Character of the Week #5: Vice

[OmniChaos]

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• This thread will stay open for a week, at which point it will close and the week's winner chosen.

Spoiler Show

Gray.
​

The epicenter of both black and white. Gray by its very nature knows only to be lacking in both substance and direction alike. It's birth came as an in between, an ultimatum which created a listless pool of undefined emptiness. The color, that is gray, meted by the worth of a child that was abandoned. He'd become the orphaned child of his mother white and his father black. White was the maiden that emblazoned the forces of time as black his father, crippled space in his hands.

His birth was a grave mistake...and so he suffered, he was empty.

And so the child named Gray, was alone. To befriend isolation, he knew only the very ashes from which he was born. It was desire that shaped emptiness, thus which implemented form. The young orphan in time began to crave desire as an application to grow an unattended want for "everything". His parents, friends, a significant other, things that would otherwise be unattainable. So he traveled.

In travels did he learn that his desires, were...destructive. Eyes wide with curiousity, gray reduced those to whom he touched, to ash. As if this were a mere frailty nothing made you feel more inhumane than to wither before another's eyes. This cycle became an infinite one, the child named Gray who cast this burden upon his shoulders.

He'd attained names suched as "abomination" "wicked devil child" and "unbalanced blood."

The son of Black and White. Gray, The Casym of Emptiness.

Spoiler Show

The orchestra began at its prescribed time, elating him into a sense of near-ecstasy. Music, at least in this style, always seemed to move him, to drive him to thoughts and desires he otherwise despised, causing a feeling of loss and awkward footing. His profession dictated there was to be no defeat.

He despised the grand balls held in the Koridoru Palace, though he knew only of one other person who hated them more so. Sei'dar would only have most, if not all of these nobles chained and made to do penance. Luckily, I am bereft of being on his justified list.

Marquis de Requesciat descended the gilded staircase, supple black leather boots making little to no imprint upon the red carpet, cane in hand. Marquis kept pride in his well-kept appearance, wearing his finest blue military jacket, the twelve medals tinkling their secret sonnets as he moved about in the proper dance, plain leggings tucked into his boots. His light beard and goatee were immaculate, and his black hair, streaked with gray. Nothing was out of place - everything was in order.

The orchestra continued its performance, as he took the gloved hand of some noblewoman, noticing that her white gloves simply did not match her well-tailored purple dress. Her powdered face annoyed him as well - all those of such a high and supposedly mighty breed did nothing but simper and expect to be served. So much for the dignity and pride of the nobilis'kadin.

On the other hand, Marquis de Requesciat enjoyed the thrill of war, the adrenaline of the front lines. The moniker Mirkhan Sei'dar had given him was all too true. "Requesciat is crucial to our plan, Quel'loyen! We need one from the nobles to slip within their ranks, and rid the City of its own scum, wrapped in silk and satin though they be! He is a conductor on the battlefield, if there is any worth the name - and so he will direct the most crucial parts of the Consilium." None knew the Sarz'tien for a fool, either; Mirkhan knew the vice and virtue of all within his plotting circles.

And so I must partake in their societal revolution against the corrupt social elite - or so Sei'dar paints them to all save those whom he takes his slandering brush to. Truth be told, in any other circumstance, the bodies of these corrupt elite would line the streets by my orders, but Mirkhan is more devious. Much, much more cunning with his Consilium. And that, I fear, is what will be his downfall, given that only I, out of the few of us that concocted this, dared to oppose the Sarz'tien.

The dance went entirely as planned, and as the orchestra began its climb of brilliant crescendos and thundering tones, Marquis eyed the great clock which sat upon the far wall, beneath the painted ceiling. As it ticked into the Hour of the Void, the wall in front of him exploded inward,the marble and masonry crumbling down, as an irregular hole seemed to flood with pikemen and crossbowmen - Marquis' soldiers.

And now comes down the virtues of these pathetic elites by the heavy gauntlet of my guiltless vice.

"Daedar glor'ar! Dagor'tel in ser'aran!" cried the soldiers, as they came into rank and file, the sigil of de Requesciat shining in the light of the colored crystal lamps - the interlocked, silver spade and hammer stood upon a blue background on the soldiers' heraldry as they began to skewer and fire upon the astonished crowd, many of whom drew their elegant, jeweled blades and attempted to advance upon the well-trained, well-equipped regiment of veteran warmen. For the Glory of the Builder! For the Light! The orchestra kept playing, unmoved by the violence - Marquis had informants pay the entire lot of them off, and tell them all that was needed.

The pikemens' shields battered the few that made it past the crossbowmens' volleys into the crowd, sending them to the floor. The regiment marched forward with their rolling steps, armor clanking, pikes leveled perpendicular to forward-held shields, crossbows being wound back for the next volley, as a drummer kept them in tempo, and an officer ordered them to stop once he had recognized Marquis.

The soldiers stood straight, the pikemen kept their weapons level, as the crossbowmen loaded theirs, and went back to attention, all of them human statues. Marquis walked towards them, cane clicking as one of the noblemen on the ground dared to look at him, and spat out their question along with some fresh blood.

"Insurrectionist! You are just like your gravedigger father, pathetic plebian! I can smell the stench of your warmongering all the way from here! You reek of the bodies whom you have slain! You-"

"I am performing my duty to the Chords, Lord Belfore. And you are among those chosen for death tonight." The cane's sharp edge came swiftly across the nobleman's neck, the strange black metal slicing through skin and bone and flesh like a hot blade through butter. The head rolled about, eventually falling face up towards the crowd of nobles; Lord Belfore's face, frozen by death leered at them with unclosed eyes.

"Proficio, acimadan!" Marquis shouted, and the soldiers marched, beginning the slaughter. Forward, without mercy! de Requesciat strode with his men, as they slew every single person in the dancing hall, save for the orchestra members, as their song took a softer tone.

As the last few nobles were slain in cries and pleadings for mercy, Marquis strode away towards the gaping hole in the wall, walking over the broken bricks and bits of mortar, the shattered pieces of what might have been the painting of some oddly smiling nobleman or woman cracking under his footsteps.

The night sky was peaceful, all of the stars in their proper position, as the star named by astronomers as the Red Warrior made its appearance from behind a passing cloud. It was then Marquis felt the presence of Mirkhan Sei'dar, as the black-robed enigma stood near the edge of the blasted hole, gazing upon the same sight.

"My part is finished, Sarz'tien. All are dead, as per the Consilium." Marquis thinned his expression. I opposed this, but I was outvoted by seven to one. My hand was forced, but as for Senator Belfore, he deserved the death by my hands with his damning statement.

"Your services are no longer required in the City, Lord Requesciat. Take your men and gather the rest; you are to liberate the outlying provinces and towns, and here are the commandes spécifiques." Mirkhan Sei'dar held out a scroll kept sealed by a well-tied red tassel and the blot of wax. Marquis took it without hesitation, and, ordering his soldiers out, sent them to rouse the large remainder of de Requesciat's brigade.

The Sarz'tien only smiled grimly as Marquis saddled and sat astride his horse, sending it into a trot as de Requesciat left the grim scene of death behind, leaving through the Gate of Ravens, as was planned.

"May your vice become your virtue, Conductor." Sei'dar mused aloud, and he departed to the Cathedral.