02-11-2015, 05:06 PM
Armande's feet were silent on the lower floors of the Baccarat Mansion. His towering form in his black cassock marked him out from all other Atharim and those they employed as they flittered about their business. More than one person averted their gaze when they saw who it was, conversations in the hallways dying in mid-word at his passage.
He noted all of it as he made his way down, but only in a peripheral way. The blood of the Atharim was flowing now, its heart beating strong and steady. He was reminded of his youth and his training in the desert among the Bedouin. The cries of horses and men as they trained and fought. The beast was an extension of himself, controlled reflexively with knee and thigh and leg more than reins, all the better to wield sword or spear or bow. And underneath it all, the steady thrum and rhythm of horses legs at full gallop, of their deep breathing.
The Atharim had been awakened, those ones with pure hearts. Very soon his Orders would set forth into the world and begin the war in earnest. Soon. But for them to be equal to the task, they would need more than they had become accustomed to. The millenia had not been kind. They had lost them weapons, it was true, weapons that had been forged by the gods and that had been used by the Atharim in their wars, that given humanity a chance.
But the millenia gave gifts as well, gifts other holders of his office might have balked at. Foolish men, so focused on the past that they failed to see what could aid them. Their reticence was perhaps understandable at the time, given the loss of influence and power the Church, and thus they themselves, experienced. But life was about adaptation, not stagnation.
Finally he arrived at the lower basement. It was a good size and would give them the room they needed. What purpose the room served before, he did not know or care.
When he opened the door he saw that Barovsky was already present. The man had taken to his new assignment with ferocity. He couldn't help but smile. The lure of the Order was one that even tugged at his heart. Though Regus, he made it a point to hunt on his own from time to time. Strength of mind followed strength of body. One could not understand the challenges of hunters if one forgot the heft of steel in ones hand or the exhilaration of the fight. This was war, after all.
He nodded to the man as he shut the door. "We will be joined by one other here shortly." He nodded to a bench and table and sat down.
He noted all of it as he made his way down, but only in a peripheral way. The blood of the Atharim was flowing now, its heart beating strong and steady. He was reminded of his youth and his training in the desert among the Bedouin. The cries of horses and men as they trained and fought. The beast was an extension of himself, controlled reflexively with knee and thigh and leg more than reins, all the better to wield sword or spear or bow. And underneath it all, the steady thrum and rhythm of horses legs at full gallop, of their deep breathing.
The Atharim had been awakened, those ones with pure hearts. Very soon his Orders would set forth into the world and begin the war in earnest. Soon. But for them to be equal to the task, they would need more than they had become accustomed to. The millenia had not been kind. They had lost them weapons, it was true, weapons that had been forged by the gods and that had been used by the Atharim in their wars, that given humanity a chance.
But the millenia gave gifts as well, gifts other holders of his office might have balked at. Foolish men, so focused on the past that they failed to see what could aid them. Their reticence was perhaps understandable at the time, given the loss of influence and power the Church, and thus they themselves, experienced. But life was about adaptation, not stagnation.
Finally he arrived at the lower basement. It was a good size and would give them the room they needed. What purpose the room served before, he did not know or care.
When he opened the door he saw that Barovsky was already present. The man had taken to his new assignment with ferocity. He couldn't help but smile. The lure of the Order was one that even tugged at his heart. Though Regus, he made it a point to hunt on his own from time to time. Strength of mind followed strength of body. One could not understand the challenges of hunters if one forgot the heft of steel in ones hand or the exhilaration of the fight. This was war, after all.
He nodded to the man as he shut the door. "We will be joined by one other here shortly." He nodded to a bench and table and sat down.