NationStates Jolt Archive

It was a sad day, but not only because I was standing outside the Tower of Faythe on my last cigarette, but because she died. People from nations couldn’t understand the connection she had formed between us and herself. Even those born with passing generations were born with it. And yet, she was so far away, so far above us, that it could never be more than simply knowing that she existed. How that kept us going for so long. Strange; there wasn’t a person on this world that hated her. Not one. That is why today, we all are wearing white. There is not a single person wearing another color other than the sacred of our land. Even the petals which fall from higher buildings are not in celebration, but in sacrifice and lament. How many of our dead rested upon her shoulders for so long? How many souls did she carry all by herself, and still managed to stand? She was alive before the times of our nation’s history. This land she built with her own hands. I hope her daughter can become close to the level as what she had done.

I looked down at my watch. I had time and had no where to go. There was no work today, and while people walked around the streets, everyone was quiet. No one said a word. It had an eerie feeling to it. Rukia blinked a few times. So it really had happened? Ravelyn Shentavo had been killed. There wasn't a trace of her essence left according to the Empress. Rukia took one last drag from her cigarette, and pushed away her dark straight hair from her amber-colored eyes.

Armsmaster's Dwelling, Shadowholme, Stronghold of the Rys-Mak'anrae Line. Counter-Earth.

"You're certain, then?"

Headshake, negative, "No. That is merely what has been released -- with such an entity, nothing is certain."

He ran a hand through his hair -- brown, longer that it perhaps should have been, ought to have been, to be fully in accordance with doctrine, but he'd written the damn doctrine however long ago, and he could damn-well make exceptions when he felt like it.

"I see. Thank you, Ras."

Ras Kos-Vydanesh nodded, pulled the hood of his cloak up over his head, and left, leaving behind...

Leaving behind one Rae'l Rys-Mak'anrae, called 'The Shadowdeath,' recently returned to the position of Armsmaster of the Rys-Mak'anrae line, having undergone extensive and significant penance for his misdeeds and still precarious in that position...

Who should be focusing on securing his position, on consolidating his influence within the Line, on things of actual significance, especially in this trying time of resurgent Shadow activity, but found himself unable. Found himself distracted by...

By something that he had no real reason to care about, save nostalgia.

"Damnit."

He surged to his feet, beginning to pace.

"Why should I care if she died or not? It was a job, it..."

He blinked.

"Oh. Yes. That would...what the...didn't...wha?"

He shook his head, attempting to clear his thoughts, then finally diverted them elsewhere, back to the why.

"So she died. So what? I've got better things to do..."

He found himself standing before the mirror, looked carefully at his own reflection, then tossed his hand towards the mirror, as if throwing something. The image in the mirror changed -- the image was still him, but the eyes were different, pools of molten silver giving off a light of their very own. Rae'l could almost feel the heat on his face.

He glared at the image, "Why do I care? Why do you care?"

The image grinned, characteristically silent, the bastard.

"So, what? You want me to go pay my respects or some-such bollocks?"

The grin widened. Rae'l swore at length.

"Fine. Fine, I'll go. But anything that goes wrong because I'm there and not here is on -you,- glow-boy."

The image vanished, and Rae'l felt a warmth surge through his body. A voice, deep and echoing, the sort of voice you'd imagine a primordial force had...spoke.

"Then they'll deal with us when you return."

Rae'l growled. His relationship with...what...his father? Himself?...was a complicated one. It wasn't supposed to be like this -- Rae'l Rys-Mak'anrae wasn't really supposed to exist. Was just supposed to be a cover-name for the Guardian who went by the name 'Korael.' Who had founded the Rys-Mak'anrae line under the name 'Kor,' and who had pinged through various identities down the years until it had arrived in the personage of Rae'l...and who had somehow, someway, forgotten what he, what it, was.

Which shouldn't have been possible. You didn't just friggin' forget you were kajillion years old and remembered what the universe looked like before it was actually the universe. Forgetting was for mere mortals and other, lesser things.

Of course, it was blatantly obvious to him that he wasn't an unimaginably powerful entity of impeccable vintage. Similarly, the other Guardians were also lacking in overt god-like powers...they didn't just wave things into existence, and they lived as men. So, why?

A voice, not that impressive voice that Korael used for dramatic lines, but the voice that sounded uncannily like his own that he used for regular discussion, said...

"Because we are Guardians. It is our duty to Guard, not to rule. Those few who are Of us, our Sentinel-Knights, share our duty. Yet..."

Rae'l grumbled, throwing open his closet and stripping out of his 'office clothes.'

"Yet, what?"

Korael sighed, "Our duty has never changed -- we have always been Guardians. When the time came that we were no longer needed, when things grew beyond capacity at the time, we had to make a choice. That choice was whether to accept godhead or not, and we chose not. Instead of growing in power, we narrowed our responsibilities -- this world, this people. Yet, we remember our original purpose, and sometimes..."

Rae'l spat as he dressed, the plain black clothing of a Sentinel-Knight suited him well, tight in all the right places, and his figure did not need looseness in others.

"Sometimes we are needed on a larger scale."

Rae'l snorted, "So The Powers that Be decided that you should make yourself useful for once?"

Korael sighed, frustrated, "That is possible. We have been over this, Rae'l."

Rae'l waved his hand dismissively, "Yeah, yeah, nothing is certain, event waves, causality, Heisenberg, probability...it doesn't change the fact that you're dragging me away from my duty on the off-chance that you might have to do something because some chick who employed me to kill someone once bit it. Why can't I remember how that turned out?"

Korael 'exhaled' in exasperation, "Because you don't have /my/ memories, Rae'l. We are distinct, you know? When I am, you are not. When you are, I am..."

Rae'l laughed, "A voice in my head? Proof that I'm crazy?"

Korael chuckled, "We're all crazy, Rae'l. Sanity is for the weak."

Rae'l blinked, "That sounds like a quote."

Nothing. Typical.

"Okay, fine. Should I bring anything special?"

Korael made a pensive noise, "Oh, no...I don't suppose you'll be there long."

He shrugged, attaching the various equipment belts with their straps and their buckles with the ease of practice. The cloak, worn habitually over one shoulder. The kitback. The attire of a Sentinel-Knight.

Thus attired, he carefully tied his hair back with a black ribbon, checked, one last time, that his weapons were in the exact proper places, and strode from his dwelling.

None would dare stop him, when he moved like this -- he was Armsmaster of Shadowholme. He was Rae'l Rys-Mak'anrae, and his actions were his own...

--
Wherever

Rae'l reined in Swiftly-Striking-Death, the Greater Tarn dropping into a gentle dive -- gentle in comparison to the terrifying speeds of a true stoop -- and touching down with remarkable precision and seemingly little effort.

Rae'l dismounted, then fed Swifty a bit of beef and willed his mount to return from whence he had come. The Greater-Tarn chirped in understanding, then waited for Rae'l to retreat a safe distance before lifting himself into the air, rapidly vanishing into the distance.

Rae'l no longer felt the spike of alone-ness that came from separation with his Greater Tarn. Since his...incident...he had become seemingly immune to such things, which was worrisome on one level and useful on another.

He looked about him, realizing, no...he had known prior to landing, but such was...bleh. Aware that he hadn't any real clue as to where, exactly, he was. Which was just delightful, but things stopped making sense when he started hearing voices...

"I'm not just a voice."

"You keep saying that. What now?"

"We'll see."

"Won-der-ful."

[do I know you? =) Welcome. You remind me of someone in your writing style.]


IC:

Rukia finished her cigarette and watched as a strange man came her way. People stopped to stare as he walked. He was a foreigner, it would seem, because he did not wear the colors of remorse. Did he even know how much Ravelyn Shentavo meant to this nation? How much her impression was carved into the very land they stood on over millennia? Ravelyn Shentavo was one of the four seraphim; the seraphim of Death. Only her closest friends called her by her real name, Azrael. Whatever had killed her must have been pretty damn powerful. Many had failed time and time again, but it was clear this time that she was not coming back. Her life force had vanished completely according to the new empress, Charmaine Shentavo; one of Ravelyn’s daughters. They were the only vampire clan in the nation, however with the Mistress’ death, she wondered if they would have trouble again. Rukia herself was human and had been human from the time of her birth. She was particularly sensitive, however, to supernatural phenomena, and worked as a psychic. Not a fake; but one with the actual gift of premonition.

She stared at the man; something was off about him. She blinked several times before walking towards him.

"You there," she said calling out to him. If no one else was going to say anything she was. "Why aren't you wearing white?"

(We've RPed a few times, I think, though the one that is most pertinent is - http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=12080646&postcount=109 Nation names change, but I'm still the same.)

Rae'l stopped, considering the woman who challenged him -- there was a glint to his eyes, a metallic flavor to his blue-steel that had been missing the last time he was in this...area. It was the only outward indication of the changes that he had undergone, of the discoveries that he had made...

Of the things that had taken up residence in his head...

"Is it snowing? No? Why would I wear a color other than that to which I am accustomed if there is no obvious reason for it. I am not getting married, I am not about to lynch a minority."

People stopped to stare. Rukia nearly bubbled over with anger. This man had no respect for her of all people. Did he not notice what everyone else was wearing? Couldn't he feel the earth itself tremble, unsure of what to do in her absence.

"Ravelyn Shentavo is dead," Rukia said strongly. She straightened up with resolve. "In this nation, when someone dies you wear white...when someone close to you dies, you wear lilies." Nearly all of the people who walked by had some form of white flower with them. It was no surprise floral boutiques would be sold out. "And upon her death, you show great disrespect in not following the custom."

Rae'l blinked, once.

"I am sorry, I did not know."

His head twitched in an odd manner and the photo-reactive cells in the long cloak he wore so -- that it covered roughly half of his body, only the left shoulder, leaving the right, behind which his sword and carbine were attached to his kitback, bare -- changed to an off-white color, a generic 'snow camouflage' pattern.

"I did not know Miss Ravelyn well, but I had the...fortune of encountering her once, an experience that I am not soon to forget."

Though not for the reasons that one would think...

"I most certainly do not intend disrespect to her memory."

Rukia herself had never met Ravelyn Shentavo personally. She had seen her though, from a distance; raven haired with brilliant red eyes and dark wings. Her daughter was quite different, taking more after Quissera than anyone else. Rukia gazed at the man intently. If there was something he was up to there was nothing she could do about it. She loosened up a bit. So this man had actually met the legend.

"Where did you meet?" Rukia questioned in a kinder tone. "Was it during the wars?"

He considered that, for a moment -- his knowledge of the history of this nation was...incomplete. The reference to 'the wars' was unfamiliar to him, in this sense.

"I am not certain of the exact 'wars' to which you refer, but it was in the aftermath of such a thing, if I recall correctly. I'm...not entirely certain that I am free to share specific details -- there is a certain confidentiality between client and contractor which I am honor-bound to respect."

He smiled, then, remembering what he dared...

"Client and contractor?!" Rukia exclaimed. "What exactly do you mean?" She slipped on a glove from her pocket onto her right hand. I can force it out of you if you give me no choice. Her amber eyes sparkled.

"Were you one of the people sent to kill her? Or did you work with her. They are two very different things, sir." The girl exclaimed. He was a head taller than her. There wasn't much she could do physically. She sensed that he was a fighter, but couldn't really tell whose side he was on.

Rae'l frowned, "I do not make a habit of revealing such information without specific authorization by the client in question -- that is standard policy for my...organization. It is how we maintain our...edge."

He thought for a moment, "I suppose it would be legitimate to say that I was not working against Miss Ravelyn during my time here. You may, of course, draw from that what you will."

"So why are you here?" she questioned. She was in no position to be asking these questions, but the man was answering them. She would try her luck. This man did not know who she was. How could he know she was just a psychic? She smiled inwardly to herself.

"Why am I here? Yes, I suppose that would be the question, wouldn't it..."

Rae'l paused, stroking his chin, projecting an image of thinking that was all the easier to project because that was exactly what he was doing.

"I am not certain of the answer."

Or, at least, he thought, I am not certain of an answer that I can actually speak about.

"I'm somewhat curious as to why you ask. With such a great national tragedy to mourn for, it seems somewhat unpolitical to be seen in public doing anything else."

His expression made his opinion of politics -- not at all positive -- clear. Though whether or not it was genuine was impossible to ascertain, his thoughts were his own and he was a supremely skilled actor. To say that he had had plenty of practice was something like saying that universe was large.