The Sketch Rift: The Eternal Crusade

The Great General of Our Time

Soal and Irene, being the cherished Master Bringer, entered the temple of Northwest Waise with little resistance. There seemed only to be two chambers in this structure: the first, which was rather spacious and featured mirrors facing one another on each of the high walls, dimly lit with the waning illumination of nearly hoary torches, and another, beyond a massively barred door ahead of them. A single item of furniture -- something of a coffee table -- occupied its center, engulfed in self-drawn maps and orders of action, piled upon one another hastily as if Ivel had just entered with the Ambassador and tossed them on the nearest table-resembling structure.

He must have, however, because the one leaning apprehensively on the coffee table with his long arms, anxiously sorting through these foolscap pages, was none other than what seemed to be the same Commander they had observed from afar and from between a plethora of Crusaders. This was none other than Ivel, the controversial new Eternal Crusade Commander whose soul had been consumed long ago with merely one purpose: protect the Ambassador, at all costs.

Judging from Ivel's face, hair and height alone, Soal could scantily distinguish him between a rumpled elder or a grizzled teenager. His mussed, leafy hair was a tangible mixture of dirty blonde and white, and his height was practically the same as Soal's. The wrinkles on his face could either have been inflicted by age or heavy trauma. His leathery gear, although baggy, seemed to be one-size-fits all. Scars pockmarked his hairy, somehow dusty arms, yet he lacked any signs of facial hair. And his perfectly gray eyes looked neither age-related or even natural. However, the red surrounding his pupils granted it an ominous tone as he peered up onto his visitors.

"Whom I see currently, I have been long anticipating," Ivel's voice was not convincing in the slightest. It was so harsh, like sandpaper, that one could not realize if it was rightfully aged or simply hoarse. The Master Bringer remained silent, in hopes of not disturbing the Commander who already was disturbing them. "To release this from my chest, you are not believers of the Su -- pseudo-Sulukridger's conspiracies of my inexperience, eh?"

Soal and Irene glanced at one another, wishing to deny. "Um, well... even we're not sure if we can trust him, uh..." Irene gulped in dread, although this statement was in part true. Hemingway's inconspicuous behavior (and his automation of artificial processes) remained a source of uneasiness. Even now, Ivel's voice was threatening, as if he knew something -- about them -- that they did not.

"Hmm?" Ivel's eyes widened, as he took a step forward from behind the coffee table, releasing his grip on its surface. "Master Bringer, your awareness -- your fear -- of me is unjustified," he continued to approach, as Soal's eyes were glued to the serrated katana in the Commander's belt, and even more so as he drew it without intending to harm, much to their 'awareness'. "This blade I possess is the one I have wielded to defend the Ambassador of the Great Five from the enemy of the people, and now I will use it against all that stands in the way of the Master Bringer.

"So what has Charles Grammor Hemingway taught you now about our inclusion in his grand narrative?" Ivel slid the katana back in its rightful place on his belt (one of a handful of weapons) and lightly demanded what they had supposedly learned about him about the Crusade's Commander. "What other motive does he utilize for his exploitation -- I should say, encountering -- of our beloved Crusade? He is a Henderian, but I find him an oddball among their crowds of Un-Characters."

"He said you were, um," Soal struggled to let out, remembering that Hemingway had once said Ivel was a foolish leader, "the great general of our time."

"Indeed I could wish I was surprised," Ivel must have preached askance of the pseudo-Sulukridger. "Although Hemingway and I have not been on level ground in the past, or even today, I peered up to you two with great admiration when at a younger age. Your charisma, your intelligence, your triumphs; they all captivated me. Although your fleeing and the Revolution's failure was something of a blow, I was never involved in either side, whether it be the semi-saviors from beyond, the enemy of Revaw himself, or among the High Committee -- I championed the Crusade around channeling the achievements of the Revolution with a system of healthy discipline."

"That's, uh," Irene attempted to correct, "not the way, it, uh..."

"Well," Ivel responded, untouched. "Hemingway's primary reasoning -- he and I spoke earlier -- was the Ambassador's sole responsibility to enlighten the Master Bringer. I will stay true to my word, Phantom, Soal. The Ambassador is waiting for you if you please." Subsequently, he knocked the countless bars and branches that concealed the door to the second chamber to the already largely uneven floor of the room, permitting access to the Ambassador's presence.

"Go on, Master Bringer," Ivel beckoned. "I will remain here, but when you return, your task should likely be complete."