Souls Broken, Souls Bound

Goethe takes the last few steps toward the large iron gate in front of the mansion. He plants the tip of his sword into the gravel and dirt and leans heavily on the hilt as he eases himself to the ground, seating himself against one of the large stone pillars.

His muscles ache from the long journey, and he is glad for the momentary rest. His left eye burns as though there is a sliver of some foreign object there; he blinks and rubs it with his palm but the discomfort does not subside. In the mirrored pommel of his weapon, he catches a glimpse of that eye -- the white turned red from broken blood vessels. He blinks again before closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the cool stone.

Goethe had overheard whisperings of the Omega Cell in a far off gathering place and had been intrigued. He had asked about for information and direction, mostly meeting with suspicious glares or blank stares. But some had known and pointed him in the right direction, and finally after many weeks, he found himself here.

What was to come next, he did not know, but at least it was a destination in his journey; hopefully the last one for a long while.

Goethe awakened, shocked to find that he had fallen asleep sitting there outside the gate. Someone was calling to him, and he leaned around the pillar against which he sat to see a figure seated in a high window of the mansion beyond. He could not make out her words, so he simply raised a hand in acknowledgment.

In a few short moments, two warriors approached and stood just inside the iron gate. One, a beautiful lady, he recognized as the figure who had called from the window; the other was a spirit of some sort, a creature unlike any Goethe had seen in his travels. He would soon come to know them as Lady Olivia and Moirai, respectively.

They questioned him briefly, and Goethe, guarded a bit at first, answered as honestly as he was able. Appearing satisfied, they glanced toward each other, perhaps wordlessly sharing some conversation, and then opened the gates and gestured him inside the mansion. This was but the first step, he knew. Acceptance into their order would not be so simple; they would want to know details, his history, his abilities... and he wondered at how much he would be forced to reveal. He was led down a narrow stone staircase and into a large room dominated by a thick table made from the cross-section of some huge, ancient tree.

He waited there for some time, but took the opportunity to try to make himself more presentable. He combed his fingers through his hair and used a small leather lace to tie it back into a loose ponytail. Pacing about the room, he found a small copper basin filled with water. Not knowing if it's for drinking or washing, he paused for a long moment before finally dipping in his hands and splashing the water on his face, wiping it free of sweat and grime.

As the door opened and the full cadre of the Omega Cell order entered the room, Goethe again took his seat. They were an impressive group, to be sure, but were pleasant enough even through their extensive questioning. Goethe was guarded at first, but began to open up more as he saw that they were merely looking out for the interests of the cult they had formed. One who introduced herself as Rhaetou took the lead in the questioning, and Goethe found himself addressing her through most of the proceedings. Her blue hair and silver eyes shone in the dim candlelight, causing Goethe to wonder at what type of being she may be.

They asked to know what equipment he carried, and as he laid out his sword and shield for inspection, he found himself remembering a previous weapon he held some time ago, a weapon that always had the perfect balance in his hand, a sword with a broken blade. He was filled with a sense of longing for a moment, before his thoughts were turned back to his current situation as more questions were asked. He produced a pouch, filled to overflowing with platinum, and tossed it onto the table as well.

The proceedings soon came to an end, but as the Omega Cell members filed out of the room, the elder warrior Tomtom remained behind for a moment, taking Goethe aside and whispering a few further questions. Goethe frowned and cast his gaze to the floor but decided that it wasn't worth hiding anything at that point. Either they would accept him for what he was, or not... it was out of his hands now. He gave the last of his answers and was then left alone again in the room.

Less than an hour later, a servant appeared in the doorway to escort Goethe to a room to stay the night. He took it as a good sign.

Goethe slung his hardened leather pack over his shoulder and followed the servant down several hallways, then up four flights of carved stone stairs. The links of his chain armor clinked lightly against each other in the stillness of the place. He was shown into a modest room with polished stone walls, a large comfortable looking bed, and a small table against one wall paired with a single wooden chair. Atop the table was set a delicious smelling meal -- fresh beef, cheese, and sliced peaches -- which made Goethe suddenly realize how hungry he was.

As the servant turned to leave, Goethe handed him the bag of platinum. "For the vault," he said simply, then turned his attention to the meal, still warm.

He ate quickly, finishing the meal with wine from a pewter mug set there. He then moved to the window as the light of day was waning into twilight and looked out over the landscape toward the shadow of mountains beyond. He reflected on the events of the day and of those over the past few weeks which had led him here.

A dull pain throbbed in his head and he rubbed his tired eyes as he moved to the corner washstand set with a water basin. He stripped down, washed himself as best he could, and felt quite a bit better, if still tired and worn. Rummaging through his pack, he found a relatively clean pair of trousers and put them on before lowering himself onto the wide bed.

It was a plush feather bed, even more comfortable than it appeared, and Goethe began to fall asleep quickly. He rested well that night, better than he had in a month or more, but even in that deep sleep he still dreamed vividly. In those dreams, his head rested not on a feather pillow but on downy feathers of another kind; living feathers of unparalleled softness that enveloped him completely.

And the warm breeze that entered through the open window and washed over him was instead a hot breath which he heard and felt and remembered.