Kilam

Kilam

New member
Character Profile
Profile
Dark robes clung to Kilam as he strode through a small town in the region of Whiteport, his left arm remained swaddled in a neat black and gold spotted silk. Lanterns guided the man as he stared at the dust clay clay-hued sky. Tugging his hood closer, the fabric kept the breeze away along with any prying eyes. It appeared the news was correct about this area. A rebellion had taken place, and Kilam decided to go searching.. Where was the 'Marytr' hiding these days? Touching his right hand to his chest, he felt the book he had taken with him to read. 'Theories of Magi-Tech and The Natural Body.' was one piece of work that deeply fascinated Kilam, aside from the arch in his left shoulder.

Slowing his pace, Kilam wiggled his toes and stretched. Muscle rippled beneath silk fabric as joints popped. "That damned boatride was something else.. I miss the city." Kilam muttered to himself as he breathed the coastal air. The streets were coming to life with the change of shift for certain shops. Others closed down to have dinner and sleep for another hard day's work. In the darker corners, there were many sitting in the shadows, homeless and sick. While his heart ached for them, he had his mission to see to.

Kilam soon stopped at a small tavern near the South Gate. 'Stiles Tavern' was well established, its building meant to house traders, merchants, and more. No doubt he would find his companion here. Another like-minded individual who knew of the Marytr'. Stepping up to the door, he opened it slowly, bathing himself in the warmth and good-smelling food. Quickly approaching the counter, he laid out money to the Barkeep. "Two meals and some tea, please." Nodding in response, the Barkeep took the money, turning to the waitress, she went off to retrieve the order. Taking a seat with his back to the wall, golden eyes observed the semi-filled room. Several tables were full of tradesmen and women, a bardic group played somber tunes matching the rebellion's attitude.

Minutes later, the waitress placed his food and drink before him with a nod. Leaving him to eat, the man picked up the fork in one hand, he pulled it apart. Chewing slowly, he savored the stew and fish he was given. Now he simply had to wait.
 
Last edited:
He was late on purpose. Arrived without haste, as though he'd been here once before.
The warmth curled around him, folding around the saffron silks. He wondered whether the silks would read as vanity, or misdirection. Sometimes the upper hand came dressed in color.

With the scent of fish and tea drifting past, his eyes found the distractions in the room, then all the suitable exits. Finally, they rested on the man seated by the wall. The shroud arm was concealed well, but the posture was unmistakable. A man who could move quickly if the situation demanded it. The book resting near his meal sealed it.

Theories of Magi-Tech and the Natural Body. A rare copy. Unfinished. Banned in certain areas of the Spire due to 'esoteric conjecture'. It had never been revised, but often cited – always without credit.

Zayad approached with a quiet confidence of someone who had been expected. As he sat across, he wondered if he was welcome. He didn't greet the one the dossiers described as Kilam immediately. Instead he simply removed his worn gloves and folded them neatly on the table. He'd once copied a passage from it by hand. Long before it vanished from the sanctioned shelves. One more look at the book. A kindred spirit, if there was such a thing in the 'ni.

„I always thought it said something about a man.“ He started, accent dropping entirely.
„When he read during a meal. Especially when the book was banned in half of Miraj'Dah.“
„Difficult work.“ His eyes still regarded the book more than the man. „Even before it went unfinished.“ And he'd finally give his full attention to the man. Because the answer was likely to tell him whether he had a counterpart or a counterweight.

„I hear they call him Martyr now. I wonder if it was chosen for him...or if he chose it himself.“

Voice dropping lower, because even this far north, even the 'ni had shadows:

„You admire his work?“
 
Time danced on by like a slow melody as tavern tunes played in the firelight. Laughter ebbed and flowed in sync, flavors of fish and fresh herbs washed over Kilam's taste buds. Gentle grunts of satisfaction left him as he scarfed down the first plate, then the second. Sparing a glance at the book, he sipped the tea with ease. If 'ni found out about this, he would surely be marked as an exile and dealt with accordingly. Footsteps approached as the barmaid cleared his table, giving him a warming stone to keep the tea kettle hot for the time being.

Inclining his head, Kilam gave her thanks and some extra coins, gazing back towards the brown liquid, he listened and waited patiently. Finishing his second cup of tea, his company had finally arrived at Zayad, and he seated himself across from the Scholar. Nodding his head slowly, he was amused at Zayad's approach and probe for information. As his voice dropped Kilam set his cup down, took up the kettle, and poured Zayad a fresh cup. Sliding it forward, his lips quirked into a smile as his eyes twinkled.

"It is hypothesised that it was mutual.. I'm a seed of what would be.." Kilam whispered, matching Zayad's tone as he covered the book with his right hand. It quickly disappeared into his robes as he returned to drinking his tea. The meeting had begun. Glancing left and right, he hadn't missed the few wondering eyes around the tavern. Three had been made within the first moments of his arrival, and the last two now exposed themselves to his left. Tall, armored figures rose, casting a side-long glance at them both.

"One must gamble to find truth, regardless of what happens. Some ventures turn even the bravest man to cowardice." Tapping the table gently, he found comfort leaning back against the wall, one leg crossing over the other. So long as Zayad paid attention, Kilam communicated with the click of his finger. Noting the three seated 'fishermen' at the bar, it was about time for them to change places for more privacy.

@Zayad
 
Zayad accepted the offered tea with the soft hum of a drunk uncle. Let the heat settle into his palms. A familiar piece of comfort in the frozen wasteland. It was truly a marvel how people chose to live in the cold. But that was all the warmth two ghosts could spare each other.

„Then perhaps I owe the boring roots an apology.“ Polite in tone alone. „I had wondered if He was merely borrowing your voice.“ A brow lifted, some played with food. Zayad played with men. It was much the same. „I see now I underestimated the seed.“

He didn't drink. He rarely did outside of banquets. Not after they tried to poison him in Vapna. The steam curled. Heat and scent were enough. They had to be.

The tap drew his attention. He didn't turn toward the bar, but his finger shifted on the cup. A gesture in the suspected direction. Small and precise. Kilam would've made a good 'ni.

„They're not mine, if you were wondering.“ He said softly, watching the performers. Wondered if it would be too on the nose if he asked them to play a Miradi tune. „Or if they are, no one told me. Which is just as troubling.“

He considered retreat. But he wasn't just anyone. His was a big name. And he learned to hide best while being observed.

„We can move, if that's your preference.“ Cup set down on the table with delicate care. Killing their tails would only sprout more. Would only draw attention. „Or we can make this table holy with dangerous conversation.“

„Either way, best to let the fishermen cast a few more lines before deciding what's worth reeling in.“ Turned the brass on his right index halfway. An old sign, 'ni cant.
 
Smiling over his tea, Kilam was not truly concerned about their presence. He only wished to get on the road sooner rather than later. A firm shake of his head told the other they did not need to speak in the least. Even as the tea vanished, he rose with ease, gesturing for the door. "I hear there are wonderful views to be seen with an evening stroll, friend."

He had already left a gift for them through the waitress who had given him the tea. Even as Kilam rose, the woman gave him a gentle smile as she poured the fishermen a warm cup. "Here ye go, lads.. Please enjoy just as ordered.." No sooner did they sip had they sealed their fates to slumber. His face was ever peaceful even as he left the table and headed outside.

"There is speculation that only the gods truly know of the results in his work. Perhaps it is true, yet I doubt the gods would meddle with such an individual over so trivial a matter, no?" He spoke differently as if speaking on a topic of acceptance, damn near close to religious reverence to those who listened. In his undertone, he instructed them as to their next location and route. 'On a cart, to the inner cities as rumors say.. The Marytr resides in hiding to complete his work.'

As they came to a crossroads, Kilam slowly looked down the street to the gate that would lead them further within the lands. Carriages and trader carts were locked at this hour. Yet as he looked back the other way, as planned, another cart with a cover drawn over passed them by. Like a ghost, he was inside with Zayad and quietly sat among the barrels in silence. This trip would be a few hours, and time was now more so on their side.
 
They often sent those like Zayad after the work had been finished by Kilam's kind. Even as the fishermen put their heads down – he wondered if the one who'd administered the poison would need to be dispatched as well. Wouldn't even be cruelty. Merely certainty.

Trust was a transactional commodity – and once the barter was done, one could never be sure about it holding long enough to cover warranty. He'd known men to start talking out of regret as often as they did out of betrayal. Wrong drunk with the right story. Only took one. And then it was a committe meeting in a room that didn't officially exist and a dozen Zayads quelling unrest all over Khurun. He'd killed for less.

Zayad didn't speak until the street sounds thinned and the cart moved to rhythm. No point speaking truth to wrong ears. Too roadworn for sweeter lies.

„Tell me, Kilam.“ Voice of a man who remembered more than just your name. „Do you think he ran to be free...or to be seen?“ But it wasn't a real question. A line drawn between gossip and motive.

„Everyone wants to be remembered.“ He seemed lost in memory at that. Wasn't – but the mask demanded it. „But some men are more useful as rumors.“
 
Last edited:
Metallic fingers shifted and twitched as Kilam let his mind rock with the cart. A single drop led to ripples that soon overflowed his cup. Then came Zayad's musings about The Martyr. Lips pursed shut as he let the silence answer that dual musing for the time being.

"Is the memory in truth, or one perceived angle for most gain? All things are remembered; all that matters is whose version is loudest. The masses believe what soothes their fears and provides answers, even without evidence." Another droplet making ripples in his mind.

Another subtle rock of the carriage brought him back to reality. "Is memory truly a good thing, or is it just a chain we forge for ourselves to bring a sense of identity?" Glowing gold eyes turned from the sky beyond the carriage flap to meet Zayad's own. There was no question about this man or his mask; it was masterfully crafted. One to be admired for those in their occupation.

"Do you like your chains?" His voice trailed off as he sought to stare at the night sky once more through the open flap of the carriage.
 
That was the problem of speaking in riddles. You could only assume according to your own intelligence. His dossiers on the one known as Kilam weren't complete enough to make summary judgement. The experience so far proved the man capable at action and conversation, if a bit lacking in caution and stealth. So when he spoke of chain, memory, and truths flexible – it was difficult to determine his true position. He wore a mask that could well play dumb, but there seemed to be little worth in such things. They were deciding a man's fate after all.

Martyr had to go. But there were many ways for people to go – not all of them ending at a pointy end of sword or stylus. Ridding the world of such a mind would truly be a shame. And yet, letting his knowledge spread unchecked would only prove greater treachery.

„I know my chains for what they are, young Kilam.“ Sometimes a blessing, other times a curse – but always present. Some forged to keep him loyal, others placed by his own hand. Because the only real truth was the safety of Miraj'Dah. Everything else was dust. Expendable.

„Some days, that is a comfort.“ He did not speak of the other ones. Hammer and nail rarely made such companions.

„When we find him, do you think chains will commit him to fire?“ Squinted at that. Wondering once again – counterpart or counterweight. There were hints of a like mind there, back in the tavern. But truths could lie – Zayad made his bread on this fact.

„Or will it be wind?“
 
Stroking his chin lightly, Kilam admired Zayad's admission of being chained. He, too, had his own chains, ones he did not want to speak about. 'You can't ignore me forever Kilam..' The voice in his mind sent a chill down his spine; he didn't recall when the voice first began. Blinking a few times, he returned his attention to Zayad.

He had asked an interesting question, for sure. Grinning broadly, the man had a different answer. Death was not a necessary end for all; sometimes, redirection solved all the problems while creating a profitable outcome for all sources. Stretching his back, it gently popped as he relaxed further for now.

"Water, my friend, fire fertilizes the soil with nutrients while wind carries the seeds from far and wide. One must toil in the earth and give root. Seed for good and plenty to bring life to body and mind alike." Kilam wanted the world to understand, perhaps in other terms, but surely there had to be a way to cultivate without harming the social scale.

Truly, Miraj'Dah for them both was the inescapable shadow they had to live with. The knowledge alone was heavy enough, but now to be in a position to do something with a possible seed. He could not see it extinguished, especially in his own circumstances. More than a believer, he would become proof.

The carriage rocked as they began climbing the hills on the way towards the town.

@Zayad
 
Last edited:
Men of certainty worried Zayad. Every good mind could stand a little doubt. Whenever talk turned to truths and facts, his gut twisted, like the knife he may need to place into the other. The very idea of a seed was a dangerous one. Probably the very reason Zayad was on this mission, in this cart. It would've been a shame to put an end to any mind so glorious – but it would've been a far greater disgrace to let a loose brick spoil a wall generations had bled upon. Kilam and he weren't special – simply another set of tools come to see their turn of the wheel. Another set of hands seen to purpose. Troubling part was the decision on the tail end of it. That there were two of them to make it – and that he didn't trust the overeager young man enough to share in said burden.

But problems of tomorrow had no place in today.

So he wouldn't let the thought of murder spoil what was an otherwise pleasant escape from his more administrative duties. Sitting here, there were no debriefings to go over, no dossiers to correct, and most importantly no inks to cork. Let the moment breathe as the two of them did. For the time would come when it wouldn't be so simple – and then he'd be forced to be a different man with different hands, an agent of different thoughts.

„Who are we to deny the soil?“ Looked at his hands as fingers extended, counting Kilam's weakpoints. „And yet.“ While the body had none his flesh could exploit, everyone had outside vitals. Whether it was a sister or a father, a friend or a child – pressure on them was akin to pressing upon one's own heart. And he remembered – all of them.

„Is it not a farmer's duty to tend the land and remove the weeds?“

Could've alluded to the wisdom of Nzuri or the truth of Aja're – but this wasn't a debate of scholars. No. It was to be a risk assessment between to agents – freedom of thought weighed against the safety of all Miradi.
 
Zayad spoke truths and caution in a single breath. Still, Kilam kept the smile upon his lips. Gently nodding his head to shake off the voice within. Betrayal of the mind was not to be tolerated on this mission. "Be still, fiend, and listen well to all you hear through me. If we are to share in this existence." Kilam turned his attention once more to Zayad, giving the moment a brief pause.

"It is as you say, much like the mind. It multiplies what it is given. Thus, the source must be sounded out. It would not due to grow to mix poison with the intended harvest. For now, let this be a sounding of the seeds, dear Zayad." His smile faded to a solemn expression. "Let us find what version of bounty this seed wants to grow. From there, it will either be watered or crushed.." Rolling both shoulders, he breathed slowly, adjusting his posture against the wooden frame.

Another slight shiver touched his spine as, within his mental domain, something stirred within the darkness.
"You seem to fear something Kilam.. It is too soon to let the seeds of doubt begin to grow. You have yet to meet your Martyr.." The voice echoed softly in his head as another creak of the cart gave way.
 
There were different, nonchalant men, who would affix hope upon young Kilam's words. Zayad couldn't afford it. Telling people what they wanted to hear was how he earned his bread. And if they told him what he wanted to hear in turn, all the better. But truth, much like anything, was a commodity. No merchant worth their silk would peddle without flourish. It paid to be vigilant. Paid very well, judging by the cut of Zayad's clothes.

Kilam twitched like he was...cold? No, that couldn't be it. His kind were trained better than that. So why show weakness? Was he attempting to bare his belly to Zayad to get the older man to bring his guard down? Seemed like an awful lot of work for what could be done by simply squishing a head under your mechanized knuckles. Zayad harbored no pretense of being able to fight Kilam, that was for younger men. His job was never to break with a blade. He chiseled away with words, letter at a time.

„It is as you say, young Kilam.“ Zayad feigned a shiver of his own, as he blew warm breath between his fingers. The northern ends of Ilica had people living in horrid cold. It made sense to have your mask crack under the elements.

„Please...“ He honeyed his voice, gloves rubbing together. „Indulge an old man.“ Eyes steady, voice sweet. „What fates lead a noble son this far away from the greatest city that ever was and is?“ And will be – if the many Zayads in the machinery of Miraj'Dah did their jobs well.

He thought about questioning the wisdom of exposing the advanced engineering of the arm to prying and foreign eyes, but it seemed a bridge too far. It was better to coax the snails out than crush the shell.
 
Last edited:
It was strange, really. Kilam was pretty sure he had told the other exactly why he was here. A sounding board for the events at hand. As expected, the other did not fully believe his words, but he had been speaking mostly from the heart despite their occupation. The honeyed voice did not match the man for whom Kilam understood the other to be. A tactic that the Seeker mind could not overlook.

In a muted answer, Kilam could only smile as he once again lifted the book between them. "A stubborn boy's desire for answers and knowledge. Where silence was given, other routes were secured." Gesturing to their humble ride, measuring his breaths, how long had it been since he heard this voice? Once familiar and comfortable, it now held a menace that threatened to unseat his sanity.

Not now, so close to the answers, this could not be happening. Clearly, another stage of his progression had begun, steeling his nerves, he betrayed no further discord within himself. Face smooth and eyes focused, his mind began counting, but outwardly he remained relaxed and somewhat distant. Absently, he offered the older man a spare set of gloves he kept on hand. "Please, use these to keep warm." he gave no hint that he understood Zayad's change of tone.

When? This was the true question. How long would Zayad wait to ask about the arm, and when would he make his report?
 
Ah, kindness – the sharpest weapon. It spoke well of Miradi magnificence that, when they finally conquered, they brought lesser provinces under proper law, and did it politely.

He took the gloves offered, his hands grateful for the second sleeving. Resisting the cold was hardly equal to not feeling it at all. Perhaps the garment should inform his strategy here. Wrapping your words in velvet only made sense if you applied enough layers.

In truth, life was one big test. But the secret wasn't that you had to pass all your examinations. You only had to pass the examiner who'd later report on everything you did. Zayad was lucky enough to discover this truth early in life. Skillful enough to use this knowledge to propel himself to a better station, higher purpose.

„The joy of youth.“ He nodded like your favorite uncle. „I wish I was half as daring at your age, young Kilam.“ He scratched at his jaw, wondering what a beard would look like if he ever allowed it to manifest. „Yet, it is an old man's duty to advise caution.“

„What is your plan should the enemy witness our engineering up close?“ People could always be silenced, but what if they got captured? Zayad could surely poison them both, but he doubted he could undo the craftsmanship in time for it to lose value to prying eyes. And what use was dying, when they could just get more answers from your corpse. People liked to romanticize it – but it was difficult for bodies to lie. You usually needed a living subject for that.
 
"This one here is a keen mind, learn from him Kilam.. Learn as you should have done ages ago.." The fiend's voice cooed loudly, but he gave no sign of discomfort. Allowing only a calm smile, the man turned to better face Zayad calmly as he listened and watched. "Wisdom comes in time and experience, Zayad. Where you seek my youth, I seek your wisdom. Alas, were this to be alchemy, the law of equal exchange would be moot. I welcome your advice."

Shifting in his posture, he got more comfortable for the rest of the ride. "Death is the absolute last resort. It would only summon a hydra of problems, where one vanishes 2 more grow back into place. That cannot be allowed. Bribery is another; just because they are a spy does not mean they are fully aligned. Some moments come as a matter of convenience; in a short span of time, i would have to study that person to know just who and what they stand for. The next from there is, derailing what they heard and pray it wasn't from the very beginning. Speak in riddles and obscurity to hide the meaning within." Using his right hand, two cards were pulled out and played with. One occasionally disappeared while the other remained.

"Make them see what they wanted to see, not what they did see." Pulling the second card out again, he laid them out and tapped his nose. Easy to say, hard enough to do without prior knowledge as to whom that enemy might be. If it were Zayad, he'd have to do a lot better than he was now. Then again, even the truth can be disarming.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top Bottom