Before I forget, let's start from page 131, after a few months. OK, siblings, and speaking to the crowd about Momus, gradually becoming more open about him. The king is eager to be honest about it. Though I don't remember anything about Koisos or those two other names. Balor talks about the histories of those names. He's like a world leader wanting to be honest. But a lie will always be a lie, better to be slapped with truth. Seems like many are very affected by that; are these gods dishonest?
Breaking a sword with a hammer? Presumably, Gallows' hits the edge? Would be easier to just break the hilt first. Lucia still has heart in her though, maybe she has not become as evil as I thought. Though, a simple solution, is to build farmsteads for the humans, forming a feudal relationship; farmers farm, gods protect them. Though I'm guessing Balor is a misanthrope who can't handle having power.
lolumadbalor? Ha, I found it funny when Balor just pours the urn, a great scene. Would be funnier if he threw it, or dumped it over the crowd XD oh, he then does toss it away, I just had to keep reading! There's even a Jesus quote. Well, at least the ashy excommunication comes to an end. I wouldn't be surprised if he even starts oppressing the gods, Solusaeans, or whatever, I can't remember. All this scene needs is an idiot laughing for a second somewhere in the background. Thank-you Caerus for ending the ceremony.
Well, afterwards, the crowd goes along the streets here and there of the adamas city. Elliott and Telvern appear, taking off their hoods. Battling the robe? Telvern is mentioned to have faked his death, but that can be useful; if everyone thinks you're dead, you are hidden. Alright, I've read up to page 133.
I noticed that reading white text on a dark background tires my eyes quicker than dark text on a bright background. Maybe that's why reading the RS forums feels so draining. We'll see what the furtive guy can do. OK, until next time.
Ah, thanks again for stopping by. Good to see you.
"Though I'm guessing Balor is a misanthrope who can't handle having power."
It's probably a little more than he bargained for. At the beginning, he's like, "EZ PZ! I got dis.
" Now? It's more like, "Oh no, I don't got dis...
"
Given his rather fragile trust in really anything, the fact that one Solasúian decided to betray him, it kinda warped his view of, "Oh, all of my kinsmen are loyal and would never wish harm upon me! I can trust everyone of them!" So his view of his kinsmen is more liken to his view of humans, which basically makes him think that if one is willing to do it, then they all are.
Ah yes, I really quite enjoyed writing that bit. Balor's probably not necessarily mad, more... betrayed and really, really hurt. ...Okay, so he may be a little mad. But understandably so!
Yeah, the white text to dark background is more eye-straining than the opposite.
Anyway, that about wraps it up here. Thanks again for reading, as always. I hope you have a wonderful holiday!
After fighting a difficult battle, those of the merged group of the Desert Assassins and the former Lumbridge Resistance were victorious. They won the battle, their wounds closed by a certain unicorn. But even still, they could not reap the rewards. Alas, they found their attempts to reach the now former slaves of Ormemel like asking the sun to shine no more. They spoke merely out to the atmosphere, the ears of those they wished to reach willfully deaf to all words.
There was a sense of urgency injected into them, trying frantically to come up with some alternative solution. If they couldn't, then they would be forced to enter the heart of their enemy all by themselves. Such an attempt to attack them with this little group would be tantamount to suicide, they were fortunate to have won upon this night after all.
But just when the flame seemed to flicker, when the foundation of all they worked for began to crumble, a single word would be given life. The genius Telvern Thaddeus spoke out in the midst of that hectic chatter, attempting now to quell the chaos. His voice reluctant to utter this, ushering in a single name.
Even still, the low, careful volume of his voice broke the plane, ceasing all the panic if even for a fleeting moment. He mentioned that name, a place or a thing called "Alverra"... All around him were faces of question, faces dumbfounded. A massive question mark raised over the heads of all in this group, even the well-traveled merchant Kereske knew not what to think.
Everyone just kind of looked at Telvern like he were some kind of alien, without word or breath, their jaws hanging ajar. It was very clear to the genius that no one here knew anything of that which he spoke, a revelation that was not at all a surprise to him. No, he quite expected this reaction from them.
"..."Alverra"?" finally spoke one individual, a certain dark-robed young man named Daevarro. He raised an eyebrow, perplexed by this name which Telvern spoke. He would recall all the many books his mind had dove into when he was with his family, and none of them made even so much as a mention of this name.
The merchant-turned-assassin Kereske shook his head. "I've been all across Governanti, I've never once heard of this Alverra." he expressed his bemusement.
Calvin looked to his left and right, scrolling his eyes across these faces he knew. To his relief, it seemed all others were allied in his confusion. This laid-back assassin then turned to his favorite little genius, smirking nervously. "Sorry ta disappoint, but yer pritty much speakin' gibberish 'ere," Calvin confessed to Telvern, bearing trepidation.
Telvern closed his eyes, crossing his arms as he gathered together his thoughts. Even still, he was hesitant to make this decision, to have to come to this. It was a perilous decision, one that wore unknown so openly like a set of clothes. A mysterious shroud blanketed this valley, covering the eyes of all who cross it.
But he was left with little choice in the matter, given their desperate situation. No, even with Elliott in place, Telvern knew their attack would undoubtedly fail. "Your collective response is of little surprise to me," the genius stated. "No, I had anticipated it."
His steely brown glare revealed once more, pushing out a firm, bold stare onward. He very meticulously wrote out his script, a dialogue he considered most scrupulously. Like water to the moon, he drew to them, a crowd he left anxious and starved for answers. All options had to be evaluated, they needed to gain a foothold in this war, even if a little.
"Alverra is one that very little have even the faintest knowledge of," Telvern explained. "It lies off to our west, forgotten in the shadow of Governanti. Since the inception of the Imperial Kingdom, many attempts have been amassed to reconnect with this severed half. But despite their best efforts, the result would always remain the same: Alverra would elude capture, and in turn, live on as an independent government."
Telvern continued to very delicately piece together his words, even despite the growing confusion upon the faces of his comrades. "I've done extensive research upon Alverra and its history," the genius went on. "The government is anarchistic, however it is not entirely without influence. Its reins are held to some degree by those with the deepest pockets, but amongst the aristocracy is a man whom they adhere to. His name is Silas Alverra, the self-proclaimed "King of the West.""
"What bearing does this have on our situation?" sharply questioned the angry Lamian Shakir, quickly then finding a possible answer. "Oh, you don't mean to suggest that this Alverra would actually be willing to assist us, do you? We're just some petty rebellion, feeble and barely clinging to life."
"We'd probably end up gettin' laughed at," Shinon confidently mocked, crossing his arms. "Hell, I wouldn't blame 'em. I'd laugh at us too."
Telvern sighed in frustration, forcing a glare in Shakir's direction. "Very well, since you appear in such a haste to dismiss me, I'll omit the details and simply provide my proposal," he bitterly accepted, then returning his eyes to the group as a whole. "My suggestion is to head into Alverra and gain audience with Silas Alverra. Given his presence carries significance, I suspect acquiring his support would likely incite others to align as well."
"So your grand plan is to go into an unknown, presumably very hostile environment and just magically convince this Silas into lending us his support?" the angry Lamian broke down Telvern's words in malicious fashion. "You've surely lost your mind..."
"Have you any suggestions then?" Telvern then proceeded to counter, his voice quickly, angrily pouncing upon Shakir like a ferocious lion.
Shakir's eyes shifted away, his arms wrapping together into a knot. "Well, anything is better than what
you
can—" he growled.
"—You've yet answered my question," the genius' voice pierced through Shakir's words as if they were made of jelly, finding weakness in his opponent. Shakir's reaction would be swift but cowardly, offering a sneer and scoff. Telvern responded to this cowardice, "Say nothing if you've nothing to say."
An awkward, tense silence broken through this dam of desperation and perplexity. Nobody knew what to say, what to do. Kereske and Calvin couldn't help but to look over at their brother Shakir, who just averted his gaze elsewhere and grumbled angrily to himself like a child throwing a tantrum.
At any rate, Calvin knew that it was his duty to break the silence. He turned to the combative genius, a nervous sweat running down his skin. "Uh..." awkwardly uttering the laid-back assassin, scratching the back of his head. "Yer plan's pritty difficult dere, egghead. Ta get dis guy ta jus' go 'long wit' us ain't gonna be easy..."
"I'm aware of that," Telvern replied without pause, looking over at Calvin after putting Shakir in his place. "Never once did I claim it a task without challenge, but I have a plan."
"For many years, Silas served under the Barns as a knight of the Imperial Army," Telvern explained. "He was a soldier of momentous reputation, his proficiency on and off the battlefield earned him high recognition. Dias placed him at the helm of a band of elite knights and bestowed him the rank of Commander, just nigh of the highest seat of General. Such a position of power demands more than a simple pledge in word, but in blood. Similarly found in the ascension of royalty, soldiers whom obtain the highest ranks in the military must swear a blood oath of eternal loyalty to the Imperial Kingdom and the Barn family."
"And you believe he still concerns himself with such a pact?" asked Kereske.
"He has to," replied the genius. "Solasúians are foolishly proud creatures, principles like "loyalty" and "honor" are to them like the very air they breathe. To desert or betray a blood oath is among the greatest of dishonors, and all who enact such treachery are considered the ultimate coward. Nothing is more degrading than to be held in such negative regard."
"So you think he'll support us for the sake of his ego?" concluded the red-haired archer Shinon, then casually shrugging his shoulders. "Sounds about right."
With the tying of his arms, the merchant-turned-assassin Kereske played the role of skeptic. "You're absolutely certain of this?" he continued to express his doubt.
Daevarro then turned to the critic, attracting the merchant's gaze. "Well, it can't be any worse than going into Governanti as we are, right?" he suddenly put in his two cents, seemingly in accordance to Telvern's plan. "At the very least, we should give it a try."
"But allow me to reiterate: this is not a task without challenge," Telvern repeated himself, his tone earnest and without relent. "The history between Silas Alverra and the Barns is one that spans for miles, but has more recently become antagonistic. Should we proceed and Raphael announces himself as an heir to the throne, Silas' reaction remains vastly unknown."
"Ya'd be base'ly throwin' 'im ta the wolves!" Calvin exclaimed, then collecting his shock and throwing it out in a single push of air. "...Well, guess it ain't the craziest thin' we've ever done."
Daevarro then pulled his gaze to the man of the hour, the one who could potentially be tossed into a feral pack like a piece of meat. "What do you think, Raphael?" the dark-robed young man wondered, desiring to gain his leader's opinion.
With a fearsome stare, Raphael's eyes were diverted over to the man who formed together this plan. Harsh and cold as if his eyes were frigid razorblades, the heir cast out the coldest glare a person could possibly muster. Still could he not find it in his heart to let go and forgive Telvern, clinging to this anger -- this hatred even.
Their eyes did cross paths, but Telvern made no indications of avoidance. He peered bravely into this abyss, even as Raphael's rancor fell upon him like a baptism in acid. The furtive genius was unfazed, unopposed by even his own conflicted feelings. He understood his nephew's ire, would question him if he thought otherwise. He accepted Raphael's obvious guilty verdict, even if it carried a sentence of life without parole.
Raphael's animosity could be felt like the heated winds of the desert, causing the goddess beside him to take notice. "You've my empathy in your enmity, but you must disarm, for hands wound tick opposite of our favor," Lamia then advised him, for his ears only. "Relent upon this soul afore you,
Palaemmir.
If even for this fleeting moment..."
Her words reached deeply into the heart of this candidly hateful young man as though they were water flowing into soil. Raphael closed shut the gates into his furious soul, letting out a heavy sigh. "We've little choice or say in the matter," Raphael finally replied, answering Daevarro's question. "If we do nothing, we'll most likely be hunted down and killed. This way at least provides a chance, even if it is small."
Telvern quietly turned away from the fire, staring over yonder. "Very well," he acknowledged, adjusting his glasses. "The pathway heading westward leads out to a tall, abandoned gate of stone. Just beyond it lurks Taverley, an ancient hamlet once bustling with druids and practitioners of the magical arts. We'll have to travel through its streets in order to find ourselves anywhere near Alverrian territory."
Just expending time upon this obvious subject generated concern, but some knew too well this genius' way of going about things. He wouldn't waste anyone's, or more importantly his own time to explain something that anyone with even the slightest experience in this world could very easily deduce themselves. No, there's no doubt in that.
Preventing anymore sense of question from overstaying its welcome, those of this merged body followed behind the silver-haired heir as he made his way onward. Raphael quietly walked past his uncle Telvern like he were a stranger on the street, biting his tongue for just this moment. He breached through those tall gates leading out of the city, turning to his left.
His eyes did gaze, stretching out even beyond the horizon. And he could see it, a towering wall of stone sitting upon the bridge between the earth and the sky. His intrepid allies following just behind his step, ensuring that he never be left alone. The assassins patiently awaited his next move, having left their fallen brothers and sisters behind.
The Desert Assassins' siblings in color had come, black wings pouncing upon the fallen bodies of the night. The spear-like beaks of the crows easily pierced their bloodied robes and into their skin, prying apart their already withering flesh. It was like the dinner of a large, dysfunctional family, picking their seats and stealing food from each other with every chance.
The corpses of the fallen assassins were arranged in a set rows of five, handled and settled down in a thoughtful and affectionate manner. After being given life from the world, it was only right to be taken back by it. This was the way of the Neheztelians: the idea of recycle, to be returned to the world which birthed you.
Setting his sights upon his target, Raphael boldly laid one foot in front of the other. Without any words, he walked down this road. And with mixed reaction did others follow in his stead, some with eagerness and loyalty, others with reluctance and disdain. But he was the only chance they had to accomplish their goals, the only chance any human had of claiming a normal life...
They left behind this so-called city of nobles in ruins and drenched in blood and bodies, knowing well their plan had failed. Clinging to this dim hope, they chased after the unknown... Their feet stomped down upon a bumpy, crumbling pathway, one which became more difficult to find the further they got. They climbed up more hills than they could count on hand and foot, beating a hard sweat out of them.
Their day had begun to fade, to the point where it seemed like they began to chase after the sun. It began to hide behind the horizon, taking one last peek upon this harsh, cruel world before falling asleep. From the distance growing ever so smaller, they could see a vast range of snowy mountains, drawing fright from some in the vicinity.
