Arcanist Tales
“The tale never ends, until a hero conquers the demons. May science and will prevail.” *** Alistair Neon Percival. The True Apostle of the Luminiferous Aêther, The Reckless, The Defender of all Beings, Self proclaimed king of emotional blackmail, Reborn in the year 1980 NC. His goal? To be the strongest and attain all magical, scientific, and economical knowledge in the world! However, with the flames of war staining the vast world, soldiers bidding their family farewell, and kingdoms of the realm butting heads to see who has the biggest stick. Institutions on the rise, large and small, each competing for benefits while experimenting on the common populace in the name of science. This is the tales of the Alistair, the practitioner of all things Arcane and most especially. The Apostle Of Aether. Note: contains strong themes of violence, real world knowledge, and slightly opinionated narration.
I know we will meet again some sunny day
Ruins. Everywhere the eyes could see… were ruins.
As if a giants foot had stomped earth, the ground was strewn with debris--remnants of what existed before. Crushed down and broken, the previous structures were now just sediments.
Ragnör crawled, scarlet eyes darting left and right as evergreen fog spewed from his drooling mouth.
No sign of Alistair. As if he vanished from existence.
"Are you dea-"
Before those words finished, clicks began to echo. Their source, unknown.
"Mutt. Stop your disgraceful groveling. I am up here."
Ragnör stopped sniffing the air and steadily glanced up.
Clouds of fog drifted, looming, snuffing the light and bringing only darkness.
A figure sat atop this unnatural phenomenon, overlooking the entire ruin… head rested on arms.
A mocking grin slowly crossed its face.
"Dear Ragnör, when did you have the illusion I ever attacked?"
"When did I fall for your tric-deception?"