A light mist poured across the rolling mountain tops of some forgotten and distant land, on a distant and forgotten planet. The light of the early morning sun glimmered through, giving the fog a faint, yet radiant glow. The green grass and lichens, as well as the hodgepodge of rocks, were all coated in a light film of morning dew, but remained ready in anticipation for a rainstorm that was gently meandering to the mountains.
The faint echo of a famous Chaldenian orchestral piece from long ago could be heard emanating from one particular mountain top. What recreated these magical sounds was an old gramophone, sat upon a dark oak table, inlaid with bits of brass decor, and intricate carvings of famous Sorillian design. For added stability, the table sat upon a large slab of marble that made up a large, square patio. Beside it were other furnishings of similar make and design, some Sorillian, and others more foreign.
One particularly ornate table sat the most centrally, with beautiful carvings across its surface that depicted a gloriously triumphant battle by the Sorillian army, encased in a smooth, protective surface of golden amber. It was more resilient than glass would be for such a table, and helped ensure the artistic beauty was preserved to the greatest extent possible.
Situated at the table was a tea set, piping hot and freshly brewed, a radio that lightly crackled with life, and a singular chair. The chair itself was, as expected, exquisitely extravagant. Dark oak wood, red velvet upholstering, a tall back, and firm arm rests, all suitable to a king.
The light clinking sound of a spoon stirring in a china cup started up as the chair’s occupant began to prepare his tea. Just a little sugar added to enhance the taste, one of the few indulgences he would permit himself. Smoking, liquor, intoxicants, they were all ways to tarnish and blemish the body, and he simply refused to endure that.
Steam poured over the edges of the cup, eager to join the mist that hugged the surface of the mountain top. The man sighed lightly as he gazed upon all that was before him; the mountains, the cliffs, the valley’s, rivers, lakes. He took it all in as he sipped at his tea. “Magnificent. And truly, truly marvelous.” He softly spoke.
Maximillian Haterius Axius, or more likely better known by his titles; The Black Knight, or The Hell Knight. The first title, it could be speculated, may represent his choice of attire, or perhaps his past, primary occupations. The second title however, may more likely be attributed to what he can do.
Maximillian was a handsome man, about 5’10”, with short, tidy blonde hair that could be befitting of a noble. Maximillian was repulsed by most military cuts, and equally as repulsed by long, flowing hair. He liked his at a more charming, gentlemanly cut on the medium side of short. His skin was fair, a light creamy color, evenly toned across his body with no blotches of pink or red, even on his cheeks. Not only this, but across his entire person, there was not one scar, mole, birth mark, or blemish. Almost every inch of him was flawless, almost inhumanly so.
The one and only abnormality was, unfortunately, one of the most glaring. His left eye. The sclera could scarcely be called the ‘white’ of his eye anymore. It was entirely blood red, with not a hint of paleness surviving. The iris too seemed non-existent, having deformed into a black color that effectively merged it (at least appearance wise) with the pupil.
Maximillian wore a Black Uniform, something that seemed vaguely Sorillian, but also very clearly not. It certainly was an artifact of that part of his past, when he served Sor, but had no official linkages to their official uniforms. This is perhaps a small part of why he was able to transition into a "new army" with little resistance.
He gently tapped his fingers across the dark surface of his helmet, patiently awaiting word back from informants. Old loyalists of Oblivion and his army. He took a sip from his tea, savoring the deep flavors of the dark brown liquid, a proper black tea brew. Maximillian reminisced on the past as his mind already planned for the future.
A louder crackling sound emanated from the radio before a voice could be heard. “My Lord, we’ve had eyes on the target. Can confirm that it is indeed real, and is still on The Rock, for the moment at least.”
“Excellent work gentlemen. You do us all proud, and I’ll see to it you’re rewarded for your efforts. I’m going to personally investigate this further, stand down for now and stay out of sight. I’ll be arriving in a few short weeks.” Maximillian smiled softly, belying the excitement he felt knowing the canon was real.
“Understood My Lord. Hail to Victory!”
“Hail to Victory.” He signed off and clicked off the radio. Maximillian finished off his tea as two attendants approached to stand next to him. “Please ready my ship, I’ll be departing immediately.” They gave a quick salute and left the mountain top, towards a landing pad that held Maximillian’s personal craft.
Once he was finished his tea, he stood and returned his helmet to his head. “It’s been quite some time since I last set foot on The Rock.” He muttered to himself. “I expect this shall be quite the interesting return.”
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Ash looked at the severely battered body that fell towards the group, and unholstered his revolver for security. “You know this gentleman Miss Seru?” He asked as he cautiously approached the body. “If so, I’d suggest you grab some water quickly. He’s looking quite worse for wear.” The Captain rolled the man over so he lay on his back, exposing the patchwork of bruises, cuts, sun burns, and other types of weathering from whatever journey he endured.
“Might want to grab some of that Snake Venom of yours too by the looks of it.”