[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 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.

[Open] The Sacred and the Corrupt

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