Outside The Walls

[Dr. Rotiart]

Quiet were the walls of Alexandria, the buzzing, busy, bountiful population walking about their manners of trade in a solemn quiet, war ravaging their voices shut. The sun was bright, and beams of warmth shone down on the dirt that scatter the floor, baking it in a midday heat. Darkness was cast from high rise towers dotted along the great stone defences, the stations guarding those inside with a patriotic vigour, yet shadowing the outsiders in a shunted chill. It was an air of ambiguous tension, the smiles on the people forced by the sword, yet not of their own people; optimism was mandated to create a sense of hope, that seemed to be smoked away with each passing fiery day.

Stepping in from the sunlit distance was a 3 legged human, stabilising itself with every other step with a block ebony stick, the silver, globe headed hilt and highly polished frame winking in the brightness. As closer he got to the towering walls, shadows cooling his exhausted demeanour, the hand that swept the light from his face collapsed down to his side, an exasperated sigh of disappointment lingering on his dry lips. Wry they soon became to see the labourers toiling the fields, the guards tediously protecting high stone walls, and the tradesmen barking off swindlers and stealers. Life of the common man, he thought.

Delving into his inner jacket pocket, a small black, leather bound book was removed from one of the pockets, brought out into the sunlight for eyes to see. He recklessly flickered through the first bundle of coiled and rusted pages, discarding their information for further knowledge. Then, there. His finger slammed onto a blank page, save a single line of ineligible scribbles. The wryness wiped away from his lips as fast as the blinding light. This was the right place. This would be the first meeting. The first step into a new voyage.

But as the first step for any man was a giant leap for all mankind in a new, explorative journey, there were always set-backs. Before the little book could be tucked away for safe keepings again, an old, somewhat unwelcome voice sang its endearing, dry tune in our humans ears.

“Michael! Hey Michael! You’re not actually going through with this.. Are you?” The squeaky, innocent little voice was swamped with insincere concern, the possessor of such charming lexis nowhere to be found. Though Michael new it would be pointless to find them, and even more pointless to elucidate his own actions. The sweaty brows over his narrowed eyes knitted together in a perturbed frown, and his fingers clenched around the silver globe beneath them, the shiny glint hidden under a palm of anger.

“Michael! I know you don’t like me being there.. So don’t make me come down! Just gimme a tiny, little, squeaky, mini answer, and you can be about your business!” The voice squealed in delight of the man’s plighting anger, playing upon the increasingly tense and anxious deportment that stood solely, rather precariously, in the middle of nowhere. The stone walls were still a fair few yards away, and the busy, bustling crowds too swamped in their own business. Michael had all the time in the world for his meeting.. Yet could not tolerate a single second of it to be spent conversing with this sardonic wench.

“I’ll do what I want. I need to talk with them..” His free hand raises up, shaking in perturbed defiance, finger extending to the walls. “And time is an object I have to follow. So your petty and diseased games, full of lexis pregnant with spite, are not needed nor welcomed.”

“That hurt Michael.. Now who’s using words to hurt people!” A gentle giggle erupted during the retort; ringing rampantly and reviling the already frustrated mind. It was soaked in sarcasm, just wanting a reaction to scream out against it, yet it would seem, as Michael sighed quiet defeat, his tense body relaxed, shoulders draping down into a lighter comfort, and tone of voice a little more welcome. He was, in fact, completely at ease.

“Sorry. But I still want to go meet with the people in here. They know not of their own thoughts, nor the consequences of their actions.. In the long run anyway.” It was of a strange, indoctrinated tone his newly found stature, one that was followed by the beginning of a casual, hardly unaided saunter towards the front guardhouse.

“Hm. Very well..” And no more was heard from the squeaky voiced, now acquiescent creature. Michael Rotiart was free from it, for now, and how, he did not know. His book of his journey would continue inside the walls of Alexandria, and begin with no other words needed than the pleasant hello to passing travellers.

(I assume I don’t need guards permission, if so, I’ll edit this to include the very brief conversation and acceptance into the city)

[Raphael Augustus]

Raphael road proud, on the back of the farms wagon, he was to lazy to walk to Alexandria, the damn city was far to out of the way for him. But he needed to keep in contact with his sources, one in particular had some "intesting" information that he thought the vampire prince wanted to hear. Raphael would be the one to descern this, but then again, not like he had anything else to do with his time.

He had recently traveled to the city of Babylon and meet with Raven Von Winter, though he was more than a little surprised to find ex-Emperor Alexander there. Of whom was suppose to be dead, not that Raphael cared much for Sobek itself. He found the anthro's to be animals to big for their britches. One of those goody-goody races, like the blasted elves. He shook his head with a smile, and watched as the giant city loomed closer to him. He made sure to make sure his blades were close, and then felt his money pouch to make sure it was close to his chest.

As the wagon pulled even closer, he caught the sight of a strange old man seemingly talking to himself. Or if he was talking to a creature, Raphael couldn't see it, or didn't want. Crazy people were far more enjoyable than sane ones. As he came closer, he rolled off the wagon, making sure to tuck his legs to his chest. He then sprung up, quickly getting to his feet. His own cloak seemed to flash about in the breeze and his own quick movements.

Finally he came up beside the man, the other man looked more than a little grumpy, and was doubtedly deep in his thoughts. A deep thinking, insane man, most interesting, he laughed lightly into his hand. Finally he clasped both behind his back, and walked closer to the man. Upon clearing his throat he spoke. "Greetings friend, I see you are entering Alexandria. Very dangerous place since the ex-Emperor was killed, and he was most certainly killed." Raphael said with a wink. "I assume you know where you are going, you seem more than a little lost."

Raphael's white hair seemed to keep calm, even in the breeze, and his steps were constant, much like that of a military soldier. But his voice was like a comforting melody, slightly deep, though not hurtfully so. His eyes, however, showed brilliance behind them, though whether it was dark and twisted, or just rather cunning, that was unknown, he never showed his full hand.

[Dr. Rotiart]

The afternoon dryness had already began to arrive as the breezy chill of a dying day swept along Michael’s spine. Whether this was the changing weather, though few minutes passed since in the shunned, desolate outlands, and now in the warmth if a bustling town, yet ebbing with a chill, was unknown by the doctor. An air of comfort did sweep over his now calm demeanour as the walls remained behind, and a guard in many corners of the market watched warily with weary eyes.

Then a real pall gloominess struck his composure. Conversation, yet with a man not first on the list, not the name scribbled hastily on the first new page, and not even in the subsequent followings. Dryness spat over his partially parted lips, and crooked his neck became as his visage turned to the gracious Raphael and his words of alleviation. That gentle gaze flared, once so tranquil and bereft of tumult, turning toward a bloody backlash. The knitted brows returned, and bitterly, his tongue rolled over his mouth, preparing a heart shuddered response.

“Good sir.. You patronise me with your hasty remarks, targeting the frail, richly dressed man with the third leg, as thousands and thousands of rancorous peasants flock to and fro the city gates. It is predators like you, that these people have to fear in this city of abhorrent dangers.” Michael’s response was venomous as it was pure at the heart, yet not without an inflicting culmination. His saunter turned into a crippled, rickety stutter, hoping for increased haste away from the dull conversation.

“I know where I’m going, but do you? The pits of hell and the fiery realms of sin will be your home with such machiavellian intentions, you slimy sycophantic, smarmy squire.” His words continued to be rank with insults, though with no clear intention to inspire violence. Clearly, the lexis involved would retort the blade more often than not, yet there was clear intonation that confidence was the crippled man’s shield, and a sharp tongue was his sword. His eyes dimmed shut in quiet anger, contact never made or broken with Raphael, ebony walking stick shunting itself into the gravel below with each continuing step forward.

[Raphael Augustus]

Raphael himself burst into laughter, having to stop to catch his breath. Of course while he was catching his breath, he came to realize he didn't breath in the first place, which of course caused a new wave of laughter at his old human thoughts. He straitened himself, and quickly jogged up to the old man again, looking at him.

Raphael then turned, so that he was walking backwards. His eyes showing the humor that he had previously just heard. He was used to that sort of rants from every race, though generally it took longer for ones to come to that conclusion, generally after they found out he was a vampire. Many like Raphael tended to take it insultingly, Raphael took it as a compliment, meant he was doing something right.

"You misunderstood me, my good man. I meant no offense, only meant I wished for some companionship into the city. And you looked like the type who isn't scared of even an angry dragon." Raphael pondered that for a moment, remembering he truly had fought a dragon, and won. He chuckled to himself about that.

"And seeing I know you won't answer, I will ask anyways." He started with his normal, jackass attitude. He tended not to care what people thought of his race, or even his characteristics. Who he was, was of no concern, but who he pretended to be was of high importance. Weakness was not something he enjoyed. Right, back to the man at hand. "So what are you doing in a city such as this? Seems a little odd for a, mage perhaps?" He smiled again, still walking backwards.

[Dr. Rotiart]

Further into the city did Michael and this new companion travel, the breeze burning our protagonists spine in a swift snap of frostbite. It was, however, beaming with sunlight in the middle of the forum, parasitic tradesmen swindling their stolen goods, hasty to pass on the marking of blame to the poor purchaser of such goods. Michael’s eyes ignored that of Raphael’s, scolded at his continually condescending grace, and skirted around at the worker men of the city. The palace was close, so it was clear that the density of the population would dirtily inflate, so he reasoned. An incredible bitterness crossed the bristles of his nose, causing him to stop and scoff into his own hand, and snap back into the realisation that this creature was still pursuing him.

He coughed again, the slimy hand slid onto his dirty jacket, wiping away the dirt, and, in the first meeting of eye contact, the expression of disgust only grew. The palace was in a clearer sight than before, but a few minutes travelling to reach the superior classes of the land. Soon, the less than amiable smell of exotic goods, rancorous bodily sweat, and a lingering of animal dung would be vanquished. It was right, he thought silently. I wasn’t sure about this.. A soft sigh touched his lips, and the words that dawdled out from that keen tongue were none the less charming.

“Quick to assume again with a soft tongue, aren’t we, sir? Don’t you, a man with such a valorous and vivified personality, have somewhere to be elsewhere than I?” It was an exasperated tone, hoping to culminate the conversation, where the wish was once again the father of the thought. His fiery eyes scanned over Raphael, a man of clear distinguished heritage, separate from the grubby crowds, was a clear judgment. A smile curled upon his visage, sly, wry, full of meaning. He didn’t have to wait for a response to such questions, the answer was already clear.

“Keep walking then, squire. I’ll bring up the rear. Your own self-interested demeanour can bereft me of its charm once we reach the guards. Doing such acts myself would..” He tailed off into his own thoughts, which, eyes, raising to the sky, and feet beginning to shuffle through the dirt and toward the palace, seemed like nothing. Then, with a sudden break of his sardonic tone, beginning with a sincere smile, he gestured for Raphael to lead the way, fingers flicking the air lightly as the index pointed towards their destination. Content filled his old, wrinkled eyes, as if the poorest man of the poorest lands were just given his weekly bread; nothing could have satisfied the situation more. Though through the mixing of words and clash of personalities, there still remained that dry undertone, and inside, Michael Rotiart has his own machiavellian intents.

[Raphael Augustus]

Raphael's smile was full of charm, though it was meant for the passing ladies, and the comman man. As people watched the two, their eyes were immeditatly brought to Raphael first. His cloths perfectly pressed and clean. Yet they could not help but turn their eyes to his companion, and the two seemed out of place, and yet in perfect harmony. Like yin complementing yang. Raphael seemed charming and decent, and Michael looked like one of those old men that screamed at kids to get off his lawn.

As the two closed in on the inner chambers of the palace, what the old man was aiming for, Raphael was unsure. Hell, he was not even sure of the old man's name, not that he truly cared. Boredom was one of Raphael's weakness, but right now he was interested, and that is what truly gave him strength. Or at least, held his attention. He then turned about to look at the guards, who crossed their weapons, not letting the trio in. Raphael squared his shoulders, and tossed his hand idly about. Then looked at the men with his razor sharp eyes, the men seemed to almost melt, yet held their ground. One was a badger looking one, and the other was more turtle like in face.

"I am Raphael Alucarde Augustus, I have been asked to meet the Holy Emperor Volyan. Now stand aside before I report you to his majesty." To add effect, he ran a white piece of paper past them, and pointed at the seal. They let him past, and he held out his hand for the old man to walk past as well. The guards stepped back slightly as the old man past, either because they were surprised, or because of some smell. The animals had a weird way about them, one that Raphael loved to play on.

Upon entering, and slipping past the men, he stuffed the paper in one of his many pockets. "He, got to love old letters. That one," He said as he patted his coat pocket, whether it was the pocket with the letter in it, Michael would never be able to tell. "I got from Alexander over fifteen years ago. Luckily guards are not to well in edicate." He said, winking at the old man. He stopped then, and laughed slightly to himself. He was laughing at how he though the man before him was old, yet, undoubtedly Raphael himself was far older than him. Looking at Michael, he wondered if the man knew what he, Raphael, was thinking. But then again, it didn't truly matter. "What next, old man?" He said, smiling.

[Dr. Rotiart]

The palace was one of admirable traits, full of the grace and charm Michael, and most of humanity, had grown to expect out of the royal classes. Vast, powerful, dominating walls and extensions surrounded his gaze, blocking out the scorching sun, and sending the biggest chill of the day down his crooked spine. A chuckle brushed over his lips. The guards, so typically dressed in regal armour, brandishing blades of belligerent torment, could only ponder who the two men really were, and whether deception wore the gown of grace Raphael so flamboyantly portrayed. Such veils amused him, and, with curled lips as more and more of the guards passed his sight, he could hardly contain disgusted delight at the highly adorned interior. His gaze flickered over again at Raphael, whose words seemed little more than the ramblings of an incoherent pretentious fool, or so he thought.

The letters so harmoniously waved did little to excite Michael’s tastes, the frown arched over his narrowed eyes only burrowing deeper into his visage. He clutched a little harder onto his walking stick, whose dense footsteps echoed through the halls with each step. Finally, a silence was reached in the Sobekian household.

“Deception a fun and favourite game of yours, Mr. Augustus?” Michael scoffs again, clearly tired of eye contact with this man, and even more abhorred that he remains to ask questions. His eyes instead scanned over the waiting room in which they stood, found the nearest seat, and took it up with gentle composure. A sigh compressed out of his lungs as his legs relaxed against the soft, cushioned seating arrangements, relaxed and empty of discomfort. Another moment of silence, and Michael spat out more words of contempt.

“What next indeed. I’d be more concerned with your own future, full of flare and frivolous meetings, before you are intrigued with mine. Go about your business, the guards have more taste in action and ambition than you.” He waved his black, ebony walking stick at Raphael dismissively, letting it rest between his legs after placing it down. His eyes soon dulled shut, unaware of any potential answer, and clearly disinterested. Sleep, it would seem, would be the future of old man Rotiart.

[Raphael Augustus]

Raphael turned and winked at the question the old man threw his way. More scornful than anything, as though what Raphael was doing was something only a young child would do. However, with that thought, Raphael simply moved his shoulders up then down, though so quickly one would think it only a shiver, not him disregarding thoughts in his head. He made sure, then, to address the old man. "Deception is one of the hardest things to pull off, the only thing harder than that is telling the truth. But then again, if I told the guards the truth, they would indeed try to arrest us."

Pointing his chin at where the main palace was, the center. That was his true goal, and truth be told, he was more than just a little excited about it. It was not every day he could get involved in politics, and he did so love screwing around with people. "I, of course, must deliver a letter to the illustrious Emperor Volyan, though I might sell some information to one of his ministers. Not sure though." His smile was indeed mischievous, deceitful, and full of lies. He was everything the honest, hard working man hated, a plague that seemed to feed off pain and suffering. And yet, he was still here, not yet destroyed.

He smiled, recalling the past few days, and how already they have become exciting enough. Meeting new people was always a great thing. And he had now meet three, the lady, Raven Von Winter, the assassin, who's name he never got and this man. The old man, as Raphael called him in his head. A man who only ever seemed grumpy, like he had never cleaned his pants. But it was all well and good, it mattered little to Raphael. "Well, Old Man, I am heading that way," He pointed to the main chamber. "You can either join me, or hijack something else, as I am sure," Sarcasm dripped from his voice. "You have somewhere else to be. A busy man like yourself."

And with that, he turned on his heel and started to walk down the long hall. He was not, of course, going to sell the information, but he liked to toy with the idea. He knew the chaos he could cause, and the trouble he could start. But he knew, in the end, it would come back to haunt him, he would be plagued by that fool Alexander and his son. But then again? Did it even matter? In the end, he would out live both of them, but would they place their curse on their grandchildren, or simply let it go? He doubted it, and then knocked on the grand doors. They slowly opened, and Raphael turned to see if anyone was coming.

[Dr. Rotiart]

Raphael’s dry, dull words fell upon deaf ears, the doctor locked away in his own slumber in the precious palace of the Sobekian lords. He fell into the ranks of marble statuettes that, while grand and bodacious, lacked vigour and life in their grandeur, and cast a stony gaze on all those that pass by. It was a warm silence that swept the room for Michael Rotiart, his lips curling in delight as he became the leader of his favourite entourage, no-one. A few moments passed, and his eyes quickly shot open, head turning from side to side to envisage where he was, who was with him, and what he needed to do. All seemed to have been forgotten in his drowsy detachment. He shakily clambered to his feet, pivoting the black ebony stick firm into the ground, staggering when his legs became right angles to the regal flooring. One hand slapped out any irregularities in his lower garments, thrashing the dirt and dust so prone to collecting. He sighed. Ambiguity swam out from his lips, happiness or haughty anger, both could be the intentions of his exertion.

Little more time was wasted in these depths. They rang with interest in his own mind, the bell’s could not stop chiming, however the Sobekian lords would have to wait another day for the otherworldly meeting with this old man. The warm breeze caressed Michael’s spine, his heart melting into a pool of happiness. He was alone. No sign of a return from the impudence of the creature Raphael. No hint of a haughty glee from it, pestering his every word and action. For one of the first times today, Michael Rotiart blissfully smiled. Silently nodding to himself, strolling away and out of the palace gates, walking stick hardly reverberating echoes into the great halls, he left the palace, and made way to the walls. All seemed brighter, all seemed warmer, even the decaying parasites that swamped the trade markets with their rancorous ambition seemed to have a particular flair to them.

You ignorant bastard, Rotiart. Coldness swept along the jolly middle aged man’s saunter out of the city. With leaving the comfort of the walls, he left behind the comfort of the security he once had. Crooked again he became, staggering forth onto that withered old stick as feet shuffled in the dirt tracks below. His smile was as hidden as his intentions, a bitter frown replacing its markings within an instant. Next destination, he coldly growled, as the burning sun in the sky would only cast a greater shadow the further away he went. Someone else..

Oh.. What a pointless rogue ambition I have, to seek the men of this great soil, to learn of their own dreams, and burn into their minds what would seem.. What would seem an eternity of lies.. Of deceit.. Of pious inaccuracies! Sleep could not confound such wild dreams as what I, I have to bestow upon their insipid little minds! Ugh.. But, what else? Am I like the moon, whom in the darkness mimics the sun, and betrays this here planets dwellers into something.. Wicked? Or am I just the lowly chameleon.. Changing, changing, not wildly clothed in the villainy like the.. The bastards, the machiavellian inner minded lecherous lords of the land! But rather.. adapting to the changes forced upon me? Oh.. It is just words that swim through mind right now, but alas, their pregnant meanings shall give birth to blood in these old veins. Then.. Then is but an age away, what is the reason for waiting!? Why must you, you God, taunt me and tease my ambitions with the shackles of time and patience!

He angrily cried out into the silence of his isolation, slamming firmly the butt of his walking stick into the dusty ground. Cluching deep to his heart, fingers clawing at the thing cloth material, he writhed into his own thoughts.

Alas.. No more pondering. It is to be but the mind of a fool’s fool to ponder further on the mighty intentions of the lord. Snap back into it.. You’ve got a job to do.. I’ll catch the sinners guilt this fiery day, through rain and thunder, violent torture, be it may.

[Raphael Augustus]

With an eye now cast behind, and only emptyness behind him, Raphael simply shrugged. While he had expected the man to stay longer, it was now clear he was not going to. He was simply gone. As to where, Raphael didn't know, though it was safe to say Raphael didn't care. The old man seemed to find the vampire annoying, though Raphael figured the man found everyone annoying. Again the vampire simply shurgged his shoulders. At the present he had a letter he was to deliever, though whether it would get to the prince or not, he didn't know, nor care. He just needed to hand it off to someone.

Now with the crazy man away, Raphael could be more adept at moving, without a lumbering three legged fool tripping him. Though he suspected the old man knew more than he let on, Raphael let it go, the two would cross pass, someday, it was just a matter of when. Now, to the task at hand. Raphael slipped his hood up, and vanished, as though he had never been. He was simply gone.

And yet, as he walked through the twisted corridors, he seemed to get a better feel for the place. He was soon passing through grand rooms, and pompus ministers. Slowly and stealthly he crept through, like a theif looking for a giant gem. And soon he found the room he wanted, a bright, and cheery room, much like a king would have. Though the vampire couldn't be sure if it was Volyan's room, or one of the puppeters. But it mattered little, Raphael twisted, and came to a table. On the bed, he saw two paws sticking up, looking very fox like, he only hoped.

Placing the letter on the desk, he made sure to hide it under several others, making it look as though it had always been there. What Alexander had put on the parachment, Raphael was unsure of, but as long as it put gold in Raphael's pocket, he could careless. But now it was time to leave, and he meant to head to Azia next, the city of the demons, where Damian was, Raphael needed information. Who knew what chain of events were to come next.

[Uriel Bernardo]

Fabulous job you two. Loved reading the interaction between your two characters. Utterly amusing.



Michael Rotiart

• +80 Gold
  
• +2 Intelligence
  
• +1 Speed
  

Raphael Augustus

• +75 Gold
  
• +1 Intelligence
  
• +1 Speed
  
• +1 Stealth