Fang
Active member
Sometimes you have to break the rules. Sometimes you have let the Chaos take point, even if it is only for an instant. Catian had planned and plotted for days, used his copied information to determine movements and schedules, locations and transits. They were tight, and the file for Castor wasn’t among his looted goods. Easily obtained, but obvious after the fanfare of his not-quite-heist. For the moment the Foundation needed to stay in the dark, the information they didnt know they were missing his last bargaining chip for any more “underhanded acquisitions.”
He had made plans with relativity high odds of success, the best of which involved mimicking 404’s behavior and drawing Hobbes’ guardian to him. Pollux had reminded Catian of the joys of sinew and steel against steel and sinew, will against will. The Anomaly had been correct, godhood was no boon to a warrior, immortality was no friend to the thrill of life against life. Castor was sure to prove as formidable in combat, if not more-so given the way the name had fallen from 404’s lips. Catian knew it still wouldn’t be enough to recall those days when he had lived a mortal life, and fighting someone so loyal to the Foundation would cost him another bargain.
That left him with his usual routine, one he had hoped to avoid for this meeting, but was silently resolving himself to when the Chaos within him bucked against his tight control, a bubble of a thought growing in his mind despite his usual subtlety and guile in these worlds that were not his own. He could just bring 408 to him.
For this performance there was a stage, quite literal and imposing in the darkness that Castor had been suddenly transported to, a nothingness that left him nothing else to look at but the empty boards and the lone, shadow covered man who sat idly center stage, hood drawn and lights cast at just the right angles to keep him hidden. There was nothing but the stage, the seats between Castor and the edge of it, and Castor himself. The stranger, the Traveler, let the man’s mind, ancient though it might be, adjust to the sudden change in silence. Castor would speak first, in this scene.
He had made plans with relativity high odds of success, the best of which involved mimicking 404’s behavior and drawing Hobbes’ guardian to him. Pollux had reminded Catian of the joys of sinew and steel against steel and sinew, will against will. The Anomaly had been correct, godhood was no boon to a warrior, immortality was no friend to the thrill of life against life. Castor was sure to prove as formidable in combat, if not more-so given the way the name had fallen from 404’s lips. Catian knew it still wouldn’t be enough to recall those days when he had lived a mortal life, and fighting someone so loyal to the Foundation would cost him another bargain.
That left him with his usual routine, one he had hoped to avoid for this meeting, but was silently resolving himself to when the Chaos within him bucked against his tight control, a bubble of a thought growing in his mind despite his usual subtlety and guile in these worlds that were not his own. He could just bring 408 to him.
For this performance there was a stage, quite literal and imposing in the darkness that Castor had been suddenly transported to, a nothingness that left him nothing else to look at but the empty boards and the lone, shadow covered man who sat idly center stage, hood drawn and lights cast at just the right angles to keep him hidden. There was nothing but the stage, the seats between Castor and the edge of it, and Castor himself. The stranger, the Traveler, let the man’s mind, ancient though it might be, adjust to the sudden change in silence. Castor would speak first, in this scene.