Santiago Malik
Active member
From his ease standing before Legate Hyuli's desk in the innards of Castellis Sutr, Santiago wiped sweat from his cheeks. The air was stagnant, untouched by the chill spring breeze that whistled lightly against the worked glass windows embellishing the room. With a legionnaire at each of his elbows, the cleric managed more the appearance of a prisoner than an officer of state.
A prisoner shortly due the executioner's block, given the cant of Legate Hyuli's brow.
Silken robes clung to Santiago's lean body. Pristine cloth bleached of any hue, it fitted him more akin to a nightgown than proper attire, suggested the lines of him in a way that spoke volumes of his station. Mantled in gold with layered tassels that bounced against him with every step, he wore the vestments of Ko. The Father's visage superseded his own. He wore it in the austere fashion of a servant, livery to signify his service rather than a portent of personal affluence.
In contrast, the Legate maintained a flat grace. Back straight, chin high, and hands clasped at twinned holsters on her belt, she surveyed the rows of legionnaires manning her garrison. Hair cut short and worn in a bob kept well free of her eyes, she held herself with every bit of poise expected of her station. Her armor was painted with the 40th's standard: the talons of a hawk tipped red and gold on a matte purple background split in twain by a pristine line.
The strong lines of her ran deep if not tall. Her stature, while small, defied perception. Most of her legionnaires stood a fair head above her, but only to a disengaged onlooker. For those in the room, deference was paid her way.
She cut a glance to the cleric.
"The Praetor is due all honors under Ko," she said. "See to it."
Santiago bowed in reply, a deep crest of his chin that ruffled the mantle upon his shoulders.
"The Father blesses all of his people," he said, "and the Praetor highest among them this afternoon. Preparations have been made."
"Attend to him. His retinue approaches."
Santiago left the legate's chambers, settling into another bow as the door shut before him. Ringed by a coterie of legionnaires, the 40th's standard borne by a bannerman that took up the rear, he made his way from the villa.
Castellis Sutr stood on ceremony, imposed itself upon the land. A featureless black stone monolith casting long its shadow and demanding notice, reverence. Overlooking deforested countryside from its hillside perch, it acted as the gateway between Naya Vapna and the western Imerisa front, and it brimmed accordingly with activity. The fort itself was a construction of basalt drawn from quarries east of the Vapnan coastal flats, as resplendent in make as it was foreboding. Pewter-plated columns of a massive row of gates of descending size impeded passage. The smallest of these came in worked gold along a legion watchpost manned by a single guard.
Most traffic was diverted well before this gate, instead ushered through to the fort proper, to the small town that had formed within its walls. Comprised of travelers and merchants and wayfarers, by large these folk sought refuge before venturing on and could be seen at one of the many inns dotting the inner perimeter of the fort.
Watchtowers crested each of the fort's corners, manned with a pair of legionnaires outfitted with bows and a bevy of crystals that refracted the sun's harsh glare. A gentle hum resonated from these, the veneer of a threat of Imperial weavers. At the foot of the structure, just visible beyond the gate, were a collection of guardhouses. Administrative outposts that clamored with all the activity of the fort.
Scaffolding drew attention to construction on a flagging wall on the fort's eastern front. A handful of tents surrounded it, littering the area in laborers that hastened lazily in their repair. There existed no urgent pressure, no threat of an attacking force requiring the full sanctity of Sutr's walls. It was reflected in the pace of their work.
Through all of this, Santiago led his escort. A brief march brought him to Sutr's gates, subduing the activity that bustled within the fort's walls. As he approached, a brassy horn sounded his arrival. Drums hammered at the cue, resonant with the beat of spear on shield, and the soft but numerous stamp of feet to match. One by one, the gates swung open.
A prisoner shortly due the executioner's block, given the cant of Legate Hyuli's brow.
Silken robes clung to Santiago's lean body. Pristine cloth bleached of any hue, it fitted him more akin to a nightgown than proper attire, suggested the lines of him in a way that spoke volumes of his station. Mantled in gold with layered tassels that bounced against him with every step, he wore the vestments of Ko. The Father's visage superseded his own. He wore it in the austere fashion of a servant, livery to signify his service rather than a portent of personal affluence.
In contrast, the Legate maintained a flat grace. Back straight, chin high, and hands clasped at twinned holsters on her belt, she surveyed the rows of legionnaires manning her garrison. Hair cut short and worn in a bob kept well free of her eyes, she held herself with every bit of poise expected of her station. Her armor was painted with the 40th's standard: the talons of a hawk tipped red and gold on a matte purple background split in twain by a pristine line.
The strong lines of her ran deep if not tall. Her stature, while small, defied perception. Most of her legionnaires stood a fair head above her, but only to a disengaged onlooker. For those in the room, deference was paid her way.
She cut a glance to the cleric.
"The Praetor is due all honors under Ko," she said. "See to it."
Santiago bowed in reply, a deep crest of his chin that ruffled the mantle upon his shoulders.
"The Father blesses all of his people," he said, "and the Praetor highest among them this afternoon. Preparations have been made."
"Attend to him. His retinue approaches."
Santiago left the legate's chambers, settling into another bow as the door shut before him. Ringed by a coterie of legionnaires, the 40th's standard borne by a bannerman that took up the rear, he made his way from the villa.
Castellis Sutr stood on ceremony, imposed itself upon the land. A featureless black stone monolith casting long its shadow and demanding notice, reverence. Overlooking deforested countryside from its hillside perch, it acted as the gateway between Naya Vapna and the western Imerisa front, and it brimmed accordingly with activity. The fort itself was a construction of basalt drawn from quarries east of the Vapnan coastal flats, as resplendent in make as it was foreboding. Pewter-plated columns of a massive row of gates of descending size impeded passage. The smallest of these came in worked gold along a legion watchpost manned by a single guard.
Most traffic was diverted well before this gate, instead ushered through to the fort proper, to the small town that had formed within its walls. Comprised of travelers and merchants and wayfarers, by large these folk sought refuge before venturing on and could be seen at one of the many inns dotting the inner perimeter of the fort.
Watchtowers crested each of the fort's corners, manned with a pair of legionnaires outfitted with bows and a bevy of crystals that refracted the sun's harsh glare. A gentle hum resonated from these, the veneer of a threat of Imperial weavers. At the foot of the structure, just visible beyond the gate, were a collection of guardhouses. Administrative outposts that clamored with all the activity of the fort.
Scaffolding drew attention to construction on a flagging wall on the fort's eastern front. A handful of tents surrounded it, littering the area in laborers that hastened lazily in their repair. There existed no urgent pressure, no threat of an attacking force requiring the full sanctity of Sutr's walls. It was reflected in the pace of their work.
Through all of this, Santiago led his escort. A brief march brought him to Sutr's gates, subduing the activity that bustled within the fort's walls. As he approached, a brassy horn sounded his arrival. Drums hammered at the cue, resonant with the beat of spear on shield, and the soft but numerous stamp of feet to match. One by one, the gates swung open.
