multiversallogs | [Open] The Sacred and the Corrupt

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[Open] The Sacred and the Corrupt

Who: Kalenedral, Solomon Koenig, whomever else~
What: Hellsing acquiring a blacksmith and another butt-kicker. And whatever other hijinks any random folks want to stir up. Open scene~
Where: Hellsing GH
When: A day after Kal's arrival in town, late evening.
Notes: I'm in yer guild hall, bein' all dead.
Warnings: Will update if something occurs, but I doubt it.

Death Knights are not subtle, stealthy creatures.

Audibly, there is the creak of armor on both rider and steed, the soft rattle of chains, the clack-clack of the aged skulls hanging from the saddle's sides shifting with the deathcharger's movements.

Visually, the Lady Shadowmane's white-fire hooves leave little in the way of prints on the ground, but everywhere she steps glows with its own eerie light for a moment before fading and leaving nothing amiss behind. At a run, it would seem that the ground itself was briefly aflame in her wake, but at an easy walk it's just like the scattering of white embers in the dirt.

And then there is Kalenedral himself, with his unholy blue-fire eyes, the color and the glow mimicked in places on his armor.

Limbface is easily the stealthiest of the three, shuffling along behind the shadowy war-mare, and he smells just like he looks; dead and decayed and rotten. But he makes very little sound, and nothing on him glows except his dead eyes, and only very very faintly. Beside his Knight and his steed, Limbface practically blends into the environment.

Death Knights were never meant to be hidden. They were meant to ride at the front of the Scourge, commanding the lesser undead and striking terror in the living.

And this is what comes riding to the Guild Hall of the "Guild of Battling Preternatural Horrors". During the day, no less, because this particular unholy horror is utterly indifferent to the sun. But late enough that the sun is already low in the sky, in case anyone he must speak to is one of those who cannot tolerate the presence of the light. An odd weakness, that, but he's heard that it happens in Baedal.

It isn't as though Kalenedral fears the night, either, nor riding through the forest on his way out during it. In fact, he may even be looking forward to seeing if anything entertaining might happen when he does so -- the locals tell tales of haunting, and he hasn't fought a spirit in ages. But better to do it after his business is concluded, in case it's a lengthy engagement.

The Knight makes a direct approach for the front, public door. He dismounts at said door, and moves to go inside, allowing the Lady Shadowmane to linger where he left her. If he and Limbface are allowed in unchallenged, he approaches the employee at the desk.

"I wish to speak to someone," Kalenedral's deep, quiet voice is overlaid with an eerie, cold sort of echo that is quite hard to describe. And because even Kal knows that's less than helpful, he attempts to elaborate: "Someone with authority enough within your guild to make an accord."

Because that totally explains everything, right there.

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"I rather expected a list of targets and a stern warning," Kalenedral doesn't quite sound taken aback, but it's a very close thing. "You wish to employ me?"

Yeah, he hadn't actually thought of that option.

“If we could hand out lists like that and tell people to go to town,” Sol says, very dryly, “my job would be a lot fucking easier, I can tell you that right now. The way this works involves a lot of compromise and bureaucracy, and if I do my aforementioned job right, that's my problem and not yours. We do contract freelancers, but the work you'd get that way would be pretty limited - mostly we pull 'em in on emergencies they're specifically suited to.”

Which doesn't sound ideal for Kalenedral or for Hellsing with regard to him.

“What it boils down to is if you want to do the job, you have to take the job.” And the rest of what it entails; they can't just point independents wildly and cross their fingers, and if he cleared something like that it'd be his ass. With Integra's boot impression, probably.

"I am simply unaccustomed to being a..." hrm, no, that isn't the right word. He searches for a moment, and it is an actual moment of trailed-off silence while he wrestles with the language. Some people find it disconcerting when the amnesiac does this.

"...acceptable asset," is what he settles for. No wonder his wording is so rigid and weird half the time.

And it's true, as most organizations on Azeroth would have fallen all over themselves to shove a list in his face, make big threats and wave their fingers around Very Importantly, and then shoo him right back out the door again.

"Very well," the Knight is willing to go along with it, it seems, "you are correct; emergencies would not be sufficient on their own."

Sol, who waited patiently for him to put his thoughts in order, smiles just a little: “Alucard puts all prospective combat agents through their paces. That'll probably accustom you to what we're- accustomed to.”

...yeah, after a go around with Alucard, there are not going to be any lingering questions about why he's considered acceptable.

“So, let's talk what being an agent means, what you bring to the table, and what the benefits we offer are. If something's not applicable to you or you might want a flexible alternative, you'll need to walk me through that- I don't want to make assumptions.”

To be sure, although Kalenedral is likely to be far less traumatized and far more... intrigued. Monsters gonna monster, yo.

"Very well," Kal still doesn't look for a chair, like nearly anyone else may have done by now; it's just not something he cares about. Limbface has taken to moving any empty chairs around, anyway, just quietly entertaining himself over yonder. This one facing the wall, this one stacked on top of it...

"Proceed, then." Naturally, he assumes it should be in that specific order.

Fair enough. The literal straightforwardness will be something to get used to, but it's not really a problem; conveniently, Sol is probably easily the most intuitively communicative person Hellsing employs. (Granted, the bar for that doesn't work out to being very high.)

“First of all, it means chain of command. Whether you work with or without a partner is at the discretion of senior agents and our fearless leaders, the assignments you get- I'm guessing you have a pretty good idea of how that side of a military organization works. We're a private paramilitary, and we don't dick around where we can avoid it.”

Almost dry, again; it doesn't take much guessing to figure out at least some of this guy's background.

"My minions do not count as 'partners'," Kalenedral clarifies, "while it would be foolhardy for you to wish to employ me and then not make use of all of my abilities, it is an issue I have run into with private organizations in the past."

Why yes, they made private military organizations that dumb on Azeroth.

Sol's eyebrows rise, just a little. “Cute as Tetris is, no, we're good. I'm referring specifically to being partnered with another field agent, or even grouped in a team - I don't make the decisions about whether or not that's appropriate, but as an entry level agent, largely neither will you. I can say that as long as you're up front about what you can and can't do and communicate with the rest of the organization about your skills, you can expect to be competently utilized.”

They really do not fuck around.

Kalenedral makes a dismissive gesture with one hand.

"That is perfectly acceptable, and nothing I have not dealt with extensively in the past."

He naturally has no idea what a Tetris is, but he doesn't ask.

Which gets a nod - Sol doesn't feel the need to belabor any point that Kalenedral is already good and conversant with.

“You'll get paid- those details'll get worked out once you're officially on board. If you need assistance finding somewhere to live,” because he can already imagine what a pain in the ass getting the ghoul past a landlord might be, even in a city like Baedal (maybe especially in a city like Baedal, right now), “then you can get help with that through Hellsing. We cover work-related training, and you're gonna think right now that you don't need any, and you might be right, but you're also in a city with a lot more variety than what you're used to working with. You will be surprised. You may be interested in finding ways to be surprised less often. It happens.”

Needing extra training or education has nothing to do with how accomplished or competent they already are and everything to do with the fact that one single world is never going to be preparation for everything in this city.

"I do not eat more than very rarely, and I do not sleep," Kalenedral says, "thus 'somewhere to live' largely means 'somewhere to put things'. I am in no hurry."

It really was a unique experience, being a Death Knight. As to the rest, all he says -- very dryly -- is: "You will find that I am far more practical than prideful."

Yeah, nope. He's fine with getting the Baedal 'monsters and other assholes' 101, thank you. He can survive a heinous amount of damage, but where his pride actually comes into play is that he prefers they have to really earn it to make him bleed.

Anything less is just insulting.

The smile he gets this time is a little wolfish, and a little more honest.

“That's the way we like it. The gentleman running our training program - Sir Martel - has a flair for the egotistical prick, but he gets the job done. You can look into training with him when you're cleared by Sir Hellsing. In terms of what you bring to the table- combat, we've established. Like I said earlier, we're shorthanded, more than we'd like; if you can offer any other skills, I'm all ears. We diversify wherever we can to keep afloat.”

"In as far as combat goes, I am a Knight of the Ebon Blade, and a former Commander of the Scourge."

They'd be here all night if he tried to explain the Scourge or the Ebon Blade, but Kalenedral figures the gist is there. The Ebon Blade = something noteworthy. Scourge = some kind of army. Probably full of dead guys, all things considered.

"I am proficient in basic necromancy," a gesture at Limbface, who is still working on his carefully-balanced chair sculpture over there, "Limbface is of my making. I also hold Mastery over a dozen lesser ghouls who I can only maintain in this realm for a limited amount of time. I am specialized in combating spellcasters, and can freeze the surface of liquids solidly enough for siege engines to cross, so long as they stay close enough to myself."

It's a pretty wide range of things he does besides 'hit things until they stop moving'.

"Outside of combat, I am one of the Master Siegesmiths of the Ashen Verdict, proficient in goblin engineering, and I am a dabbling archaeologist."

It's a lot.

But he doesn't sleep.

That Sol doesn't mouth Limbface after that in vague disbelief is a testament to his self-control and professionalism, but in fairness, he let his daughter name her mutant corgi 'Conan the Corbarian' and thus probably doesn't get to critique the straightforward naming conventions of pretty much anyone. Outside of work, that wouldn't actually stop him any, but here they are.

“-can you tell me a little more about 'siegesmithing'? I'm guessing it's pretty much what it sounds like.” But you know. Details.

Limbface, once upon a time, came with spare parts.

Which the ghoul insisted on tying on his head for safekeeping. Or snacks. Whichever came first.

And people actually wonder why Kalenedral takes such great pains to make his ghoul continue to advance in intelligence. Most ghouls are... well, they're not exactly the chair-balancing inquisitive types.

"I am a Master Blacksmith," Kalenedral doesn't explain any of that about Limbface, of course. So he explains this, instead. "The armor and weapons I wear are of my make. Siegesmith means that I am equally skilled in combining my blacksmithing with my engineering in order to forge ammunition from bullets and arrowheads to balista bolts, as well as the metal components to various machines of war."

The Ebon Blade, too, does not fuck around.

“We might have to unleash you on the armory,” he says, speculatively. “We haven't got a forge at the moment, but it'd be a useful thing to have in the future. If we could be less reliant on outsiders to outfit our agents...metal's rarer here than it is elsewhere. Think fewer guns and more crossbows; firearm ammunition isn't completely unheard of, but it's not practical to rely on.”

Mostly he's just thinking out loud - these aren't arrangements he can nail down right now. But it's an interesting thought.

"I have built forges in the past," Kalenedral gives a light shrug, "it is not a complicated matter."

The scarcity of metal is more of a problem, to be sure. The Ebon Hold itself was made of metal. The Shadow Vault as well. Basically anything the Ebon Blade could make out of metal, they did.

Nothing else tended to be durable enough.

“Good to know.” Something to look at later on, maybe- let it never be said that Sol doesn't go above and beyond his actual job. (He's been overachieving for Integra since before she'd actually hired him, which is probably why he's comfortable handling what amounts to a job interview off the cuff. It's not actually one of his responsibilities, but hey, he's been known to recruit. Saves the matriarchy time.)

He taps his fingers against the edge of the table, then straightens, slightly. “All right. You got a CiD when you arrived?” He already knows this is the case, it's just a prompt. “I'll get that number from you now, get an appointment for you with the lady in charge, and get back to you ASAP. Sound good?”

It's Limbface who produces the CiD, and it's best not to ask from where. He shuffles over without any outward cue from his Master and holds it out for Kal to take -- very carefully, as though the Knight might snap it if he isn't so cautious -- in his gauntleted hand.

"I do not know how to retrieve a number from it," Kalenedral says perhaps somewhat predictably. His world probably doesn't have iphones. "You are welcome to take the information you need from it," and he sets it on the table.

Not thinking about where exactly Limbface was concealing the CiD also gets filed under 'above and beyond the call of duty', as Sol will probably later, dryly, inform Mycroft when he swings by to see if the other man needs anything before he heads out. He spares the ghoul a friendly smile, which might spark a nature vs nurture discussion regarding the fact Liesl harbors a not-so-secret desire to make off with Alucard's hellhounds if he were ever going to cop to it, and takes the liberty of programming a couple of Hellsing numbers into Kal's CiD while he's there.

“You'll hear from me soon,” he promises, offering it back when he's done. “I don't think you're going to have a problem getting employed, Sir Hellsing just needs to have looked you over and signed off on it herself before we can move forward.”

Limbface takes it back from him, instead of Kal. The Knight doesn't seem to find this odd at all. "Very well," he agrees, "although I should make note -- as it has also come up in the past," and yes, his very mild and neutral tone is a bit sour right there, "I shall not bend knee, nor offer subservience."

There is a Sylvanas-shaped chip on his shoulder there. He's not going to end up like Koltira, thank you very much.

"I understand the value of chain of command, particularly in battle. But I shall not be owned." And if others hadn't also tried it with him in the past, he wouldn't feel the need to bring it up. But now-a-days it's a necessary disclaimer.

None of these people are his Highlord. Only Darion Mograine has that kind of hold over him.

It gives Sol only a moment of pause.

“The kind of loyalty you'll be asked here is the pragmatic kind - we need more from you than we'd ask from a mercenary, yeah, you wear that badge it means you represent this guild and you act accordingly. But nobody's talking ownership.” He doesn't think either Sir Hellsing or the Princess would mind the odd bended knee, mind, but they don't have people signing contracts in blood. If someone wants to leave, later on- a disappointment, but always their decision.

"Good. I will not end up as Koltira Deathweaver, hauled beneath the Undercity in chains to have his mind tampered with for daring to treat his brother Knight as Ebon Blade and not as foe," it doesn't take a perceptive observer like Sol is to know Kalenedral is angry just at the memory of this; his jaw is tight and his tone is slightly clipped.

"If I have any truly unfinished business on Azeroth, it is the reclaiming of my fellow Knight from that place." And should they be too late... well. Arthas had been a much larger problem than Sylvanas, and he had fallen. She would follow the Lich King's footsteps in more than one way.

In the meantime, those who had tried to bend Kalenedral to their will had found out the hard way that it was less than effective. The few groups that would hire a Death Knight tended to be... possessive, as though Death Knights existed just to be property.

Everyone seemed to forget that they'd broken away from the Lich King themselves. Koltira, too, had unfortunately apparently forgotten. He had forgotten (or perhaps forsworn?) the side of their psyche that made them leaders, and not just followers, and had allowed Sylvanas far too much power over himself.

He may even have done it on purpose, to a degree. Self-destruction was not uncommon among Death Knights, and Kalenedral remembered well the shades literally haunting Koltira in Agmar's Hammer...

Realizing he'd been staring into a space somewhere over Sol's shoulder for a few moments, Kalenedral pushed it all aside. "So long as that is understood, I have no qualms with being a proper soldier in another's army. Should there ever be a conflict of interests between your guild and the Ebon Blade, I will simply leave."

Which is really what Koltira should have done, as a last ditch option. But once Sylvanas literally had her hooks in him, it had been too late.

"But as they are not even on this world, that I know of, the chances are quite slim. And even if they were, going off what I have read, heard, and observed of this place, I doubt there would be conflict." Otherwise he wouldn't have come here at all! So, there's that.

There is a slight pause after- that, during which Sol reflects on his increased threshold for...that, since coming to work for Hellsing. If nothing else, he can certainly say that Kalenedral is going to more than fit right in.

“Great,” he says, finally, conversational and largely unfazed. “Glad we cleared that up.” It isn't as mocking as it could be, all things considered, because- no, it is actually good to know a prospective hire's attitude toward conflicts of interest and their general likelihood. They can deal with someone leaving and proving a future problem, but insubordination or deceit within the guild itself is everybody's problem in that they really can't afford to give the Militia an excuse.

He gets to his feet, then, moving back towards the door to see them out-

“I'll be in touch. We'll talk forges.”

Kalendral is an upfront guy!

And really, what he just did is what Koltira really should have done right off the cuff, why are you so dumb Koltira. So he's one step ahead, there.

He and Limbface depart with no further issue, and with all but one of the conference room's chairs "Tetris'd" in the corner. Ah, ghouls.

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[Open] The Sacred and the Corrupt

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