"Why, thank you, Prophet Wreath," Erskine retorted with a grin. "You actually do look old enough to be called Elder these days."
There was something rather poetic about an ex-Necromancer appealing to the better nature of a manipulator - and succeeding. Particularly when both parties had gone through drastic changes in the past week. Maybe it wouldn't have been so easy if China's brother wasn't the one trapped, but either way, it was a good leap in the right direction. Not to mention Skulduggery could get used to seeing China and not feeling his opinion of her subjectively influenced.
He had no idea if that would last or not. Or whether he wanted it to last or not.
Raphael was solving a Rubik's Cube against the wall, looking for all the world like he'd completely embraced the idea of non-interference and was just bored with the proceedings. Skulduggery knew better. Probably a side effect of this soul connection he seemed to have with Gabe - or perhaps he just knew the Archangel that well already. Either way, when Solomon turned to frown directly at the Cube, Skulduggery knew there was something more going on.
If he'd had a face, he would have had to resist a smirk. Fair enough. Not like he would complain.
... Until, quite suddenly, the suggestion came.
Suits of armour. Animated suits of armour walking around. Something was wrong with that idea. Skulduggery hadn't quite caught up with his subconscious on that point yet, but he knew all too well why the idea unnerved him. And he knew bringing up that discomfort would only put everyone else in the same. Or, in the case of Kenspeckle Grouse, invite dangerous questions. It wasn't until Solomon mentioned the photo that Skulduggery realised what was so very wrong.
Solomon was right. Whenever magic got involved, objects with sentimental value tended to retain a trace of that sentimentality. Powerful objects belonging solely to powerful people, especially when they were so much a part of that person as to be indistinguishable, could easily attain a degree of sentience. In most cases, it was only a matter of time.
Solomon was suggesting a force to replace the Sanctuary Cleavers made up of animated suits of armour, operating off that exact degree of sentience.
Hidden away in the Sanctuary somewhere, its location probably known only to Guild, was Lord Vile's armour.
That was a disaster waiting to happen.
"Statues." Skulduggery couldn't keep this part quiet just to avoid unnecessary discomfort. This was, unfortunately, very necessary discomfort. "Using suits of armour designed to be able to think for themselves, likely hundreds of them in the Sanctuary at any given time? That's just asking for trouble."
Not everyone would get it, but enough did. Valkyrie became very interested in her shoes, Erskine became very darkly interested in the table, and Ghastly's shoulders tensed. The tailor worked to relax them, and cleared his throat with an impressive amount of casualness thrown in, offsetting how practically every one of his limbs was still unnaturally stiff. "Statues, then. How was Lynott created?"
no subject
There was something rather poetic about an ex-Necromancer appealing to the better nature of a manipulator - and succeeding. Particularly when both parties had gone through drastic changes in the past week. Maybe it wouldn't have been so easy if China's brother wasn't the one trapped, but either way, it was a good leap in the right direction. Not to mention Skulduggery could get used to seeing China and not feeling his opinion of her subjectively influenced.
He had no idea if that would last or not. Or whether he wanted it to last or not.
Raphael was solving a Rubik's Cube against the wall, looking for all the world like he'd completely embraced the idea of non-interference and was just bored with the proceedings. Skulduggery knew better. Probably a side effect of this soul connection he seemed to have with Gabe - or perhaps he just knew the Archangel that well already. Either way, when Solomon turned to frown directly at the Cube, Skulduggery knew there was something more going on.
If he'd had a face, he would have had to resist a smirk. Fair enough. Not like he would complain.
... Until, quite suddenly, the suggestion came.
Suits of armour. Animated suits of armour walking around. Something was wrong with that idea. Skulduggery hadn't quite caught up with his subconscious on that point yet, but he knew all too well why the idea unnerved him. And he knew bringing up that discomfort would only put everyone else in the same. Or, in the case of Kenspeckle Grouse, invite dangerous questions. It wasn't until Solomon mentioned the photo that Skulduggery realised what was so very wrong.
Solomon was right. Whenever magic got involved, objects with sentimental value tended to retain a trace of that sentimentality. Powerful objects belonging solely to powerful people, especially when they were so much a part of that person as to be indistinguishable, could easily attain a degree of sentience. In most cases, it was only a matter of time.
Solomon was suggesting a force to replace the Sanctuary Cleavers made up of animated suits of armour, operating off that exact degree of sentience.
Hidden away in the Sanctuary somewhere, its location probably known only to Guild, was Lord Vile's armour.
That was a disaster waiting to happen.
"Statues." Skulduggery couldn't keep this part quiet just to avoid unnecessary discomfort. This was, unfortunately, very necessary discomfort. "Using suits of armour designed to be able to think for themselves, likely hundreds of them in the Sanctuary at any given time? That's just asking for trouble."
Not everyone would get it, but enough did. Valkyrie became very interested in her shoes, Erskine became very darkly interested in the table, and Ghastly's shoulders tensed. The tailor worked to relax them, and cleared his throat with an impressive amount of casualness thrown in, offsetting how practically every one of his limbs was still unnaturally stiff. "Statues, then. How was Lynott created?"