"They want to negotiate?!"
Goslynn stood up, reading the report on the meeting, baffled at the conclusion between the greatest lords of Aversia. No defense plans, no back ups, no retreat routes or even an attempt at an assault. Nothing. Negotiations, that was it. He ran his hand across his face and read the paper a second time, looking at the courier-scout.
"This is a joke. Is this a joke, private?"
"N-no, sir. They say she's a god, sir, so we can't really defeat her they're saying."
The man waved the private away, who exited the room giving a sign for the other scouts to just give up. The director wasn't in a good mood. After a moment of deadly silence, Goslynn accepted the remainder of reports, cycling through them to connect the dots and gather up conclusions on the situation at hand.
Whilst Avel had gone off to discuss, the Sentinel stayed at home with Anthony and Apollyon to prepare the defenses. No plan. Whatsoever. Rumours of the Konig and Sol's Saint working of a fail safe were wild, and some were well founded. But he needed something more concrete than merely negotiations.
Mortality had nothing to bargain with, they were on the short end of the stick. He thought and thought, drafted up plans, a line of defense to the west of the pillar, composed of trenches, fortifications and siege golems. Contacting Folset down to the south was a given, the Council would have to accommodate a supply line between Svet Flerian and Wulfesmarche.
Men and elves would have to take point at the Moat - which had to be cleared beforehand... Then there was the matter of Gargantua. His pencil cracked as he thought up that name, the massive creature could easily wipe away all the troops. That was a major advantage the Witch had. He rest his head against the table.
He needed answers, or some form of advice. Slipping everything into a file, he laced it closed and took it with him. Determined to get help, the Sentinel locked his door and cloaked himself. The smoke covered his body like a cape would and he pulled the hood up, moving away from the office towards a hill to the north, where the bell tower of a small chapel grew skywards.
Surrounding it, tulips and poppies fluttered under the wind's gentle caress. Olberic had gone home for the day, so he dug his hand into the soil of a flowerpot closest to the door, and used the key planted within to unlock the chapel's entrance, then lock it behind him. The pews and aisle were clean, the dais beneath the altar bore the ever ivory ankh.
He placed the file aside and looked about at the dust swirling air, then sniffed for a moment and gathered some candles, and spiced incense, filled the thurible with the latter and lit the candles. They gave off a faint blue glow and he placed them all around the dais.
At its center, Goslynn sat down cross legged, his hand reached into his shirt for his own pendant and clutched it in his right hand. Whilst the other remained open. He had never done this. He had never asked for anything... not that he knew of, at least, nor willingly.
He did know it would cost him something to do so, but did so anyway. From the Sentinel's lips emerged a low mantra in a language only the dead could understand. The chthonic chant rumbled in his mind and he slowly fell to its ebb and flow, as if riding a river, hoping to find some kind of advice amidst its twists and turns. Foli, Gargantua, the Pillar, all these thoughts came to his mind as he prayed, searching for answers...
There, on the dais, his soul asked out to the Gatekeeper for advice, hoping to receive but the echo of a response.