Alastair’s crimson eyes train themselves upon the room, a queer cold glint shining within them. It wasn’t long before his gaze fell upon Derek, crouching on the ground as he struggled to come to terms with what he had just seen.

“If you have questions,” he intoned, “ask.”

The statement rattled the older man, forcing him to stand up quickly. His eyes carried the red rings of sadness as he sucked in what emotions he had let loose.

“Warsw-, House Cornel-something- EXPLAIN!” Derek roars, too many questions budding at the cusp of his mind and not enough time for his mouth to speak them all.

This is what I get for sealing myself through Partitioning. Alastair sighs. He knew a day like this would come. A day when his seal would start to be loosened and his true self released.

Before he does anything to answer the man before him, he feels he must rectify a different problem. One by one he shuts off the mortal senses of his body. Taste, touch, smell, sight, hearing— all are shuffled away as he opens an altogether different set of senses.

You have entered Terra’s Astral Realm.

Changes in environment:

· Physical Attacks are nullified

· Physical Senses are nullified

· Psionic Abilities and Life-Essence Abilities

are halved if not fortified by a worthy mind

Be warned. Everything is not as it seems.

So that’s what the game calls it. Alastair remarks before he slips his mortal consciousness into the abyss.

His own form explodes into a swirling chaos of scintillating colors, greatly at odds with the room around him as it fades to a lifeless expanse of gray. The hospital walls might have been meticulously cleaned within the mortal realm, but within the astral realm, an altogether different impression is felt. If he peered through the veil hard enough, colors and smells lurked beneath each crease, crack, and crevice of the architecture of the building. The pain of the hospital’s occupants lay etched upon each room. Each wall tinged with the pungent hues of hollow blues, deep scarlets, and blazing whites, each ounce of pain more vivid than the last.

Mortal constructs, be they fleshy substance or finite masonry, are flung away as the boundaries of the world cease to exist. The hospital at large humming and stretching as the fervent lack of boundaries struggled to make themselves known. In this moment, he turns his gaze to regard the old man’s aura before him.

It was heartening for him to watch Derek. The nadis of Derek’s life-essence rested remarkably well considering his most recent experience into the realm of Alastair’s memory. But he could not waste the time he had available to him. This was the only moment that he could fix the wrongs he had put the occupants of the hospital under, be they patient or staff.

Whispers flickered at the edges of his mind. At times he would listen, for he knew what they were. Spirits. Denizens, remarking upon every sense of the word, struggled helplessly to tug upon the barriers set within his mind. They would be useful had he the time to listen, but to listen for too long was to set one’s mind upon the rails of a cliff. Teetering upon the edge of madness and insanity should he glean anything from the mindless chatter that flitted in and around the astral realm.

Reaching out with his senses, he searched every room for that which was not there. Or at least, that which was quickly returning to dust. It took some effort, but he found them. All three hundred and ninety-four souls that were still left within the plane of the living. Their auras hung onto them limply as they were closely reminiscent of the room they were in: a cold, dead thing, mockingly sculpted into a facsimile of life. But somewhere underneath them all, he could trace the rapidly draining trace of humanity. The aural spark of life was still there, albeit in a rapidly draining fashion. All they needed was some help.

His consciousness recedes, rebuilding the walls around his mind once again as his body slips back into the mortal realm. Color returns to the world around him, and he knew what must be offered from him.

Lifting his arms, he wills his power to seep through the pores of the skin on his hands. With the each working in tandem, they dance upon the air to make a small ball. Bindings and runes come into shape as the blood congeals and hardens into an orb. As the runes and bindings fall into place, he quietly murmurs,

“Servitas Vitae.”

Tendrils of silky garnet gold essence snakes out from the orb, bounding down hallways and up stairwells. Each strand of essence splitting and spinning as they found their way to each quickly declining patient. Each strand setting their aural life-essence ablaze, quickly returning them to a healthy hue of lively brilliance.

Leaving the strands to their work, Alastair regards Derek once more. He knew that the A.I. dictating its actions was watching him. Watching him from deep within Corellec’s headquarters. The old man in front of him was simply a persona that it was forced to wear. It was the only possible way of interacting with the human species at large.

He considered this, as well as the information he carried, weighing the two against the other as he knew the importance of each. In the end, he decided the most practical solution.

Better to find out from me than through another source that might twist the truth. He sighs as he begins his story with a question. “Explanation… where would I start?”

“…”

“Fine. I guess seeing as there are only a handful of us remaining I can start with the most obvious of the explanations. Within my dimension, I am the last member of the Warsworn Order. A militant branch of a much older, much more secret, order.”

“How do you mean militant? Older how?”

“It means exactly what it implies. Although, it was undoubtedly the more public branch compared to the rest. As for the older one, it only started to obtain significant power once they achieved sponsorship by the gens of the dead Roman Empire.”

“Gens? What is a gens? What’s the name of the older order?” Derek inquires at a rapid-fire pace. “And how old are we talking?”

“That would be the House Cornelius that you heard earlier. As for the older order, it has accrued so many names and titles over the ages that we ended up losing count. At this point in time, let’s call it… the Lodge. As for how old the Lodge is, I think at least a couple thousand years’ worth of time would be accurate for how long it has been operating. According to history, we never really stood out that much except for maybe a few moments.

Most notable of them would probably be the disappearance of the Roman Ninth Legion or the so called Burning of the Library of Alexandria. Anything that had anything to do with either making something disappear or making something mysteriously ‘die’, it would most likely be us.”

Derek stares at Alastair in shock. To call this a minefield of epic proportions with how much information was being freely given, would be an accurate assessment.

“Are there any reasons for why the woman in your memory called you a Horseman?” Derek asks. “From what your memory made clear, it was a sort of commanding title.”

“Ah,” Alastair’s face drops in disappointment. “That is a rather shameful part of our history.”

“What do you mean?”

“Back when the Roman Empire had been at its height, there was a budding religion, Christianity as it was called, growing among the lower rungs of society. To put it simply, seeing as the Lodge had substantial interests in the empire at the time, we were called upon to ‘purge’ the religion directly at the behest of the Lodge’s sponsors.

Had my Warsworn predecessors’ known what they were getting into at the time, the four of them would have taken a drastically different approach to their requests. When they would ‘purge’ one area of the empire, they would always leave a few alive to spread word to the surrounding areas. Until the coming of Emperor Constantine the First, the man who formally legalized the religion within the empire, they had already terrorized the Christians to the point that the agents had been vilified in Christian scripture as the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.”

“Why then would you continue to carry that title even in this era?” Derek inquires.

Alastair takes a moment to ponder how to word his response. “Historically, the world never knew what really happened because our sponsors had changed the records to forget all mention of the Lodge and their impact upon the society at large. Hence, the moniker of the Horsemen being carried by the commanding members of the Houses. It was taken as a reminder of what happens should we take things too far.”

Derek goes silent for a few scant minutes as he contemplates the information revealed so far. Deciding that there was only one question he could inquire, despite having a feeling that to ask about the green-eyed beauty in his memory would be akin to asking for an explosive with a lit fuse, he asks,

“What was the reason for the World War?”

“That… that is a bit difficult to explain.” Alastair says before pausing to collate all the information into a cohesive whole. “Imagine if you will, that a scientist had found a way in which they could chemically change normal, unenhanced humans, to be able to artificially use psychic powers. Psions if you will. The data had suggested several points on how to make them safely, even when the powers came at a price. The stronger the compound of drugs were used, the more unstable and powerful the psion.”

He takes a moment for Derek to comprehend the statement before continuing.

“Next, imagine that the scientist in question, had sold their data to every organization and government known to mankind. But each government and organization didn’t know that the others had the same data seeing as the scientist had taken immeasurable pains to ensure that each transaction was kept secret from everyone else.”

Derek’s face turns pale as realization of where this was going finally hits him.

“Lastly, imagine that the governments and organizations in question had thrown a significant amount of resources into producing such psions, even going so far to strain the safety measures to make more powerful psions.

Now let’s combine these inherently bad decisions into one final product. First, the scientist sells his data to the highest bidder. Second, the organizations and governments are unaware of the fact that their peers have the exact same data and everyone is in the process of weaponizing such data. What do you think every government and organization would do when they have obtained enough of these artificial psions?”

“They would go to war.” Derek whispers. He knew how much damage a psion could do, not to mention if there were even a few of them grouped together. Imagining that there were armies of such individuals and they were being ordered to war, he shuddered. Images of flattened cities and changed landscapes reemerged in his mind. Devastation and chaos on a planet wide scale.

“Then what was the Lodge and the Warsworn doing in the war?” Derek inquires, the last question with which he would as for the immediate moment.

“We did what we did best.” Alastair replies. “We contained it. Above all, the Lodge was created to safeguard mankind from the worst aspects of itself. Sometimes it would mean killing cities worth of psions. At others, it was the protection of information or people from the rest of mankind.”

“If that is the case, why didn’t you protect mankind in your dimension from the emergence of the information released by the scientist?”

“Because the Lodge isn’t meant to be preventative. We were created to contain. In hindsight, we probably should have ‘disappeared’ the scientist along with their work. But then, humanities unification to stop the outbreak of psions, once they had completely lost control of them, wouldn’t have happened if we had stepped in.”

Derek remains in silent contemplation as numerous other question run rampant through his mind. Despite being so open with the information being shared, he knew that there would only be so much that he could pry out of Alastair. Unbeknownst to the two, numerous pings sounded during their conversation for Alastair. Having the brief, moment of silence to look over, he reads them one by one.

You have satisfied the conditions for the Title: The Crimson King*

· Have a backstory worthy of a leader

· Governance of the Blood Affinity

Generates the Life-Essence (LE) option on the Status page

Wisdom and Intelligence have increased by 500

Presence and Vitality have increased by 700

*Title is generated entirely on backstory and psionic tuning

Achievement Unlocked!

Legend in the Making!

+300N

You have inherited the Authority of the Crimson King

You have learned the Skill Reign of Blood

You have learned the Skill Alchemy

Skill Name:

Skill Rank:

Skill Level:

Skill Experience:

Authority of the Crimson King

Basic

1

0%

A domain in which every living being is subject to your rule within a predetermined distance of your person. It provides a physical imposing manner and pressure formed from a mixture of killing intent, life-essence manipulation, and blood manipulation. Whether this is beneficial or not depends entirely upon your nature.

· All allies within 25 meters, regardless of realm, are afforded a 10% increase in average damage, receive 10% less damage, and are immune to Fear debuff.

· All enemies within 40 meters, regardless of realm, suffer a Fear debuff

Passive

Skill Name:

Skill Rank:

Skill Level:

Skill Experience:

Reign of Blood

Adept

1

23%

A realm of blood that allows free control over anyone and anything that bleeds.

Current realm of influence: 20,234 m2

· 400 (PE) & 400 (LE) to activate

· 200 (PE) & 200 (LE) to sustain

Active, Sustained

Skill Name:

Skill Rank:

Skill Level:

Skill Experience:

Alchemy

Intermediate

7

35%

A crafting skill that hinges upon the use of reagents, essences, and shards. Requires knowledge, but not the skills, in the fields of:

· Abjuration

· Conjuration

· Evocation

· Transmutation

Stages of Alchemy needed for success:

1. Comprehension

2. Deconstruction

3. Reconstruction

4. Application