MONARCHY OF ROSES

Dastardly Beings.

Live inside a bowl, circling is my goal.

His pen dragged from left to right, crossing the sappy poetry that had been written down in his diary. When he closed the book, the dust that it had gathered puffed out a cloud; Oak.

This wasn't his first visit; many blue moons ago a man here had needed Maarschalks help. The help that Maarschalk provided was adequately enough, and he was rewarded with a shack in the ghetto of Oak. It wasn't much; and thus, Maarschalk used it as a storage space. The man that he helped was well versed in magic - seals were his trick; he used those seals to protect his shack from being raided. They weren't active seals, they convinced people to stray away. After leaving this shack, the tall figure had plans; scheming plans -- his intentions were to follow some disreputable people, to catch them doing dishonest stuff. For no reason, other than plain voyeurism. Curiosity was his appetite.

His fingers slipped into his breast pocket, reaching deep down for the remains of a cigarette pack.

Marlboro Red.

He took out the last cigarette that was in this pack and lit it up as he walked. Whenever humans are being stared at, they feel an ominous sensation - some act on it and some don't. This sensation lit up every fiber in his body for the duration of his walk. Yet his eyes couldn't see

It couldn't see who was watching him. The immense pressure that he felt convinced him that it was not a who, but a what. This thing wasn't a human.

He needed to divert the way he was walking. Into alleys he went, from place to place. All the stores that were open - Maarschalk walked through them and tried to escape through the backdoor.

It was silent.

Too silent.

With his realization came a sight of clarity. A man appeared roughly four to five meters away from Maarschalk. He didn't just come in to sight, he appeared. The realization that the silence in this town made this man appear. The robed individual with a mask made of iron stared him down.

Was he the source of the oceanic pressure that he felt on him?

Maarschalk

'Have you come to fight?'

ICARUS

"..."

It was not like Maarschalk wanted to let his enemy know that his knees were buckling under the pressure that he brought. His poker face remained, even though it was under severe duress. His heart felt tightened, the feeling of being crushed was very real. Despite all of this, the tall figure raised his arms. His fist was formed into a fist so tight that his skin begun to bleed where his fingernails and the palm of his hand connected.

The figure, surprised with Maarschalks tenacity showed no signs of any emotion. His presence was a mere absence of emotion; a black hole that sucked in everything around himself. What was under the hood that Maarschalk couldn't perceive?

He felt his throat clamp up from the pressure; even though he initially spoke out to him to mock his existence, he couldn't use his wit to fight with words. His entire body was in a state of emergency.

ICARUS

'You will follow me.'

Usually when fight-or-flight kicks in, there's a moment like when a deer freezes up when strong light shines upon them. That's what was happening to Maarschalk, stuck in the phase between choosing whether to fight or to run; however, as the iron masked man turned his body away from Maarschalk; he felt like he was being drawn to him. He felt the same feeling whenever a train passed by fast -- as if he was being sucked into the train, except that it was his pressure that drew Maarschalk to him. Without replying, he moved gradually and cautiously begun to follow him. Whenever they walked by people they seemed to fall asleep; was it his immense pressure that put them to sleep?

The cold cobble stretched across many alleys and shops that the duo passed through. His vision glared over the concrete stairs that led to a basement. This basement was covered in black marble, the ceiling, floor, and walls. The idea behind this was that nobody could hide in plain sight, and that even those who have been moving from shadow to shadow would be exposed. The vast aura that the man brought with him slightly started to dissipate as he stepped into the basement. Was there a magic barrier surrounding the basement? Or did he just limit himself from leaking all his magical intimidation.

Did Maarschalk trust this stranger?

It was hard to say; he approached the basement with caution but awaited stepping on the black floor -- he stood on the last stair that led to the basement.

Maarschalk

“Is this where you host your evil meetings? snrk“

The tongue-in-cheek humor that Maarschalk possessed was not lost, even though he was put under stress until a moment ago, no reply came from the masked figure, who awaited Maarschalk to enter the basement. He stood close to the outer wall, with his arms hanging loosely in the air. The first step Maarschalk set on to the black marble caused his take-over to instantly to activate, without his awareness that it had. He didn't feel the physical change of it activating, the amount of pressure that the masked stranger had brought with him was enough to amount for his takeover to have negligible effect. The activation of his takeover wasn't a voluntary reaction, it came to him when he stepped on the floor; it had some magic effects on people.

ICARUS

“I am the minister of darkness; my name is ICARUS.“
“These walls will assure that nobody can eavesdrop.“

The figure begun to explain himself. The name Icarus is unknown to Maarschalk. His origins, motivations and alignment was still unclear. But the intrigue certainly was present; Maarschalk showed his curious side -- especially when the figure took off his mask during his explanation. Auburn brown hair, accompanied by some would call a baby-face. Perhaps between the age of twenty-five and thirty. Slightly unclear to Maarschalk; before allowing the figure Icarus to speak, he had some questions on his own;

Maarschalk

“How long have you been watching me?“

ICARUS

“Long enough to know of your capabilities.“

Maarschalk

“Grimoire... Heart?“

Icarus gave a subtle nod after having explained the ideals and various alignments of his guild. It was his assumption that the morals of Maarschalk resonated with his own; which is why he was approached. It made sense to Maarschalk.

Before Icarus continued with his explanation he pointed towards the side of the big room; a table with two chairs on opposing sides with a chess board on the table. The tall man felt obliged to partake in the match of chess in whatever obsidian room that they were in. Of course the first move was set by Icarus. Maarschalk, being the cunty fuck that is begun to mirror his moves whilst simultaneously watching out for traps. Soon the turns begun taking longer and longer; lucky for Maarschalk there was no timer -- this allowed him to think carefully whether he should mirror or do something on his own. Whether Icarus was amused or not remained unclear to Maarschalk.

After Icarus put his mask back on, Maarschalk's takeover had dissipated; again, this had occurred without him being aware that he had been in this phase up until now. It was likely that the board-game that he played with Icarus had calmed his core down; without his notice -- clearly unknown whether this was the sign of a veteran soldier; or a boy who was playing with fire he could not control.

His dull gaze began to wander across the room; scanning for anything interesting -- wondering whether or not Icarus would drink tea in this room, in his lonesome. Maarschalk didn't focus his attention on Icarus whilst he spoke, he rather stared off into the distance; whilst his fingers slipped down his coat to grab his cig.

Icarus

“You're in no position to pity me.“

Immediately the eyebrow of the gentle giant arched itself. Weren't it for the lit cigarette resting between his lips he'd have given him some lip in return. What was more fascinating was that Icarus seemingly could read his emotion at a whim, and find out the complexity of it at that. Similar to what Maarschalk could do, but only at a much higher level. Knowing when someone is angry, or happy is a child's trick -- figuring out emotions requires a high level of life experience. Perhaps Icarus was more mature than what seemed; perhaps the reason why he wore the mask was because he is baby-faced. Icarus, amidst the chess match begun to explain the fine intricacies of the job he had in mind for Maarschalk. What the ins and outs were;

By accepting the job he had given him, Icarus could communicate to Maarschalk at any given moment; no boundaries could stop him from doing so.

Something about this job seemed off; was Maarschalk treated as a pawn in the grand scheme of things? He wasn't amused by the idea that he was a pawn. The feeling of relative importance would be significant enough for him to accept this job. However - since he had presented himself, in a face - to - face meetup, it was more convincing. He endangered himself by meeting up with the tall man in this fashion -- was this enough to convince him to join his cause.

Maarschalk

“Why should I go for Grimoire instead of Phantom?“

Icarus

“They operate in the spotlight.“
“We operate in the dark ...“
“... Much like you do“

Icarus

“You're left with a choice.“
“Blue or red.“

Maarschalk

“I see. Hm, fuck it. I choose Grimoire.“

Upon accepting the job, Maarschalk sensed a sense of relief from Icarus -- perhaps he was unsure whether or not the tall figure would accept or not. After taking off his mask once more, he explained that the mask now belonged to the tall figure. Should he ever find himself in a situation where using it would hide his identity in a crucial manner during his activities, he should use it. At least, that's what Icarus recommended.

What came with the mask was a vial -- supposed to work like an enhancement buff that worked permanently.

Although Maarschalk was instructed to drink it; he was wary. Icarus explained that he had gone through some troubles acquiring the vial -- and that Maarschalk should drink it, in order to prove his trust.

Thus, he drunk it, and felt the aura points in his body open up, he felt like he was gushing with energy.

The game of chess was over.

The vial wasn't poisoned, neither was Maarschalk under an effect of a powerful hypnotic spell; trust had been established between the two individuals. After Maarschalk drunk the potion, he felt a deep high over encumber him; similar to an LSD trip. He stared around the room, without a gaze in his eyes - as vague as that was. Icarus scoffed slightly, at the sight of the tall warrior who was now tripping. Icarus standing up didn't cause a reaction - he casted the spell that would allow him to talk to Maarschalk at any given moment.

With that done, the dark minister had disappeared into thin air.

As had the room that Maarschalk was in. He blinked, and the world seemed to have teleport him away,. From a dark obsidian room to the nature, where he was laying in tall grass. Probably caused by the high he felt from the potion. His head faced the sky, it had become night within a moment's notice. The shiny stars were distracting him, but - slowly it had been creeping up to him.

The realization that he had become a Grimoire spy; it didn't dawn on him quietly. Perhaps his ambition to become relevant had led him to a path that was too dark for him to follow.

Who is to say that it is a dark path to follow. Evil is a concept perceived by the eye of the beholder.

The philosophical issues that begun to trouble his mind seemed to take the edge of the high away. Sobering him up quite quickly. Getting up was difficult, as his muscles felt incredibly sore.

He had been wandering for a long time to end up here. Either that, or he had been in a fight and got hit in a lot of places. Either way, he had experienced a black out; unknown what had happened after meeting Icarus and arriving here.

His next objective was to go to home.

To go back to Lamia Scale and prove his worth.