I hear the beast calling; and I must scream [Open]

Thu Dec 28, 2017 5:55 am

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I hear the beast calling; and I must scream [Open] 6EdIfMt

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Through the miasma of days which seemed to past by, few truly made the Warhound of Vastime take note of their accountability. But today was one of those days, in the cold long winter which had taken Vastime he had taken a trip to a desolate part of the nation. On the far western corner, so close he could taste the sea salt in the air which only served to refresh his memory to the event he had came to recall.

December 28th, 2414.

A little known date for most in Vastime considering it wasn't a well known event in their history, but for Atlas is was quite the event. As the male walked the overgrown site, the his hands in the pockets of his overcoat. The man felt a coldness biting into his skin, not just from the winter air either. It was the cold bite that came with walking through a graveyard, the time of feeling one felt when they remembered something deeply hidden away from the warmth of light.

On that day years ago The Warhound of Vastime had been forged in a crucible of hellfire and death.

The man feet crunched the snow which seemed to surrond him as his heterochromatic eyes fell upon the ruins of a castle. One might think it was centries old, years ago from it's last battle. But in truth that castle had served as a vital defense only two years ago to the day, being used a anchor point in a desperate army retreat. And it was none other than Atlas D'al Decter with a little over one hundred men who held out against an onslaught of demonic and hollow forces.

By the end of that battle less then thirty men walked away.

In truth it wasn't a battle, it was a desperate holdout by Atlas- even with orders to retreat he and his dragoons stayed. It was on that bloodied field, which now was overgrown with foliage, that he had seen the horror of war at it's finest. And it was that horror which crafted him into the warhound that Vastime needed.

Those where his thoughts, his belief, his justification. As he walked to removed walked along the edges of the rumble, his the bodies of his fallen soldiers long gone or buried under dirt. Perhaps he had returned if he could find some of those men, perhaps it was to recall the face of Cpl. Marion caved in face. Perhaps he sought to find where his Sergeant final resting place was, images of a mangled bodied the last memory he recalled of the gruff man.

All good soldiers, all good men that knew the cost of defending against a wave of enemies. It was their sacrifices and lives which led to Atlas being regarded as highly as he was. It was their sacrifices which made him someone.

Atlas didn't even notice when his hand came to rest upon the stone surface, nor did he notice when that open palm became a fist.

If paying the price the small price of his conscience and sleep at night was the only cost he needed to make sure those sacrifices where met, then it was worth it. It was worth it a thousand times over.

There was so much blood.. so much blood. So many screams. The dead was stacked so high they where used as defenses. Atlas closed hand would strike stone, slowly at first with an rythm as his mind focused on recalling the events. Before long a second fist joined, those rythamic punches turning into a high tempo frantic pounding.

He was silent. If someone was to see him they would see a slow descent into.. madness? The man breathing became rapid, before long he was striking stone with his strongest punches crumbling stone over and over again.

Then a scream would be bellowed from his throat. It was rage, anger, sadness, depression, loneliness, fustration, and so much more all wrapped up in a pitiful scream resulting in the man pulling his fists back looking at his shaking hands. The white gloves, what was left, was nothing but red tattered stained by blood.

His blood, and the blood of every person who had dead because of his orders. The hands would close into fists before dropping to his side as he seemed to straighten his back, in the cold darkness of night it mattered not the wetness which dipped from his one good eye.

Because there is never too big a price to pay for victory.

Thu Dec 28, 2017 2:03 pm

CYNG | THE SOLOMON SOVEREIGN

"They don't stop, you know. The screams."

Cyng stepped down a small mound of no significance and onto a flatter surface to meet Atlas at almost--as they had a disparity of 4 inches--eye-level, assuming he gave her his attention. The woman's words weren't very loud, but crisp, and cut through the air with a harder bite than the cold wind.

"I mean both the screams in your head, and the one from your mouth--the latter, mind you, was incredibly obnoxious. This is a graveyard, have some respect, jesus."

It was hard for Cyng to contain her amused smile, not that she was trying to.

The distance between the two closed as Cyng took steps forward in tandem with her words. There was a slight hop to her step, as if her previous words meant nothing. It was subtle, but definitely noticed by the detail-attentive Atlas who could never miss it.

Cyng stopped just a few paces away from the man before looking at and sliding her fingers across the edges of another gravestone, this time her smile less amused, more solemn, as if there was some reminiscent gloss in her eye.

"I'm not kidding--it's something that'll stay with you for eternity. It's one of the things that discourages the immortals from being immortal. But you're a smart enough guy to understand that, probably."

True to their name, Cyng's viridescent eyes shifted to the colonel, a slight fluorescence brimming. This time, her smile shifted to mania and intrigue, the kind you'd find in a child visually breaking down everything around in some fervent curiosity.

"That's the interesting thing about you, Colonel. You're smart enough to understand the mental pressure you place on yourself, not because you like it, not because you must, but because if you don't, you think no one else will--and someone has to shoulder the burden. You're strong enough, so why not you."

By now, Cyng's eyes bouncing from subject to subject conveyed more than the words of any other person. The next place they'd target was the entire expanse of graves in the entire area. It was an odd sensation, that her eyes seemed to look at nothing in particular--like she was gazing into empty space, but if Atlas focused on the woman before him, he'd get the incredible feeling that she was simultaneously looking at everything. Like the air around the two of them were her eyes, omnipresent and all-perceiving.

"Now, I wonder, how many other people here thought the same thing? And what makes you special enough that, despite being so normal, so astonishingly exactly the same as millions of others, you're somehow special? That's the interesting thing about you, sir."

"Oh, by the way, you can call my Cyng--if you'd like."

The woman extended her hand to the colonel, behind it showing the face of glee, so much that the smile on Cyng's face finally settled to seem like it would split her cheeks apart.

END POST | THE WHITE RIDER

Thu Dec 28, 2017 2:56 pm

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With the shortcomings of the day rearing their head to the officer, not detecting the presence of someone was almost enough to make the male smile. There was something amusing about the idea the consummate professional had let his guard done in the moment which tactically speaking an enemy would jump him. Not to say this stranger was an enemy, but they where an unknown variable which made them by nature a danger.

The heterochromatic eyes would cast a look at them, the single tear which had slid down his cheek drying up quickly from his natural body heat which was higher than the average human. His blue mechanical eye glowing a soft blue in the twilight of the evening. His posture upright, resolved and unbroken despite the slip earlier- she could have perceived it as weakness but from her reactions; her movements seemed to indicate she was wiser than that.

"I don't see a graveyard, only broken stones and cold winds."

The male eyes woulds follow them for a moment before his eyes went to look across the field before him, while it was symbolic as any graveyard- every piece of rubble might as well been a gravemarker for all the lives lost.

If Atlas had thought about moving, he couldn't remember it. But he found himself walking towards the woman, his bloodied hands coming up as he one grasped another squeezing them- the pain he felt from them so far removed that it was as if he felt nothing. He recognized the burning sensation of torn skin being met with cold air but yet, he did not show pain for it did not bother the man. Through perseverance and intestinal fortitude he had learned how to forego those feelings when he didn't need them.

But as his own eyes cast a long shadow over the land next to Cyng, he felt something. The omnipresence she exhibited, he had felt few who could enact their will as such. In a way there was a kindred feeling at that, it was usually him exerting that influence- having percieve every encounter in order to formulate a Xanatos Gambit. Yet, next to this new comer named Cyng he was now simply gazing into the void with someone who knew far too much about him and he far too little about them.

Except he did know them. He knew enough.

"I'll forego saying my name. You know it, why complicate the matter." The male spoke impartially despite the raw outburst earlier in his solitude, yet even that he wouldn't call emotional. "It is simple, Cyng. Out of the miasma of people who march ever forward towards oblivion; though they are just mortal men as I, I do not plan to die."

Yet, many everyday planned not to die. But the formulation in his words, the cold resolve which leaked out wasn't even the empowerment behind it. It was clear from the perceptive eyes of Cyng, of felt perhaps, that there was more to it.

"I think it is extremely simple, I was born in circumstances which allotted me the resources and chances to someone of my station should not have had as a bastard. I somehow survived an exile, numerious battles, and was born with some skill in martial prowess and a mind which some regard as above average. Fate, destiny, the saints, whatever you wish to call it gave the a tool set and the experience to make somewhat of an impact; to deny this would be trying my patience."

Quite the winded reponse but it was the truth, in short the male seemed to assert upon her that his ideology was simple: destiny willed it so it was his job to follow it.

"Why fear death, hold myself back, when fate will determine when I die anyway? My only wish is for my death to serve a purpose other than the admiration of idiots whom I will never meet. Nothing is interesting about that, to shoulder a burden that no other can shoulder not because it is too big or small- but because my shoulders where born for it. My own burden, just as you bear- Sovereign of Soloman."

He knew within him this would not surprise her, surely she knew that her change of power would not have gone unnoticed by the imperial power that was Vastime. Nor did he doubt she knew that Atlas, just like his namesake, carried a burden on his shoulders- not by willingness, not by resolve, but by birthright.

"Why?"

Did he need to ask more than that? No. Sometimes a lack of words held more value than a string of them. He had spoken enough, now it was her turn. She was the interesting one, he was simply the subject. The two, can be entirely unrelated and related at the same time.

Sat Dec 30, 2017 11:27 am

CYNG | THE SOLOMON SOVEREIGN

"Oh yeah, I'm sure. Just a couple cold broken stones that totally don't metaphorically represent tombstones of the unreasonable amount of corpses buried beneath them. You're right, no clue what I was talking about--I must be a lunatic, my apologies, sir."

Cyng's shoulders raised and her arms extended outward in an expression of acquiescence, but if you listened closely you could hear the slightest hint of sarcasm in her tone. Slight, though--it was very, very slight. Maybe even an eye-roll, but that's an iffy one.

"Of course you don't plan to die; I do believe the intent when riding off into war is the expectation that you might die, but the hope that you don't. I know I was a bit theatrical, but you don't need to reciprocate, though I appreciate the gesture."

Honestly, though Cyng was mostly only jesting, there was some earnest wishes in her words. Not to the extent that it would matter or actually bother her, as it really was the sovereign just offering some condescension for her own amusement.

The festive mood was quickly cut short when Atlas proceeded to mention "fate". What replaced her nonchalant appeal were sharp eyes and an attentive gaze. The officer truly attracted all her attention, now. In anticipation of these words, Cyng smiled--widely. As always, she felt amused, and there was no malice or hostility in her expression, but it certainly wasn't a look that seemed in goodwill. It was the smile of a predator, playing with her food, tickled by the scene of her prey running into her paws, turning around only to run into another paw, and eventually being guided into her open jaws.

"It's inane, Atlas, that it could be possible for literally every little thing you said, to have been totally and completely wrong."

This is where Cyng's body language became very striking, as opposed to her usual smooth, casual demeanor. She now stood taut, her pacing gestures being precise and decisive, and she walked with a purpose, a show of utmost disciplined movements, no doubt an appeal to Atlas's militant disposition.

"You weren't born in some random circumstance that, through happenstance, positioned you as a woeful orphan. You didn't somehow manage to survive exile, magically survive excessive combat, or were fortunate enough to be blessed with intellect and talent in martial prowess."

Every step Cyng took towards the colonel matched the flow of her syllables, like a stricken drum, the pounding of her feet onto the ground beating and resounding, as if all the bodies in the ground rose and marched to her verbal cadence; the sound was a crescendo--every step she took grew louder, and the closer to Atlas she reached, the more deafening the drum beat.

"Sorry, I mispoke earlier. You were actually right about one thing--Fate. It's fate that dictated your path in life. Entirely. No, it wasn't luck or circumstance that Fate produced to have you stand where you are; trust me, I know much more about the devil named Destiny than you. That can't really be blamed on you, though; it's just that you're still inexperienced, for all the events you've gone through and overcome might have you thinking differently, but a babe is to an adult what an adult is to a god."

By now, if she weren't impeded then Cyng would be standing directly in front of Atlas, at most a foot away. Even her straightest posture couldn't overcome the height difference between the two, thus her head tilted up to look the man directly in his eye; however, in spite of her shorter stature, the culmination of all the beating of the drums and marching having come to a peak, by the time she reached the man, not only did the sounds seem to resonate on a global scale from just how loud they were, but in proportion the sovereign's presence grew. By now, what stood before Atlas was not some 5'8 human woman.

Towering over and looking down at him with the heavens as her mantle and stars as her eyes--what stood before Atlas now was a god.

The beating, the drums, the marching footsteps, all sounds--the entire world--stopped when Cyng took her final step to stand before the colonel, waiting for her to impart her wisdom, as if it were scripture.

"Atlas, your mind is offered by Fate, but your wisdom is a product of your perception. Your talent in martial arts was mandated by Fate, but your prowess was a product of your dedication. Your survival was the decree of Fate, but your success was a product of your ambition. The burdens of your world were made to fit your shoulders, as said by fate, but your shoulders took the initiative to wear them.

Atlas, you don't fear death because you have faith in Fate, and that your time to pass is predetermined. You don't fear death because you have faith in yourself. Nothing life has thrown at you has been enough to bring you to your knees. In the face of the embers of war and howls of death itself, you clench your jaw and stride forward with nothing but the vision of success in your mind. There's no need to fear death when you feel invulnerable. And it may be disconcerting--even somewhat frightening, maybe, that I know you so well.

It's because I see it in your eyes. It's in your Gaze."

At this point, between the striking eyes of Cyng and Atlas, an incredible light sparked. Assuming his eyes stayed with hers, what Atlas would see was an eternity. The stars flew at the speed of light and entire realms, galaxies, a universe passed by his eyes. It all went by with incredible speed, but every single tiny detail of every part of this universe, he saw. He saw the creation of this universe, he physically saw the fabric of reality and time flowing through it--as if here omniscient and omnipresent--and the looming presence of death that consumed it into nothingness; and at the end, when the universe faded and ceased to exist, he saw a man with silver flowing hair, and fluorescent green eyes, and an amused smile staring back at him.

Without a doubt, this was far too much information for any machine or entity to process in a literal instant, let alone a mere human. Any attempts to record the entirety of a reality would be met with failure. But Atlas would surely be left with two very clear concepts: that Fate could be denied, and that the person in front of him was living proof.

The skies cleared away as if it were some sky-ruling god's arbitrary decision, and in tandem Cyng spun around on her heel and walked away from Atlas in her usual relaxed, nonchalant demeanor with the sun peaking out to caress their faces.

"To answer my question right, Atlas D’al Decter, you're not in fact special. You are so very, very ordinary, bent to the will of the universe, on Fate's fatherly knee waiting to spank you like some child at his liberty. You are, in actuality, by far the most ordinary person I've ever laid my eyes on. You're are just, so very, very human."

By the time Cyng reached her original distance from the man, she once more spun on her heel, revealing to the man an innocent, as per usual amused smile, as if she were looking at a family member.

"And to be human, is to have potential, dear. Humans are so very fragile, and very trying, and very ordinary, but in them is a flower of potential begging to bloom. Atlas, you are the most human person I've ever met, and all it takes to spit at fate, and truly be invulnerable and in absolute control of your own path in life, is potential. We aren't similar because we share burdens on our shoulders. We share something much more profound.

Shall I go on?"

END POST | THE WHITE RIDER

Sat Dec 30, 2017 1:53 pm

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"Atlas, your mind is offered by Fate, but your wisdom is a product of your perception. Your talent in martial arts was mandated by Fate, but your prowess was a product of your dedication. Your survival was the decree of Fate, but your success was a product of your ambition. The burdens of your world were made to fit your shoulders, as said by fate, but your shoulders took the initiative to wear them.

Atlas, you don't fear death because you have faith in Fate, and that your time to pass is predetermined. You don't fear death because you have faith in yourself. Nothing life has thrown at you has been enough to bring you to your knees. In the face of the embers of war and howls of death itself, you clench your jaw and stride forward with nothing but the vision of success in your mind. There's no need to fear death when you feel invulnerable. And it may be disconcerting--even somewhat frightening, maybe, that I know you so well.

It's because I see it in your eyes. It's in your Gaze."

There was little in this vibrant exploding world of personalities and gods that could cause the man known as Atlas D'al Decter to be lost for words. But yet those words had shattered the multitude of walls the male had, the stone wall- the fire of Vastime had flickered for but a moment. It was the defeaning silence as the world began to enclose around them, the sound of their omnipotent voice ringing around him almost smothering that flame. It seemed she had brought the male to the brink of an unknown.

Then she pushed him off the edge.

As the world around them disappeared into nothingness, a grand unknown filled with stars and the dust of galaxies his mind worked to see it all- no. It worked to feel it all, even if it eluded his understanding something deep and primal within him craved to know this, to experience it first hand and not through the second hand account of the being who had brought him into this. How had he found someone he shared so much yet so little with? The person that through his years of his solitude, the type of solitude that came with something higher than command, grow to know him so well through only this small introduction.

In that moment he had to smile, as quick as he was flooded by this his very essence seemed to revert back to the calm collected man of genteel standings. He had questioned how she done that in his head when he already knew, something he had done to others many times but to be on the recieving end held an irony that amused the male beyond imagination.

Cyng.

That would not be a name he would be forgetting anytime soon, in fact as they stood an equal distance apart with the knowledge she shared he felt a new vigor. The flame that flickered, the wall that cracked, had turned into a roaring fire which seemed to become the embodiment of rebirth- the wall that had cracked molded it's self into an unbreakable mountain of steel. If this person Cyng could shatter or at the least point out what he already knew in his heart- what did they share? It was almost a wanton lust at this point he had to know, despite the measured outward display of control.

Even though he was amused, even though he found the infintely intriguing if she believed Atlas D'al Decter was a man who would throw his good mind to the abyss because he had experienced something new- then he would be a dissappointment to not only himself but her he believed. It was why as he placed cracked hands, bloodied knuckles behind his back overlapping as he walked towards her his eyes glowing in the cold winter air. The smile which slowly spread onto his face seemed to speak all what needed to be said.

"Do go on."

What more could he say. The theatrics where done. These two beings may have been so small in the grand scheme of things but the bravado and courage they carried into this world both warrant stories of their own right. The fact they had converged in this moment wasn't fate, it wasn't luck. It was their raw intiative to make something out of the skills handed to them, the admittance of that almost deafening as vibrant glowing eyes locked with their Viridescent orbs.

Words need not apply here.

Heterochromia coffee and glacier orbs staring into Viridescent striking predatory eyes. In the stories of the old, they often said genius could decipher the intents of people by staring into the eyes. Mirrors into the soul. For these two they where sharing ideologies and worlds far removed from the battlefield turned graveyard.

"Despite everything being said, despite knowing that the very situation of my birth- the perception- has been destroyed and broken I feel no shame or fear. I feel the same, I see it clearly now; my only rival from birth has been the destiny I have created for myself."

As a vibrant universe she had shown him, now if she so chose to gaze into the eyes of the emperor she would see no- feel the cascading fire which seemed to engulf the world he lived in. The flames washing over his previous misconceptions of the world burning it to ash, before being reborn into a new page. The book of his life beginning to turn onto a new page showcasing the true effects her words had on him.

"If being such an ordinary humans means I have so much potential, then I will be trying my own patience by not seeking it out. So speak to me, Cyng, and tell me what we share."

Sun Dec 31, 2017 2:26 pm

CYNG | THE SOLOMON SOVEREIGN

The woman waited patiently for Atlas to process all the information he just took in, and as she watched him, she could see it. Cyng could see right through him, even through his disciplined mannerisms, the cues that indicated that fire--that flower, peaking out to greet the sun, blossoming like a newborn with infantile curiosity.

"There it is. There. It. Is."

For Cyng, just maybe, the world didn't feel so lonely anymore. For all that she lost, and for all that she destroyed, it was a pleasant feeling to know that some things could be regained, and there was no inclination in her to lose this. Not this time. Not any time, anymore.

"Well, if you're asking, it'd be rude and shameless of me to not accomodate."

The predatorial smile on Cyng only widened without a single ounce of effort in trying to conceal it. As Cyng said, Atlas was--though not anywhere near the apex--a wiser-than-most man, as he used the resources available to him to their utmost, he could therefore understand the dynamic at hand. Cyng was offering him something, leading him on with pieces of cheese on the floor, up to some mutually beneficial conclusion, and he knew it. He could proceed with caution, but as it were said--Atlas was fearless. No amount of potential entrapment or signs of danger would deter him from traversing this road to find what was at the end. There was no intent or expectation in his mind to fail, because he would accept nothing less from himself than success.

The two's eyes locked once more, and while their was some inexplicable commune as they tried to understand each other with this eye-contact as the only medium necessary, Heartforce had no part this time. Now, it was just genuine, natural conversation through the windows of their souls. Oh, and literal conversation too. This whole event would be a bit silly otherwise.

"Oh, Atlas, my dear. I admire how in sync your thoughts and your words are. What you say and what your eyes tell me are exactly the same--which is good, but not when you're still so very wrong."

Cyng finally broke eye contact, moving over to a low set, flat topped stoned, something well positioned and shaped for a seat. As soon as her rump touched the surface, the stone itself exuded an aura akin to the sovereign sitting on it--regal.

The woman brought her hands up in open palms, between them wisps of light forming and swirling, forming exotic shapes and colours, ever-changing. Sometimes, it depicted nebulas, other times simple plants or buildings.

"You've gone through a qualitative mental change, I'm sure, but you haven't unlocked the world just because you see it differently now. There's a difference between seeing and observing. When you see things, you judge them, assess them, define them. When you observe something, you perceive it as it is, no definitions, no labels, no predisposed bias to more easily understand what your senses are telling you. All these things shown between my hands--you have names for all of them. You determine what you see, as if you already actually know it, when there's very little you understand.

Don't misunderstand, Atlas. You are closer than most to clarity, but by no means do you now see clearly. You don't have the right, yet. What you should be doing is observing clearly. The world is different from what you used to perceive, so the judgements and perceptions you had from your previous conception of the world can't and shouldn't be applied to what you know of it now."

As she finished, Cyng clapped her hands, squashing the imagery in-between. The woman rose her head to look at Atlas again, reflected in her eyes the entirety of the world around them.

"Your only rival isn't yourself. In life, there will be many rivals, some more testing than others, and while yes your worst rival is yourself--and as you continue and strive to improve and progress, he will continue to be your rival for all eternity--as it stands and as you are now, there's another obstacle barring your path to freedom. Don't think that just because you've taken in invaluable experiences, that you've somehow ran from the clutches of Fate.

You may dictate what you get out of life and the nonsense it puts in your way, but don't for one second think you're actually in control of your own Fate. There's too many things in motion, literal gods enacting their machinations in this world, and--especially as a soldier--despite being one resilient chess piece, whether a pawn or a bishop, both are very limited in how they can move. In that regard, they're no different. As it stands, considering Fate still paves the road you walk on, even if you can choose what scenery to take in on your journey, it doesn't matter who you are or what you can do. Bishop or pawn, Fate still commands you."

Finally pausing her dialogue, Cyng offered Atlas another smile. This one more motherly, gentle and caring, with soft dimples in her cheeks.

"Atlas, there's only one piece in Chess that is unrestricted, unbound and free to move in any matter they desire. That's the Queen.

Fate has no bearings over the Queen, and sometimes that's just birthright. Some are born Queens, but not all Queens are born. Some are forged. The fires of the battlefield tempers the traversing pawn, and when they reach the otherside and complete their journey, they are unrestricted."

Cyng rose from her stone seat, the aura of regality it exuded following after her. She took a deep breath in, all the things she has said up until now finally reaching the climax; the insights she brought Atlas to, and the world within that she shared with him--the truest, deepest parts of her mind--all culminating to finally tell him what they shared, why they were kindred spirits, and what she meant in reference to his unlimited potential.

"What we share is mindset. This unbridled, uncontrollable rampaging ambition. We share heart. We grasp tightly what we have, and when we find there's something we want, through mud and blood, through hell and high water, there's nothing that will stop us from getting it. It's our willpower. And, as it just so happens. when someone like us, with all that sheer will and force of mind sets our eyes on forging our own paths, coming to the understanding that there are forces at work determining what lies before us--and we don't like it? Gods will be felled before we are stopped."

Cyng reached out her hand, gesturing for Atlas to grab hold of it.

"Atlas, it's really lonely on this side. It's been lonely, for far, far too long. And you have been at Fate's whim for far, far too long. I want you to live up to your potential. Free will is humanity's deepest, most sensational delusion. And, for the man more human than anyone, with ambition more relentless than any before him, you have the most potential to realise that dream."

END POST | THE WHITE RIDER

Mon Jan 15, 2018 9:43 pm

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This woman was interesting, in the most dangerous and mundane way.

Atlas wish he had more to say in the grand scheme of things, but he found it to be more useful to simply act with the most direct path in a moment like this. Cyng had managed to touch some of his buttons in a good way, played her cards wisely but ultimately gotten the complete attention of the male. At least, as much as he could afford to give her.

Her words no doubt carefully chosen to further entice him down this theoritcal path, in truth there was but two real choices to make. In some ways it irked the male to have been placed in such a gambit where he could not make a third option- it was a yes or a no and any real actions would be picked.

Even if the male bothered to try to drag information out of her through the same old song and dance of witty remarks, he knew that it would still boil down to a single answer. It was almost amusing, no, it was amusing to the male. To have been placed a position he had so often placed others in was something of remark to him. The woman was a clever one, and if she was to keep this up she would in fact find Atlas to be a more common part of her life.

Well the offer to being in her life was already present. The male would watch the exotic shapes and designs emitted from her hand, observing each word spoken with the utmost care. The control of his life she so spoken of, that she pounded into his own cranium was at this moment all too realized how right she was.

Then she spoke of their ambition, how it could fell the gods one day. In his hardened views he knew it would take more than simple power and resolve for it to happen, but he knew that by taking the first steps of a path he would do all he needed to overcome the challenges ahead of him. It made him all the more inclined to speak with them.

Finally, the hand.

His eyes fell upon it with a mixture of examination and earnest want. Perhaps it was his mind admitting that she had cultivated a lust in his mind, not so simply eased with the carnal desires but one that required a much deeper and earnest meeting. A meeting of minds, powers, and ambitions.

But what where his? Was it to simply see the success of a fledgling nation trying to bring about some sort of order? Maybe. It was a small part but the potential for what he wanted could far outweigh that, the game of chess pieces and gods an all too accurate nation. A resilient pawn, but a pawn who could choose his own moves and masters.

"Enticing, inviting." The male spoke as he rubbed his bloodied hands, his own red blood having long dried up onto cracked skin. The white gloves he once had discarded to the win as he looked upon the white skin of her hand. But to simply take it when he himself could offer something, to try to secure some grasp of control.

"It must be lonely, cold at times. Something people like us are often doomed to." He'd take a step towards her, his pale hand out stretching as if to take her own. It would stop mere inches however as his eyes locked with those verdiscent ones.

How many times had Atlas been knocked down in this life, how many blows had his nearly broken body had. The male was going into his peak years with multiple broken bones, a missing eye, mental tramua beyond repair, and an assortment of burdens. But even with his life being built on a foundation of misery, he still thrived. Now he saw a being who background and ambition perhaps rivaled his own- who he felt perhaps a spark of companionship.

"It boils down to a yes or a no, there are no delusions here. It doesn't matter what type of information I try to pry as it boils down to those two opposing words. I could say no, depart, and perhaps never see you in any true capacity again. Nothing gained. But... if I was bold I would say yes, to see this path you have led me too with crumbs." The male seemed inclined to say yes, everything about this entire conversation would indeed lead to it.

"But to be placed in at this intersection I think I must rebel in some way, as is the nature of mankind." A slow smile would creep onto his face, an amused one more than anything else. "I'll take your hand on a single condition, a very simple and childish one. But perhaps it is the only true way to wiggle away a fraction of the control I love. I want a kiss, seal this deal with that."

Such a childish and benign request, but it truly was one of the few things the male could do. At the end of the day, he had made his want to proceed to that side known but the best way to see how deeply invested they where was to test the waters. It wasn't a request such as a item, for items where replacable. But the sovereignty of memory and experience- those where the true values of life. The memory and shared experience of that was the cost to sway him, it was such a minute request in the grand scheme of things that the pure unadulterated humor behind it all.

"Ultimately, the small grasp of control I have equates to yes or no. I find this method of selection to be the most amusing, as it completely falls out of my hands. Though I do have an educated guess to what you might pick- yet now I await your answer." Thus the ball was in her court, the hand of Atlas now her's for the taking if she truly wished it.

Sun May 27, 2018 3:23 am

CYNG | THE SOLOMON SOVEREIGN

"Aye. Our kind is often resigned to the lonely road. Some say it's the price for greatness, but true greatness will wrest all and leave no room for compromise, and likewise, I wish not to traverse alone."

The words Atlas spoke as he approached Cyng was something which resonated with her own--a kindred train of thought that eluded to an all too familiar experience from an empathetic standpoint. It was a tangible, mutual experience for the two of them. His verbalised analysis of the situation was a pleasant confirmation that Cyng's approach was well justified. Atlas was indeed not a man mulling in a pool of ignorance brought by pride. At the very least, he was competent.

"Maybe the only two options really do boil down to only two answers, but there's nothing bad about that. Sometimes, clear direction and simplicity is the most effective."

And then, he made his demands. Atlas recognised his position in this interaction, very well in fact. He grasped it much better than most would ever approach this situation, and with a maturity beyond the average creature. This was one of the reasons, of all people, Cyng approached him. Something refreshing, but also fascinating, because someone so comfortable with facing their vulnerabilities was someone who would overcome them in the future, and at the pinnacle, have none to be taken advantage of. And even in this moment, where he was to some degree acquiesing--there was something he just had to pull into his own hands. Truly a wild lion, just as Cyng had hoped--just like Cyng.

"Oh? Now you're the one reading me? Interesting, and as I'm sure you'd agree, very amusing. Very well, Atlas. Today, your answer will be a 'yes', and I look forward to our future interactions."

As Cyng offered her piece, her appearance began to fade, as if her presence was nothing but an illusion. Of course, her silhuoette didn't vanish immediately. It was a progressive event, starting from her feet and making its way up to her head. In the meantime, Cyng lowered her head while she extended her hand to grasp Atlas's. There was no physical sensation her hand offered. One could definitely feel some sort of substance where her hand was, but the actual feeling of her skin, the weight of her hand wasn't present. And as Cyng lowered her head, she offered her kiss--to the back of Atlas's hand. Of course, like her hand, the sensation of her glossy lips couldn't be felt, nor the weight of her head--but definitely some sort of substance was present. It was a confusing, physically paradoxal experience.

"It should be remembered, Atlas, that I am a King, and that you should understand the weight and gravity behind my actions--even if I may not have been truly present."

With those parting words, the rest of the Sovereign's visage faded away, as if she was nothing but a hallucination of Atlas's.

END POST | THE WHITE RIDER

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