10-15-2016, 12:47 AM
The Bio-weapon circled the away from his kills, tracing a path towards a quieter shore of the island. It was crucial that the Bio-weapon was not traced back to its origin. The bio-weapon did not care about the Empire or their scheming, but its instincts had been specifically designed so that it would seek to appear Cinnibarian in origin. If the Empire was found to have performed its mission that would completely invalidate the cost Dr. Mornur had accrued developing it, and that was something the Empire would not take kindly to.
The Bio-weapon continued its steady padding across the bottom of the ocean, circling the island, deep enough beneath the waves that its camouflage made it virtually impossible to spot from outside the water. Eventually it left behind the collection of piers, and moved on to the unmonitored waters of a more secluded portion of the shoreline. The ocean floor rose sharply, into a cliff-face worn smooth by the erosion of constant waters. To most, the cliff would pose a serious obstacle, those few handholds existed in the weathered stone were made slick with ocean spray. But to the Bioweapon, this was as immaterial as the pokemon had been. As it neared the base of the cliff, the bioweapon put two of its six legs onto the stone, the pads clinging tightly to the stone. Without even breaking stride, the Bioweapon began scaling the slope.
The Sage eyed the Imperial diplomat from across a small table. A pair of Imperial Soldiers stood at attention behind the man, their poise immaculate as they stared out from their helmets. The residents of Cinnibar went about their business, but they were clearly giving the café a very noticeable berth. For his part the Diplomat seemed entirely at ease, graciously thanking the oddly subdued clownish person who arrived shortly with the tray of tea.
He studied the man’s face as he accepted the cup, and he had to admit, Sir Medaeus possessed an impressive control of his facial reactions, and despite himself, the Sage almost believed it when Medaeus complemented the cowed pokemon on the quality of the drink. But then he can afford to, after all. The shark can be courteous to its neighbors. As the silent clown made a hasty retreat the Diplomat turned back to face the Sage, his face a practiced model of genuine friendliness.
“It is quite fascinating, I have always been told that Cinnibar Island is a… reclusive and technologically inept place, where only a few individuals of more… inhuman persuasion, there have even been some frankly ghastly rumors that Mewtwo has a bit of an issue with us as a species. Now of course much of this is but hearsay, but I was curious about the series of astonishing and riveting events could have led you to be found here. You don’t mind sharing do you?”
The Sage shook his head nonchalantly, “Not at all, Ambassador. I am always willing to spin a tale when the opportunity is offered. However, I would warn you that much of this tale will be spun, as my reasons for being here are entirely unremarkable.” Sir Medaeus sighed lightly and took a sip of tea.
“A pity, I was hoping for a tale of grand adventure.” The diplomat said as he leaned back in the wicker chair, “you will pardon me if this question appears too forwards, I have been longer at sea than I would like and it’s left me a touch brash.”
“A common condition.” The Sage interjected, more to derail the diplomat than to make any real contribution, he needed to make sure the ambassador didn’t entirely dominate the conversation, the man was as deadly with a couple of words, as any dueler with a sword. “but by all means, ask away.”
Sir Medaeus gave the Sage a sort of half-smile that betrayed his irritation, then continued, “ I have heard people suggest that Cinnibar is a home for exiles and outcasts, is that the case with you?” he asked, perfectly trimmed eyebrows raised in polite curiosity as he brought his mug up to his mouth.
That’s disappointing, The Sage thought as he locked eyes with the Diplomat, Are you really just interrogating me for my affiliations? I had hoped that we could work something positive out of this Medaeus. He shrugged slightly before answering, making sure to maintain the eye contact as he spoke. “I am both exiled from my homeland and an outcast. But I think that is hardly surprising in this world of ours. One would think more people would flock to Cinnibar’s banner if those were the only criteria.”
Sir Medaeus gave a slight laugh and leaned forward again, elbows resting on the table as he did so. “So you are a prime then? Unless I have misplaced you?” He asked, continuing to feign politeness, though He seemed to know the Sage had guessed his intentions Which is all the better. Let us drop the false casuality, and rely solely on our false indifference, Medaeus. Let me see how well your words can dance!
“Alas, good sir! You are mistaken! I am but a wandering secondary, struggling like any other man to eke out his existence. Would that I were such a thing, You would not find me in such a stringent place as I am now!” Now the Sage sat back. It was not a great lie, and he was sure Medaeus only half believed him. That would be enough though, as the question would allow him to distract the Diplomat with leads if need be.
“Indeed, primes seem to be more interested in running amok in the upper tiers and assaulting imperial troops.” Sir Medaeus paused and took another sip of tea, while the Sage slightly ground his teeth. There was an inflection on those last few words that the Sage did not like, and he mentally ran though the posting on his bounty that Dasha had shown him. There weren’t enough details that the diplomat could have made the connection could he? The Sage shunted the thought aside before Sir Medaeus could tell he was dwelling on it and continued to listen.
“But no, I share your envy of the primes. However, we were not made by the same Omni as they, and we can do nothing to change the fact. I simply give thanks to the Beneficent Emperor that he thought me worthy to summon.
I do wonder though, you will pardon my horrible manners no doubt, but you wouldn’t happen to know which prime has summoned you, perchance? You have a distinctively archaic method of fashion.”
The Sage glanced down at his tunic as if he was completely surprised by the statement, though he had been expecting a point along that line as soon as the diplomat had decided he wasn’t a prime. He did have the look of a Camelot Resident, there was little he could do to argue with it. But he would try.
“Ah, I was summoned during the creation of one of the outlying fiefs of Darkshire, I do not know the name of the prime that summoned me, but I doubt they cared enough for it to matter.” This was an even flimsier claim than the first one had been, and the Diplomat was smiling now as he nodded. He thinks he’s found me out, but which lies has be bought? The Sage wondered as he took a drink from the cup in front of him. The Diplomat sniffed slightly, and now you’re done with the conversation, you will try to end the contact as quickly as possible. The Sage gave what he felt was an appropriately surprised look as Sir Medaeus stood up.
“Yes I fear that many of us secondaries are something of an afterthought. And speaking of afterthoughts, I regret that I have just recalled some important business I have been neglecting. I hope you will not think too ill of me that I must stop our conversation with so much still left unresolved. You will forgive me I hope?” The Sage glanced up at him You aren’t even being subtle about your dismissal Medaeus, Do you think me that unimportant? The Sage nodded of course, he could hardly refuse the Diplomat’s request even if he had hoped to get more information out of the confrontation.
“I do hope we will meet again soon, once my business is concluded, that we might finish our discussions.” We that he gave a small dignified bow and turned away, the two soldiers following sharply behind him.
The Sage sat for a short time more, finishing his tea, then got up and turned in the opposite direction. He turned down the first side alley he saw, hurriedly made his way down it then ducked into a side door. The room was a small storage space, smelling faintly of oranges. The Sage crouched out of sight and waited. His hunch was confirmed as a lone human, her gray uniform clearly marking her as an Imperial guard hurried down the alleyway. She slowed down a little way past the Sage’s hideout, and he overheard some of her conversation as she spoke into her communications unit.
“I’ve lost visual on Clowney’s goon, but he isn’t far. Tell the commander that he will not interfere with our operation here.”
The Bio-weapon continued its steady padding across the bottom of the ocean, circling the island, deep enough beneath the waves that its camouflage made it virtually impossible to spot from outside the water. Eventually it left behind the collection of piers, and moved on to the unmonitored waters of a more secluded portion of the shoreline. The ocean floor rose sharply, into a cliff-face worn smooth by the erosion of constant waters. To most, the cliff would pose a serious obstacle, those few handholds existed in the weathered stone were made slick with ocean spray. But to the Bioweapon, this was as immaterial as the pokemon had been. As it neared the base of the cliff, the bioweapon put two of its six legs onto the stone, the pads clinging tightly to the stone. Without even breaking stride, the Bioweapon began scaling the slope.
The Sage eyed the Imperial diplomat from across a small table. A pair of Imperial Soldiers stood at attention behind the man, their poise immaculate as they stared out from their helmets. The residents of Cinnibar went about their business, but they were clearly giving the café a very noticeable berth. For his part the Diplomat seemed entirely at ease, graciously thanking the oddly subdued clownish person who arrived shortly with the tray of tea.
He studied the man’s face as he accepted the cup, and he had to admit, Sir Medaeus possessed an impressive control of his facial reactions, and despite himself, the Sage almost believed it when Medaeus complemented the cowed pokemon on the quality of the drink. But then he can afford to, after all. The shark can be courteous to its neighbors. As the silent clown made a hasty retreat the Diplomat turned back to face the Sage, his face a practiced model of genuine friendliness.
“It is quite fascinating, I have always been told that Cinnibar Island is a… reclusive and technologically inept place, where only a few individuals of more… inhuman persuasion, there have even been some frankly ghastly rumors that Mewtwo has a bit of an issue with us as a species. Now of course much of this is but hearsay, but I was curious about the series of astonishing and riveting events could have led you to be found here. You don’t mind sharing do you?”
The Sage shook his head nonchalantly, “Not at all, Ambassador. I am always willing to spin a tale when the opportunity is offered. However, I would warn you that much of this tale will be spun, as my reasons for being here are entirely unremarkable.” Sir Medaeus sighed lightly and took a sip of tea.
“A pity, I was hoping for a tale of grand adventure.” The diplomat said as he leaned back in the wicker chair, “you will pardon me if this question appears too forwards, I have been longer at sea than I would like and it’s left me a touch brash.”
“A common condition.” The Sage interjected, more to derail the diplomat than to make any real contribution, he needed to make sure the ambassador didn’t entirely dominate the conversation, the man was as deadly with a couple of words, as any dueler with a sword. “but by all means, ask away.”
Sir Medaeus gave the Sage a sort of half-smile that betrayed his irritation, then continued, “ I have heard people suggest that Cinnibar is a home for exiles and outcasts, is that the case with you?” he asked, perfectly trimmed eyebrows raised in polite curiosity as he brought his mug up to his mouth.
That’s disappointing, The Sage thought as he locked eyes with the Diplomat, Are you really just interrogating me for my affiliations? I had hoped that we could work something positive out of this Medaeus. He shrugged slightly before answering, making sure to maintain the eye contact as he spoke. “I am both exiled from my homeland and an outcast. But I think that is hardly surprising in this world of ours. One would think more people would flock to Cinnibar’s banner if those were the only criteria.”
Sir Medaeus gave a slight laugh and leaned forward again, elbows resting on the table as he did so. “So you are a prime then? Unless I have misplaced you?” He asked, continuing to feign politeness, though He seemed to know the Sage had guessed his intentions Which is all the better. Let us drop the false casuality, and rely solely on our false indifference, Medaeus. Let me see how well your words can dance!
“Alas, good sir! You are mistaken! I am but a wandering secondary, struggling like any other man to eke out his existence. Would that I were such a thing, You would not find me in such a stringent place as I am now!” Now the Sage sat back. It was not a great lie, and he was sure Medaeus only half believed him. That would be enough though, as the question would allow him to distract the Diplomat with leads if need be.
“Indeed, primes seem to be more interested in running amok in the upper tiers and assaulting imperial troops.” Sir Medaeus paused and took another sip of tea, while the Sage slightly ground his teeth. There was an inflection on those last few words that the Sage did not like, and he mentally ran though the posting on his bounty that Dasha had shown him. There weren’t enough details that the diplomat could have made the connection could he? The Sage shunted the thought aside before Sir Medaeus could tell he was dwelling on it and continued to listen.
“But no, I share your envy of the primes. However, we were not made by the same Omni as they, and we can do nothing to change the fact. I simply give thanks to the Beneficent Emperor that he thought me worthy to summon.
I do wonder though, you will pardon my horrible manners no doubt, but you wouldn’t happen to know which prime has summoned you, perchance? You have a distinctively archaic method of fashion.”
The Sage glanced down at his tunic as if he was completely surprised by the statement, though he had been expecting a point along that line as soon as the diplomat had decided he wasn’t a prime. He did have the look of a Camelot Resident, there was little he could do to argue with it. But he would try.
“Ah, I was summoned during the creation of one of the outlying fiefs of Darkshire, I do not know the name of the prime that summoned me, but I doubt they cared enough for it to matter.” This was an even flimsier claim than the first one had been, and the Diplomat was smiling now as he nodded. He thinks he’s found me out, but which lies has be bought? The Sage wondered as he took a drink from the cup in front of him. The Diplomat sniffed slightly, and now you’re done with the conversation, you will try to end the contact as quickly as possible. The Sage gave what he felt was an appropriately surprised look as Sir Medaeus stood up.
“Yes I fear that many of us secondaries are something of an afterthought. And speaking of afterthoughts, I regret that I have just recalled some important business I have been neglecting. I hope you will not think too ill of me that I must stop our conversation with so much still left unresolved. You will forgive me I hope?” The Sage glanced up at him You aren’t even being subtle about your dismissal Medaeus, Do you think me that unimportant? The Sage nodded of course, he could hardly refuse the Diplomat’s request even if he had hoped to get more information out of the confrontation.
“I do hope we will meet again soon, once my business is concluded, that we might finish our discussions.” We that he gave a small dignified bow and turned away, the two soldiers following sharply behind him.
The Sage sat for a short time more, finishing his tea, then got up and turned in the opposite direction. He turned down the first side alley he saw, hurriedly made his way down it then ducked into a side door. The room was a small storage space, smelling faintly of oranges. The Sage crouched out of sight and waited. His hunch was confirmed as a lone human, her gray uniform clearly marking her as an Imperial guard hurried down the alleyway. She slowed down a little way past the Sage’s hideout, and he overheard some of her conversation as she spoke into her communications unit.
“I’ve lost visual on Clowney’s goon, but he isn’t far. Tell the commander that he will not interfere with our operation here.”
If history is to become legend, it first must be recorded.