Guardians of Prophecy

[Armande]

Mr. Smith was wrong. There was much in this world that surprised Armande. Chief among them was the sheer capacity of otherwise intelligent men to make ridiculously foolish decisions. Dock number one against Mr. Smith's character. FOOL, judged Armande, as trinkets were paraded around his nose.

He rose without invitation, clasped his hands behind his back and strolled to circle the newly arrived wares as he had the tablets before. Stony crevices etched his face with deep contemplation. As an associate of the Vatican, he perhaps was disgusted by the plastination of creatures that should be tossed to the fires and burned to ashes. Particularly the body of the Dreyken.

An age of darkness indeed, Mr. Smith described. And how does one define 'an age' - epochs of time between great cataclysmic events or blocks that extend as far back as human memory can reach?

It was only a matter of time before a man of means, strength and wealth encountered what slid in the shadows of the world. Mr. Smith had taken upon himself a quest to find meaning in the chaos, and judging by the array of weaponry, he possessed adequate intent to do so.

The Regus was a pillar of patience while Mr. Smith's oration concluded. As it ended, he bowed a slow nod of the head for the man's logic. The Ascendancy, among others, was a topic to defer until later. For now, the Regus was focused on exploiting one thing: Mr. Smith's hatred of these vile beasts.

"You have enormous means, effort, and resources Mr. Smith. I am quite impressed." Standing alongside the four bodies, draped in holy robes of his office, the Regus' presence fit lock and key alongside these corpses preserved in time. He was the shield to stand between them and Mr. Smith, between the stuff of nightmares and the tranquility of an otherwise normal living room.

"You are, of course, exactly right." His tone was flat, speaking the obvious, but his expression was a simmering fire as though Mr. Smith had kicked cold logs and found searing white charcoal beneath.

"Your hunting trip stumbled upon the things that we have sworn to contain. You've broken the veil and peeked into the holiest of places mere mortals should never see. My name is Armande Nicodemus, and I am the Regus of the Vatican Historical Society and a suborganization known as the Atharim; Guardian of the Remnant and Vicar of Iscariot." Let Mr. Smith consider the immense meaning of those titles.

He came to stand before Mr. Smith. The man's physical presence was impressive, but there was that edge of confidence from the Regus that said he could crumple the man to a pile of rags as easily as shake his hand. And if the forthcoming invitation was declined, he very well may do that. Of course, there were gentlemen in the other room to consider, so the assassination would need to be more clandestine than grotesque violence allowed today, but the threat remained. Armande would risk his own life and body to forward the Atharim's goals, but leaving the organization leaderless would be foolish on his part. He had not yet found a worthy successor - not that he intended to die any time soon.

"It is our sworn duty to protect humanity from such beasts as these," he spread his arms. "And prevent the apocalypse, which hastens, I am convinced, on the Ascendancy's wings. Over the centuries, men such as yourself have forwarded our cause and backed our efforts worldwide. You have means and wealth, Mr. Smith that could go far to advancing our mission. If you accept the invitation, your foundation could truly do charitable work of the greatest importance you could ever conceive. Will you accept your share of the financial burden for which we labor with life and soul?"

Will he be content with contributing finances only? Or will Mr. Smith demand a greater role? Questions to consider. Less capable men than he had been transformed by Armande's hand into menacing hunters.

[doulou]

Son of a bitch. You can surprise Armande. He made no outward sign of his shock, but the emotions that John sensed said otherwise. Outrage, contempt, disappointment, and deep contemplation. At one point he almost seemed pleased when he looked at the last creature in the cabinet. What was that thing whose death would please Armande over all the others? Again Armande's control impressed John.

Armande drew himself up and actually managed to look more regal than normal. Quite a feet unto itself. He gave a sales pitch. He wanted John to help finance his secret society. Probably just a way to both keep tabs on John and to keep him occupied and out of the way. But to John it was a way to enable him to get better prepared for the coming war.

John knew himself to be an unconventional unorthodox eccentric psycho, and he had the opinion that Armande must be a little off also. "We didn't stumble, the creature was the target. That was my initiation. I have been involved in hunting these monsters for a little over 10 years now. My successes have been limited by my lack of knowledge of my enemy."


"I will happy to aid you in hunting evil. But I have no intention of getting involved in political or religious disputes. The Ascendancy is, I am sure, as close to a monster in human form as one can get. I am not interested in hunting others of his kind unless they are evil. I am not interested in aiding a genocide. I will start by donating one million dollars to your society. More funds will be distributed as I see how good of a steward the Atharim are with my contribution."



Edited by doulou, Nov 20 2013, 06:16 PM.

[Armande]

Mr. Smith was growing bolder. Where before his phrasings were selective and unoffensive, he was outright correcting Armande's assessment of the hunting trip. Such elicited raised brows from Armande, who acknowledged a sense of interest rather than a flicker of annoyance as his younger self might have experienced. With age brought perspective, and Armande understood the impulsive Mr. Smith to be more erratic than pensive. There was something slightly off about him that Armande could not quite put his finger on, but wealth frequently bred heterodoxy.

Further testament to Mr. Smith's mercurial logic. In the end, the promise of money meant little to him. A one-time gift of a million dollars was a drop in the bucket. The Atharim was not holding a telethon. His ignorance did not grate at the Regus' frustration, however. What did was what fickle outline that followed.

Armande circled slowly as he spoke. He was studying the room's contents. The layout of escapes. The shadows.

"Let us deconstruct your words, Mr. Smith. You will hunt evil. This is generally considered to be a mark of virtue. However we assume your definition of 'evil' conforms to mine." It was an ancient topic of discussion in theological, philosophical, and moral debate alike. Evil is based on morals. Morals are based on cultural interpretation of ethics, and what is evil to one man is not to another. Therefore who is right? Unless there exists an arbitrary standard against which to judge morality, all discussions of right and wrong, good and evil were invalid.

"Then you say you have no interest in involvement in political disputes, but are willing to brand the Ascendancy as a monster you would hunt." What an enormously conflicting statement. How disappointing Mr. Smith did not think more clearly what he spewed.

"You condone the elimination of potentially thousands of people, if they conform to your definition of evil, but yet detest genocide. When does war turn into genocide? If the enemy is evil? Or if the enemy is simply your enemy?"

Armande circled back to steel Mr. Smith with a delving glare. He MUST learn to select his words with a sharper edge, or he would be useless to Armande. "I am no fundraiser, and you are no grant. Contributors to our cause delve through the centuries. You will receive no more reports about our financial status as the pious does of the tithes they offer the Church."

He paused for effect. "So what is it you REALLY want from our relationship?" Armande held the secrets he needed, and he may yet receive them. That door was not fully closed.

[doulou]

John let out a sigh of relief. Armande was human and could be provoked. Shitty part was that Armande was right. Armande was obviously a man of great conviction. And zeal.

John walked up to Armande and offered his hand, "Armande Nicodemus it is a pleasure to finally meet you. My name is John Smith. If you prefer, you may call me Doulou. I was sent here to Moscow to prepare for the coming War. To find and cultivate allies. The apocalypse is not preventable, but it is winnable."


"What I want from this relationship primarily is not another enemy. I would like information on these creatures and any others I may encounter. You are the first person that I have encountered with intimate knowledge of these creatures. The chupakabra I am probably as familiar with it as anyone. As for the other monsters I could use what ever information you provide me."


"You and I both have agendas are that greater than ourselves. We will not see eye-to-eye on all matters. Hopefully these matters will not be deal-breakers. I do not relish the idea of enmity between us. I have no doubt that you will do whatever you deem necessary to ensure a successful outcome in the coming war. Bear in mind that I will do likewise."


"You approached me. What do you really want from this relationship? The tablet with the ouroboros is yours. Being that you are familiar with it, it does the most good being in your hands. I will give you full access to all of the other discoveries on the ship as they are recovered. The originals I will most likely keep. If something uncovered is deemed paramount to your cause, speak and it is yours. I am well aware that you have no need of my finances. My billions are dwarfed by the resources that you can get access to, however I will provide with 10 million dollars for now. Sometimes it can be useful to have unrestricted money readily accessible."


Edited by doulou, Nov 27 2013, 01:01 AM.

[Armande]

Americans. What a ridiculous culture. Half an hour into their conversation and Mr. Smith only now properly introduced himself. Yet still abstained from the honorific use of Armande’s titles. He would not have been so informal with the Holy Father, but Armande did not accept the responsibility of his position for honor and glory. The opposite, in fact: he was the blade in the dark.

He shook Mr. Smith’s hand, a firm but accepting gesture. Armande wore no rings. His nails were trim and meticulous, but the callouses in his palm etched deep. His gaze was unfaltering, piercing, and his voice sharp as a sword. “I will not call you Doulou, Mr. Smith.” He released the man’s hand after their clasping lingered an unsettling few moments too long.

The ten-fold increase in donation did not so much as flicker a reaction from Armande. For a man who mentioned his billions, ten million was barely a percentage of his total net worth. Furthermore, he was wrong about the income at Armande’s disposal. There was great segregation between the Atharim and the Church as Armande assumed that was what was meant.

His consideration of Mr. Smith’s service expanded beyond financial philanthropist. “You are correct in your assumption that I will go to any measure to win this coming war.” He circled toward the bodies, studying their cold flesh academically.

“What I want is a champion for our cause. An arrow to aim at Apollyon. You could be that man, Mr. Smith. I propose an exchange.” He turned back, finally offering the rare gift of his hand and knowledge. “Your service to the Atharim in exchange for my mentorship. I will warn you, that acceptance is for life. That your soul will likely be sacrificed in the name of humanity’s salvation. That orders come from the acting Regus, the office currently held by myself. Disobedience of this office means death. Betrayal of the Atharim means death. To be Atharim is to be the ouroboros itself: never ending. We bear an eternal duty because our legacy is forever – until war itself is forgotten. Ad vitam aut culpam.”

He offered his hand once more, palm down and fingers uncurled. “You may still decline without repercussion. I will accept your donation and we may exchange proprieties as proposed before. Or you can kneel and kiss the hand of your Regus. If so, I will take you before the Conclave and you will become one of the Remnant.”

It was Mr. Smith’s decision.

[doulou]

All of the information and logistical support John had ever desired stood before him. At least two thousand years of it, going by just one of Armande's titles. Based on his knowledge of the material on the tablets, at least five thousand years. How does one walk away from that?

Jesus was a heretic, and as His follower, so am I. Most, if not all of our history, is a lie. A lie perpetuated by men and institutions in league with the man standing before me today. Yes, John was somewhat convinced that these lies may have been necessary, but he didn't have to like them.

Staring at the outstretched hand of the Regus, another proposition came to mind.

καὶ λέγει αὐτῷ Ταῦτα πάντα σοι δώσω ἐὰν πεσὼν προσκυνήσῃς μοι


And saith unto him, All these things will I give thee, if thou wilt fall down and worship me



"Et dixit illi haec tibi omnia dabo si cadens adoraveris me"
John whispered. Looking back into Armande's eyes, "As much as I may come to regret declining your offer, some things come at too high of a price. For years I have waited and searched for someone who possessed the answers at your disposal. Someone who could help me achieve the maximum impact in this war on the Darkness. And yet here I walk away. I serve another."


John walked over to a briefcase resting in the corner and placed it on a coffee table. "We don't have much time, do we?"
John opened up the briefcase for Armande. One hundred million dollars cash, all in crisp thousand dollar bills. "'Only fools believe that we war not with the flesh.' Monsters and demons come clothed in flesh as well as in the spirit. And weapons and other materials require money. And lots of it. You kill your wolf, and I will kill mine."

[Armande]

John Smith's lips moved, but the whispered words were below the threshold of Armande's hearing. The two men held one anothers eyes for the following moments, but Armande remained stoic. The likes of John Smith could not unhinge one of the pillars of the world.

"Do not buy the lie that a man cannot serve two masters. What it is you serve and what it is I do are one in the same." He followed John to the table to glance over the face of crisply printed bills. "But I accept your money. Wars against darkness must be funded the same as wars between nations."

A quick snap and the briefcase locked. Armande took it into his possession and turned to go. The folds of his cassock spun around his ankles.

"When you change your mind, my offer remains." Armande nodded his farewell and departed.

[doulou]

Armande departed in the manner in which he arrived. No dramatics and no fanfare. Civil, yes. Hospitable and gracious, not so much.

When the war comes, will we be on the same side? There should only be two sides in this conflict, but what if there are more? Worse yet, what if they don't know who they are fighting or what they are fighting for?

"Destroy the corpses. Today they served their purpose. And prepare the fifth tablet for transportation. We are delivering it to Armande's office. He is the closest thing to a rightful owner there is. And his goodwill might be invaluable in the future. Joab, call Al. I believe his assistance may be necessary. "



Edited by doulou, Oct 28 2014, 04:01 PM.