Culluket

The Absent King

Without even the ashes of the village behind them, the desert had been robbed of its luster. The wind ached, trailing dust across the dunes and flapping at the standard. The horizon shimmered warningly even in the pallid dawn, and the sand beneath their feet seemed to run like water as they trudged, soiled and exhausted from the ordeal of that harrowing night.

The Captain was talking, guarding against the silence. Understandable. Good that he cared for the fates of their brothers. But most like they were gone, and would not be seen again until it was their turn to walk undaunted into the Underworld, and meet what judgement awaited them. Time was an enemy they could grant no advantage.

They had left a long trail of footprints over the sands behind them when the Captain asked his question. Kolbe's ruined head raised to the cloudless sky, drawing in a long, hissing breath. Contemplating. It was some time before he spoke.

"Vespers XIX: Canticle of Unyielding." he rasped in that deathlike voice. "Strange 'twas not familiar to you. Great upheaval, 'pon that hour. Difficult to hear. No doubt why."

Still.

"A chant of resolve, for the servants of God. Strength to stand against the unholy, against Djinn and witchcraft. To hold fast to courage in darkest hour when one knows dawn may not come. I have cried it before. Will as like do so again."

Kolbe slowed his pace, coming to a halt. The mail of his gauntlet clinked as he tightened his grip on the battered standard, looking out toward the north. As though seeing something that wasn't there.

"Because evil must be opposed," he exhaled, firmly. "Even if odds are overwhelming. Even if the battle is hopeless. Evil. Must be opposed."

His head turned slightly, as though regarding the other man out of the corner of his blinded eye.

"You understand." he hissed, softly.

It was a statement. But the echo of a question hung about it, unvoiced. Do you?

In the absence of words and trudging footfalls, a faint sound carried to them on the warm wind. A distant whisper of white noise, and another sound, one instinctively familiar to the two knights. The whickering of horses.

"There." Kolbe pointed, increasing his pace. The river sparkled before them, a long flowing stream of white-capped water, skirted with long reeds and shaded by thriving, leathery green trees. The mounts idled at its muddy banks, tails flicking, drinking their fill. One for each of them. The others could make their way home. It was, at least, some small blessing.

But Kolbe didn't smile.

Perhaps he couldn't.

{Closed}

Myself as well.

Also, hi. My character will be up, but looking forward to playing with you lot.

@Howler

Love him already. We have a pretty strong cast going here, I think.

{Closed}

Regalia - Rana's Labyrinth

---

Devi stood up from her chair as the men came in, letting the pen fall to her desk. There were three of them, tall and shadowy in the dimmed light she preferred for working in the evenings. A bespectacled man, older, with thinning hair and cold, lifeless eyes, carrying a laptop computer. A dark-skinned man who took up position by the door and kept his hands out of sight. And Him.

Afterward, she couldn't recall what he had looked like. Handsome. Confident. Neither young nor old. His perfect, pressed black suit, his sapphire cufflinks, his expensive, black Italian leather gloves... his voice. All these things were as vivid to her as the moment she'd first seen them. But his face. That would never sit still in her memory.

"I'm sorry, how did you get in here?" She looked from one of them to the other. "Do you have an appointment?"

"My colleagues and I are representatives of your employer, Ms Rana," the well-dressed man assured her, walking slowly around to her side of the desk, unhurried, as comfortable as if he owned the place. "Direct representatives. I'm afraid we need to take a look at your records for the last quarter."

The older man had plugged in his computer and was pulling volumes from her shelves. The man in front of her took the tablet from her desk and handed it to him without a word.

"Excuse me, what are you doing?" Devi chirped, "No, please don't touch that." The man in black, the leader, he was standing close to her now, blocking her view, exuding casual, expensive power. Some deep, instinctive part of her knew immediately that she was badly out of her depth. Treading water. Slowly sinking. "Who... What-- precisely... is...?"

"This?" The man smiled, patiently. Fondly. "This is what I suppose you'd call an 'audit'. You know what that is, right Devi? There have been some rumors going around, tenacious rumors. And it's fallen to me, and to my associates, to confirm their... veracity."

His arm was around her, warm muscle tight beneath his impeccable suit sleeve, turning her and guiding her gently toward the full-scale window that overlooked the city. Devi found herself meekly following along, suddenly feeling like a cowed, obedient child in uncomfortable, expensive clothes, tottering on unstable heels.

"Well. I should be honest with you. You see, these rumors... Really they were more like accusations."

"I assure you, if there's been some problem with the account, I'm certain I can--"

"Shhh..." One soft, gloved finger touched her lips, gently. "Hush. Now, for these things to have happened, if they DID happen... there are certain people who simply had to know. Basic deduction. I do have colleagues who prefer a more street-level approach. Canvassing. Testing links until one of them breaks. But me? I got where I am today through knowing how operations like this work. I know just who to visit. Just the right places to push."

There was an uncomfortable emphasis on the word push.

"Look out the window, Devi."

She looked.

The city glared beneath them like a fairground carousel, beaming with light and artifice. She thought of riding painted, plastic horses as a little girl. As a young woman, drunk. Cotton candy. Stuffed animals. Becoming lost afterwards in the dark maze of sideshow tents, alone and terrified. The gaudy panorama seemed to tilt, tempting her downward, setting her head spinning with vertigo. Her stomach dropped. She found herself blinking back tears, breathing shallowly through parted lips.

"Look at that. Look at that view. All those people. All those moving parts. All those flickering lights. That's ours, Devi. That's what we're responsible for, and that's what we have to offer. And it's beautiful, isn't it? Hell, every time I come to a place like this and look out at that fairytale landscape, I can't quite believe just how good we really have it."

His gloved hand was resting on the back of her neck, now, keeping her face toward the glass. She licked her lips, staring downward.

"I--"

"But some people, Devi? Some people can't appreciate what's right there in front of them. Can't take the longer view."

"I don't--"

"Some people," he murmured softly by her ear, "like the backstabbing piece of shit who sat in that chair of yours three months ago..."

She made a soft, shaking whimpering sound somewhere deep in her chest. The man's presence loomed behind her, a shadow reflected in the windowpane, one strong, warm hand brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. The other hand pressed firmly against her back, slowly edging her toward the glass. She could barely hear him over the roaring of blood in her ears.

"...Some people need a closer look."

"She's clean."

The elegant gloved hand lifted, paused above her shoulder. There was a tense silence.

"You're sure?"

In the window, she saw the cold-eyed man remove his spectacles and polish them on his sleeve. "Airtight." he replied. "Meticulous, even."

"...Finish up." He said at last. "We have another stop to make."

The dark reflections completed their work, replacing documents, closing laptops. And then they were gone, leaving her alone with the warm presence behind her in the now terrifyingly empty office. Black-gloved hands came to rest on her shoulders, soft leather creaking as he squeezed, gently, reassuringly.

'Ms Rana," crooned his rich, promising voice, "Thank you for your cooperation, your professionalism, and your continued loyalty to our organization."

His arm reached around in front of her, offering something.

"The Syndicate would like you to have this. As a gesture of personal appreciation, and... recompense. For your time."

It was a compressed brick of fifty-dollar bills, bound tightly with a strip of stamped golden paper. Devi stared at it as though it were the barrel of a gun.

"Take the money, Ms Rana." the voice advised, soothingly, "I think you'll find it'll be a load off both of our minds."

"Yes-- Yes. Thank you," she whispered, hoarsely. A single tear spilled from her eye and rolled down her cheek as her slim brown hand closed around the bills. "Thank you. I enjoy my work, very much."

"I'm glad, Devi. Because as nice as it would be to see you again..." He leaned toward her, his breath warm against her ear. "...I don't ever want to have to come back here."

Two leather-clad fingertips brushed against her hair one last time. And then the shadow in the glass stepped backward, and the door to her office closed, and she was alone with the view.

It was a good fifteen minutes before she was able to tear herself away.

---

She counted the bills rapidly, neurotically, flicking through the stack with trembling hands, making a note of the amount. It didn't matter what had happened, everything had to be recorded. The books had to be balanced. She was a professional and professionals did not produce sloppy work over one little near-death experience.

Her hand briefly hesitated over the 'deposit type' field.

After a moment's consideration she entered 'Professional Incentive,' and reached desperately for the phone, punching in Alexander Ariella [Security] on the speed-dial and waiting.

"...Mister Ariella? This is Devi Rana in accounting." Her voice was shaking already. God, perhaps try to control yourself, perhaps try to sound like a bloody grown-up for a change. "I'm very sorry to disturb you, but I was told that if anything unusual happened I was to call you at once before I did anything else. ...Yes. ...Well, I've just had some people from..."

Cellphone.

"...from human resources in my office. They were very upset about rumors of some sort of under-the-table business transactions and I think... I think that they were very seriously considering terminating my contract.

"Yes, JUST like that.

"Safe what?

"No, actually I don't know it."

She walked to a nearby shelf, slipped a white plastic folder from between two heavy, leather-bound books. She cradled the phone against her shoulder, flipping through it.

"Yes, alright, I see it. ...Is that really necessary? ...Yes, no, you're quite right. ...Yes, I'll be there soon. Thank you."

She ended the call, took six deep, controlled breaths, fixed her eyeliner, buttoned her maroon overcoat and slung her scarf around her neck. It was cold, after all. And she had an unpleasant feeling it was only going to get colder.

{Closed}

ALL RIGHT EVERYBODY FREEZE, THIS IS A BUST!

Ha ha, just kidding. Man the looks you might possibly have on your faces. Also, hi.

{Closed}

Name:
Devi Rana

Nickname:
Yet to be earned -- though the casual racist and sexual harassment of the Syndicate's lower-tier employees has given her plenty already.

Age:
26

Physical Description:
Devi was born in Nagpur, India, and educated at Cambridge, absorbing a pronounced British accent in the process. Her heritage is unambiguous, giving her vivid hazel eyes brought out by a little too much eyeliner, angular features, coffee-colored skin and long, straight black hair. She dresses smartly and professionally, having spent much of her advance on the services of Regalia's more fashionable tailors. Pencil skirts and sharp suit jackets, chic leather waistcoats and designer heels so basic and unremarkable that they must have cost a fortune. She always seems to have a slim, white, current-model tablet at hand, the ledgers ready to be consulted or redacted at a moment's notice.

Syndicate Class: Financial
A somewhat recent acquisition to the Regalia branch, brought on board after her predecessor suffered a tragic accident involving a Swiss bank account and an eleventh-floor window, Devi's role is that of a traditional corporate accountant -- but with the responsibility of balancing two sets of books instead of one. There are the books... and then there are the books. The black books, dripping with blood money, that people would kill for. The accountant's equivalent of the fucking Necronomicon. Every figure in those books, every transaction, expense and liquidation, is entered using a personal cipher; a cryptographic shorthand understood only by Rana herself, as natural to her as a second language, and which on close inspection would seem to require a terrifyingly dense decryption key. This quirk makes her both a highly valuable asset and a twenty-four hour security case. Her fashionable apartment is riddled with bugs. There is always a car parked outside. She is never not followed. She has no idea.

The Absent King

The first pale rays of dawn touched the standard of Areta through a thin haze, glimmering along what remained of the soiled golden thread. Linus Kolbe forced himself from his aching knees, prying his fingers loose from its shaft one by one as dust slithered from the joints of his armor. The enclosing helm came free with a wheezing cough, exposing that horrid head to the crisp, dirty morning air.

Kolbe scanned the horizon beyond the funnel as best he could, dragging long, reluctant breaths through his parched throat. Nothing. No movement. No sign. But he had only one good eye left to him, and the view was far from clear. The horses would like be nearby. Might be his Brothers had found safe purchase also.

His brothers.

The King.

The Elves. The village. The pit.

"Too many coincidences." he grated, thickly.

He wrenched the standard from its housing on his third tug, scraped his way toward the Captain, coughing into his fist. The tarnished banner fluttered mournfully in the dry breeze.

"Sir," he hissed, lowly, "The sun rises quickly, in the east. We must needs find water. Recover horses. Find our brothers, if we can. Return to our duty. We cannot." He swallowed, dryly. "Linger."

The scarred head twisted left and right, taking in the desolate whirlpool that had once been a town. What little in his features remained capable of expression were hard and uncompromising.

"This place is damned."

The Absent King

Sorry for the wait, I was paralyzed with indecision and unsure how to approach things given the situation. I've gone ahead and posted, leaving the actions of Kolbe's BATTLE BROTHERS uncertain. There are plenty of options open; You guys can find safety in your own way, join Kolbe and the Captain at the standard, or lunge onto a horse as they either gallop by or seek you out since they're assuredly THAT well trained.

Otherwise, we'll assume we've lost each other in the chaos, and you can resurface later -- or not -- in whatever manner works for you.

The Absent King

In night, in firelight, the void roared toward them. The nothing. The Great Devourer. Where no mortal hand could stop them, the Prince of Hell had sent his black chariot to stay them from their task.

It widened toward them, a ravenous shadow, the splintering of blackened timbers mixed with the tumultuous hissing of sand. Impossible. Unignorable. Kolbe's papers were taken by the desert wind, the stew upturned and forgotten with a clattering of pottery. He snatched up the standard, hurling himself toward the hut which sheltered the horses.

Captain was shouting to untie them, mount up. No. No time. Cannot outrun the earth itself. Reached them. Rearing, heaving at their tethers, screaming in fear. Drew his sword, sliced though the cords in two desperate strikes, cracking hard through the wood. The animals bolted, dragging chunks of carpentry, instinct driving them to safe ground. Good soldiers. Good soldiers.

Captain shouting again. Panicked. No time. Hut built by the rock that buttressed the hill. Only chance.

Kolbe roared and drove the standard, the pillar of Areta, into the rock, driven by hysterical strength. The vicious pike-end jammed deep into a thin crevise, wedging fast, the plated shaft nocked in the crook of his arm and clenched tight in one mailed fist. His other arm locked hard around the still-bellowing Captain's, holding on with every ounce of strength as the tide slammed into them, and house and horizon fell away into that dark, malignant funnel.

Sand and ash and timber cascaded around them, pounding them with terrible, bone-shaking force. The earth groaned, an echoing din like the lament of some vast desert demon. And a hoarse, shuddering voice answered it in mad defiance from behind worn steel plate.

"Though I stand within the very teeth of Death," it rasped furiously against the punishing tide, "I will fear only failure-"

Kolbe's sickening voice was a wounded, airless scream against the battering of the storm.

"--I will not suffer the unwinnowed bushel or the bent rod--"

The stars vanished in a running river of dust.

"--will shake off the ashen words of the faithless--"

The shaft creaked and shook against his nerveless arm, the banner snapping violently like an unfurled sail in an ocean tempest.

"--holy Areta--"

He held until his hands were numb and his lungs were choked with dust and every lacerated muscle burned beyond endurance, and still there was nothing but the relentless, earthen scourge and the terrible, white noise.

"--for ever and ever--"

In the merciless storm, the croaking litany went on.

And on.

And on.

The Absent King

@StoneDogg1

Nil persperandum, Brother.

The Absent King

Kolbe nodded, once, and withdrew, setting to his task, his duty, as the shimmering red horizon settled into gloom.

The scavenger didn't matter. He'd had no part of what happened here. Just another desert vulture come to pick the carcass clean. No need to labor themselves with a prisoner. No call to slow their quest or sully their hands with an execution. No. A few minutes alone with the Colossus would be penance enough.

The last year had taught Kolbe well, and the camp was in order before darkness came, and a canopy of stars ruled the sky. He spared another silent, approving nod at the sight of the Elvish weapon being put to the flame. A good brother, as he'd known.

Time passed. Falkenberg was trading words with the captain. Kolbe paused in his writing, sat facing the campfire, head turned slightly toward them. Palpably listening. There was no sign yet of Gerald, but like as not the dinner bell would bring him, though all the legions of hell stand in his way.