This bewildering voice came out, causing Silas to shuffle his eyes all around to locate its source. It was disembodied, ghostly. It came out from nowhere but the air, perplexing even his mind with its profoundly unknown nature. The confusion was written like a novel on his face, unable to determine just who spoke those words.
"You speak as though you knew we were coming," Raphael finally managed to get out, his voice allowing Silas's face to regain its composure. "How?"
"Because I am everything and I am everyone," he who resided upon the throne responded. "Quite a lot of gossip you've generated up north in my village with your little fight, the most lopsided of victories as I've heard. My people claim it a battle worthy of song."
"Perhaps not for the reasons you might think... How do you know I'm a Barn?"
"Has anyone ever told you that you're the spitting image of your father, and his father before him, and his father, and so on, so forth?" Silas curiously asked. "All of you Barns practically wear the same face. I'm certain that you were proudly informed everyday that you look just like your father, a pathetic, pitiful half-truth. In reality, like your father, you just look like a Barn."
"Then you do understand what that means, don't you? You swore a Blood Oath of Loyalty to serve the Barns until your death. I'm here to make sure you fulfill it."
Silas then uttered a low chuckle, immediately drawing a negative reaction from Raphael. "What are you laughing at?" Raphael questioned rather furiously.
"I'm rather amused that you believe that I still concern myself with that ridiculous pact," he who resided upon the throne answered, then spanning his hands outwards. "Look around you, Barn, you're far from your groveling bootlickers in Governanti. I am not bound by your government, your pretentious laws and traditions. I am the founder and ruler of Alverra, a country where the people are the dictators of their fate. I am free to do what I please: take what I want, eat what I want, drink what I want, bed who I want. No one in my country is constricted or smothered by your conceited brand of rectitude."
Their conversation interrupted when the door that Silas's guard Verinn entered swung back open, unleashing the combination of a wooden creak and metallic tapping. From behind that thick wooden door was the knight, carrying another goblet full of liquid. She then handed the goblet over to Silas, who immediately doused his palette with its deep red content.
As the god drank, the genius Telvern Thaddeus's steely brown eyes peered intently upon him. He inspected him thoroughly, most especially did Telvern browse through Silas's thoughts. The genius then suddenly came forward, stepping over to Raphael's side. "You seem to care quite considerably about your people," then suddenly came out the genius Telvern Thaddeus, ending the brief silence's life. "If you'd be so generous as to lend us a moment of your time, we would like to explain our situation and then negotiate a deal in which both parties may mutually benefit."
Telvern's words immediately beckoned over the gelid glare of Silas Alverra, the genius whom felt these eyes examine him. "Ah, another Barn," Silas noted, then relaxing back on his throne. "Very well, I'll kindly extend my ear to you. Now, tell me of this... "situation" of yours."
"This is Raphael Divus Barn, son of Lord Divus Nomos Barn and heir to the throne. His older brother, Balor Pallas Barn, has claimed the throne from his father by way of regicide and has cast Raphael out. Raphael now leads an uprising against him, but our forces are clearly no match for the Imperial Kingdom's. We require reinforcements if we think to have a chance against them."
Silas thoughtfully took a sip of his wine, pondering his options. He then placed his chalice-bearing hand down, returning his focus upon Raphael and Telvern both. "I suppose I could bait the interests of some of my people," he mentioned. "But a hound does not adhere to its master's commands without the proper enticement. I ask you, what would my people stand to gain from this little proposal of yours?"
"Whatever they can burden," Telvern answered candidly, piquing Silas's interest and startling his allies. "Governanti is incredibly prosperous, it courses with so much gold that not even its most avaricious nobles know what to do with it all. Its appearance bears striking similarities to the old cities of Solasúila, its streets and infrastructure are encased in adamas. And although its slave population may not outnumber yours, Governanti slaves are far better trained and very obedient, especially those bred from the Mundus-Ishvara slave trade. As you've stated, you've offered your people absolute freedom, and you may relay to them that that power will not stripped from them should they choose to accompany us. Their bounty is anything they can burden: coin, adamas, slaves, a spouse perhaps, even a house if they can carry it. You may also wish to inform your people to submit themselves to their wildest expectations, for by the end of this, they will be more wealthy than they can possibly fathom. And they will look to you with much gratitude for offering this opportunity, perhaps they might even owe you a favor."
Telvern's proposal caused Silas to settle back and sit on it, but elsewhere was a different story. His words drew out a slew of different reactions, and none of them were positive in the slightest. To open the gates and allow these Alverrian savages to take anything, even Governanti's human slaves, was truly frightening.
How hypocritical, some thought, to champion these notions of equality and freedom, only to bring an army which could see them enslaved once more. This was the exact thought process Shakir and some other Lamians, having their long-held distrust of Telvern thoroughly confirmed. He could never understand what it's like, sacrificing the humans to claim victory like pawns in a game of chess.
From Telvern's left, Calvin quickly twisted his head off to the genius's direction, his pale blue eyes widened and his jaw dangling. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," Calvin's voice exclaimed. "Egghead, ya can't be serious. Ain't the 'ole point-a fightin's ta
free
the humans?"
"Raphael, you can't agree to this," Kereske strongly urged.
"It's not right," the dark-robed young man Daevarro's own opinion came out, shaking his head. "We promised freedom to them, not further enslavement!"
"Not all humans will be taken and face enslavement," the old master Malik put in his two cents. "It's far from the ideal solution, but it's only one we have."
"It's not one we should even contemplate," the angry Lamian Shakir then batted back.
"That's enough, all of you," Raphael's commanding voice ordered, quieting all others from voicing their mind. Telvern himself was quite surprised by Raphael's harsh tone, and even more so for the fact that his idea wasn't completely eradicated from its inception. Raphael didn't reject it, much to the genius' shock. In fact, albeit disturbingly, it seemed perhaps he might actually favor it.
But behind him, the concerns of his comrades only accelerated. Raphael hadn't joined in in their rejection, a stomach-turning truth perhaps lurking within. Did he actually concur with the genius's deal? Did he actually consider it?
"...Raphael?" Daevarro then named, turning his faintly glowing hazel eyes onto the prince.
The silver-haired heir sighed heavily, turning his purple gaze upwards onto the awaiting Silas. "...It's just like Telvern says," Raphael told he who resided upon the throne, his voice disgruntled, killing his allies' hopes as if a blade through their breast. "If your people join up with us, they're free to take whatever they want."
The angry Lamian Shakir's face tensed up, his teeth vehemently fastened. "Why!?" he angrily demanded answers. "Can you even imagine what it must be like being a slave in this country? To be brutalized, assaulted, and abused everyday of your life!? And you, you would subject others to that? All to win your war!?"
"I don't git—"
"
Silence,
" Silas wrathfully, spitefully bellowed, his powerful voice booming across the throne. "I have been very complaisant up until now, I've even afforded the meager rabble the opportunity to respond ahead of me. But it seems you've all but wasted my charity, turning this gracious accommodation into a chance to boast a worthless squabble. If any lowbreed or mongrel utters even so much as a single syllable, I will put you in the ground where you belong."
Like being tossed into solitary confinement, stripped of even the privilege to speak, some of those so-called "lowbreeds" and "mongrels" turned silently to Raphael. Yet some mustered the courage to make that trek northward, their eyes touching the very face of the god himself. Silas's eyes menacing and hateful, frozen and sharp, piercing all who dared to look upon him.
Tension rose like heat, spilling all throughout the throne room. As some faltered in fright, as some boiled in anger, those still of right mind hoped that Raphael would make the right decision. To reconsider this deal, to not become the enemy.
"So do you accept our proposal?"
"Very well, I'll accept, but only after you've fulfilled a task for me in exchange," Silas returned, its conclusion sharpening Raphael's fixation upon him. "Oh, don't fret... it's fairly simple. You may even relish in it."
"What?"
Silas, despite his outburst moments ago, easily took a sip of wine from his goblet. His mind formed together a script, a dialogue, conjuring together proper sentences to explain himself. "I've recently... shall we say, 'acquired' some new additions to the labor pool," Silas informed them. "These humans are well disciplined and thoroughbred, but their price was a little too steep, so I seized them. But this acquisition is to the dissatisfaction of several characters, and now they foolishly attempt to intimidate me, even threaten my city with violence unless I return their property. I'd every intention of swatting this noisy fly myself, but with you showing up, now I don't even need to lift a finger. Do my bidding, and I'll see to it that word of your needs reaches the ears of my people."
Peeking inside of the brain of this self-proclaimed ruler and his request, Telvern hesitantly turned his steely brown gaze onto Raphael, waiting upon his reaction. "Fine," his response came out, agreeing to the terms. "Where are these slavers located?"
"Just off-shore, upon a wooden platform floating on the ocean," he answered. "It's a position they've held for the past week, keeping at an arm's length from me. I will commend them, it is the perfect location to spy upon an enemy, and if desired, suddenly spring a siege."
"Upon the shores of my city, you will find a halfbreed there, an adorable fellow, really. He is the owner of a large wooden machine referred to as a "ship", and this ship can safely transport you across the ocean and to your destination with little incident. I've already informed him of the arrival of a battalion in the near future, so he'll likely assume you're that battalion and will freely allow you aboard."
"What of their forces?" Telvern came forward and questioned. "What precisely are their numbers?"
"At this moment, I'd wager a handful," Silas stated. "They wield nothing fancy, I assure you. I'm certain you're all familiar with swords and axes, yes? However, there shall be lowbreeds among their fold, some perhaps well-versed in your vexing human magic-craft. They are, after all, the most prized and most useful item among a slaver's merchandise."
"We'll be back then," the silver-haired prince then shortly came out, turning his back on the self-proclaimed ruler Silas Alverra.
"Before you go," called out he from the throne, halting Raphael. "Once you've done the deed, be rid of that little platform. Destroy it, set it ablaze, do whatever, just as long as I needn't concern myself with its existence anymore. I have countless enemies, all of which would revel in such an advantageous position. Deny them that opportunity, would you?"
"Fine," acknowledged Raphael. "We'll be back."
"This isn't Governanti, you needn't do battle for me immediately," Silas told them. "Come, relax for a moment. You all must be footsore from your journey to meet me, you did come quite a long way after all. There's a pleasant little tavern in my city's marketplace, complete with warm beds, delicious food, cold drink, and plenty of company with which to spend the night. Inform them that their king and ruler Silas Alverra has sent you, and they'll excuse any expense that you happen to accumulate."
Quite a generous offer, tempting him with a place to sate his basic desires. The prince simply walked away, undeterred by the dozens of glares he received. Frustrated, enraged did his followers chase after him, infuriated by this most terrible of hands dealt.
Yet one stood his stead, his feet glued upon this scarlet-red carpet. Telvern stood his ground afore he who resided upon the throne, his steely brown eyes spewing a most harsh language. A case of déjà vu for Silas, having been the target of these eyes before, but they were not alike Raphael's. No, despite their impurity, they looked to be plucked from the skull of Dias Pallas Barn himself. Their icy cold emission, their apathy, these fierce, jagged spears which ran through everything and everyone they touched.
Silas did not stray away from this challenge, his calm, composed demeanor shifting within an instant. Telvern's eyes like a spade, digging beneath and exposing a different kind of Silas. There were no belittling remarks to be made, no dominance to wield, no fancy wordplay to spin. There was just pure, unadulterated malice, a deep enmity of all things much alike his own.
"Well? What is it, Barn?" Silas then questioned Telvern in an earnest tongue, leaning the right side of his face into his hand. "Have you something to say to me? Speak it."
Hearing these words ushering into the atmosphere, certain heels halted in their rush out the door. Just before the stairs leading downwards, Calvin listened to these words which ripped his head back as if hooked, finding then the genius standing before Silas. Telvern then professed a sigh, fixing his glasses like it were a mechanism to recompose himself, to calm himself down. "No," he quietly, wryly answered, then bowing his head. "Please pardon my discourtesy."
"Begone," Silas angrily commanded, almost demanded.
Telvern retreated, picking him back up and turning away. His step quick and unfaltering, drawing closer to a rather concerned Calvin. "Everything okay, egghead?" the assassin asked, worried for his sake.
"...Quite," Telvern replied emptily, spoken as he bypassed Calvin.
This worried friend watched as Telvern walked right by, letting out a deep sigh as even he realized that he was being fed falsehood. "Just ain't ever gonna talk, are ya?" Calvin lamented, placing his hands on his hips.
The group now poured out from the jaws of the castle, muttering and grumbling with much unrest. "Have you lost your mind!?" one voice protested, the angry Lamian Shakir rushing over to be at Raphael's side. "Look at this place! It's lawless, unrestricted! And you would permit hundreds of humans to be subjected to it!?"
"It ain't his fault," the red-headed archer then came out, breaking Shakir's gaze. "He's a Barn, remember? I doubt he understands what it's like, 'cause if he did, he'd never agree to it. None of you so-called 'leaders' understand, you're all just a bunch of bleeding hearts who tagged along to earn yourself a pat on the back."
As Shinon's words started to head towards its conclusion, Raphael's legs suddenly hit the brakes. This unexpected act startled the many, examining Raphael as he shuddered with ire. In the middle of the bridge, the silver-haired prince averted his gaze backwards, facing them all with a most fierce, malicious glare.
"If you don't like it, leave," he responded bitterly, then turning his head back around. "We're damned if we do and damned if we don't, but at least this way the overall suffering is reduced."
"Raphael, you can't cure an illness with more illness," the merchant-turned-assassin then commented.
"You're right, we can't. But right now, there's no other option. We don't have the liberty of choice, we have to compromise. And until a better solution becomes available, that's all we can do."
Upon this end, Raphael continued forward, leaving all in a collision. Yet, Kereske found himself in agreement, crossing his arms and nodding along. He was convinced of Raphael's ways, the nature of its veracity. Indeed, there truly was no other way to this, forced to take this mad method produced by this ruler of madness.
"Since we're doin' everything this guy's tellin' us to do, why not take his suggestion and crash at that "pleasant little" tavern he mentioned?" Shinon then mockingly suggested.
"Well, I am pritty beat," then suddenly commented Calvin in a yawn, stretching out his arms. "Can't 'member the las' time I slept in-a nice, cozy bed..."
Yes, it was a wise idea to rest after this longest of odysseys. Taking the suggestion to heart, Raphael was reanimated, traveling back through these alleyways of the past. These wrecked pathways, this weathered, dreary setting, these echoes of terrified screams and horrendous beatings in their midst...
The crowd's were still as bustling as ever, if not more so as night drew nearer. They penetrated the mass herd of bodies, swerving around many unsavory, detestable characters. They cut through the meat of this rotten husk faster than a money-starved butcher, beginning to occasionally feel thin, needle-like droplets crash across their skin. Yes, this was a sign, a warning of incoming rain. Their eyes rummaged through this stomach-turning place, catching a glimpse of a tatter-wear thief facing vigilant justice.
He was pinned down upon a table by multiple gods, his arms outstretched past his head. Through sobs and tears, he begged and apologized sorrowfully. His pitiful display was ignored however, tearing the air asunder with his deafening wails as his hands were then slowly, unevenly sawed off.
