Falcon Darkflight
07-27-07, 10:02 AM
The Citadel, interior.
Bane Flaresto pulled a cigar from his jacket pocket and lit it with a snap of his fingers, looking past the flame into the monk’s eyes. A cloud of blue smoke filled the musty corridor and the strong odor of tobacco started to cling to the walls like paste to paper. It wasn’t usually a habit Bane would have indulged in, but nothing about his current lifestyle was what he would have called ‘usual’ and the smoke calmed his mind, at least a little. The cigars he had bought had a feint scent of menthol.
“So, what do you think of this? Can you do it?” The Basillisk asked the monk opposite him. He wasn’t asking for an opinion, as such, but more wanting to know if it could be really be done.
“There is nothing the monks of the Citadel cannot conjure up.” The monk responded sharply. “Do you question our talents, Mr. Flaresto? I would have you remember that this building has housed some of the finest monks in all of Corone’s history. I need not remind you of why our people, and many others, come here.” He was polite, but held a harsh tone in his voice. Clearly Bane had offended him by asking this of him.
“Yeah, I know. I’ve experienced the power for myself.” Bane took another heave on his cigar, referring to his first ever trip to the Citadel where he had fought Kaiser Nightwind, a strange monkey. Following the trend about everything he was experiencing in Corone, he had been astounded by the healing powers of the monks who had attended to his battered body in the aftermath of a body wrecking explosion. Not even a scar remained from that fight, not a scratch. These attendants could even raise the dead. Nothing he had ever seen or experienced in his life came close to that kind of power, and it was a power that he had to awe.
He took another slow drag, kicking his head back, and exhaled a ring. “I’m thinking of crystal, to be honest with you, something maybe with a bit of, you know, a sparkle. Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t just a cosmetic request. I want you to take the arena from my thoughts, and make it manifest.”
The monk eyed him up and down, and did as requested. It took but a moment for the Citadel attendant to create the arena from the picture in Bane’s mind.
“It’s done.”
Bane thought about his request for a few seconds, and lamented on his choice. “I’ve never been to The Pedestal as a Basillisk. As a human I think only once, because I was born there, but never since.”
The monk smiled a smile which indicated he was listening, but pressing matters and demands on his time prevented him from really wanting to care too deeply about the sentimentalities of his clients. He was a busy man in a busy place.
“Well, Bane, the arena is ready for your arrival whenever you so wish.”
Bane nodded slowly. “Right.”
He gritted his teeth and stepped forward into the nearby portal, preparing himself for the worst part of the journey. The transportation sickness still got to him more than any other aspect of the Citadel.
Bane Flaresto pulled a cigar from his jacket pocket and lit it with a snap of his fingers, looking past the flame into the monk’s eyes. A cloud of blue smoke filled the musty corridor and the strong odor of tobacco started to cling to the walls like paste to paper. It wasn’t usually a habit Bane would have indulged in, but nothing about his current lifestyle was what he would have called ‘usual’ and the smoke calmed his mind, at least a little. The cigars he had bought had a feint scent of menthol.
“So, what do you think of this? Can you do it?” The Basillisk asked the monk opposite him. He wasn’t asking for an opinion, as such, but more wanting to know if it could be really be done.
“There is nothing the monks of the Citadel cannot conjure up.” The monk responded sharply. “Do you question our talents, Mr. Flaresto? I would have you remember that this building has housed some of the finest monks in all of Corone’s history. I need not remind you of why our people, and many others, come here.” He was polite, but held a harsh tone in his voice. Clearly Bane had offended him by asking this of him.
“Yeah, I know. I’ve experienced the power for myself.” Bane took another heave on his cigar, referring to his first ever trip to the Citadel where he had fought Kaiser Nightwind, a strange monkey. Following the trend about everything he was experiencing in Corone, he had been astounded by the healing powers of the monks who had attended to his battered body in the aftermath of a body wrecking explosion. Not even a scar remained from that fight, not a scratch. These attendants could even raise the dead. Nothing he had ever seen or experienced in his life came close to that kind of power, and it was a power that he had to awe.
He took another slow drag, kicking his head back, and exhaled a ring. “I’m thinking of crystal, to be honest with you, something maybe with a bit of, you know, a sparkle. Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t just a cosmetic request. I want you to take the arena from my thoughts, and make it manifest.”
The monk eyed him up and down, and did as requested. It took but a moment for the Citadel attendant to create the arena from the picture in Bane’s mind.
“It’s done.”
Bane thought about his request for a few seconds, and lamented on his choice. “I’ve never been to The Pedestal as a Basillisk. As a human I think only once, because I was born there, but never since.”
The monk smiled a smile which indicated he was listening, but pressing matters and demands on his time prevented him from really wanting to care too deeply about the sentimentalities of his clients. He was a busy man in a busy place.
“Well, Bane, the arena is ready for your arrival whenever you so wish.”
Bane nodded slowly. “Right.”
He gritted his teeth and stepped forward into the nearby portal, preparing himself for the worst part of the journey. The transportation sickness still got to him more than any other aspect of the Citadel.