But like the wait for Utopia itself, all things must reach an end. The party lasted into the wee hours, and even beyond that. It was half past four, and the celebration finally came to an end. The excitement was laid to rest, its bed and blanket the darkness which had engulfed the city. Most left the castle's courtyard in an intoxicated stumble, bearing wrinkled-up grins that stretched from ear-to-ear.
The grossly decorated courtyard like a tornado of trash and clutter had swept through, leaving a path of mess in its wake. Far from them, there were still those stuck with the graveyard shift. Above their heads, the archers hung like birds upon branches. Those branches the city's famous, glorious white walls, keeping watch over the outside.
They were equipped in a red surcoat which were adorned with the winged lion: the symbol of the Imperial Kingdom of Governanti. They wore armour in moderation, preferring flexibility and freedom over defense. From head-to-toe they were covered in chainmail, a suit which appeared fairly well-used. Upon their heads they wore nasal helmets of steel, bearing decorative symbols engraved into them.
They looked on with weary eyes, silently cursing out their superior for making them stay on duty. Their glowing, blue eyes cast out into the darkness like lighthouses, scanning their view of the world. They circulated the walls of the city, engaging in causal conversation to kill the time. Many of them were too busy lamenting upon their bad luck, a heavy dose of disappointed sighs and complaints flooding the atmosphere.
"My cousin's out partying, and what do I get?" the archer moaned, a heavyhearted breath then pushed out of her lungs. "Night watch..."
Although the minority, there were some who did not let such misfortune plague them. Their eyes had to be sharper than their arrows, if even they believed any threat slim at best. It was slowly getting to be the dead of night, and the tranquil sleep of party-goers continued to fill the air and the night watch with jealousy. But there was one archer who appeared rather... disturbed.
He felt like he were being deceived, perplexed as he saw black shapes shifting and dancing before his very eyes. That didn't make any sense, he thought, tuning his vision finely like a telescope to get all the details. His Solasúian vision impressive, making out each individual blade of grass as they were rumpled by the night's wind.
How odd, having stared intensely upon his environment for a minute or two. No, there was nothing that should warrant his foremost attention. It must be a case of nighttime paranoia, allowing him to gladly breathe relief. But his ears would cause more alarm, catching a barrage of peculiar noises from behind.
He turned his head around in haste, pulling his spare blade out from its scabbard to confront this threat. But it was odd, seeing just him and his comrades behind him. They all looked to him unusually, raising an eyebrow. "Is everything well, Kladeos?" asked one of his fellow archers, concerned.
That was so incredibly confounding... He could have sworn he heard something from behind him, and yet it seemed none of the others heard or saw just what that was. The archer named Kladeos just nodded his head, his sword crawling back into his scabbard at the pace of a slug. He sighed, letting go of any uneasiness he had in him. In his effort to relax himself, the archer began walking towards the west.
He approached the southwestern corner of the glorious walls of Ormemel, a space alit with the fiery glow of the sunfly. Some barrels made of weathered wood off to his right, presumably filled with supplies that might benefit someone on watch. The archer then paused, his eyes gazing upon those barrels.
Scanning the barrels, he couldn't help but to notice a strange cube-like shape on top. His ears then caught an unusual sound: the upbeat, whimsical music of a child's fantasy. He realized that this cheery sound came from the box, causing him to become even more cautious.
He then could feel it, his Solasúian senses telling him something was amiss. He felt the tension, the anxiety, and the pressure snare his head. Standing over top the small box, he could make out all of its color and detail. It was a faded cyan, cube-shaped box, worn out paintings of child-friendly creatures all scratched up upon its sides.
This box continued to produce this joyous music, a high-pitched sound like a music box. Upon its right side was a winch, one that was spinning on its own. It continued to play its music, warranting the archer's hand. But he had absolutely no clue what it was, causing him anxiety. What if something happens if he touched it?
The music neared its end, then suddenly the box opened. It was like Pandora's box, unleashing some kind of unfathomable horror that the archer could only see in his darkest nightmare. A strange, cartoonish head of a dragon then sprung out from the box's opened mouth, causing the archer to bolt out of his skin.
Just as the dragon came out to play, the archer heard a very disturbing noise from behind. He then felt a hand press over his mouth, and then watched as a dagger was pulled before his eyes. A terribly sharp pain ravaged his nerves, feeling the push of a blade ruthlessly digging into his throat. He could feel his air escape from his throat like he were a balloon just popped by a needle, unable to utter anything but wheezes.
He quickly spun around, clenching onto his wounded throat. His glowing blue eyes had a front row view of this plight, feeling then as his chainmail was breached. He felt the drilling pain of a dagger doubly so, its thrust piercing straight through his chest cavity. His face horrifically aghast, crimson poured out from the infliction.
Standing before him was his attacker: the blue-eyed assassin Calvin. He wielded a straight-bladed dagger without a cross-guard, watching now as the archer could feel his life draining out with each droplet of blood that escaped and stained his surcoat.
Just a split second after Calvin's hand came back under his control, he knew it was time to dispose of his victim. With all of his muscle put into it, Calvin grabbed the archer by his surcoat and tossed him backwards. There wasn't much space for him and Calvin, and so the archer found himself falling.
Calvin had thrown him off the top of the wall, and now this speechless archer was plummeting to his death. But something opened his eyes wider than even his approaching death, his Solasúian hearing offering him the situation in all its gruesome detail. From above, he could make out the hushed cries of his comrades as they too met the same fate as he.
