Alastair slowly lowers his arms, the staff in his grip loosening. Releasing his breath in a steady stream, he places the staff in its corresponding slot on the equipment rack. His movements are slow, as if retaining some manner of ritualistic poise of purpose. Each movement, thought and psionic pressure imbued with a pattern of life-essence. The movements having imprinted themselves upon the air.
Stepping back, he slips into the astral realm while activating the Quickening skill to finish the routine. Normally, activating the skill made all his senses rise to their peak. Seeing as he had slipped into the realm of spirits, it made no sense to have all of them rise only to cut them off.
For Alastair, there were few things that he could enjoy. The pain he had endured, the friends and family he had lost. The only way he knew how to drown them out, was by cutting off all traces of them from the real world. It was a technique that involved bringing every sense of his human body to its limit, to cut it off at its height. Partitioning as he called it.
Partitioning left Alastair with nothing. Not the feeling of memory, nor the trappings of sensorial input through external means. There was only one other time that he had utilized such a technique. It was when he had finished the eradication of those going insane within the Warsworn order. In essence, meaning all of them.
The technique would partition the senses, cutting then off so completely that Alastair’s memory would be forced to segment a portion of his personality along with it. He knew now that some of the memories that should have been filed away, were leaking through. Hence the reasons for the nightmares. There was only so much a person’s mind could be filtered and restrained under lock and key. Such locks needed to be checked on occasionally.
At this moment, Alastair sits checking those locks.
I don’t have much time, he sighs inwardly, the astral realm affording him little respite against the whispers that echoed within his own skull. The release of the first seal has accelerated the erosion of my mental blockers. God forbid what will happen should they come off completely.
Slipping back into the mortal plane, he spots a shadow hiding in the corner. Alastair narrows his eyes as he spots the little girl he picked up a few days previous. She was somehow mimicking his movements from before, as if trying to learn how it is he could move so.
Should I teach her? he wonders. It might help should she be caught again by less than desirable company.
Before he calls out to her however, he pulls up his status to see where he was at.
Status Window
Name:
Alastair Thawn
Alignment:
Neutral
Level:
6
Class:
None
Race:
Enhanced Human
Gender:
Male
Title(s):
The Crimson King
Achievement Score: 375 N
Fame:
200
Infamy:
0
Currency:
0
Health:
5,330/ 5,330
Health Regen:
25.2 / Sec
Stamina:
4,500 / 5,330
Stamina Regen:
25.2 / Sec
Psi:
7,703 / 9,500
Psi Regen:
45.3 / Sec
Life-Essence:
4,432 / 5,000
L.E. Regen:
20.6 / Sec
Satiety:
73 / 100
-
Strength:
369
Agility:
377
Vitality:
1,066
Dexterity:
135
Intelligence:
953
Wisdom:
950
Presence:
1,150
-
Attack Score:
365
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Defense Score:
0
Physical Resistances
Slashing:
0
Piercing:
0
Crushing:
0
Elemental Resistances
Fire:
0
Water:
0
Wind:
0
Earth:
0
Mental Resistance
0
Coming along nicely.
“Oya, Siha!” he calls, the words coming out less like a call and more like a gruff bark. “Would you come here please?”
Alastair watches as Siha stiffens slightly, her diminutive form still stuck in a stance with an imaginary staff. Her mind whirls in circles as she tries to puzzle out how he had learned her name. She knew she had never introduced herself to him. And yet he knew her name.
More than that, his gaze was resting upon her form, studying it, discerning it for imperfections. It came accompanied by some kind of pressure. A pressure that seemed to expect something from her.
Moving into the light, Siha comes to stand before him. Her silver tail tucked into her clothes and her ears flattened atop her head. Despite keeping her gaze firmly down, she glanced nervously up at him from time to time.
In response, Alastair remains sitting at her eye level.
“I believe we haven’t been properly introduced. I am Alastair Thawn.” He states patting the ground before him. “Sit and speak with me.”
Siha sits as bidden, wondering what made the man speak to her in such a way. Her only experience with Soft Skins had been of derision. She would only be spoken down to. Not as an equal, but as a slave.
The minutes pass in silence as she sheepishly looks at him.
“Where do you come from, Siha? Where is your home?” Alastair asks, his tone curious. The edge of his voice softened by consideration of her situation. The voice that answers is like that of a child just out of breath. Breathy and full of warmth. Trace quivering in her voice made it apparent that she was quite nervous.
“…Zylvrmon Tribe, hail from planet of thou’sand lights.” She says through a broken accent. He couldn’t place exactly where. Her understanding of the common tongue coming from fragments of the slavers who had brought her to Terra. “Planet of thou’sand lights and buried ice. Forests glee'm in star-bright dance.”
Crossing his arms, Alastair tries to imagine such a place.
“Sounds like a magical place.” He breathes. “Much like my own.”
She looks at him with a puzzled expression, her head tilting to one side.
“Maj-eh-kal? What is maj-eh-kal? What yours?” she asks.
In response, he offers his hand. “Allow me to show you.”
Gingerly, she reaches forward, puzzled at what he meant. As she grips his hand with her tiny fingers, the room fades away to a campsite situated on a cliff of some unknown mountain. The campsite sat somewhere near the top of a majestic rolling mountain range. Their forms become wrapped in insulated heavy cloth. Enough to keep the snow and wind out. Being so high up, it afforded them a wide panorama of not only the world below, but also of the beyond. The space that shined its ever-reaching light down on the rolling hills and craggy cliffs that were readily apparent within the heart of the range.
Panning around, her eyes grow big and round in delight. Here the two sat atop a windy mountaintop, lit only by the warmth of a fire a mere foot from her, and soft moonlight. The wind whipped at the fire, sending licks of flame dancing upon the air. A clear sky, devoid of both clouds and the embrace of silent darkness.
A large, luminous, full moon greeted her as she looked skyward. Millions of stars kept it company, allowing her an uninhibited view of the moonlight as it shone down on the forest below. Looking over the edge, her eyes grow ever larger as the moonlight reflects off the glittering snow hanging upon the forest like a morning dew. Each branch a vein of miniature gems gleaming softly in the pale night light.
Snow nips at her feet and fur as the wind threatens to softly encapsulate her in its embrace. Turning to Alastair, she gives him a wide-eyed grin as her delight makes itself readily apparent to him.
“Tis home?” she asks.
“Aye.” He replies. “This is the only place I knew before I was taken away.”
She stays silent in contemplation of such a sentence. The minutes pass as she scoots herself closer to the fire.
“What is called?” Siha squeeks, hope and wonder shining through her voice.
“The Yukon Territories. Earth’s last surviving frontier. Unmarked and untouched by the rest of mankind.” Alastair breathes before pointing up. “Watch.”
At that moment, a stream of eerie greens, purples, and pinks whisp across the night sky. A veritable dance of ethereal energies playing in the atmosphere for them to enjoy.
“What is glow?!” Siha whispers in awed admiration. “Is spirits play?!”
“In a manner of speaking.” Alastair chuckles. “There are still some corners of the world that retain their beauty.”
The memory lasts a moment longer, allowing Siha the moment to enjoy a piece of Alastair’s story. The surroundings darken, and the pair are back in the training room. With the memory ended, Alastair let’s her hand retreat into the fold of her clothes.
“You seem interested in me.” Said Alastair. “Why?”
“You save?” she replies before throwing her tiny hands up in curled fists. “Wish fight!”
Alastair gives her a more discerning look. Now that he saw her as the child she was, he noticed certain aspects about her that could either be cause for concern, or an advantage which she could use. Despite her age, it was known to him that she seemed to be undergoing puberty. She was pretty, in a waifish sort of way. Her features sat faintly tarnished by the underfed and slightly dirty sheen of her complexion. The skin hung limply off her bones, like it had been stretched and marred with age to the point that it was hard to discern her true self. He knew much of this could be changed through appropriate nutrition and a lengthy bath.
As he considers her eyes, he notices something unsettling hiding deep within. There was something cold about her. Something that would make anyone make a double take at her innocent form. Deep within her eyes, she held the cold neutral gaze of a predator. A predator with her back to a wall.
Alastair gives her a steely gaze before asking, “Why do you wish to fight?”
“Ummm.” Siha looks around frantically as she tries to find the right words. “Pro-protekt? Is that word?”
Alastair nods in affirmation.
“Yes! Protekt self!” Siha confirms. She transfers from sitting to kneeling, knowing full well the extent of her actions. “Please teach!”
“Alright.” Alastair drawls as he mulls it over. “Are you sure? There is more to protecting yourself than mere fighting. Why are you insistent on me teaching you?”
“You know Soft Skin Tribe. Ways of, what is word… Kus- kust—”
“Customs.” Alastair provides.
“—kustoms! You know behayv'eeor. Wish to repay debt!”
Alastair stares at her for a long moment. Siha’s ears flatten once more as she watches him nervously.
She seems sincere enough. He thinks as he searches through her gaze once more. Predator she may be, but disciplined she is not.
“I cannot teach you how to fight.” He states. “Call it a difference of opinion but I don’t do that sort of thing.”
“But—”
“I can only teach you how to discipline yourself. How to interact with the world around you.”
“Why?” Siha asks, her eyes threatening to become entrenched into the murky depths of a raging waterfall.
“Because,” Alastair says, “There is more to resolving conflicts than just swinging your fists. Sharpness of mind, clear-headedness, focus. Your focus is just as an important tool of your trade as any blade, rifle, or claw. Even more so in my opinion.”
Understanding dawns on Siha’s face as she nods furiously.
“For now, your focus should be directed towards recuperation.” Said Alastair, his tone softening. “There will be time enough for you to learn once you have healed completely.”
Siha nods once before leaning over, resting her head on his lap. It didn’t take long for Alastair to realize that as soon as she had done so, she was fast asleep.
It seems the exertion of the memory combined with her previous playing around made her tire quite quickly. He sighs.
The sound of two pairs of footfalls beyond the chambers of the training hall alerts him to the visitors before they had even crossed the threshold. Opening the door, Derek’s wizened face darkened with age and relief as he looked at the pair within the room. Shuffling to the side to reveal the stature of the woman behind him, he presents her in immediate fashion.
A white kind of dress that loosely resembled a toga hung simply upon her petite yet curvaceous frame. Her skin was olive and perfect, contrasting starkly with her dark hair with brown highlights and streaks of grey. Her almond eyes regarded him softly as she walked into the room. She held the kind of beauty that Alastair likened to a chipmunk. Cute. Cuddly. And deadly. Eyes and ears that are everywhere and should they strike at you it is a toss up of whether you will live or die.
“Alastair! My I introduce you to Senator—”
“Vaina. Seronta Vaina.” The woman said. For a brief instant, her face flickers pale in recognition before returning to her previous playful mask. “Commander, you didn’t tell me he was this young.”
“I didn’t believe it merited a notification.” Derek replies placidly. “Besides, since when has age been a factor when considering an applicant for race representation?”
“Fine, fine.” Vaina sighs before handing a datapad to him. “Here is the information on the current envoys. Make sure he is brought up to speed.”
Taking the datapad, Derek peruses it before nodding.
“Remind me why you wanted to see him?” He inquires.
“Uh hello, I’m right here y’know.”
“I wanted to check with my own eyes if the information we had on him was accurate. You don’t stay in the information business as long as I have without verifying all of the data yourself.” Vaina replies. The two of them completely disregarding the other pair in their midst. “Anyway, I’ve stayed here too long. I’ll see the both of you at the Assembly.”
And with that she walks back out. Derek’s eyes follow her close behind, savoring the moment, before muttering something about loose pants.
“Alright princess, time for another trial!” Derek says. “The research staff on the project need to get an accurate assessment of the integration of your new implant. So, I managed to finagle my way into getting you a temporary license for being the Spacer Representative.”
Alastair pauses for a moment before nodding slightly.
“When will this trial take place?”
“Tomorrow!” Derek replies. “You will be a guest performer for the Alliance Games Assembly. There is a team battle happening tomorrow and the alien envoys need an extra player.”
Leaning forward, he presents the datapad to Alastair.
“This is a rough dossier of the various envoys’ you will be meeting tomorrow. Each envoy is usually attached to a corresponding senator so be prepared for an interesting day.”
Alastair drops his gaze to read through the list.
Dhaka e Vaulān, Mont’a: A race of grey skinned humanoid giants who profane that knowledge is its own reward and the collection of it is of the utmost paramount. Most known for their monastic orders and acute battlefield awareness. Have been known to have eclectic personalities. – Vaina
'Alice', Sjieri: A race of super-intelligent, telepathic morphs. They evolved on a world with highly fluctuating gravity, immense traces of solar radiation, and spatial leaks of dark energy. They are currently engaged in a devastating nuclear war with members of their own species across several different planets. Asking for a completely unified government would be a bit much to ask for. – Promin
Zynur Stormstalker, Zyleones: A race of monotremes. Highly untrusting. Highly skilled. Have innate affinities with technology affording them an unequalled specialty in creating advanced technologies. Most commonly, through their use of extensive cybernetic implants behind their eyes, they can record and share their experiences and memories. Witnessed an independent contractor take apart a defunct piece of shielding technology in the midst of battle only to mutate and manipulate the parts to where it became strong enough to rival a cruiser's broadshields. – McCoy
Ymyr du Dromr, Dromerian: A race of reptile people. A matriarchal empire founded upon noble houses and known for both their high-impact shock troops and specialized Knights. They currently hold majority mining rights on raw adamantine. Highly aggressive if their territory is usurped and well known for revenge practices. – Banett
P.S.
Presenting gifts can have differing effects on each envoy so be careful with what you decide.
—Vaina