Overseer

Xaiver spoke and the reactions were recorded. Sorted, computed, and finally logged away for further reflection. Each word, mutter, or flutter of movement, saved for consideration. Fodder for the ever growing computations of prediction. The seed of foreknowledge to aid preparations.

“Once again I offer you congratulations,” greeted the Grand Wizard. His tone was warm and his expression openly genuine. “Another trial passed and your mettle proved. I had no doubt’s of your continued success. Rising through these challenges was always your destiny. A clean and true purpose.”

“The fourth floor is unique in it’s purpose. In the old research facility, this floor was less an experiment as a proven creation. Magic is often a reckless act, or at least requires the bravado to push the limits of reality’s shackles. Not balk when the word impossible is used, pressed in our faces. No matter the faith in that standard, we mustn’t relent. Without the audacity to break through there would be no wonders nor miracles.”

“Of course, there can be a high price for such heresy. Not every attempt goes well nor does achieving your goal mean there is no collateral. Sometimes the act we dare mars the world. People destroyed, lands stained. It is a gamble to break the laws that bind us.”

“Those places where the repercussions were devastating, litter the whole world. Both sides of the sea and even below it. Every race has committed this sin, pride is stranger to none of us. Either through desperation or ambition, someone will eventually cross that line. Cast forbidden rituals or call out to terrible things. Then things go awry. People die, or worse, and the world is left broken. A new forsaken spot condemns the land, forever. Well in the perspective of most mortal spans.”

“Here, before The Pit were brilliant souls that devised a way to scour clean the sins of the past. I mean, of course, the unique grass of the plains, and a truly superb suppression field. They bred and mutated a lifeform for the purpose. Molding it into having the ability to harvest Mana at an incredible rate, even harmonized it to corrupted Mana. No matter how shattered the concept imbued within the site, the golden grass slowly depleted it.”

“Impressive, simply impressive. An issue that had been accepted to be beyond help, impossible to expedite. And the scientists of the precursor facility fixed it. No longer did soiled land need be ignored for eternity or the turning of the Age. They could be cleansed. Reclaimed.”

“The one you endure is but the last site, though admittedly the greatest travesty of a forgotten Age. It stood for a long time as a harsh lesson. Making clear why reaching for power beyond our world never ends well; for anyone. Pocketed from its original place, they settled here so that the Glandh Grass could remove it from concern. Remember it, though time will wipe the slate clean. Be ambitious, but don’t forget that there are consequences for faltering. Do wondrous and miraculous things! Yet, do not underestimate the horrors that await a mistake!”

“Go on with my hope and luck.”

The hood flickered back into place and then the ghost disappeared. High above the overseer looked to his screens, watched the stirring Sixty and replayed their reactions to the speech. Noting down the engagement, there was a decline there. Entirely within expected parameters, but disappointing to see the count drop. Illogical in the face of the information provided. In the beginning gaining the full attention of each one was expected. Now there was this trend of disengagement.

At least key individuals remained interested as there was nothing to be done to alter the course now. Nor necessary. The Overseer made his report and sent it.

The ghost’s attention returned to the live screens and began the next report. Even knowing the pattern, what was to happen next, everything needed to be recorded. Remembered. Every single second.

Malachi Armstrong

Since only half a day had been spent on the march, the other half was given gladly to the pursuit of celebration. The grills came out of storage and the tables were positioned banquet style. Food covered both in the blink of an eye. There was always a backyard barbecue vibe to the beginning of the festivities. People circulated between conversations and activities under the rising percolation of cooked meat. An active calm as the first chilled beverages smoothed the atmosphere. Later, when the food ran down to scraps, things would get wild. Dancing for release and howling in the thrill of life.

In the middle of it, Malachi played his role to the tee. His eyes were cloudy with thought, but none of the careful brooding marred his smile. Nor did the battlemage’s cooking integrity falter. Each piece of ingredient got it’s proper attention. Over laughter and professional precision, he thought over many things. A need to elevate himself was growing.

Am I a good leader? Yes, I think so… but good isn’t enough. Not for them, because of this place, I need to be not just good, but great. Better… the best, not just the best I can be, but with every fiber of being, I need to become the best of the best. What must I be to become that? What are the right decisions to make? How do I know which to make? Where can I improve? To what do I aspire to? What is the key to becoming a better leader? The best?

His hands moved mechanically though his vision was hazy with thoughts. Grilling had long been instilled into his muscles and the peculiarities of this grill were known. Filp, shift, roll, and transfer off. Cook a spread of temperatures for the burgers and bratwursts, some liked them clean and others enjoyed a char. Apply the new round of meat and take the cooked to the table. Maybe grab a beer before returning to start all over again. A comforting and familiar routine.

Malachi drank a healthy mouthful and stared into the flames. Meat sizzled, the fire hissed, and happy chatter filled the air. He was lost in a mire. Asking a thousand questions wordlessly. Reaching into himself for an answer or the damnation of a quitter. The thought of prayer crossed his mind, thinking of Harken’s and Julia’s stories of timely enhancement. Asking for something beyond was met with immediate rejection. An option met with disgust. Antithesis.

The answer is inside me or nowhere. Nothing in the aether can offer me succor for this self-demand, even if I was willing to listen. No, my path to greatness has just not yet been revealed. Like marble uncarved, the thought needs only be found within with the right strike. Hear the right word or see the right thing to set off the chain reactions of revelation. But, that is also frustrating. To rely on that is to accept a delay and that there is nothing I can do to be better now. Waiting to improve could get all of us killed, I need to be a better leader now. Who must I talk to? What must I face to rise from competent to exceptional?

Is the possibility even within me?

Warner drew his eye, the larger than life man was belting out a dirty diddy about a sailor and a manatee. Romantic in all the wrong ways. Laughter rose with each verse, more than one voice joyfully singing along as more learned the lyrics with every barbeque. When the song came to end, even though it was disturbing, everyone laughed at the absurdity.

The pugilist took a bow and returned full attention to his grill. Malachi thought about his questions, reflecting on their competition. There was opportunity in their new relationship. His rival’s reckoning of pride had redefined things. In truth, the other man had leadership experience and more importantly, a very different perspective on taking on that duty. He had wanted it from the start.

“Warner, what… to you is the difference between being a good leader and a great leader?”

A bottle dropped into a bucket at the pugilist’s feet and another opened with a whisper. Though Warner had more empties, the look that turned on Malachi was no less sober. Seriousness drained the lingering cheer from those eyes as the question was given due consideration.

“Shit, man, why are you askin’ me something that hard right now,” groused his friend. “I’m inclined to tell ya “ask again later,” but it seems important. Guess it comes down to how you see leadership. What it means to take that on. Some see only the power, some only the burden, and others it's just the nature of things. Never trust that third one, they’ll lead you to disaster. No thought beyond themselves. Even the power hungry are better ‘cause at least they have a goal and are considering the repercussions. Still dangerous, just look at me. We get a little drunk on ourselves. No matter the intention… You strike me easily as the second sort. The burden, you suffer under it, but you never forget what being a leader is about. It's not about you, it’s about them. Everyone else.”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Malachi nodded along, but became confused when Warner went quiet. “Is your answer in all of that? Maybe I missed it, or do you mean being a great leader is just about keeping the focus on your people?”

“Nah, nah, just collecting myself,” murmured the pugilist. Once each piece of meat was checked, the big man stretched back up. Looked over, hummed thoughtfully before starting up again. “Gotta make sure what I’m saying makes sense and is the right thing. This feels like an important question, the one that haunts. How to be great? A lot of people ask, but never really seriously, right? They are only hoping to be. Not striving for it.

“There are so many factors to being a leader that it is almost easier to say be the best person possible, but that feels like a cop-out. Maybe not even right either. How to be great? Are you innovative? Yeah, cause everyday somethin’ new here. Are you striving to be better than yesterday? You’re basically constipated with the stress of that effort. We already covered this, but you care. Maybe too much. Hey, there’s a flaw for ya to work on. Caring is good and all, though sometimes that is goin’ to give you hang ups. Think on when maybe a lighter hold might be better. Safety is subjective, ya’ know?”

“Thanks for the thought, but that doesn’t really answer the original question,” pointed out Malachi. “Maybe that’s my fault. My question was too broad while to me I’m asking for something specific. I guess what I want is a goal to aim for. What quality will raise my ability to lead you all?”

“No worries, I’m heading somewhere… I think,” defended Warner, but then he grinned. “Ok, maybe I was just rollin’ in the hopes I’d get somewhere. You want a goal or some standard to light your way. I get it, but there ain’t no answer like that. Nothing that’ll satisfy, either of us really. I think now, maybe, we’ve deluded the word “Great.” Used it too lamely, cause to be great does mean something, but it's nebulous. There’s no steady answer. Look to every factual and fictional leader you know of, then look into the center of them all. That’s where you’ll find your ideal. At the intermediary of every quality that’s been praised and wished for. Greatness is proven, never gained.

“Buddy, you're doing fine. We’ll let you know when you fuck up. Now shut up with the mental twisters, drink up, and think about it tomorrow! Tonight’s a party, ‘nough of this philosophy shit.”

At Warner’s insistence, they tinked bottles and drank deep. The storm of anxiety remained, but Malachi pushed it to the back. Tomorrow was plenty of time to unpack everything. Maybe the day after too. He was perhaps overthinking things, or simply getting ahead of himself.

No one is condemning me, so maybe I should just lighten up. Being a leader is a burden, but one that I do enjoy in the end. Not something I expected, or well, I guess in reality I feared I would. Too much. That there would be enjoyment from just having power over others. I’m not like him though, being the leader of the Sixty is fulfilling because I get to make sure they're all alive. That makes all the sweat worth it.

I’m good now, but I swear I’ll prove myself great.

There was a ripple of Mana at the vow.

Clarissa Evans

The dancing had begun, but the redhead lacked her usual enthusiasm for it. Already she had denied invitations from both Julia and Amiyah. Her preference this evening was otherwise. It was the shadows that called. A morbid and morose funk had fallen over her thoughts. She chose instead to sit aside, sipping a concoction of strong punch.

The sweetness did little for the bitterness.

All imagined, of course, but no less insistent. Clarissa was searching for the seeds of her current antipathy and beginning to wonder if it was a wild goose chase. A furious search down dusty roads that was instead a sort of fleeing. The answer being already at her feet.

Affection was a sort of trap, one most walked into willingly. Happily and rarely with regret. Her loss of family and home had made such innocent acceptance an impossibility. Fear plagued any closeness. She made a game of fleeing such attachments. A wounded animal darting away from known pain. Clarissa had thought herself strong and compassionately open, but yesterday’s panic had made her reconsider the meaning of those words. Striking at the concept of if they applied to her. As she saw it, turning such things into games was a type of antipathy. One that came with the illusion of friendliness and confidence. Strong enough to blind herself.

Clarissa wondered, reflected, and found herself turning to where she wanted to be sightless.

Under the haze of strong drink, the world parted to a half-imagined world of the mind. The redhead stood upon a dirt road and stared back down a road with her footprints. Unrealistically, on one side, the land dropped into shadowy woods. It was nightmarish and familiar. A blink, then she was down among those trees. Memories of winter dead branches that rustled outside her grandmother’s home.

This was a distraction too. She knew it immediately and chose to ignore the fancy of her mind. Seeing herself through to the heart of the shadow where the hidden truth was waiting for her. Clarissa laughed as if it was all mockery. Herself defended herself and yet ridiculed herself too. The truth was self-evident, as it always was.

“I’m scared of losing people I care about, so I keep them away. With laughs and mad acting, I pretend not to care. Course, that’s not true. At all. Pretending is just a lie. Julia scared me today because I’m actually caring for these fools. People, yeah, fools is uncalled for. More self-posturing. More separation.”

She took a deep drink, draining the cup. Silently poured another fill from a pitcher. The sin bright green liquid reflected her own stare back. Clarissa took another drink.

“Geez, it's no fun being scared of stupid stuff. Everyone worries about loved ones, hurt when you lose them. Augh, none of this is original! I’m walking the fucking cliche road. Of course, knowing all of that doesn’t help one bit. I’m still scared. Scared, soooo… I’m sitting here on the edge and watching a moment of joy pass me by. All to savor my inner emo.”

The redhead stood up, “Fuck! Fuck this! Alright, I’m done moping. I’m scared to lose stuff so by the laws of this world, I’ll just get stronger and destroy all the bad stuff. Gah! It's so easy to fix! There! No games, just get mean and green. Smash, smash the bad. I’m off to dance!”

Off Clarissa went. Joining the crowd, somehow pulling off a vindictive dance with grace. Infusing every movement with the will to keep going and disregard the howling of a wounded heart.

Evelyn Merritt

“Man, wasn’t that place beautiful as all hell?” she asked her Sisters.

Amelia attempted to twirl a spear despite heavy intoxication. It tumbled loudly to the floor and she stared at the lost object as if it was far away. There was a pouting tone to the reply, “Beautiful? That torn place was scary, but it did feel wonderful.”

“Hellscape, but brilliantly broken,” added Marceline. Their doll-like friend was reaching for a missing sword, visibly confused. The sheath was empty.

The rogue rolled her eyes and badly missed throwing a dagger at a target. The three of them had retired to a training room for their own drunken games. Once the evening moved on from energetic and dancing, they preferred their own company. The slowdown often resulted in things getting sappy.

“Ok, yeah, it was a horror show. Soul rending fuckery, but it was something inspiring. Mistake or not, that's the power of being able to break reality.”

“Which we have!” smirked Marceline. A drunken weave clacked upon wood and the bladedancer found the lost practice blade.

“Curses!” cheered Amelia as she tried to kick the spear upwards into clumsy hands.

Evelyn grinned, “The power to break and twist in our hands.”

She stared at the target, targets to her blurred vision. Thought of the scarred sky and blasted earth. Remembered the violence. Pulling back her arm, steady and true. With her throw, the rogue invoked the memory into reality. Evelyn was angry at The Pit and wanted to break it. Until her eyes had spied the terror within the dome the meaning of that concept had been measly. A child’s glint of glee at shattering ice. That had been true destruction.

Her dagger hit and the world darkened. Power crackled outwards from a frozen moment. The air rippled. A surge rushed through the room and the enchants began to fail. All three Sisters watched in alarm as the world trembled. Their breath became harsh and the room seemed to close in on them. Everything shook.

Then the dagger skittered across the floor beyond the target. Everything was still.

“Uhh what the fuck?” whispered Evelyn. Her thoughts stuttered. She looked around, but nothing seemed out of place.

Amelia plopped a chin on her shoulder. “Perhaps, be careful of breaking our home?”

“Home?” grimaced the rogue. “I am not a fan of that label, but yeah, I’d prefer to be outside before bringing everything down in on itself. Not be under the rumble.”

“Still that was cool,” admitted Marceline as she parqueted into view. “Keep it smaller next time…. Maybe?”

“That might be the ticket,” said Evelyn thoughtfully. “But, I think I’m gonna wait till we’re sober before trying that again.”

“Splendid idea,” grinned Amelia.

Marceline nodded enthusiastically, “Brilliant really.”

“Ahh fuck ya’ll, let's play a game already. Something I can kick your asses in”

The Sister fell into loving conflict. Each determined to assure their victory.