Match of the Millennium

Description: Life as the leader of the NOL can be difficult even for Hades Izanami, the stoic and hard working commander. Ruling the largest and most powerful organization in the world leaves no time for self-fulfillment in matters of romance and domestic life. But in a chance meeting at the Podiebrad manor, the diligent ruler finds herself in the presence of the Lord Bela Podiebrad, master of the House of Podiebrad. There, she finds a new desire as he offers a gift to the beautiful leader. Will Izanami stay with her duties and responsibilities as the leader of the NOL? Or will the strapping Lord lead her away as her... Imperator Rex? (The cover shows the silver-haired Lord Podiebrad bareback his magnificent black stallion in his leather breeches, his sweat-glistened pectorals exposed in the middle of a church aisle. There, he looks down with a dominating masculinity at the bride to be, Hades Izanami, who is dressed in traditional Japanese wedding dress. Waiting at the altar behind him are the other prospective grooms; Jin Kisaragi, Colonel Kagura, Jedah Dohma, and even the legendary villain Ragna The Bloodedge, armed with strange heart shaped sunglasses. All four are wallowing in the shame in their own rejection. Lord Podiebrad is holding under his tanned and oiled arm a single heart-shaped box, neatly tied with a ribbon. A cat tail is just barely sticking out of the back of it.)

[BELA]
She had chosen to meet at the chapel.

The Chapel of the Podiebrad Manor sits on the boundary between Cathedral and Chapel; As a private building set for the use of the members of the House of Podiebrad, it fulfills the chief requirement of a chapel. As it is not the seat of a bishop, it is not a cathedral. It's size and grandeur, however, leaves those who visit it in awe at the 'prayer house' of the rank and file. Situated in it's own space on the campus of the Podiebrad Manor at the foothills of the Carpathian Mountains, it works as a spiritual center of the mercenary army.

The exterior is highlighted by the botanical garden and hedge maze, which the high vaulted arcs and black granite columns grimly mark the facade of the porch of the chapel. Outside, great brass doors seal within; the doors themselves are embossed with images of the Bible framed within each door. The left shows images of the 46 books of the Catholic old testament, and the right shows the 27 of the New testament. A great gold chain binds this door, upon a silver lock; none have dared try to pillage the holy relic that serves as a seal for the chapel.

The interior carries the high vaulted arcs within, and is arranged in a cross-style. The entrance holds an open vaulted antechamber for the narthex, where the blood-stained baptismal font lingers, one of the few original artifacts of the Manor grounds. Across from it is a coat room said to rival that of the vatican; a bald quartermaster is always on standby, ready to tend to the costumed and uniformed needs of its soldiery and servant class.

Past the narthex is the nave, where the pews sit row by row, stretching far across the center of the chapel. Stained glass effigies of the Eleven apostles plus Paul cast light across the ebony wood pews. Each apostle is revealed into his final moments of martyrdom, their executions brought in vivid detail by the red glass.High above, ossuaries of the holy ancestors of the House of Podiebrad make up the candle-lit chandeliers, their bones providing the frame work, and their soul flames burning eternal with illuminated grace.

On the far sides from the center, outward atriums act as wings for the cross layout, Here are slightly are elevated walkways leading to the chambers of deacons and caretakers, the civilian branch of the House of Podiebrad that serve monastic oaths for the family. As well, the catacombs deep below the chapel, where holy seals bar the restless spirits below from rising up. Before the altar at the far end, niches draw out into small atriums, where carefully crafted sculptures of marble reveal the effigies of saints and a pieta. Behind the altar a massive mosaic, leading up to a singular cross, revealing the last bloody moments of the Passion of Christ Jesus.

A bald man in robes, with steel blue eyes, is quickly scurries around the altar. His head is misshapen, somewhat carved inwards on his scalp. His expression was distant, dull, and almost too merry. And yet, in this time, he made the sounds of duress as his fellow bald monks run amok. "We must hurry, oh, we must hurry. The Imperator is coming, and the Patriarch demands the special tribute!" He explains, as he had explained a dozen times before. Great iron chests were being heaved past the pews, carried from below. The man was biting a thumb nail. "We must hurry, oh, and where is the Patriarch? The Imperator will be very mad, if she comes, and he is not here!"

One of the monks rolls his eyes at the loud fretting, as he and his partner brings the iron chest down hard beside the altar.

[IZANAMI]
The power structure of the Novus Orbis Librarium was never an entirely stable thing. Founded in secret centuries ago by twelve powerful families, they aligned in the purpose of suppressing supernatural threats to mankind, of archiving and securing away away all magical knowledge and artifacts, and of convincing the world that there really was no such thing as 'magic', 'monsters', or 'legends.'

Their combined efforts throughout the centuries had been effective. By the dawn of the twentieth century, mankind as a whole had been convinced there was no such thing as magic, that monsters were something only children need fear, and that legends were nothing more than fanciful stories invented by ignorant peoples of the past to explain phenomenon they couldn't fathom. Only a few scattered beleivers knew better, and even they were likely unaware of the great work the Librarium had undertaken to suppress such knowledge.

But then came the twenty-first century and something the NOL could not have anticipated sprung forth out of the collective genius of humanity - the interconnected, global communications network that came to be known as 'The Internet'. No longer was it possible to keep knowledge sequestered, cover up events before too many people know of them, or fabricate stories to distract or mislead the curious minded.

Rumors started to become stories, proof began to surface, and finally, Testament appeared before the United Nations buildings, captured on camera, for all the world to see. There was no putting the genie back in the bottle. The secret was out. 'Containment' of the situation was no longer possible. Instead, the Novus Orbis Librarium shifted to a policy of 'Control.' Embracing the threat that the supernatural world represented, they put forward a strong front, an organized paramilitary organization that could deal with circumstances mundane forces simply hadn't ever been trained to handle. No longer trying to conceal the existence of Darkstalkers, they embraced them and, provided they would operate within parameters defined by the Librarium, even welcomed them into their ranks. Rather than lock away their relics in archives in deep, hidden vaults, they armed their forces with them, making them the most dangerous, magically empowered combat troops in the world.

Yet, for all the strength the NOL showed on the outside, it was often on the verge of crumbling within. It was only ten years ago now when the highest levels of command had been upended, removed, and replaced. Fake accusations of a coup drove Tenjo Amanohokosaka into exile in Ikaruga, sparking off the infamous revolt at Ikaruga and the bloodbath that followed. Until finally the 'Hero of Ikaruga' took the head of the 'terrorist', restoring stability to the region.

In the chaos, the Mad Architect himself completed his masterful takeover of the entire organization. There would be a new figure that would fill the power vacuum left by Tenjo, a being so powerful as to defy all question of her authority. A few of the prominent houses had attempted to challenge this new Imperator's claim to rule and suffered devastating losses as a result. Though permitted to remain within the Duodecim, those who had tried to resist were but a shadow of their former power. The remaining houses fell in line and rule had continued ever since under the authority of the mysterious Imperator Librarius. And in the shadows, unseen, the Mad Architect continued his gruesome experiments while answering to no one.

In the years since, the Twelve Houses have watched their power wane while the authority of the military hierarchy of the Librarium has seized greater dominion over the organization. Once, it took only a simple majority vote of the houses to enact change within the NOL. Now, it requires the voice of eight houses to overrule the word of the Invictus, the highest ranking General to serve under the Imperator, and the Imperator Librarius's edicts are absolute.

But in a way, it was a shared delusion. The Houses still held a majority of the NOL's financial power, they still supplied the Academy with its strongest, most promising cadets, they still worked in secret to steer politics in the organization's favor. If they one day fully aligned, perhaps they could wrest control back. Perhaps that's why actions of House Podiebrad had garnered attention now, why the Imperator herself sent a missive communicating details concerning her impending arrival with scarcely little more than two hours to prepare.

It is no mystery as to when she arrive. Overhead, the chandeliers of bone flicker, their soul-fueled eternal flame dimming but not quite going out, inviting the shadows throughout the ornately decorated structure to stretch further toward the center.

The Imperator Librarius enters from below, striding through the darkened entrance to the catacombs. There is no sound of footfalls from beneath her flowing robes, only the sound of rustling cloth and the tinkling of golden adornments reacting to her movements. She stops at the lowered entrance for a moment, baleful crimson eyes glancing briefly to the floor in front of her.

This would mark only her second visit to the Carpathian stronghold, the first having been her tour to all the Duodecim shortly after being declared the leader of the NOL, requiring each head of household to swear fealty to her in person within their own domains. Anyone who had witnessed her prior visitation just slightly over a decade ago would find that the young woman's youthful features had not changed in the slightest.

A young looking woman with a timeless beauty that made it difficult to pinpoint her age precisely, her regal layered gowns possessed a distinctly Asian style of nobility. Long, flowing, white sleeves concealed her arms and hands as she held them together in front of her stomach. A black cloak draped over her shoulders and down her back covered most of the red and gold dresses worn beneath while a violet headdress flowed around her shoulders and down her back.

A circlet of gold adorned her head with four inverted spikes featured around the rim and a thicker, rounded seal engraved with a symbol of the sun resting over her forehead. Voluminous dark purple hair was elevated into a top-knot styled ponytail encased in golden rings with two golden hairpins securing it in place. From there, the ponytail flowed down her back and shoulders to below the ruler's waist.

Only those with an eye for it would recognize that both the crown and the rings in her hair were components of the legendary Yasakani No Magatama. In its dormant form, it scarcely gave off a clue of its true nature.

Following her brief pause at the entrance into the chapel itself, the purple haired young woman presses onward. As she leaves the entrance to the catacombs, black essence clung to the ends of her robes, living shadow that roiled over the stonework like liquid smoke. But as she moves fully into the grand chamber of the Podiebrad chapel, the inky substance finally draws back, fading away, contained to the dusky sepulchers below.

From there, the Imperator moves purposefully toward the altar, heedless of the scurrying of monks. There is no one else that follows her out of the catacombs, no one to herald her arrival or follow behind her in a parade of attendees and escorts. She stops there, face tilted downward toward the heavy iron chest most recently deposited.

"Hmn."

It was impossible to read approval or displeasure into the singular sound she makes. Was she satisfied by what she saw or vexed at the absence of the head of household himself? It is the only sound she makes for some time, otherwise remaining still.

[BELA]
Izanami's arrival comes with dawning horror from the monks.

At first, the leader of the monks actually gave a pleased gasp at the arrival of the Imperator. And yet, before he can say anything, the bald man looks at the arrival of Izanami, adnd the color drains from his face. The other monks look at her, before falling prostrate, coming to their knees at the woman besides their heavy chests. But the singular man just stares at her, jaw slack, silent. His steel blue eyes glancing at the needles, before looking deep into the Imperator; like staring into an yawning abyss. Terror. This was terror, and yet he did not understand his terror from this quiet, elegant woman. This leader, one of his leaders. His body trembles, as his instincts come before him, his fingertips coming together in a prayer. He tries to repeat something, tries in vain to draw out his prayers. But no words come out of his mouth. No sound comes from his throat.

"The proper response, Matthias, is to kneel."

The words come from the entrance of the chapel. The great bronze door comes to a rumbling shut, as the Patriarch stands in the haunting illuminations of the church. "My apologies for Matthias; he is a simpleton, suited for nothing more than the spiritual leadership of our House. He is clearly in awe at your impossible presence." There were no guards with the beautiful white-haired Patriarch; the man dressed in his ornate robes of purple and rose, his purple cloak trailing behind him. A ornamental plate of gold-pressed leaf is set over his robes, setting against his legs, arms, and abdomen. Each section is embossed with the feathered scale pattern, common in the lower ranked soldiers of the Raven Guard. Silver earrings, bracelets, bangles, and a ring for each finger adorn him, with not a single gemstone amongst his jewelry. A silver circlet sits upon his forehead, above his eyes. His hands are exposed, and his long fingernails are painted beetle shell gold and silver, shining with every movement as he clutches his scepter, the golden scepter of the Patriarch. His presence was regal.

But it paled in the divine majesty of Izanami.

"I am surprised, Imperator." The Patriarch states, his heels clicking as he walks between the pews, hips swaying with every step as he moves down the aisle. "If it would so please the Imperator, we of the House of Podiebrad would celebrate for weeks; pomp and circumstance with flawless drills all to the glory of the NOL, an Estely every night, a fattened lamb slaughtered." He glances across the woman, as Matthias, finally snapping free of his trance, fall into a clumsy, confused bow. "I had imagined the same sort of splendor we had when you last came here. Not that you are any less splendorous now; clearly time has been a loyal servant to you over the years; I dare not ply your secret of maintaining such delicate youth and beauty- but I am helplessly curious." Bela falls to one knee, bowing his head before the Imperator, scepter arm wrapped around him as he lowers his head.

"I hope our catacombs were to your satisfaction." He states, with uncomfortable sincerity.

[IZANAMI]
In terms of physical stature, the Imperator Librarius was not the most intimidating sight to behold. The slight frame of the young looking woman was concealed heavily by the three layers of fine, flowing robes and the cloak of dark ebony draped over her shoulders and arms. Her average height was somewhat obfuscated by the ponytail high at the back of her head, made tall by the thick golden rings encircled around its base. Her smooth, porcelain skin belonged to one unaccustomed to the ordeals of the world, of trials or tribulation. And the empress's long, silky soft tresses of violet could only belong to one attended to by a number of dedicated beauticians.

Yet it was impossible to dismiss the unsettling sense of dread experienced by most mortals who had the misfortune of encountering the NOL's leader in person. The persona captured by cameras whenever the NOL needed to make a public statement from the very top was charismatic, smiling, well-spoken and gracious. She balanced the expectations of graceful dignity alongside the kind of unshakable confidence and vision sought in leaders of humanity.

The woman standing in the chapel of the Podiebrad chapel now bore no smile, gave no pretense of charm or graceful manners. Her expression was neutral, her crimson eyes impassive as she glanced slowly around the interior of the grandiose structure not even seeming to take notice of the monks in her presence at first.

The beating of their hearts, the adrenaline racing through their blood would tell them that they were in the presence of an apex predator, that their continued existence was at jeopardy simply being in the same space as their regally dressed visitor. There would be no outward sign of hostility from the young woman standing quietly, her folded hands concealed beneath draping white sleeves, but it was impossible not to feel it - that unseen, foreboding threat. Her eyes traced over the chamber, lingering at times on its ornamentation, its finely crafted detail, its rich history of bygone eras, of bloodier times.

They couldn't know the unyielding death she saw in everything her gaze settled upon. The most polished brass was slowly oxidizing before her eyes. The invisible rot of treated, oiled wood was naked to her. The most sturdy of stone was crumbling away to dust in the Imperator's vision.

To say nothing of the people in the chapel. She didn't look at them. She didn't have to in order to know what she would see - the decaying of flesh, the manifestation of aging, of the endless death of cells, each generation replaced by others just ever so slightly less perfect than before. When she looked on mortals, she saw nothing but their slowly encroaching demise, of the promise of grave and dust.

In the presence of Izanami, desperate prayer is perhaps the sanest recourse available.

The voice of the Patriarch echoes from behind. Compared to the mewling monks, he speaks with confident deference in the presence of the Imperator, his own sense of authority somehow not diminished even as he pays respects to the head of the Librarium herself. She doesn't turn at first as he approaches, eyes on the cross then, of the compelling imagery of sacrifice and salvation rendered in the humble death of a God.

But when the head of the Podiebrad household drops to a knee behind her, the Imperator pivots, her movements graceful, her steps without sound as she faces him. Her face tilts down slightly to take in the sight of the prostrating Duodecim leader. A curious specimen as men went. Not because of his ostentatious attire, his flamboyant, excessive mannerisms or decorations, or his odd aversion to gemstones. It was what she saw within that was so unusual... unique, even, out of all the mortals in the world.

"The care your family pays to its legacy of dead is to be commended," the Imperator responds to his question, her rate of speaking slow, unhurried, an almost musical lilt to her voice.

"Be at ease. My company will be along in a matter of hours... there will be time enough to hold a proper reception as befitting of your house's reputation. Rise."

Hands still folded beneath her sleeves, the Imperator lifts her chin, eyes gazing up at the vaulted ceilings far above then training across the colorful displays of imagery to be found in the stained glass windows.

"A magnificent edifice." The woman pauses briefly as if considering before continuing, her crimson-eyed gaze falling on the man. "Tell me, Lord Podiebrad, what do you believe people are looking for in religion?"

[BELA]
Bela was well trained and prepared for this moment.

After all, there wasn't supposed to be a Bela. There wasn't supposed to be an heir. Bela was just a happy little accident. A pleasant surprise. A change of fate. The Patriarch can't help but give out a joyful. "The soldiers will be so pleased at the festivities perserved!" He was braced for the most clinical, piercing uqestions, the gleaming shards of wrath that may very well appear. He was told to forget the pleasant, smiling figure of before. That the true, inner eye of Izanami would be what Bela would face. Bela had everything to be prepared for whatever the Imperator would throw at him for this meeting.

And Bela was not prepared for that question.

The Beautiful Patriarch raises an eyebrow at the question. There was no prepartion for this. No communal plan. Nothing. In hindsight, it would be so obvious. But the first true test of the Patriarch on his own was at hand. A single mistake could destroy everything, unseen invisible dancing made. Even Matthias was breathing hard at the question, trembling in awe at the shivering truth he had seen. Bela rises up, jaw loosening a moment. He draws in a breath, and exhales his answer.

"Hope."

The words come out as easily and naturally as the truth. He must have believed them. "Certainly, it must be hope." He raises his scepter high, to the church around him. "The world is a frightening place, is it not Imperator? Both without and within; the House of Podiebrad are not the only sinners." He turns, letting the glory of the holy ground cascade around him in invisible light. "Oh yes, we give our confessions, and make our absolutions. Every Sunday, before we take ourselves out to our Thermal Baths to sin once again." The Patriarch casts his eyes upwards, to the bone chandeliers. "Outsiders often fear this church. But the flesh is transitive. Immortality... that is where the hope lies. The immortal soul, enduring and existing. The flesh of our ancestors, their bones and bodies form the foundation of our buildings. But their souls are what form the foundation of our house."

And Bela gestures to the stained glass windows around them.

"Hope is what kept St. Peter together, until he shared his teacher's fate in crucifixion. St. Paul holds the guilt of the stoning of St. Stephen, as he was once Saul, the Pharisee of Pharisees. And his matyrdom came at the beheading by Nero. Or St. Thomas, the poor Doubting Thomas, who found his end being cut down in India by enraged natives. Each death bloodier than the last." Bela draws the scepter across his neck, eyes gleaming as he looks back at Izanami. "And yet, each one a beacon of hope. Each sacrifice, made for a greater cause. Because every man and woman ultimately will die, Imperator. What we do with our mortal shells ultimately matters little; we are just dust and matter." Bela takes his free hand, sprinkling unseen specks. And then, he raises his scepter, bringing it over his heart."

"It's our souls that matter the most."

"That's the hope that religion brings." Bela relaxes, opening his arms. "Well, our church does. There are niggling details in there as well. I'm not a preacher; that is Matthias's job." He gestures the scepter to the still bowing leader of the monks. "Certainly, I myself hope I satisfied your question. Are you a spiritual woman?" Bela inquires warmly, almost lifting himself up and over in tone. He brings his painted nails over his ruby lips, coyly hiding a smirk. "Or... no..."

"I hope your aren't one of those cynics, oh Imperator!"

[IZANAMI]
As Bela rises, Izanami lowers her gaze from her study of the gothic structure. Though she was slightly shorter even than the small-statured man, she tilts her face forward a little. Her crimson eyes are raised just enough to level her dead-eyed stare on the man, giving the impression of looking down on him in spite their roughly equivalent height.

Standing this close to the enigmatic Imperator Librarius, he would be one of the very few alive to have the chance to notice the extremely fine, concentric black circles visible in the irises of the young looking woman's eyes. Her face, framed by thick locks of silken violet, is impassive but he would feel the weight of assessment with but even the quickest of glances her way.

That the seemingly innocent question was a test he could be certain. With his diction, The Patriarch would reveal his composure under pressure, his eloquence of speech when ambushed. With his answer, he would show her his ability to be concise, and with his details, his ability to draw upon facts and histories to reinforce his truth. This was his chance to, if not impress, at least convince the leader of the NOL that she wasn't dealing with a half-wit. At his initial answer, she just continues to level that severe stare at him.

Speak and be judged.

There is the slightest tilt of her head after his first word is proclaimed into the brief silence between them, its unspoken message clear.

Please, continue.

When he gestures upward with his golden scepter, the Imperator glances up only briefly before the burden of her gaze rests once more upon him. She is still throughout the rest of the leader of House Podiebrad's gestures up until the moment he brings attention to the stained glass windows lining the long, vaulted chamber. Only then does his visitor turn, face lifting to take in the scenes, the depictions of human brutality, of the final suffering of the faithful disciples. Bela speaks of the hope that carried the devout men to their gruesome fates, fearless in the face of torture and death, and occasionally the woman's eyes flick to the side, studying him in her peripheral vision, before returning to taken in the glass paintings.

She turns to face him again when he pivots back to her. Her impassive stare from before has been replaced with something else. It's difficult to see, and few would even have the courage to look upon her long enough to notice, but there were traces of curiosity in her flawless features now, of intrigue at something the man spoke of during his delivery. Her unnatural eyes no longer seemed to bore through the Patriarch as if he wasn't even there, but rather were clearly studying him now, his answer having piqued her interest in the unusual individual.

She doesn't look toward Matthias when the bowing monk is gestured to, her attentions clearly undivided by anything other than Bela himself. But then he responds with a question of his own - a bold repartee as if holding conversation with an associate rather than being interrogated by an adjudicator. It is not a step taken without risk.

While there were not many hard facts one could cite when it came to the Imperator Librarius, the stories of her wrath when it came to subjugating the rebellious houses ten years ago could not be disputed. Any hint of not falling in line with the vision or needs of the Novus Orbis Librarium had been met with severe repercussions in the years since. Then there were the rumors... of those working at Central Command that would vanish after having voiced disagreement with the Imperator's edicts or having failed in securing victory in a territory they were responsible for. Everything he had ever heard about the quiet empress before him would tell Bela that she was dangerous.

Yet he asks her a question all the same, turning the conversation back around, a chance to learn a bit about the young woman, perhaps, or just to pay her the respect of being interested in her thoughts. And then goes so far as to lightly tease that perhaps she eschews all but the most secular of matters in her work.

Rather than umbrage, his question is met with a thin smile. She answers in her patient, lilting voice. "When it comes to matters of what drives the soul... I find myself ever so much the student." There is a sparkle of vicious amusement to her sanguine eyes then, ever so brief. "Perhaps sometime later, Matthias could instruct me further on the subject." Wouldn't that be delightful.

She raises her shoulders slightly, expression slipping back into quiet sobriety, eyes narrowed slightly toward the Patriarch.

"Well spoken; your answer. I do believe that in order for hope to be bolstered, it must be built on a foundation of Truth that resonates with the beliefs of the faithful..."

She is quiet after that, letting silence reign for several moments. When she continues, it is with a shift in tone. The lilt is still there, but there is more directness to her voice. They are getting to the heart of the matter now.

"The people of Southtown, Japan, are in need of hope, Lord Podiebrad. This..." For the first time, her hands unclasp from beneath her sleeves, her right arm raising slightly, the ends of her pale fingers only barely visible from the end of the silken cloth draped over it. "Darkstalker violence. Librarium forces are dealing with the beasts. The Intelligence Division will find the source and it will be eliminated." Her right hand waves dismissively. Dealing with /that/ crisis is not what brings her here now.

She pauses again, another moment of silent contemplation, perhaps a decision to be finally made before continuing. "The Librarium has need of the Raven Guard. There is a job that must be done, a Truth that must be told." She frowns then, expression darkening as thoughts stray into a topic more sore. Her lips twitch as the young woman seems to struggle a moment against a desire to twist her features into an angry scowl.

"Jedah Dohma, that so-called Vampire Savior... the people of Southtown must be convinced that his... abomination of an embassy is the source of these attacks. It will not take much for them to accept this Truth... most probably already suspect such in their hearts."

She lowers her arm, hands clasping once more beneath her concealing sleeves.

"It is up to the Raven Guard to see to it that the people's fear of the creatures, their outrage at what was taken from them, their despair at the lives lost this last week... all of it must be directed toward that embassy."

The reasoning behind the order is clear - this is an endeavor that absolutely could not be allowed to be tracked back to the Librarium.

"Will you see to it, Lord Podiebrad?"

[BELA]
It might be difficult to quantify the absolute horror that has manifested within the heart of Matthias von Podiebrad.

The man was never a strong thinker, relying on the best that his intuition could make of the world around him. Simple lines of good and evil, and a diligent effort at memorizing scripture. His Father believed he was exceptionally good at it, and has served as the spiritual leader of the House for decades now. Aurel had shielded him away before, the last time Izanami visited the Manor grounds.

It's only now, with the quiet wishes of the Imperator, does he understand why.

Matthias's mind was submerged in the awful realizations that were impossible for him to comprehend. Animalistic instincts were barraging him, fight or flight gripping his heart like clawed talons. The cavalier style of Bela was well despised even when he was a useless soldier in the Raven Guard; but for it now allowing a moment where Matthias was to be trapped alone with the Imperator? Every fear about the sheer incompetence of Bela dooming the entire House was becoming realized in Matthias's simple mind. The only bulwark that keeps himself from collapsing into total madness was the prayers rattling his throat right now, a spiritual cleansing as his Patriarch finally reacts to the answer.

To which Bela chuckles in his throat.

"Delightful!" Was his response. He was all too aware of the fear running deep in Matthias. But like the distorted pupils, he would never reveal he noticed. There was a requirement of theater, of illusions now. He had no intention of sacrificing Matthias to the Imperator's wrath. But Aurel, the previous Patriarch, had only made it clear what the duty of the Patriarch meant. You always are on stage, and you never show weakness. Any weakness exposed was where both rivals above, beside, and below would tear into you more savagely than any Darkstalker. Bela is at ease, hanging on every word of the Imperator, swaying as if every word was a note in a song. It was not new to him yet; the Raven Guard was already giving support. But the request is made. And the name is spoken.

Vampire Savior.

As the name of the dark lord is uttered, a new weight draws deep within the cathedral. The souls, some fresh, many long ancient and old, begin to let rise a silent moan of anguish, of anger. The bitterness of the Podiebrad dead ringing through the vaulted ceilings and from the depths of the catacombs. Matthias and the monks are roused from their desperate prayers, as the spiritual rumbling gives a great boom beyond the mortal lines. The very rock the church is upon wakens with murderous outrage. An overwhelming wave of contempt that surges through the monks, who one by one collapse into quivering wrecks. Until finally, only Matthias remains, on all fours, just barely capable of resisting the flood of dead souls seeking justice within his mortal shell. Hatred, memories of genocidal hatred.

Hatred that consolidates within the Patriarch itself.

The scepter drones with malice, as Bela levels it out before him. The purple-blue energy of souls was now wreathing around him, his silvery jewelry glowing bright with the power. His eyes are distant, but the voices are transparent. A cacophony of hundreds of not thousands of spirits speaking out in a spectral chorus, unheard to those unattuned to the spirits. But every voice comes into Bela as a single song, the Patriarch filtering each one together and seperate. Bela's presence has not changed, despite being the conduit for the spiritual essence of the dead. A duty of the Patriarch, as the network of souls swirls within him. Bela sways a moment, as he looks past his scepter, into the strange irises of the leader of the NOL. His voice is clear.

"You honor our house, Imperator."

Bela states with a haunted air, calm as each voice makes it's desires known to him. "The hatred of vampires runs deep in the House of Podiebrad. Our destiny first came with the execution of the Countess. Our endless skirmishes with the Alucards." Bela swings his scepter, bringing it down upon the unseen heads of the eternal enemies of the Podiebrads. "The barbaric insults as the Castle Zeltzereich stands, as the Foul Blooded House of Maximoff continues to pollute this world with the false promises of blissful midnight. And now, the detestable tower, that black monument of mockery that serves as an infection of the mind, body, and spirit in our pure world. Your hatred is our hatred, against every progenitor of those Darkstalkers which mock the Noble houses of our world."

"And no longer, will you be alone."

Spectral violet-blue energy flows over Bela, as he raises the scepter high. He brings his hand beside it, opened as he stares skyward. "We will let the world see the true nature of the Vampire Savior. We will tear open that tower, stone by stone, letting the whole world see how it's monsters are involved. And if they are not, well, evil always finds a way to sink its tendrils into evil. They will see the connection. And you will have your justification." A promise? A vow? Almost instinctively, Bela brings a nail to his palm, and with the oath given, he slices open his palm, letting the blood run freely forward. "Oh, you don't have to return the favor." Bela adds gently, as he looks at his palm, a faint smirk casting his lips. "For such a generous opportunity, Imperator, it will only need two minor trivialities in exchange."

Matthias gives a faint death rattle, as he collapses on the floor facedown at Bela's words.

DELETE ABOVE ME

It might be difficult to quantify the absolute horror that has manifested within the heart of Matthias von Podiebrad.

The man was never a strong thinker, relying on the best that his intuition could make of the world around him. Simple lines of good and evil, and a diligent effort at memorizing scripture. His Father believed he was exceptionally good at it, and has served as the spiritual leader of the House for decades now. Aurel had shielded him away before, the last time Izanami visited the Manor grounds.

It's only now, with the quiet wishes of the Imperator, does he understand why.

Matthias's mind was submerged in the awful realizations that were impossible for him to comprehend. Animalistic instincts were barraging him, fight or flight gripping his heart like clawed talons. The cavalier style of Bela was well despised even when he was a useless soldier in the Raven Guard; but for it now allowing a moment where Matthias was to be trapped alone with the Imperator? Every fear about the sheer incompetence of Bela dooming the entire House was becoming realized in Matthias's simple mind. The only bulwark that keeps himself from collapsing into total madness was the prayers rattling his throat right now, a spiritual cleansing as his Patriarch finally reacts to the answer.

To which Bela chuckles in his throat.

"Delightful!" Was his response. He was all too aware of the fear running deep in Matthias. But like the distorted pupils, he would never reveal he noticed. There was a requirement of theater, of illusions now. He had no intention of sacrificing Matthias to the Imperator's wrath. But Aurel, the previous Patriarch, had only made it clear what the duty of the Patriarch meant. You always are on stage, and you never show weakness. Any weakness exposed was where both rivals above, beside, and below would tear into you more savagely than any Darkstalker. Bela is at ease, hanging on every word of the Imperator, swaying as if every word was a note in a song. It was not new to him yet; the Raven Guard was already giving support. But the request is made. And the name is spoken.

Vampire Savior.

As the name of the dark lord is uttered, a new weight draws deep within the cathedral. The souls, some fresh, many long ancient and old, begin to let rise a silent moan of anguish, of anger. The bitterness of the Podiebrad dead ringing through the vaulted ceilings and from the depths of the catacombs. Matthias and the monks are roused from their desperate prayers, as the spiritual rumbling gives a great boom beyond the mortal lines. The very rock the church is upon wakens with murderous outrage. An overwhelming wave of contempt that surges through the monks, who one by one collapse into quivering wrecks. Until finally, only Matthias remains, on all fours, just barely capable of resisting the flood of dead souls seeking justice within his mortal shell. Hatred, memories of genocidal hatred.

Hatred that consolidates within the Patriarch itself.

The scepter drones with malice, as Bela levels it out before him. The purple-blue energy of souls was now wreathing around him, his silvery jewelry glowing bright with the power. His eyes are distant, but the voices are transparent. A cacophony of hundreds of not thousands of spirits speaking out in a spectral chorus, unheard to those unattuned to the spirits. But every voice comes into Bela as a single song, the Patriarch filtering each one together and seperate. Bela's presence has not changed, despite being the conduit for the spiritual essence of the dead. A duty of the Patriarch, as the network of souls swirls within him. Bela sways a moment, as he looks past his scepter, into the strange irises of the leader of the NOL. His voice is clear.

"You honor our house, Imperator."

Bela states with a haunted air, calm as each voice makes it's desires known to him. "The hatred of vampires runs deep in the House of Podiebrad. Our destiny first came with the execution of the Countess. Our endless skirmishes with the Alucards." Bela swings his scepter, bringing it down upon the unseen heads of the eternal enemies of the Podiebrads. "The barbaric insults as the Castle Zeltzereich stands, as the Foul Blooded House of Maximoff continues to pollute this world with the false promises of blissful midnight. And now, the detestable tower, that black monument of mockery that serves as an infection of the mind, body, and spirit in our pure world. Your hatred is our hatred, against every progenitor of those Darkstalkers which mock the Noble houses of our world."

"And no longer, will you be alone."

Spectral violet-blue energy flows over Bela, as he raises the scepter high. He brings his hand beside it, opened as he stares skyward. "We will let the world see the true nature of the Vampire Savior. We will tear open that tower, stone by stone, letting the whole world see how it's monsters are involved. And if they are not, well, evil always finds a way to sink its tendrils into evil. They will see the connection. And you will have your justification." A promise? A vow? Almost instinctively, Bela brings a nail to his palm, and with the oath given, he slices open his palm, letting the blood run freely forward. "Oh, you don't have to return the favor." Bela adds gently, as he looks at his palm, a faint smirk casting his lips. "For such a generous opportunity, Imperator, it will only need two minor trivialities in exchange."

Matthias gives a faint death rattle, as he collapses on the floor facedown at Bela's words.

Bela dismisses the all-consuming terror that had dominated Matthias, as he continues non-chalantly. "Mere tokens. The first is that I want the NOL's holdings on the remains of the artifact Tyrfing. Shards of it, remains of the sword. Notes on where the missing shards. I have debts to settle, bargains to uphold. The second is simply a favor. Political cover with the international community." Bela pets Matthias on his head gently, trying to sooth the terrified monk. "I am feeling ambitious for plunder. The modern world has little understanding of the need for mercenaries for plunder. Especially on the matter of Seithr, and magical artifacts." He leans over to Matthias, whispering in his ear as he raises him off his face, easing him into a stand.

"Please display the chest so I can give the Imperator her gift before it's too late~"

[IZANAMI]
It was certainly within the Imperator's means to suppress it if she so desired - that suffocating, heart strangling aura of crushing dread that emanates all around her. There is rarely much value in having diplomats and foreign leaders collapse to the floor when meeting with the NOL figurehead. Sometimes she actually is just there to talk.

But here, Izanami shows no such restraint, and the effect it has on the pious keepers of the Podiebrad chapel is perhaps precisely as she desires.

Equally deliberate is the purple-haired woman's choice in locution. She knew what to anticipate at mention of the loathesome moniker. Knowledge of House Podiebrad's long, gruesome history with the vile things was enough to set a minimal expectation for response at the provocative, maligned title assumed by Jedah Dohma.

But it was in her dark communion in the catacombs that Izanami came to know beyond all doubt enmity generations of Bela's ancestors held for those immortal, blood-sucking leeches. The surge of animus throughout the gothic structure at mention of the hated figure is all the evidence she needs to know the task will be carried out to the utmost capacity of this Duodecim household.

All it took was the mention of that anathema, the so-called Vampire Savior.

And thus she remains silent, calm, crossed hands concealed within her sleeves. Watching, waiting. For now, the Patriarch is on stage, his performance everything one could hope for. Not just for the Librarium leader, but also for his own household. She meets his gaze when his eyes find hers, head still tilted forward slightly, eyes raised just enough to look back at him.

"Indeed." she replies with singular acknowledgment as he recounts the dark legacy Podiebrad violence with vampires, the slightest tug of a thin smile forming at the corners of her lips.

She remains quiet after that, listening to the Patriarch declare the lengths his House will go to achieve the mission delivered to him straight from the Imperator Librarius herself. Only when his nail draws his own blood from his palm do her eyes shift, taking in the symbol of the oath declared with a contemplative look.

But when he mentions trivialities, his eyes have her full attention once more. Here, he must tread lightly. While it is known that the Imperator does favor those who serve her, the risk of asking too much in exchange for loyal service might suggest a certain lack of fealty to the Librarium's noble cause. There is the slighest narrowing of her eyes, her flicker of a smile fading, but otherwise she listens, the silence otherwise punctuated only by Matthias's strength giving out, the thud of his body hitting the unyielding stone.

The first thing he asks for is of no importance to the leader. In truth, she was unaware the shards of Tyrfing were filed away in the archives. Like even the most devoted miser can't possibly keep track of the face of every single coin to run through his fingers, the Imperator pays little attention to the details of what is held within the vault. Relics, artifacts, pieces of legends and lore, are all just currency in the trade of power she oversees.

She cants her head to the side a little, waiting for him to explain the second so-called 'triviality' he is requesting. It is impossible to read her disposition regarding the requests by her requests and she waits until after Matthias has been aided into standing before responding.

"Some say faith alone is its own reward..." she speaks in her calm, lilting voice. The Imperator turns her head then, a light tinkling of the gold accouterments adorning her head as she glances toward the stained glass depictions of the twelve martyrs. She looks back to the Patriarch a moment later.

"But with works comes rewards. You shall have what you ask."

There will be some within the ranks of the Vault Keepers who question handing over the shards of such a legendary artifact to the Podiebrad house, but Izanami holds no special reverence for the broken weapon and no one will be bold enough to challenge the granted favor. "Provided your subjects do not make so grand a spectacle that covering your ambitions threatens the image of the Librarium, the allowances you require will be afforded you."

[BELA]
Aurel von Podiebrad had arranged the Vault Keeper's well being, with his token.

As Izanami agrees, Bela turns to bow his head graciously. "The House of Podiebrad will not press our fortunes. The Vampire Savior will be humilated, not the NOL, and none will be the wiser of our true intentions. Everything had gone exactly to the plans of Bela. Everything would go his way. Matthias gives a prayer, and touches the chest. Pausing a moment, he surges with indigo light, the energy that ties the whole of the House of Podiebrad running through him. Bela raises an eyebrow at the display, but the protective ward comes before with a great heave, the chest opens. There is a green light surging briefly within, before disappating in the air.

Matthias stares dimly at the contents, as Bela's eyes go wide.

Within is the withered, corrupted remains. It was a beastman, Kaka clan. A dead cat in a box was the tribute to the Imperator of the NOL. Across its mangled body there was... There is no more decay on it, no normal process of death. Everything that should be, would be causing celluar death has been destroyed. And that was what drove the strange, pockmocked remains, the web-like pits that was randomly spread across it. It was being destroyed, slowly. Absolute destruction, lashing out to the air, the very chest itself bearing the signs of the elemental entropy. Except in once place. The only place that was untouched by the entropic essence. Of the corpse, a single eye socket remains intact around it, the fur resisting both death and destruction.

"These are the remains of Tomonori."

Bela states distantly, unsure. "Father left... few details on the matter. The remains were acquired in a successful raid upon our enemies, and held to this time. That this is the only thing that was found. The former Patriarch refuses- refused to explain what it is, who it is. Only that you will understand its meaning." A mistake. The response was too hasty. Bela's composure falters slightly, as a flutter of fear builds in his heart. And yet, looking upon the corpse with a sadness. Matthias has calmed down now, looking upon the catman's corpse, an understanding having reached him.

An acceptance, of sorts.

[IZANAMI]
Izanami had expected to find nothing of particular interest in the tribute chest. Gold, gemstones, other riches... they would be added to the NOL coffers, further help fund the organization's operations throughout the world, but mundane lucre held almost no importance to her. Let the accountants at Central worry about the minutia, the balance sheets, the allocation of resources, alongside the income provided by the governments benefiting from the Librarium's protection... Such matters were beneath her.

But she could make a show of being accepting of the tribute. It was expected, after all, when one of the Great Houses handed over some measure of their means to the cause...

Mathias, having regained enough composure to go through the motions required of him now, is the one to dismiss the ward and heft the weighty lid open before the Imperator. Crimson eyes lower toward the open chest, expecting to find sparkling treasures within. Instead, the Goddess of Death finds herself presented with an improbable gift.

Her head moves slightly beneath her silken headdress as the Imperator's eyes fall first to Mathias, then come to rest sidelong on the Patriarch himself, her expression an unreadable mask. The tribute prepared by Aurel von Podiebrad is a dead cat? Is this his way of bringing ruin to his heir? To leave him flatfooted with an insulting gift, to incur the Imperator's wrath at such an insult?

But there is no umbrage to be found in the Librarium leader's eyes as she listens to Bela's hesitant explanation. And by the time he finishes, there is even a small smile at her lips, an expression of amusement that even reaches her eyes ever so slightly.

And then she laughs. The sound is soft, lilting, an almost girlish giggle from one of the most dangerous presences on Earth as her focus shifts back to the open chest. "Oh..." she manages to get out, stifling any further laughter. "To think..." Her voice fades as she considers the implications.

This gift should have been impossible. The only way in was through that loathsome vampire girl, and for all the tools available to the Librarium, attacking that creature's fortress directly was always out of the question.

"So..." Her eyes narrowed slightly, grim smile etched on timeless lips. "Then there is another way... Yes... I do indeed understand."

Unclasping her sleeve-concealed hands, she gestures toward the chest with a wave. "This gracious tribute is accepted. Seal it. And for now, keep it safe and secret. When my entourage arrives, we will see to its secure journey with us. With this, we can draw the old cat out into the open. There is no way he would not make a move... It will be our chance to be rid of one more nuisance."

The Imperator turns then, her back to the chest, facing toward the chapel's main entrance. "My escort will arrive before long. They will be looking forward to your promised hospitality. You have done well... Patriarch."

[BELA]
There were many reactions that could have been made.

Disgust. Disgust was a fine reaction. A corpse was hardly the gift for her status. Even wrathfulness. If the Imperator had lashed out at him, then he would have accepted it. Let it be a punishment for old crimes from his father. Maybe indifference. A polite nod, as one would with a child or a madman offering a broken cat. But laughter?

Laughter makes Bela's blood run cold.

It was the tone. The purity. There was a presence to the laughter that was unnatural in its purity that brought such an foundational sense of unease that for a brief moment, the urge to immediately expire passes across him. He rebuffs it, but the impossibility wasn't the fact they had the body. No, it was how it was being received to Bela. It was being accepted joyously. A wonderful gift, in absurdity. Bela turns back to the strange corpse, the strange creature. He did not understand, what he explained were the mere words. Orders, directions from a dying man. He knew as much as Izanami, didn't he? Then how did she understand, when he did not. Another way? He yearned to ask Aurel, he begged to ask. It would be so easy now to break and just reach out. He rubs his palm on the tip of the scepter, shifting his gaze from the cat to his half-brother, the monk.

And Matthias was serene.

The twinge comes, as Bela tightens his grip upon his scepter. Paranoia. His father, Aurel von Podiebrad, would not explain this to him. And Matthias? In his unknowing intuition, was no longer totally paralyzed in his consuming panic. How could he be so calm now, when he was so terrified before? What did he know, that he would not... or could not explain? Forbidden to explain, or refuse to explain? Did she... do something to him? He felt nothing between it. Mysteries. All mysteries around him. A mystery to leave him in the dark about a chess game unseen. No, not mystery. Before his very eyes, a conspiracy was unfolding from beyond the valley of the dead, between the dead and the living, with silent words and innuendos for reasons unseen to even the Patriarch. A primal loathing boils up, an indignation against his own forebears. The pressure leans upon him. She turns her back to him. And Bela turns towards her, still stunned in his heart.

Bela curtsies, bowing with flourish to the Imperator.

"At your will, it will be done." He conceals his fear, his uncertainty outwardly. "It pleases me you adore your gift. I will assist with Matthias with returning the seals, I will be only a moment my Imperator. The festivities will not be delayed over mere business." A hammy response. But even now, the numbness in his soul was not subsiding. He looks back to Matthias. The monk bows his head. He would not give any answers of what he saw. What he had seen in the Imperator. Matthias did not understand what it meant. But he would not allow himself to care. And he would not say anything, he would not force the answers from him. Matthias had a role in the House of Podiebrad. And he was allowed secrets excluded from even the Patriarch. The nature of confessions, and something more. Bela returns to the chest, as he begins to channel the energy back into it. Indigo light builds between himself and Matthias, as the pair work in tandem. It would take time to reset the seals, to bind the magic. He had gotten everything he wanted, hadn't he? The promise of artifacts and support, and the opportunity to prove the worth of himself and the House of Podiebrad. He had proven himself, well no, his father had arranged everything like before, where Bela had to just act in his confidence. But he had everything.

And he would make himself blind to his fears, to assure the success of his ambitions.

Log created on 22:38:07 03/19/2020 by Bela, and last modified on 15:57:42 05/12/2021.