Cydrus nodded examining it once more, "Well, I thank you for your time. Perhaps I shall roam around some more before I go about my way."
(Mwaha! First person to do this! That's awaome!)
క్కThe Montessi DaBrickashaw క్క
In his dormitory aboard the S.T.R.I.K.E. Helicarrier, Felix Faraday invested all of his leisure time on two fronts, purely scientific pursuit and the pursuit of his best-friend's, Mark Anthony's remains. Ceaselessly and illegally scouring the darkest and most distant corners of the agency's intelligence databases since the moment director Tyrus granted him the permission to board the airborne titan. However, only now did the investigation board hidden behind his clothes in the closet began to take sensible shape. He found a whisper of a location in pattern with the recent Knightfall disappearances.
//The Montessi DaBrickashaw, Eastern Ireland.
In that moment, the lone Neutron Son was already gone from the confines of his helicarrier and sundering the northern tides of the Atlantic ocean in a supersonic low-altitude flight. Supersonic, the limit he never knew before the event. Vigorous as ever in the physical department, his new unfamiliar source of arcane power left him lacking in celerity. So he pushed onwards with both furor and frustration to enter the heavens above in search of respite, as fleeting as it may be.
Minutes later he reappeared on Irish skies, steadily losing altitude but not velocity as he followed an unerring trajector that threatened to collide with the castle's front door. At his velocity, trees and structures went by like sparks from a bonfire but with an angry frown on his face he didn't appear exactly willing to slow down. Felix was very well aware of his actions. Did he seek to bust into the place and take Mark's body by force? Was he even consider leaving any remnants of the structure standing after what it's degenerate inhabitants appropriated his best friend's body like a collector's item? What even happened inside his head?
*DIiIiIiING DOoOoONG!
He rang the antique front door bell and waited outside for an answer, the fidgeting fingers of his hands tapping against eachother below his waist as he marveled at the entrance's decorations. Hopefully, the owner wouldn't mind the fallout of his sudden stop forever combing all the grass in the driveway.
Crackling blue embers emanating from a controlled flame within a newly designed ceremonial fire-pit, deep in the heart of the mystical sanctorum, delicately illuminated the naked silhouette of the Sleeper. Physically composed in a cross-legged meditative position with visual tranquility, the Xsoteric's self-conscious however was strained. His eyes were open but glazed over with a milky sheath while his self-awareness navigated a numerical palace of clairvoyant potential. Utilizing the ancient art of Flame Gazing, Nikademus sought to unlock the mysteries of the future.
"Forgive our interruption, Muad'Dib, but there is a gentleman at the door." three miniature sized apostles announced in unison. Each one holding a particular article of clothing, such as his hooded Fell Star robe and esoteric tunic. The last article of regalement, a peerless silver cylinder with decorative inscriptions, was carefully handed to the Dark Republican before he headed off to cordially entertain their guest.
With a subtle nod as the glass frame door opened, Nikademus greeted the unexpected arrival. "Welcome to the Brick. I, am Nikademus. How may I help you?"
Go offfff
(I'm only a month late)
@valerie_huntington: All about the entrance anyway
@nikademus: True that
The youthful champion let loose with a morally misguided tirade and Nikademus simply listened. Tucking his hands into the oversized sleeves of his robe and cloak, even as the Herculean Halifax's disrespectful cadence elevated. Pairing his polemic rant with physical embellishment, wearing his understandable emotions on his sleeve.
"Do you know who Marcus' father is....was?." he philosophically retorted with a raspy whisper. "His mother? What about his grandmother on his mother's side? His grandfather? The one he himself laid to rest. Or the uncle of a similarly shared fate?"pausing as he pointed at the precision of the coffins, the true artistic alignment and unspoken significance. "This young warriors family excels at but one thing, culling its own bloodline. This one"again pointing, "Murdered by that one" switching focus, "That one, slain by this one." alternating attention between the sarcophaguses. "But here, under my attentive stewardship, they rest in piece with the purest form of solidarity. And while I can appreciate your loss as his friend, Marcus Antonius Knightfall, Marcus Liafador, Marcus LeBeau, was my half-brother."
Again returning his hands to a position of concealed comfort."Take your friend and find your own solace, grieve your loss. And pray, pray something, or one, does not one day locate your friend and facilitate yet another unnatural Knightfall resurrection."
All my efforts to find The Book of Throh have been exhausted, at least all my African resources. I’m forced to conclude that the White people took it sometime after Cleopatra’s marriage to Mark Antony in 32 BC. It’s frustrating really, having to look a dig for the truth about your own history, because these “Cave-Dwellers” pillage and take what they cannot achieve themselves.
The book of Throh is an ancient book that the Egyptians used to understand animals and to decipher the minds of the gods. Needless to say that book is of use in my current home. I often wonder why the people of Kalli didn’t return to Earth and take back to Artifacts that rightfully belonged to them. The answer was apparent on my second day there.
The White Race needs materials to justify their own existence, I’m sure that’s the reason they came up with the concept of lawyers. A Gucci belt is damn near 3,000 dollars at a retail store, that same belt is only 30 on a New York City corner. Crazy right?
As I soar through the air for the first time, compliments of my sound manipulation, I keep my eyes open for my destination. It’s location somewhere off the coast of Ireland. Honestly, getting information on this place was harder to track down than the actual book. I traveled along way just to meet with a guy “who thinks” he knows what I’m talking about, so far I’m beginning to doubt his judgment.
Descending just a bit to increase my visibility, I see what I can only guess is my destination. It’s a castle, of course it is. Normally such a magnificent structure would have excited a girl like me, but when you travel to Europe on a frequent basis you see many of the structures these devils fortified themselves inside of.
Landing just on the outside, I can’t help but recant my last statement. This rampart was massive in size, and really If I wasn’t given a general location I never would’ve thought to come out this far. It has the traditional look of Medieval European Castles, positioned near the teal tinted ocean with endless amounts of wooden sentries standing guard on it’s far side.
“Impressive” I say out loud. Though I’ve come with a specific goal in mind, I can’t help but wonder what this place has to teach me. The easiest way a person of my tone can learn about our history is watching how the Whites use inconsistences to mask our true origins.
I make it an issue to place the gold tiara one my head, I’m not average Black Woman; I suppose you’d have to be someone extraordinary to end up at this place. The concierge lets me in, after eying me lustfully, I’m used to it. My eyes immediately scale the walls and the intricate interior design of the castle’s innards. This place was bigger inside than it was outside!
There is an overabundance of topics, concepts and other things to choose from. I could literally spend the rest of the year searching for what I need here. I could only liken the atmosphere to that of the masonic lodges, but this was a breeding ground of information. One could come here to about any culture during any period of time; I think I might’ve had an orgasm…
“Ni mtunza sasa?” (Is the curator present I ask in Swahili, purposely choosing to mask my natural American accent. The Doorman leaned in before, nodding his head in the northern most direction of the castle.
I sit and wait with my eyes focused on an old Byzantine period mosaic of Justine surrounded by clerics and soldiers. I remember learning about him in school, he was the one that imposed his religious views on his subjects, also worked really hard to conqueror Northern Africa, he didn’t have to worry—his decedents eventually did.
Log in to comment