The Immortal Plague [Solomon]

He would’ve liked to have thought he’d had a large enough portion of the Hollows scouted to be comfortable with the area. He had - for approximately a week, and then the dragon attacked. The whole of the fight had happened downtown, but he’d wanted to double check to make sure nothing out here had been affected by any large-reaching powers a dragon was more than capable of. It would be trouble if he was in a rush and needed to teleport, only to find the spot he’d considered safe had unbenounced to him been turned into a chasm. So he was out in the forest surrounding the FOB again. Walking around, rather than comfortably in his room with his tea and books.

It wasn’t the worst way to spend his afternoon, he supposed. The air was nice and the temperature was comfortable. He was in more casual garb for the reason of not startling any hikers he happened across out in the mountains; a thick navy blue jacket over a t-shirt marked with the logo of a popular soda, his leather shoulder bag, and a pair of jeans with boots suited to the terrain. He also technically didn’t have to be doing this if he didn’t want to, so he couldn’t complain too much, and it meant some time away from his stuffy study (it smelled like moth balls) to clear his head. Perhaps a part of him just wanted some air.

In his walking, he hadn’t come across hardly anyone. Normally Solomon kept his hood up around the more likely spots to run into civilians, as white hair on someone his age tended to draw attention and unwanted suspicion, but the forest had been so void of other humans that he’d not bothered. When he happened upon the first person he’d seen in the better part of the afternoon, he was momentarily worried. First that he’d have some explaining to do to the person, and then that he’d have the same back at the FOB as to why someone was passed out on the ground so close to base. Getting a little closer revealed an even more interesting situation; judging by the mask, this fellow was also a super. He was considering trying to rouse the guy when he began coming around himself.

Solomon was crouching directly to the man’s right, one hand hanging casually off the corresponding knee and the other propping up his head with a fist. His expression could be described as indolent yet bemused, like he had been considering sleeping before he happened across the fellow who’d beat him to it.

Two books hovered on either side of him, one a thick tomb, the other a heavily worn volume. Both were open to a set of glowing pages. In shifting his weight to his other foot, a twig snapped beneath his shoe.

“You’re really lost.” He mused, almost lyrically.

Solomon snorted at the man’s wording. It made him sound like a crazy mountain man who had discovered the secrets of eternal life and would share it with greedy adventures in exchange for their soul. Not too far from the truth, if one held it up to a certain light. The second part at least.

“That would be me.” He confirmed.

It’d been pretty simple to identify the identity of the man, even if his hat was a deviation from the super’s usual. Plague Doctor, a Bulwark. Disease manipulation of some kind or another. To what degree was unknown - reports consisted mostly of spontaneous vomiting. He’d played a role in the dragon battle, but again, how large was hard to discern. Of all the people he had expected his rumor to draw, the Doctor was one of the last he thought he’d find seeking him out. The Bulwarks in general didn’t take him as the greedy sort. Plague Doctor especially so. But, perhaps that was just for lack of any impression of the man. Perhaps he had another motivation entirely.

The Bulwark certainly sounded the part of a hero. As Solomon detachedly listened, the two tombs shut themselves and floated gently down into his hand. They had been an attempt to deter battle - proof that he was ready to fight should Plague Doctor decide he was going to try - but it appeared it was unnecessary. He slipped them into his shoulder bag.

Plague Doctor’s reason was so he could help people? He wondered if the hero really knew what he was getting himself into. “Just to clarify, this is immortality, not invincibility. I’m only stopping old age from killing you. You will also be stuck at your present age, and I don’t currently have means of undoing the spell. Besides killing you, that is.”

Solomon shifted his weight again to his other foot. As the man hadn’t bothered to get up from the ground, he saw no reason to find a more formal manner of posture either. “I need three things from you. First,” He lazily raised the index finger of his hand that wasn’t acting as head support, “I want your face and name. I need to keep track of all the people I’ve made immortal. Second,” he raised another finger, “I want a payment directly from you. This is not a light thing I’m offering, and so I am not offering it lightly. If you know enough of me to know I can make you immortal, you likely know I am a member of Rein.” His smile, for a moment, flicked slightly upwards. “I would like you to join our cause. The simplest means of doing so is to join the faction. You may remain in your present faction should you wish, you just must be aware that Rein can call upon your aid, and know that your true allegiances lie with us.” That alone might be too much for him. He supposed he would see.

Solomon lifted his thumb. Though his expression was flat, he was watching the man much more carefully. “Finally, I need you to bring me twenty unpowereds. I will be killing them in order to cast the spell. I don’t care who you bring me - homeless people, random people off the street, your enemies, elderly will work fine as well - just please don’t bring any children.”

He raised an eyebrow at the man and wordlessly awaited his response. He'd be patient for however long the Bulwark needed.

At first, Solomon thought the Bulwark had given him a fake name. ‘Hercules’ sounded more likely to be a hero name than a civilian’s. Not that he was much of one to talk. Besides, the man was a Bulwark, and that and the look on his face bought validity for his words. For the rest, Solomon mentally sat back and let Hercules work through the terms. He drew from his bag a book, a sheet of paper, and a fine-tipped pen. In the back of the book, he jotted down the man’s name. He’d transfer it somewhere more permanent and research it later.

“Good, I will prepare accordingly.” Solomon mused. He would leave it at that; Plague Doctor had concluded the discussion suitably (even if he still couldn’t take the man lying on the ground entirely seriously), but there were a few more things he needed to establish. “Please do not bring them in groups larger than three or four. Five, if you must. I can only take so many at once, and I’m not willing to keep them for a later time.” He held out the slip of paper to the man. At the top was a string of numbers, written in a fine and perfectly straight hand. “This is my phone number. Text or call me when you would like to meet.”

Solomon stood and slid the book and pen back into his bag. “I will alert Rein of your want to change faction.” He said like he had nothing to do with the decision. “The rest should be fairly self-explanatory and painless. Until then, you’re still closer to base than the other Reins may appreciate. The city is,” he glanced around, and realizing he didn’t know himself, pulled out his phone. “That way.” He pointed. So said google maps.


Solomon would leave it to Plague Doctor to set up the meetings. Time and place were up to the other man, though he would have suggestions if Plague Doctor didn’t have his own. The process itself would be simple, and once Plague Doctor got the people there, Solomon would take care of all of the rest. He would go to the first person, speak a few words and place his hand on their head or shoulder. A new book, the one he’d originally made for the dragon, floated beside him, and its pages, filling dense with a strange text before turning to the next page and doing so again was the only sign anything was happening, until the person’s breath began to slow and, after about twenty seconds, stopped. Were they awake, it would seem as all of the life was being drained from them and onto the page, as their eyes slumped back and they grew weaker, slower, until they were unmoving regardless of the spell’s aspect that would keep them in place. He also had means of stopping escapees, and would take care of that task himself should it be necessary. He would then add tallies for each person Plague Doctor brought in the back of his book, and be on his way.


Upon their final meeting, Solomon would be waiting wherever Plague Doctor had wanted - his only requests being it be somewhere quiet, and that Plague Doctor came alone. When didn’t matter either, only that it could not be on the same day as he dropped off the last of the twenty, but the next would work fine.

Solomon was sitting cross-legged on the ground, the large, hardbound tomb he’d had out when he originally met Plague Doctor in his lap. The smaller book he’d been using when draining the people floated beside him. He had been muttering to himself, running his finger down the page of the book and turning to the next when he reached the end. Footsteps drew his attention up and to the man he’d been waiting for.

“It’s going to be about thirty minutes still.” He said in greeting, and gestured absently to sit somewhere. “I can answer any questions, if you have any.”

Though his gaze returned back to the page and he continued muttering in the spell’s preparation, he was listening.