04-06-2014, 08:08 PM
A strong, calloused hand floated above the desk and pulled the letter toward him. The paper had the scent of age about it, but of recent aging rather than the aroma of antiquity. Pale blue eyes streamed across the words, but beyond the blase consumption of their contents, Armande was otherwise unmoved by the revelation.
He returned the letter to Dmitri's possession. It was his, if it belonged to anyone, to disseminate as he wished. Armande turned in his seat and regarded the young warrior herself.
She was changed since their brief encounter upon her arrival in Moscow. She was still shy and diminutive before her betters, but at least she held herself with more confidence.
"For your sake, Sentient, I hope you do not make the same grievous lapse in judgement that your mother did, and betray the legacy she so hypocritically described." An Atharim, bestowed with extraordinary senses, sent to track a monster, only to fail; worse yet, bear that monster a child. "By Atharim law, you should have been drowned the moment you left the womb. Pray this office made the right decision in letting you live. There will be no hesitation should I have reason to regret it."
Decree uttered, the Regus gave her race no additional thought. Instead, he led her by gaze toward that of the video still paused upon the blood-soaked face of Nikolai Brandon as though he'd intended for her to interrupt them at this very moment.
He watched her expression for hints of recognition, but addressed Dmitri instead, and effectively spoke over her. "Miss Piccolo is the one that translated the ouroboros page of the Voynich Manuscript. 'The end of days are marked with fear and confusion, panic and destruction,' as she said." The tone in his voice shifted from thoughtful to commanding. "Play her the video from the beginning."
As Dmitri reset the recording, Armande beckoned Aria to come and stand at his side to see and hear more closely images of what her senses knew to herald. "What was the word you kept using to describe Apollyon? Slain, yes? Watch this and tell me if you see the slain ouroboros as Voynich proclaimed." There was a hint of patience in the order. She was the infant he was attempting to cull into a warrior, a true warrior, one cold enough to slay Apollyon, and sensitive enough to know the Destructor's presence when she was in it. Assuming she was sharp enough to recognize him.
He returned the letter to Dmitri's possession. It was his, if it belonged to anyone, to disseminate as he wished. Armande turned in his seat and regarded the young warrior herself.
She was changed since their brief encounter upon her arrival in Moscow. She was still shy and diminutive before her betters, but at least she held herself with more confidence.
"For your sake, Sentient, I hope you do not make the same grievous lapse in judgement that your mother did, and betray the legacy she so hypocritically described." An Atharim, bestowed with extraordinary senses, sent to track a monster, only to fail; worse yet, bear that monster a child. "By Atharim law, you should have been drowned the moment you left the womb. Pray this office made the right decision in letting you live. There will be no hesitation should I have reason to regret it."
Decree uttered, the Regus gave her race no additional thought. Instead, he led her by gaze toward that of the video still paused upon the blood-soaked face of Nikolai Brandon as though he'd intended for her to interrupt them at this very moment.
He watched her expression for hints of recognition, but addressed Dmitri instead, and effectively spoke over her. "Miss Piccolo is the one that translated the ouroboros page of the Voynich Manuscript. 'The end of days are marked with fear and confusion, panic and destruction,' as she said." The tone in his voice shifted from thoughtful to commanding. "Play her the video from the beginning."
As Dmitri reset the recording, Armande beckoned Aria to come and stand at his side to see and hear more closely images of what her senses knew to herald. "What was the word you kept using to describe Apollyon? Slain, yes? Watch this and tell me if you see the slain ouroboros as Voynich proclaimed." There was a hint of patience in the order. She was the infant he was attempting to cull into a warrior, a true warrior, one cold enough to slay Apollyon, and sensitive enough to know the Destructor's presence when she was in it. Assuming she was sharp enough to recognize him.