07-14-2024, 07:59 PM
The busyness of the Red Square had diminished in recent weeks. Autumn was shifting into winter soon, and the wind promised its imminent arrival. The tourists had decreased in numbers, but Moscovites remained aplenty. He set up shop near the entrance to St. Basil’s cathedral. A small table displayed holographic information about the location, hours, and times that Seekers were welcome to explore the Sanctuary of the Ascendant Flame. The spire was only a few miles to the north, and while it was overwhelmingly tall, it could not be seen from present location.
Quillon wore his long purple robe, the collar high and curled around the back of his neck, with the symbol of the Veilwardens sewn upon the breast. Beneath were simple clothing, black trousers and a scoop-neck shirt. The robe kept him warm, but he was born and raised in Moscow, the temperature would need to plummet before needing adding a coat and scarf.
He began his oration, imploring to those passing to turn to the Ascendancy, a modern day god in flesh form, and of course, to join the Brotherhood in their acknowledgment of such a being. Several people stopped to scan their information, no too few because the current speaker was so intense about his oration.
After a short time, a Red Devil approached, one of the armed security who monitored the Red Square’s safety. Quillon frowned, saying as the Guard approached: “Now hold on, I have a permit to be here,” which he promptly showed. The Devil, in his orange, red and black uniform shook his head. “Permit is only good for coded areas. This isn’t one of them. You’ll have to move on.” He pointed.
Quillon guffawed, “Not according to your own damn website. This is perfectly legal.”
The Devil folded his arms, growing impatient. “Look, we’ve been lenient with the Brotherhood plenty of times in the past. Coded areas change frequently. Move on or you’ll be issued a citation. I hate to ban another one of you.”
Quillon begrudgingly packed up his stuff, casting a jealous look at the red walls of the Kremlin before ducking off toward a side street. Finally, he found a decent corner outside an artist’ gallery and began again.
Quillon wore his long purple robe, the collar high and curled around the back of his neck, with the symbol of the Veilwardens sewn upon the breast. Beneath were simple clothing, black trousers and a scoop-neck shirt. The robe kept him warm, but he was born and raised in Moscow, the temperature would need to plummet before needing adding a coat and scarf.
He began his oration, imploring to those passing to turn to the Ascendancy, a modern day god in flesh form, and of course, to join the Brotherhood in their acknowledgment of such a being. Several people stopped to scan their information, no too few because the current speaker was so intense about his oration.
After a short time, a Red Devil approached, one of the armed security who monitored the Red Square’s safety. Quillon frowned, saying as the Guard approached: “Now hold on, I have a permit to be here,” which he promptly showed. The Devil, in his orange, red and black uniform shook his head. “Permit is only good for coded areas. This isn’t one of them. You’ll have to move on.” He pointed.
Quillon guffawed, “Not according to your own damn website. This is perfectly legal.”
The Devil folded his arms, growing impatient. “Look, we’ve been lenient with the Brotherhood plenty of times in the past. Coded areas change frequently. Move on or you’ll be issued a citation. I hate to ban another one of you.”
Quillon begrudgingly packed up his stuff, casting a jealous look at the red walls of the Kremlin before ducking off toward a side street. Finally, he found a decent corner outside an artist’ gallery and began again.
![[Image: Quillon-signature.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/07/Quillon-signature.jpg)