Solomon walks quickly up the path leading to the wrought iron gates. A thick fog hangs in the air, depositing beads of dew in eldrich patterns across his duster and fedora. Beneath his coat, his hand rests on the hilt of his sword.

He stops before the gate, waiting patiently to be called upon. He suspects the warlocks have known of his presence for some time.

 Guards appear at the gate after a few moments, opening it to you.

"The master of the house will see you," nodding toward the main building.

As you approach an elderly man awaits you by the door. He looks like a butler or manservant from ages past. He nods in respect, opening the door," The master shall entertain you in the lounge," as he leads you to a formal sitting room.

The elderly man offers you a seat," Can I be of any further assistance Sir?"

"No, thank you."

Solomon is polite, but does not take the offered seat. Instead, he causally paces about the room, admiring the interesting decor.

2008-12-10 22:33:56 Solomon rolls 7 dice to Perception+Investigation 10,5,4,7,4, 8,5,10,7 (5 successes)

 There are various paintings about the lounge, most are very old and quite a collection. They are all seemingly Germanic in origin from fairy tale figures to landscapes of the Rhine area. The chairs are high quality antiques that are plush and well taken care of. The lighting is numerous matching lamps throughout the room. An ornate Persian rug adorns the floor and covers the older hardwoods underneath. There is an old humidor on one of the antique tables that appears to be full of cigars, an expensive cutter and lighter beside it.

As you are looking about the room you hear footsteps in the hall announcing someone arriving.

The Regent stops at the archway entering into the room, taking in his visitor. He is dressed in a long burgundy overcoat over a buttoned shirt. His long hair obscuring his various necklaces, they are difficult to make out, but you can see the hint of a few. His face appears stoic and unmoving, betraying nothing of his mood nor his temperament.

2008-12-14 12:22:15 Thaddeus rolls 7 dice to Stoic visage 9,6,4,2,5, 4,2 (2 successes)

"Good Evening Solomon, I had not expected you this evening, but I would like to speak with you about a few things. Would you care for a cigar," as he walks toward the table.

Bowing to the Regent, Solomon pulls his sheathed sword from beneath his coat. Placing it against one of the chairs, he takes a seat.

"Thank you very much, I would greatly appreciate a cigar."

He leans back in an attempt to take a more relax position. He lights the cigar but refrains from smoking it. It rests idly in his hand, burning ever so slowly.

"I came here seeking Sebastian... to deliever this."

His hand drops to the hilt of his trusted blade, caressing it gently.

"But I am in no hurry. What is on your mind?"  

--Last edited by Solomon on 2009-03-30 02:34:29 --

 He sits enjoying his cigar, a faint twitch of his brow as mentions the sword and Sebastion. Interesting indeed.

"Of course, I shall make certain it is brought to his attention," between long casual drags.

"I was interested in hearing your perceptions of the city, having arrived somewhat recently and entertaining a fresh vision unclouded by history. Your uncovering the location of the Sabbat was particularly insightful. What do you see in Sanfield?" as he watches his reaction. He is certainly mad, but there are sometimes a method to it and he would like to gauge it himself.

 

Solomon ashes the cigar in the small glass tray lying on the table betwixt himself and the Regent. It never comes anywhere near his lips, though he gestures as he speaks, trailing a stream of smoke.

"This city is a tower made of fear and brick. Feral things grow up from the soil, clinging to her sides, slipping in her cracks. Things green with rage. There are stories about towers. Falling towers. Towers that climb too high. My grandma use to tell me stories. They always end in blood."

He stops speaking and their is a long moment of silence. His left hand gentle caresses the edge of his longsword. The ash steadily grows along the cigar's tip.

 "Certainly a most morose opinion, quite cryptic. I'll assume you are not fond of Sanfield? or at least its inhabitants," as he regards the man across from him. Masked men predicting doom and gloom were certainly not unheard of to the Regent, quite the opposite had he not said anything apocalyptic he would have thought him strange.

"So I assume you are also a warrior of old? I can see the blade means something to you and your hold suggests some ability. Don't you find it a bit archaic, in these nights at least?" not appearing to be sarcastic, only interested in hearing his perspective. He had often found that with Carter one had to be direct and it would usually be more convincing then alluding to your question.

Solomon glances up from his private reverie, thick, blue smoke swirling about the smooth, metallic surface of his face. His eyes belay confusion at the Regent's inquiry.

"Archaic?... Do loathsome monsters not roam these lands as oft now as in the days of yore? Surely, I say that, no matter the age nor realm, a ready blade be never far from hand."

His words resonate with conviction. His left hand reverently caresses his sword as his right idly ashes his as yet unsmoked cigar.  

--Last edited by Solomon on 2009-05-18 15:09:17 --