- Joined
- Nov 17, 2008
- Messages
- 17,315
"The Architect"
Kazimir Radack stubbornly stared at the blank piece of paper in front of him. Dim light of the candle only lit the table. He took a look back, at the room and his expression became even more grim. The last bottle of that crud he's been getting from the market was empty and lying next to his feet. Kazimir sighed.
"How did it come to this?"
"I believe it is a long tale, mister Radack..."
Kazimir made a careful look back. Behind him stood a man in a green robe. The staff he was holding didn't seem like a weapon though, but who knew what he had under the robe.
"And who might you be?"
Though darkness was hiding the man's face, Kazimir could tell that he grinned slightly. He suddenly relaxed.
"Well, you ain't one of the empirees for sure. They don't have such fancy clothing."
The man took a step closer.
"Mister Radack. Why does an architect of such level reside in these slums and live in a small room stuffed with junk and unfulfiled dreams?"
"The way you're asking, it's clear that you know it very well yourself. I did my best, my projects were flawless, but the high officials change and so do tastes and suddenly my work is considered old and thus useless"
The robed man freely approached one of the tables and took one of the models, to inspect it closely.
"Times change, mister Radack. The winds of change are blowing... a storm is coming."
Kazimir rose his brow.
"So, where are you heading with all of that mysticism?"
"You are not like the others, mister Radack. You think greater and are not enslaved by time, like most of humanity. This allows your projects to... transcend simple buildings. In a way, we both have same aims, but for different... subjects."
"And what might your subjects be?"
"People, mister Radack. People."
Kazimir turned his head to look into the flame of the candle.
"I heard a rumour from the streets. That there is a prophet who speaks to all, no matter who they are. One who says that the end is approaching. He says humanity will not survive the coming... storm."
"Unless it becomes greater then what it is."
He looked back and crossed his arms.
"So what is it you want from me?"
"Isn't it obvious? Every religion deserves a temple. But only you, of all men, can create a Temple."
The accent that the man put on the last word made it sound... glorious. Even though Kazimir was reluctant to believe his tales, he was intrigued.
"This Temple... would not just be a place of faith, as faith is not material to need a place. It would be a citadel, a beacon... a haven."
"What do I gain from that?"
"You know well yourself, that the only reward a creator really needs, is the process of creation. But I offer other gains from your agreement. Survival for one thing."
"So how will I know when my services are need?"
"Believe me, you'll know, mister Radack. You'll know..."
Kazimir Radack stubbornly stared at the blank piece of paper in front of him. Dim light of the candle only lit the table. He took a look back, at the room and his expression became even more grim. The last bottle of that crud he's been getting from the market was empty and lying next to his feet. Kazimir sighed.
"How did it come to this?"
"I believe it is a long tale, mister Radack..."
Kazimir made a careful look back. Behind him stood a man in a green robe. The staff he was holding didn't seem like a weapon though, but who knew what he had under the robe.
"And who might you be?"
Though darkness was hiding the man's face, Kazimir could tell that he grinned slightly. He suddenly relaxed.
"Well, you ain't one of the empirees for sure. They don't have such fancy clothing."
The man took a step closer.
"Mister Radack. Why does an architect of such level reside in these slums and live in a small room stuffed with junk and unfulfiled dreams?"
"The way you're asking, it's clear that you know it very well yourself. I did my best, my projects were flawless, but the high officials change and so do tastes and suddenly my work is considered old and thus useless"
The robed man freely approached one of the tables and took one of the models, to inspect it closely.
"Times change, mister Radack. The winds of change are blowing... a storm is coming."
Kazimir rose his brow.
"So, where are you heading with all of that mysticism?"
"You are not like the others, mister Radack. You think greater and are not enslaved by time, like most of humanity. This allows your projects to... transcend simple buildings. In a way, we both have same aims, but for different... subjects."
"And what might your subjects be?"
"People, mister Radack. People."
Kazimir turned his head to look into the flame of the candle.
"I heard a rumour from the streets. That there is a prophet who speaks to all, no matter who they are. One who says that the end is approaching. He says humanity will not survive the coming... storm."
"Unless it becomes greater then what it is."
He looked back and crossed his arms.
"So what is it you want from me?"
"Isn't it obvious? Every religion deserves a temple. But only you, of all men, can create a Temple."
The accent that the man put on the last word made it sound... glorious. Even though Kazimir was reluctant to believe his tales, he was intrigued.
"This Temple... would not just be a place of faith, as faith is not material to need a place. It would be a citadel, a beacon... a haven."
"What do I gain from that?"
"You know well yourself, that the only reward a creator really needs, is the process of creation. But I offer other gains from your agreement. Survival for one thing."
"So how will I know when my services are need?"
"Believe me, you'll know, mister Radack. You'll know..."
