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.
T stands for torture
"Where did you say those two are again?" said Antonio while shrouded in shadows and seated on an antique wingback chair.
Ahead of him knelt a cloaked man, trembling and pleading for his life. Two hefty guards loomed by the kneeler's sides, their machetes glistening dimly. It was a threat, persuasion, and precaution.
"I-I don't know, sir," the man stuttered, his sobs intensifying. "They were attacked, and I-I was sure. I was sure they would die. And and–"
"That's not what the news tells me." Antonio steadily leaned forward. Emotionless eyes and a pale visage revealed under the faded light. "So are you lying, or are you just incompetent?"
"No-no, I am not!"
"Are you refuting my words? You dare to even raise your voice, mongrel?"
"Never, sir, never. I am sorry."
Antonio smirked, slowly revealing sharp serrated teeth, and that grin soon morphed into a demented cackling fit. "Cleave… his… arm," he said while occupied with his giggles.