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 Posted: Mon Jul 11, 2011 10:28 pm
THE IMPERIAL GUARD - Mission
Why?
A call to arms and a meeting in private between like minds.
Whom?
Lord Yizhaq & Lady Hayat (Indubitably)
-&-
Plague-General Treatise (Zanaroo)
Where?
Pwlanarfyll, Mishkan, at the Imperial Guard's capital base.
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Posted: Sat Sep 24, 2011 5:33 pm
The pathways from Shyregoed to Mishkan were paved and cleanly. Cobblestone was evenly lined up and no signs of dirt or grime riddled the streets as they would in the inner parts of the city, and citizens walking away from the gates of Pwlanarfyll looked unassuming and eerily peaceful. The silence that filled the air was broken by the creaking sound of wooden wheels and the clacking of horse hooves against rock, and it was hard to see past the undulation of rolling hills that covered the horizon in a rich shade of green. The only thing that stood out against the fields of constant spring now were the snow-eaten caravans travelling over the road and toward the gate, while men and women in stark dark blue and gold uniforms walked sluggishly along simultaneously as the higher-ranked officers inside of the caravans were enjoying the peace.
Their brethren of the west were guarding the front of the steel gates of Mishkan’s capital city, Pwlanarfyll. When the first caravan rolled up to the entrance, the soldiers besides it gave a roll of parchment to the skeptical guards at the front. After a moment of staring at the document, the wooden wheel placed just at the corner of the gates’ vision started to crank, and at once steel bars rose with a low and grumbling yawn. Just as the gate opened fully, the sound of sea tides and strong wind blew in and made the wool covers of passing caravans flutter like butterflies, and the Imperial Guard’s golden emblem stamped onto each sheets’ dark blue surface shined proudly against gleaming sunlight. At long last the air surrounding what few men endured the arduous trip from north to west was not quiet, but delicate sing-song, and the guardsmen seemed to brighten at the simple sight of their hometown.
Inside of the first caravan was, essentially, the most important delivery, though it looked the same as any other caravan that was being wheeled in by tired mares. A firm-minded Lord and his white-specked Plague sat at the opposite end of Plague General Treatise, whose glowing eyes shone brighter against the shadows marked by the caravan. Both Servos and Locos acted like candles against darkness for quite some time, and words were shared between the days it took to reach the Imperial Guard’s headquarters. It seemed that Treatise had rarely taken her eyes off of the two before her, as if speculating their willingness to look right back with as much diligence; it was a test, for she had little will to trust strangers as of late. Though many words were exchanged during the journey, the past few hours were riddled with strange silence.
When the caravan came to a sudden halt, a gangly and young-looking soldier poked his head past the caravan’s sheets. Treatise did not budge at the sudden burst of light, but did stare nonchalantly at the soldier, who replied with a firm “Plague General, we have arrived at the Imperial Guard’s Main Stationary. A team is waiting to guide you to—“
“No need. I will guide them personally, such was my intention since the start,” Plague General replied, then frowned, “Unless, of course, my message was too unimportant to remember.”
Without another word, the soldier left, and Treatise was left staring out at the light of Pwlanarfyll from her seat. She cleared her throat and rose from her place, bowing her head and gesturing to the exit of the caravan. The brunette looked up at Yizhaq and noted, “Welcome to Pwlanarfyll, sire. I’m to be told you are not exactly used to these lands.”
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Posted: Wed Sep 28, 2011 1:28 pm
There was something beautiful about the stark, utilitarian design of Pwlanarfyll, in that is was both exactly and nothing that the visitor would expect. Despite the strong lines of the structures, the defenses surrounding the 'home' of the Guard, it also held a sense of security, and was not dead within. The Guards felt at ease here, as much as they could ever be, though their diligence did not follow.
The city made sense, and Hayat found that it soothed her, the closer the caravan came, in a way that the luxurious halls of the Shyregoedian Estate no longer could. It provided an immediate context for the Plague General's demeanor, as setting a puzzle piece within its scene provided the larger, intricate design. A more complete picture of the machine.
Yizhaq was less struck by the subtle whispers of culture within the city of steel, his focus remaining entirely on the woman [for that was how he thought of Plagues, unlike many. For him, it was hard, at this juncture, to separate them from 'people] across from them.
The journey had been wrought with subtle testing, her bright eyes of blue boring across the small interior as if she could not help herself in her pursuit of loyalty, honest. It was good then, that Yizhaq possessed both qualities in abundance, though his goodnatured kindness was in short supply, following the kidnapping of both his wife and son. It was, almost beyond a doubt, the work of traitors within the Fellowship, and it did him more well than he'd openly admit to be free of the intrique ridden stone walls of the mages.
Yizhaq was, much like Treatise, one who wore duty like a glove. It did not make him itch, nor did it look uncomfortable upon him. It was simply something that must be donned before one went about the world, and was always close at hand. A second skin. It had never occurred to him that he could remove it, as easily as a glove, and it likely never would.
There was silence from the pair of Lord and plague, as the Plague General spoke to her guard. It was not their place, as guests, and decorum, particularly in public, had more worth than many thought.
As Yizhaq stepped from the caravan, he turned, offering that gloved hand to the Locos, nodding once in gratitude for her greeting, and understanding. "This is so, Plague-General, and I thank you for your hospitality. I have had pressing matters in Panymium that have served to keep me from Pwlanarfyll." In fact, his last trip to these lands had been before his marriage, since then, there had been many matters that required him, and kept him from all but the most necessary of travels.
"This is the first my lady Hayat shall see of the capital." A ghost of a smile, perhaps, for the pale-faced falcon, whose gaze remained trained on the city itself. He continued, "Still, feel no obligation to tour us through, I know your time is much called upon." A second nod, then, this one of respect.
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Posted: Wed Sep 28, 2011 6:48 pm
Treatise lay her hand over Lord Yizhaq's and stepped out of the caravan, nodding and politely giving her gratitude as any lady of form would. Though the Imperial Guard's men, man and lady alike, wore the same uniform through and through, the armor Treatise wore as if it were her own skin made her resemble an elegance and boldness neither sexes could define. Even then, when she released her hand from Lord Yizhaq's, her form returned to its regular rigidness once again and the seriousness she had in the caravan reemerged onto her features, as if nothing had happened.
Treatise lifted her head to the horizon and faced the far-end walls of the city, fortified by layers of stone and decorated only by the sleek cloth representing the flag of Mishkan. Just past Pwlanarfyll's barriers was the breeze of the tides, which floated in and sifted through Treatise's hair and relaxed her. The Locos smiled, though faintly, at the welcoming seaside, which was but miles away from the capital city. There was nothing that calmed her more than what she considered her hometown, though even in her brief moment of peace she did not lose her sense of focus. She bowed her head to Lady Hayat and gestured toward the flag standing at the center of Pwlanarfyll. "Then it is my honor to welcome you first, Lady Hayat, to the capital of Mishkan." She smiled wider, then, to express her earnesty.
"Please, Lord Yizhaq," Treatise started to walk toward the center of the city, then, following behind a row of caravans heading toward the same direction, "If not a tour of the entire city, for that would take many days, I shall give you a brief one of our route. Consider it a courtesy of the Imperial Guard, and of the General and Emperor. A guest of this city would deserve nothing less."
The wooden wagons they were following seemed to give them a clear path to their destination, the final one of their moss-riden surfaces. Just as the band made their way through the roadway, other paths spilled from its cobblestone sides and made way to other parts of Pwlanarfyll. Signs of many colors and languages emerged into sight as the three made their way through, and the men surrounding every orifice of the capital represented creeds and colors of many cultures. Near the stands many men were speaking to others of a foreign language, dressed as if they had just arrived from Ecara itself.
"Mishkan is a guarded place," Treatise spoke, her gaze wandering to the side, "It secures herself from the many dangerous of Panymium, and so she is happy while others are not. Shyregoed cannot say the same for herself; though she is stern, she is not stern enough, and trusts too easily. The Fellowship lacks judgment; it speaks of justice but lets all in by the strength of a man's ability, not a man's loyalty and character."
Frowning, the Locos glanced back at the aristocrats while they passed an alley darkened by shadows. There, the dewey eyes of urchins, whose skin was caked in layers of dirt, poked out from the sides of walls and tugged on the sleeves of older citizens, begging them for charity. "The Council is similar, and it is why Gadu is in ruins. It lets in even the smallest of children into its walls, and forgets to question-- is that not what Science must do, first, to question? Yet the Council forgets to question what is most important-- character. It forgets justice. The obligation it has to duty. In this era of masks, we must not treat all men as equals, for vicious men roam the lands and seek to manipulate the weak. That is why the Imperial Guard does not falter-- it does what the Emperor cannot do, and is his second pair of eyes, for the Guard must reach into the deepest and darkest corners of Panymium and seeks to eliminate its faults. In this era of masks, we cannot learn to trust, and must question. No matter the circumstances, men must endure the tribulations-- and the burdens-- of loyalty and law."
At the epicenter of the town was another gate, smaller than the one entering into the city but massive nevertheless; it was wooden and framed in iron, while the walls around it were lined in white stone. There was a flag at the top of the center tower, the one Treatise was pointing at earlier-- it was obvious by the man standing below it that the flag was more than two men tall. In front of the three was the line of caravans waiting to gain entrance. With a wave of the guardmens' spears at the front, the gate started to open and the wagons spilled into the entrance. Guards from the inside of the Imperial headquarters spilled out and halted the remaining caravans waiting to enter in their places, waving their spears and flintlocks about while they commanded with booming voices over the sound of grinding metal and stone.
Though Treatise was a Plague General and ranked far above any of the wagons now passing through, the woman did not see fit to continue ahead of the remaining load. Instead, the woman paused when guards from the entrance paused the party for investigation and turned around, lit eyes accentuated by furrowed brows and a stern frown, to face the young Lord once more. "A Plague must be judged under the word of law and justice as equally as a man; to ignore this is the fault of all other factions. If you choose to enter these headquarters, you promise to abide by this," she looked to Lady Hayat, now, her voice lower and even sterner, "And to understand the consequences of misguiding the Imperial Guard will provide with something worse than death itself."
Treatise extended a hand to Lady Hayat, then, the seriousness of her words brushing away the childlike expectancies of an Excito. She would treat the Servos as a lady of law, an adult and soldier like any other, despite her current size, and the relative newness of her existence. She would not ignore the focused nature of the Falcon, nor her wisdom, dutifully shown throughout the days from their travels through Shyregoed.
This was her word, and her final act of scrutiny.
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Posted: Thu Oct 27, 2011 2:48 am
"The honor is mine, Plague-General," Hayat's curtsey was impeccable, lacking any of the childlike nuances that many excito carried in exchange for a polished, graceful movement. Her head dipped politely, though her eyes did not drop, as was proper, remaining instead on the bright blue of the anhelo's. It was hard to say if the gryfalcon had ever smiled, but if it were to happen, it would have been in this moment, the slightest of curves appearing on her pale face in response to Treatise's earnest welcome.
Yizhaq fell into step to the side, and just slightly behind his guide, his curious hazel eyes touching on the details of the diverse city and finding it to his taste. The frozen, harsh land of Shyregoed had never been his chosen home, but that of his father. He found it as cold as the halls of the Fellowship, full of secrets and hidden loyalties.
He thought to that Fellowship, and its passionate leader. She was, perhaps, the only reason for his continued efforts, her driving force and determination inspiring his loyalty, when others faltered. He considered traitors, filling the halls with their pursuit for power instead of honor. He thought of the foolish boy, the scribe who had so selfishly argued excuses for his betrayals.
Treatise spoke, then, as his eyes fell upon the dark faces of urchins, the faces he knew well, and reminded him of Chauhn, of Clurie, of the spark of young Audrey. Her words echoed ones that had been whispered to him, proposed, by the very plague on his shoulder. They were familiar, a comfort that perhaps there was another path in life for him. Another way to pursue truth and a future for them all.
When they came to the gates, they halted, and Treatise turned her scrutinizing, clear gaze upon them. Her words struck a chord in both listeners, for Yizhaq, it was certain, had never viewed the Plagues as anything less than thinking, feeling beings, as capable as their human counterparts.
"My lady Hayat answers for herself, in all matters." He intoned, before the Servos stepped toward the offered hand, her head tilting to regard the Locos.
"My lord is wise, for he knows that Justice is my promise to all, and nothing less. I could no more stray from it as I can my own existence. You have my word."
"I have always known my duty, Plague-General."
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Posted: Mon Nov 07, 2011 6:12 pm
The Plague-General's eyes squinted in earnest pride, the edges of her mouth lifting itself into a smile. Their adventure from the frigidity of Shyregoed into the hearth of Mishkan was no short one, and there was clearly tire in her eyes, for she layed awake for many restless nights considering the boldness of her choice to arrive to the Northern Province. It was, by every means, a gamble in and of itself already to trust Lady Sanguine of Anica and her bold promise that Lord Yizhaq and her Servos were earnest nobility, when it was clear in her speech that the trust she was embellished with at her birth was hindered by the dark nature of politics and broken pacts.
Lords and ladies alike had crossed her trust more than once on her many missions across the Empire, enough proof to Treatise that she would continue to keep a guarded eye on both Lord Yizhaq and Lady Hayat despite her positive judgment of them. Though both of them spoke in what she saw as honesty, word for word, Panymium was not short of good actors, though she continued to smile and allow the elegant Servos to step upon her palm. Treatise allowed herself to grin respectfully at the Servos before, almost instantly, glancing to Yizhaq before her face returned to its normal rigid form, her mouth slacking into a narrow frown.
"Good," Treatise noted, before turning around to face the front gate of the Imperial Guard's headquarters once again. She turned back once more to nod her head toward Lord Yizhaq, glancing toward her side, "Come, Lord Yizhaq. If we are partners, Lady Hayat and you alike shall walk by my side, and we shall talk in truth about the tasks we must complete. What we spoke of during our many days in the carriages mean little compared to the information we'll give you in the headquarters, so we must go briskly."
The brunette started at a brisk pace toward the gates once the remaining caravans-- the last of the ant trail being the most worn out of the lot, their wooden frames cricketing and moaning against the pressure that was consuming their wheels-- made its way to the repair stations, Guardsmen following behind with equally as worn attire. The headquarters themselves was an impressive place from from their very first steps into it, the dark veil of the headquarters' stone gates served its purpose well in concealing what was truly inside-- bright flags adorned the fortified walls much like it did around Pwlanarfyll's city borders, though now it was decorated with the proud flag of Panymiun alongside the Imperial Guard's many allies.
The purple and gold flag of Shyregoed's Fellowship of the Mages and the green and bronze flag of the Council of Sciences stood proudly, side by side to the Imperial Guard's own orange flag. All were placed front-and-center at the top of the headquarters' main building, an unforgiving rectangle made of small peepholes for soldiers and a giant wooden gate at the front, which was at the very end of the straight and narrow open hall that Treatise was quick to walk through. The quarter's cobblestone roads wwere a rich clay red, with each brick laid perfectly on the surface unscathed.
Guards at the front of the gate nodded to one another several feet before Treatise arrived at the entrance of the headquarter building, after which the wooden doors creaked and opened gradually, opening completely only when Treatise finally stepped inside. The carpetry, a bright red to honor Panymium's first Emperor, lay straight as if it were a continuation of the straight path they were following before. "The Imperial Guard's capital base here in Pwlanarfyll is a gaudy one," Treatise mentioned, at long last breaking the silence, her eyes flicking around the corners of the stationary. "Its paths lay straight and a child could strategize this base's ultimate defeat. The toughest Guardsmen are stationed in Ashton, where the Imperial Guard truly rests, but that is not a visit fit for our purposes now."
At the center of the building was a crossroads of sorts that led to four different areas-- north, towards the pedestal, which resembled a churche's-- south, which faced the very exit that they had just entered from, and east and west, two narrow and long halls whose impressively high ceilings lay open to let in the sunlight. Treatise muttered quiet thanks to Panyma, her free palm enclosing her heart, before she made way towards the western hall. It was not a long walk before Treatise stopped at their final destination, the place they had travelled long hard hard for, and yet it looked like nothing more than a wooden gate that was less impressive than the last one they had walked through.
Guardsmen were not present, and Treatise turned her glance to Yizhaq, offering Hayat an easy leave to the Lord's shoulder, before placing her hands on both knobs of the gates. "Of course, you are already aware of our purposes, and how important it must be, which is why it hurts me now that no Guardsmen are present to protect something as important as this-- but welcome." Treatise pushed her arm's force against the knobs, her wrists locked in place due to the impresisve weight of them, until the gates started to swing open by their own volition.
Treatise stared into the room, a candlelit place filled with parchment upon parchment attached to the walls, with several well-dressed men and women with stark black ribbons marked with opalescent orbs to their right shoulder-- the mark of the Empire's very own Intelligence-- and bowed her head to the Lord. "Welcome, Lord Yizhaq, to the bridging gate to all you must know about the House of Obscuvos."
One of the men placed at the farthest corner of the room, adorned with the black string himself and stark in both body and face, turned his attention away from the map in his hand and at Lord Yizhaq, who to him was standing quite literally at the horizon of light. He noticed the Plague-General next to him and, after clearing his breath by coughing bluntly into his sleeve, sniffled and muttered, "Showy entrance, but let us get started. Salutations, Mister Yizhaq, and do not expect to be called a Lord within these walls."
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Posted: Thu Dec 08, 2011 12:17 am
"Yes, you are right, of course. There is precious little time to waste on niceties, these days." Which was a pity, really, because Yizhaq was, indeed, a man of niceties. A cup of tea and a discussion of literature with his wife was a preferred way to spend his afternoons.
There was a tightening of his jaw at the thought, of her, that darkened his smooth face. It was, however, fleeting, as they continued their journey through the gates of Pwlanarfyll's headquarters, his pale eyes catching instantly on the familiar symbols.
The whole city was designed as a beautiful machine, from the red path, to the imposing structures, to the people that called it home. It was much like the military itself, with each individual piece playing a vital, and specific, role. It was appealing in the way that the distant, chaotic, and complicated Fellowship was not.
"Ashton," he repeated as Treatise described the area they walked through, noting the location, and her perceived affection for the place, for later examination.
Hayat's gaze found itself on the Plague-General more often than not, tilting her head at the curious gesture of allegiance, habitual yet hallowed, when Treatise sent her thanks to her patron.
They arrived soon at a gate, one elegant in its plainness, and the excito found herself returned to her grimm, the weight of Treatise's words falling on them as heavily as the slow swing of the gates.
It was a treasure-trove, to those that spent much of their time in a study, pouring over books both fact and fiction, the notes left behind by ancestors and colleagues. Both the falcon and her grimm found intrigue in the space, and soon enough, they were hailed.
The young lord bowed his head in greeting, good-natured humor briefly coloring his tone as he responded. "Might you do away with 'mister,' as well, sir? I feel I shall quickly become nothing more than a schoolboy, when in the company of the Panymium's Intelligence."
Any noble worth their name would recognize the subtle signs of the Emperor's 'secret' branch of the military.
Stepping further into the room, Yizhaq forced his gaze from the multitude of maps and parchment that adorned the walls to the man who had addressed him. "How may I be of service?"
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Posted: Sun Jan 29, 2012 4:43 am
"Mm," the Intel soldier denoted, staring frankly at the Lord, "A smart one. Already, we see an improvement from the last."
Treatise short a sour glare at the man, who, without need for another cue, resumed his duties. Though the mannerisms of this man seemed antique, deft hands sliding through pieces of paper, his hair was not streaked with gray nor was his mouth lined with wrinkles. The others around him seemed a similar way, but it was obvious that the young man that first greeted Lord Yizhaq was the catalyst to the slowly unwinding clockwork machine that was this unfortunately but efficient small division. Within the seconds that it took to procure paperwork, from the otherwise gruff head Intel to the end where a bleak-faced woman slid a paper near the edge of the table, Treatise had only gotten the time to pull up a seat for the green-eyed lord.
"My name," he sits down at the edge, gesturing towards the lifted seat next to Lord Yizhaq, "Is Lockheed. These are my cohorts--" he points from his left side and makes is way full circle, "Fugue, March, Cadence, Mezzo, Reed, Madrigal, and Allegra, at the end beside you. The Plague General, I trust, has already made our intents and purposes clear, so I shall go ahead and skip the introductions for time's sake. We're a pathetically tiny division in the Empire's vast Imperial Guard that handles resistance against offending actions made by the House of Obscuvos. The document just handed to you should detail briefly what you should expect while working closely with this division-- in fact, it's something of an enunciation, but you will not be enunciated."
"I would argue that the last few statements were quite obvious anyways, Mr. Lockheed," Allegra piped in, squirming in her seat, "If the Plague General had done a thorough enough job already. You see--" Though Allegra continues without interruption, a clear expression of calm-faced shock smooths over Lockheed's features, "This division is one of the few left in Mishkan, we're afraid, for handling such a strange task. We are organized, but strung together by threads that are easily tangled, so it's best to keep a good balance of your surroundings, which is to say-- this division is best kept secret. You see, this division is something of an authorized breach of Panymium's law." The brunette looks up at the Plague General, "And the Imperial Guard is... quite aware, which is why it's such a strange thing for the Plague General to be here today, in the flesh."
"Any political act directed only at the House of Obscuvos would account for religious prosecution," Treatise replied, resting an arm against the top of Lord Yizhaq's chair, "The Obscuvians have a religious sanction, just as any other sect of Panymisian would. Which is why, of course, we convict not only Obscuvianism in this division, but numerous others. The House itself has gained political affluence in the Empire so much that any action otherwise would behest at least a fourth of the Audience; the Cyphus Family, if they could hear but a single word that this division practices religious persecution, might impose further restrictions on the Imperial Guard's power. Remember this well, Lord-- Yizhaq, once you are on patrol. You must not alleviate your status to one of pure religious discrimination, lest you want to dither your efforts."
"...And onto your purpose. Your mission is a vague one, but it will be one primarily of investigation-- to further our cultural records and preserve the nature of the House of Obscuvos within our texts. This is what will be told to the Audience upon the review of our status, of course-- our true objective is one of proof. The Empire seeks evidence that the House of Obscuvos is more than a religious sect in order for this division to further its efforts in quelling those riots in the East, which we predict were successful in part by the House. Your actions, Yizhaq, and even yours--" Lockheed glances at Hayat, "--Will now represent the heart and mind of the Imperial Guard, and every step you take shall account for the judgment placed upon thousands of soldiers. This means you have the permission to kill-- but only under threat of attack. This means you have the permission to reference yourself as Guardsman, in battle, parlay, or otherwise."
Lockheed pauses, studying the lord's face. "I suspect that you come here under the guidance of other motivations, and I will tell you now, to not let yourself be led along by your emotions. The House of Obscuvos in the eyes of many seem to be corrupt, but the organization itself is not a petty one. Ask yourself-- would unprecedented evil find itself successfully bedded in the hearts of hundreds of thousands of Panymese, and into the stages of the Audience? I've had numerous men come to me dozens of times before, looking to find knowledge of the House of Obscuvos, fall underneath the cusp of their own anger. Do this division a favor--" he leans forward, brows furrowed, "Become an exception."
Moments later of staring, Lockheed straightens in his seat and brushes his hair back. "The warnings are done with-- I highly suggest you ask as many questions as you can, now. Time is of the essence."
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Posted: Tue Feb 07, 2012 4:22 am
The last.
Yizhaq could feel Hayat's stillness, causing his own mind to race for a deeper meaning. Ah. The last would be dead, then, for one did not simply fall into disgrace from such a post. No, such a breach in security would be intolerable.
Very well, then.
His gaze fell briefly to the paper before him, though pale eyes shifted back up after a moment, as a brunette interjected, his brows raising slightly. "I appreciate your directness, madame."
He cleared his throat then, as Treatise began to speak, automatically falling silent at the sound of her strong, clear voice. It was clear then, that he had been selected for myriad reasons. His poise, experience in social situations, capability, loyalty, and by no small measure his status as nobility had all led to this.
"This," the man paused, his young face etched with lines far too deep as he considered the cost of what they asked. His nation, or his vengeance, for the Fellowship made no secret of its animosity for the cult. "I am capable of." In fact, it had happened time, and time again. Obscuvianism had crept its way into the houses of the wealthy, a fanciful religion that many took comfort in, rather than face the harsh state of Panymium's reality.
"I have entertained more cultists than I have cared to," He smiled than, and it reached his eyes, "and I am sure I will dine with many more." In fact, Yizhaq's saving grace was that any action he had taken against the cult had been, at best, reactionary. There was no true, acknowledged tie between the assaults upon his estate and the House of Obscuvos. Only behind locked doors, to the Lady Estratus and her Sword, to the Lady Sanguine, had his true feelings been voiced, and even then, his aristocratic tongue was held in check.
"I am first a servant of this land, before any other duty, and you can be certain, Mr. Lockheed, that I have never been one to misplace my sense of obligation." If only they knew just how true that statement was. Yizhaq knew no other life, than that of dedication.
"Tell me," His gaze shifted then, to Treatise over his shoulder, "Who am I to report to?" For it was clear that not many would know the true nature of his assignments.
As he looks again to the document on the table, Hayat speaks, her cool, quiet tone moving far beyond the shoulder of her Grimm. "Mr. Lockheed," Her gaze sweeps the assembled humans, "I am to be held to the same account as my lord, a standard to which I do not object, and yet, I see no plagues amongst you." While not phrased as a question, one lingers in the air regardless.
The Plague General, as esteemed as she may have been, was not a true part of this division, and it was, at best, curious that there lacked even a Locos in their midst.
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Posted: Sat Feb 11, 2012 4:51 am
Lockheed cleared his throat and leaned back in his hair, as if to redirect attention towards him and away from the Plague General once more. Allegra and the rest of the Intelligence workers looked towards him, and Treatise-- who glanced over at Hayat after she poised such a peculiar question-- looked towards him as well, happening to seem more confused than she was indignant nor prying.
"You shall report to the Intelligence stationed here directly, and to no one else. The Plague General was granted permission to deliver you here, and her purposes have been met, and she can remain in this meeting for its entire duration shall she be wlling. One thing to understand is that the Intelligence is quite a different specialty than the Imperial Guard's typical routine, Yizhaq."
"The information shall be relayed to the General?" Treatise clasped her hands and rest them on the table surface.
"Shall he request it, but the records shall stay strictly here otherwise, and to other branches of Intelligence scattered around different parts of Panymium. Pwlanarfyll's is the most important one. Remember that." Lockheed straightened in his seat and cleared his throat, his head tilted downwards to better fully face the Servos rested on the Lord's shoulder.
"The answer is simple. The Intelligence requires several decades of training in order to complete its tasks undyingly, and those admitted at an early age have indentured their servitude to the Guard for life, and straying beyond their duties would be considered treason. The vast amount of information held in the Intelligence's records, and the studies required to maintain an accurate summation of our findings in our heads, so not something a Plague only as old as maybe 12 years old could contain."
Fugue, an older man seated to the side of Allegra, smiled at Lady Hayat. "You must also realize that we are but a small fraction of the Imperial Guard's entire Intelligence. I am sure the Plague General has a few Plagues under her wing that wish to specialize in this division, but the laws the Empire have put in place make it quite tricky for her to place men where she would like them. Am I right, Plague General?"
"Yes," she replied, exasperated, "You speak truthfully."
"Right, then. Mister bin Saleh, Miss bin Saleh-- any more queries more relevant to your mission at hand?" Lockheed asked, dryly, his fingers rapping against the table. "We've papers pertaining to the House, but none that are far too spectacularly endowed in the field of Plagueology."
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Posted: Fri Mar 02, 2012 1:57 am
"Understood," the noble responded, somewhat dryly, as his pale gaze fell back to the papers before him, leaving Hayat to collect her answer.
She did so with poise, nodding as the answer was both open and complete, and therefore acceptable.
"Thank you." The excito's version of a smile [as expressions on the inhuman creatures were really no more than a comfort to humankind] was offered to Fugue, for his further input, though the Plague General's confirmation made the curve of her mouth grow further.
"I should like a further list," Yizhaq interjected, "Should it be feasible, of the known sympathizers within the nobility. It would do well to study such a thing, in advance of my next social engagements. I have my own suspicions and confirmations, but I would be naive to assume there are not many that I've never had cause to consider."
He stood then, brows raising slightly. "Beyond that, my questions are at a close."
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Posted: Sat Mar 03, 2012 2:54 am
"Very well. Allegra, I believe you have the list of suspects?" Lockheed stood preemptively from his seat, but the rest of the Intelligence remained guarded in their spots, their fingers steepled in caution while they rifled through an indeterminable number of papers and miscellany. When young Allegra pulled up a file and nodded shortly thereafter, her fellow workers ceased their search and tentatively folded their hands over the tabletop, waiting.
Allegra unravelled the long roll of parchment and sifted through the words herself before rolling it up again and handing it to the lord and lady Yizhaq. "Ah, of course," she picked two or three more wrapped letters and handed them down the table in a messy bundle (which Fugue tidied up before it landed in the two nobles' hands), "That is the remainder of the list. We have recorded them by region, and by susceptibility, and have crossed out those who have disappeared or have died. It's quite a long list, perhaps a couple hundred."
"My thanks, Miss Allegra." Allegra looked to Treatise and nodded, offering but a small grin and a perk of her cheeks. The Intelligence officer smiled wider in return to the look of calm mirth upon Hayat's features, as well, and it was only when Lockheed coughed into his knuckles that she rose alongside her Imperial Guard compatriates, straightening out the furls that formed around her bothersome sleeves.
The spectacled Lockheed inspected the room, which fell to silence, then walked around the table to greet Yizhaq and the Plague General face to face. Treatise rose, and bowed to Yizhaq in formality. "Best of luck to you, Lord Yizhaq, and shall you remember these faces well. We are you allies, indebted equally to the Empire."
Lockheed, strangely, nodded in agreement to the Plague General's words, and unfolded his hands from behind his back. He offered a hand to Lord Yizhaq and greeted him at last not with contemplation, but with a firm and sure handshake. "I suppose formalities are in need for lasting effect, then. Do not fail us, Lord Yizhaq, and we shall not fail you."
The rest of the Intelligence bowed. Treatise pushed open the hefty doorway and light spilled into the premise, which earned something of a sour scowl from Lockheed. Though the conclusion of their meeting was not warm in the least, neither was there looks of foreboding or malicious intent upon the Intelligences' many faces. The Plague General bowed once more, waited for Lord Yizhaq and his lady to take leave, before trailing off after him.
They walked the same way they had gone, and right as the Intelligence's doors squeezed close, Treatise smiled firmly.
"Onto greater business, then."
END
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