NationStates Jolt Archive

(OOC: This thread takes place after Caspian Del'Riva and his kill-team return home from Allanea, having 'killed' Alexander Kazansky.)

Citadel Celestian's great hall was designed to impress. It was a cavernous thing, with men and women in military dress going about their business at consoles along the sides of the aisle, for the Hall was the nerve center of Revenia's military...

Along the walls of the hall were silent sentinels in the black and blood red of the Blood Guard, the Warprince's bodyguards, and at the far end of the hall, sitting upon a dais, was the Black Throne.

Upon that throne sat possibly the single most powerful entity in the universe...arrayed in the black war armor that allowed him to interface with the Throne...he was currently humming to himself, his legs over one arm of the throne, back propped up against the other, intently reading a novel...

Until Caspian Del'Riva entered the hall, flanked on either side by the nine other members of his kill-team...then the novel vanished, and the Warprince looked suitably Warprincely...

Caspian approached the throne, knelt, bowed his head, and presented his Warprince with a bag, which he opened upon the floor...to spill the head of Alexander Kazansky out onto Celestian's black basalt. It was preserved by methods arcane and secret to the Ascended...

Dysaryn nodded slowly, and gathered up the head. He looked it over...the handed it to an aid, who darted off to have it suitably dealt with. Encased in glass or somesuch...

The Warprince rose from his throne, and vacated the hall, followed closely by his Hand...

Preparations had been made, and so, as soon as Dysaryn got himself out of that 'can-not-be-sufficiently-damned bulky-ass coffin,' the pair set out on their journey.

They moved on foot, it was necessary to the completion of the ritual...and it was damn inconvenient, but then...such things often were. Regardless, this journey had been taken numerous times before by the both of them, and they were both very, very fit men...they ran the whole way.

It still took them almost a week to reach their destination...but they did reach it...

Dysaryn stepped through the massive gate of Castle Mortis as if he owned the place...which, of course, he pretty much did. Caspian followed, for what else could one do when faced with the Warprince...

Down they went, down into the caverns beneath Castle Mortis, because it was Dysaryn, the two lived...the Sovereign Protectors that protected the Castle didn't even make an appearance...they rarely did.

The two men met up with a third, Ian Stark, the oldest 'living' Ascended...Dysaryn's great-grandfather. The fall had killed his body, but his soul and mind had survived...as a being of pure psionic energy.

They moved forward as one, Dysaryn in the lead, flanked on either side by Ian and Caspian, until they reached the slab upon which another Allanean had been...modified...in this self-same cavern.

Caspian drew his blade, and the black diamond set in the pommel seemed to pulse angrily...the soul inside clamored for freedom.

Dysaryn closed his eyes, for he and he alone could do this thing...Because he had the powers of life and death, creation and destruction...and he was forever at balance between the two.

So...he placed one hand on the black diamond, the soulgem, in the pommel of Caspian's sword...and the other, the left hand, over the slab. He splayed his fingers wide, and concentrated.

There were no words, no special effects...just a sudden feeling of uneasiness, felt by those in the surrounding area, as Dysaryn shaped reality to his will.

It was done, and laying on the slab of cold rock was a silver eyed brown haired individual who looked remarkably like Alexander Kazansky... Uncanny resemblance, actually...

Probably because the body fit the soul, always. But the soul was the important thing, and that was how this worked...Dysaryn jerked as if he had been struck by a powerful electric charge, and stage one was complete.

Dysaryn exhaled sharply...letting his hands fall to his sides...

Caspian would dart off and return with clothes, and the three men would dress the still unconcious newly reincarnated Kazansky...

and then Dysaryn would pass his hand over Kazansky's face...and say the words...

"Awaken, Alexander Kirillovich Kazansky. Your work here is not yet done."

And nobody ever could disobey the Lord Changer.

He didn't understand what happened, frankly. All he could remember was pain. Pain in his bruised, burnt legs. Pain as the explosive rounds entered his body. Pain. Lots of pain, until he was no longer certain, what caused it and when. Then it all ended.

He woke up in a totally unfamiliar place. Dark, even. Through a great effort of will, Alexander prevented himself from jerking and flailing like a man awaking from a nightmare - though a nightmare it was, indeed. He arose, silently, and surveyed the "men" around him.

He knew one of them - Dysaryn Stark. Well, not exactly "knew'. He was familiar with the man from what was known as the 'Julia tapes' - not tapes, really, but .mpeg files recorded by the espionage cyborg sent to Revenia during operation Delilah.

He shuddered inwardly at the memory of Julia. Then, he turned to the WarPrince.

"Good day. I know I am supposed to ask where I am, but I won't. I am on Norhfell, and you are Dysaryn Stark, the Lord Changer. I will ask one question, though: The last thing I remember coherently is being unsuccessfully torched by a bunch of irate, though absolutely and perfectly inept dwarves after killing off an even more inept communist functionaire. What happened since?"

Dysaryn smiled. Excellent. Rational thought is -good.- It would have been a pity if Kazansky had attacked and Dysaryn had been forced to defend himself...such a waste of work.

"The short version is that you died. Your head is being put inside a glass cube as we speak. First of many lessons you will learn before you leave this place...the body is immaterial, it is the soul that matters. You have a new body. I presume you know that Northfell has a stronger gravitic field than Earth, yes? Yet, tell me, do you feel it?"

Dysaryn raised an eyebrow inquisitively, a seemless transition from pleased craftsman to teacher. He truly was a master of his art...

OOC: Annoyed Thelasi Tag

Kazansky got up, slowly at first, then paced once through the length of the hall and back, accelerating, until he came back nearly running. He smiled:

"No. I do not feel it. My guess is, assuming, of course, that what you tell me is true - that you created a new body for me. Or, if it's not, that you modified it. Which is the same, really."

OOC: Revenia = Ignored idiot :p

OOC: Midlonia, if you don't have anything good to say...then quit muddling up my thread.

IC:

"Quite so. New body, as it were. You are now entirely inhuman, Mr. Kazansky. The body you now inhabit has all the advantages and disadvantages of a Halfling Ascended...which, admittedly, is a rather short list either way."

He turned to face Kazansky, those unbelievably deep, almost hypnotic Quicksilver eyes boring into the newly reincarnated "Maia."

"I have done what I did for a reason. You may learn the full reasoning someday...we'll see, but the short version is that you are a very powerful individual, and you lack the restraints that very powerful individuals require..."

He paused to let his words sink in...then,

"Well, very powerful individuals that hope to continue living require, anyways. You see, Kazansky, you have managed, even without actively using your 'powers,' as it were, to piss off a very large number of people...and through my actions in helping you, those people are now probably going to become very pissed off at me..."

and perhaps Kazansky would see past the thin veil that Dysaryn kept over exactly -what- he was...see through the exterior, to what lie inside...

Chaos.

It was sufficient to scare anybody.

"You see, Kazansky...You need a mentor. I'm going to provide that service for you...then you're going to be a good little boy and together we're going to see if we can't make -everybody- happy..."

He didn't threaten. He did not need to. Dysaryn Stark, Warprince of Revenia, might threaten...because some people responded to that. Kendrikalis, The Lord Changer, did not threaten...he responded.

He had played his game for a long, long time...and through his efforts, his skill at the game, the game went on. Always on.

Alexander listened. He understood, that right now the being in front for him was in control, and knew more than he did. He decided that the best decision right now was to remain silent. To listen. To learn. To understand the situation.

If Stark would ask him a question, he would reply, thought the President-for-Life. It seemed, by Stark's words, that he, Kazansky would not need to ask questons - Stark was pretty inclined to tell him things. So, he decided, he would listen. For now. He listened to the sound of Dysaryn's words, to his intonations, to the way his voice reverberated from the walls of the giant cave - seemingly, he thought, very deep underground.

He would also look. With some near-inhuman speed - Kazansky learned fast-reading at some point in his career, it was necessary for his "job" - he surveyed every stitch, symbol, and detail of Stark's clothing, the walls of the cave they were in. He was in an unknown situation. He remebered his visit to a Special Forces school before the ODW, and the words of an instructor: "Information is your number one resource. When in unknown territory, use all your senses to learn as much as you can, as fast as you can." He always believe the dictum applied not only to combat. Now was the time to find out.

He smelled the cave-air, felt the substance of his clothing. All of it, he thought, meant something, perhaps something crucial about this place. "When they'll leave me alone, I'll figure out what", thought Kazansky.

Analyzing all of this would come later. Now, for the input.

Dysaryn sighed and made a motion, and a dark-gray armored Sovereign Protector seemed to rise up out of the shadows, and handed the Warprince a pair of glasses, each containing an amount of golden-brown liquid.

Now, the Sovereign Protector vanished almost immediately, but it left a pockin' impression. About eight feet tall, had a truely massive sword (5 foot blade, foot and a half of hilt,) looked like it could probably punch out an M1 Abrams...

Dysaryn offered a glass to Kazansky, "Do you drink, Mr. Kazansky?"

(We'll move on regardless...)

"So, yell me, Alex. Do you have a girlfriend?"

Alexander looked puzzledly at the drink, then drank it, regardless. If Dysaryn wanted him dead, all he had to to was just avoid bringing him back. It tasted rather good, surprisingly.

"I do not do so as a habit, nor do I particularly like the sort of entertainment. But I do not object to it."

The second question took Kazansky completely unawares. For a few seconds he just stared at Stark like a deer caught in the headlights of an International CXT.

He blushed - something which might have seemed appropriate for his looks, but not for his age. Even his ears seemed to have tured crimson as he thought of the one he loved - Miriel nos Feanor, frozen in his mind's eye the way he has first seen her.

"Well, ahem, Mr Stark..." he took off his glasses and proceeeded to nervously wiping them with his shirt, "Not currently, no..."

He silenced himself, realizing that Dysaryn would notice if he lied on the subject.

The truth was Alexander never had a girlfirend. When he founded Allanea, then a fledgling micro-nation, he was only a hyper-intelligent geek of 18. (For some misterious reason, he did not know of his nature as a Maia.) He didn't have a girlfriend then, and certainly not later. He divided time between his "duty to the nation" and his hobbies, becoming as shy with potential girlfriends as he was rash with the leaders of nuclear-armed superpowers. That, complicated by his love both for his work and his hobbie, led to an effect best decribed by his biographers in five words:

The President had no life.

Dysaryn winced.

His mental dialogue went something like this: "Well shit, no wonder the poor kids so fucked up. He probably hasn't ever even -met- normal people. Surrounded by fanatics all his life, no doubt...poor bastard. Poor, poor bastard."

Dysaryn nodded slowly..."We will see about remedying that..."

"First, Kazansky, I really don't like forcing peoples beliefs...against every moral I have...but sometimes I don't have a choice. I really don't want to come to a point where I have to consider that option..."

He smiled then, "But, anyways. There's no particularly easy way to do this, and I don't particularly feel like expounding on my philosophy in life all at once, so...do you ride, Alex?"

Alexander is, at this stage, completely confused. This interrogation - if that what it was - was coming to no goal he could look at, but he decided to play along.

"Horses - no. Used to drive various vehicles for fun." In the last 60 years, the President had become acquainted with various pastimes. Driving off-road vehicles, flying helicopters, and learning to fly the Ann Coulter transathmospheric craft he helped design were some of them.

Dysaryn exhaled slowly...well, this was something that would have to be remedied. On Northfell, one rode. Luckily, what one rode could vary...

"Yes, I had meant horses...but perhaps Gravbikes might be more your style."

He gestured for Kazansky to follow him, and led the Maia up through a series of winding, twisting, and completely illogical passages, only to emerge in a 'stable' complex. A number of horses were present, but also a pair of RevTek 'Malice' Gravbikes, it was to these that Dysaryn headed.

"Key's in the column, hop on. Rides just like a performance bike, 'cept the ride is a lot smoother, and you can do some seriously crazy jumps...oh, lot faster, too..."

He smiled wickedly as he mounted his bike, and flicked the key on...the bike rose up from the ground, riding on a cushion of, well...gravity...

Dysaryn slid his feet up onto the running boards, and kicked the bike into gear, the separate grav-slope drive kicked in...and took off, going a bit slow, perhaps...after-all, Kazansky was a beginner, and he didn't want to -lose- the kid...

But still, faster than any -wheeled- bike could ever hope to go...

Kazansky smiled gleefully as he saw the devices and said, besides himself:

"Oh yes. Definitely more my style"

Kazansky knew a bit about bikes - normal, wheeled ones, of course. He has ever been in local bike competition during one of his rare vacations. And while the speed might have been too much for the perceptions and senses of the normal humans, the ability which Kazansky discovered just before his "death" enabled him to follow Dysaryn - although the unfamiliar handling was kind of in the way of any quality performance. Still, if Dysarin looked back at Kazansky's face, what he would see would be an insane grin of delight.

OOC: Before I get into Kazansky and Dys arriving at Celestian, I figured that now would be a good time to get into exactly -what- Dysaryn is, OOCly. Because there have been a lot of questions about that...most of which I haven't answered....

Anyways, first off, a few of my more recent posts might have given the impression that Dysaryn was some sort of all-powerful deity. He isn't. In fact, he isn't A. all-powerful, or B. a deity.

He's what I call a 'High Ascended Plus.' Meaning that he is first an Ascended, that being his race. We get the silver hair, the silver eyes, the various pointless 'abilities' that exist only because they sound cool. (Kinda like how 40k Space Marines spit acid. That has no relevance on the tabletop game, but they still do it...)

Then we add the 'high' designator, which means that he is 'somehow special.' Ian Stark is a High Ascended. He's an incorporeal translucent guy, who lives in a rock...

In Dysaryn's case, the High designates that he is a 'War Mage,' which translates as 'Generalist Psion.' Which means he can do all sorts of cool things that go under the section heading of "Plot Device."

Now we move on to the 'plus' part. That means that he is what-ya-call-an individual who is somehow 'different' from the norm. That is, 'Having one or more qualities that derive directly from 'Supernatural Sources.'

In Dysaryn's case, that 'plus' stands in for his being 'The Changer.'

The Changer is a fun designation. Being the Changer means that you get to defend the Ascended from all sorts of 'supernatural' baddies. Dysaryn was about a month old when the race and civilization known as 'The Ascended,' died. Survivors do exist, presumably...a handful exist in and around Revenia...so forth. Anyways, they died because yon marauding evil entity of destruction came over and killed 'em, and Dysaryn, the Changer-to-be, couldn't stop 'em...because he was, y'know, a baby.

But enough of the backstory...on to what 'The Changer' -is.-

Ascended believed that the Changer was the Champion of their deity, (Chaos, but they (and the Revenians) call 'im 'The Pancreator,' because people have all sorts of misconceptions about people who worship Chaos as a deity...) and that he had some sort of divine power, so on, so forth.

There is some truth in that...The Changer gets two things upon receiving that title: a weapon with varying portions of its blade tinted red (varying according to 'The Power' of the Changer who will wield it,) and the ability to 'influence' reality.

I'm not the first person to make us of this particular method...(two that I know of are David Drake and Terry Pratchett...) and I probably won't be the last.

Put simply, in an infinite multiverse (we have one. I checked.) every thing possible has happened. Dysaryn has the capability of intersecting that reality with the one he is currently in, making whatever he wanted to happen, happen.

He can't change the past, because that would cause the universe to fill with cream cheese. (SO SAYS I!) He can't directly change events in the future, because they haven't happened yet. He has to actually be present at the place the change is going to occur, again a 'mitigating factor.' (look at me, I'm tagging mitigating factors onto the ability to shape reality...)

Oh, he can't directly change other people. So, yes, he could, potentially, cause an asteroid to strike a planet, (Albeit, he would actually have to be on that planet the asteroid strikes, -at the point- that the asteroid strikes...) but he couldn't snap his fingers and cause somebody to disappear.

Further, as far as I'm concerned, 'the Changer' is just a fun title, only coming into play within my own narratives, where it only affects my characters, or when all parties are agreed upon the necessity of the 'alteration.'

Anyways, Dys's sword has the unique and special ability to disregard 'Supernatural' protection, and cut straight to the soft fleshy bits. Meaning that if, somehow, Dysaryn were to get in a swordfight with say...a demon, Heartsflame (his sword) is going to ignore all those fun little demonic invincibilities, slice merrily through Mr. Hellspawn's neck, and kill him.

(yes, that applies to 'Maiar' and 'Valar' and 'C'tan' and 'Demigods' and 'Angels' and 'Vampires' and 'Devils' and every-bloodything else, too. No exceptions.)

Which makes a lot of sense, considering that the Changer is supposed to deal with things that really probably shouldn't exist...

Other than that, he's over five hundred thousand years old, looks like he's twenty one, has silver hair and silver eyes, tends to dress in black and wear a cape, and really, really hates his job.

Direct questions to me via telegram. Please refrain from comments that serve no purpose but to inform me that my character is 'Teh Godmode' or 'Teh Wankyst tihng sienc sliecd berad.'

Thank you,
-Rev)

IC:

The trip from Celestian to Mortis took a few months by foot, with the cycles, it took a few days...

Dysaryn didn't sleep, and if Kazansky had to, Dysaryn slaved Kazansky's bike to his own and continued on. (Not to say that Dysaryn doesn't need sleep...just to say that Dysaryn doesn't particularly want to spend any more time out in the snowy wastes with Alex than is absolutely necessary...)

Eventually, the white snow would give way to steppe-like land, which would then give way to the fertile land of Northfell's equatorial belt...and once they reached that, it was only about an hour to Celestian.

You saw the Wall first. The Wall was one of the relics of the Ascended...nobody was really sure why it existed (Except for those who did, and they weren't telling,) but exist it did. A great massive fortification that split that planet right in half...and Dysaryn would lead Kazansky up onto a winding circular ramp that went straight up the side of the wall to the very top, and on the top of the wall, (which was a pockin' huge structure...) Celestian sat on a grassy hillock, way, way, -way- overlooking a fast-running river that ran alongside a section of The Wall for a bit...

Celestian itself was impressive, built all out of basalt with some sort of funky treatment done to it that made it really pockin' good at what it did. Which was not do anything.

Dysaryn would ride through the primary gate, kill the power on both bikes, (not magic. Remote.,) hand Kazansky off to the first person he met, mumbled orders to see to said bespectacled kid, then stumbled off to his bedroom...which was unfortunately located in the central tower of the Citadel...(no, not at the top, moron! It's actually about six stories -down-)

The Citadel was part of the Wall. Very few people really understood that. Fewer still realized that The Wall was anything more than a particularly ugly man-made mountain chain...

Which it might as well have been, for all the purpose it served now...

Then Dysaryn's ponderings were cut off, as he collapsed onto his nice soft bed...

OOC: Well, technically, Maiar don't need sleep. Kazansky does. He is basically slaved to the limitations of a human in any are in which he did not discover his full power yet. No, this is not canon. Kazansky is not canon.

IC: Alexander was sleepy. Very. Throughout the journey. for some reason, even after he noticed his bike was slaved to Dysaryn's, he strained hard not to fall asleep, to outlast the strange man at any cost.

Now, he had to pay it. It was simple. He was not capable of analyzing, thinking of, or evaluating the information he absorbed - because as soong as he got into his room, he was capable of one thing only: undressing, dropping to bed, and falling asleep.

As he dozed off - without even bothering to take off his glasses - he thought of Miriel. Those who walked in would note that the man complicit in the murder of eight hundred million Yurkan slept with a happy smile.

OOC: Ooh, love story!

Alex has a crush! *immature giggling in the background*

;)

Dysaryn slept for eight hours. Deep, dreamless sleep. Which was infinitely preferable to the normal nightmares...and Dysaryn had quite the collection of nightmares. Five hundred thousand years of being a lead-from-the-front warrior-type got that.

He awoke, stretched, stripped out of the clothes he hadn't changed out of before he fell asleep, bathed, shaved, ate a quick breakfast, and dressed.

He selected the usual tight black shirt and loose pants, strapped his swordbelt into place, threw on a jacket, and went out to wait for Kazansky. Things were taken care of, already...servants, if one could use such a term for the Warprince's household staff, would see Kazansky cleaned, dressed, and fed, before bringing him out into Celestian's courtyard.

Dysaryn would smile, and motion for Kazansky to follow him. They would head through one of the exterior gates that opened onto a wide grassy field. On that field, soldiers of the elite Twilight Seraphim regiment exercised with the kind of coordination that one got when one had known one's fellow soldiers for decades, even centuries...

"You see, Kazansky...these men and women all chose to be here. We have six Seraphim regiments, each one consisting solely of volunteers...the most elite of volunteers. They are extremely versatile troops, Mr. Kazansky, yet I myself could defeat any one of them in individual combat. Maybe more than one."

He smiled...

"So why then, Mr. Kazansky...do they exist, at all?"

Kazansky smiled: "You could beat one. You could beat three. Maybe ten. You could not, however, replace them all with your own person. You certainly could not be in two places in the same time. Finally, there's quite a few things in which a specialistn will beat even the most skilled of diversificators, anytime. Think neural surgery - and some areas of military expertise are more complicated themselves. Besides, I believe you have a day job to attend to."

OOC: Ooh, love story!

Alex has a crush! *immature giggling in the background*

;)

OOC: The sound of evil cackling can be heard, Stage Left. http://bbs.stardestroyer.net/images/smiles/icon_twisted.gif

OOC: Well, technically, Maiar don't need sleep. Kazansky does. He is basically slaved to the limitations of a human in any are in which he did not discover his full power yet. No, this is not canon. Kazansky is not canon.

OOC: *Puts Tolkien nerdiness hat on* Incidentally, if he's like an Istari, that is to say, Gandalf and his ilk, in being posessed of a human body, he would indeed need to sleep. Further, if he's an Ainur in the conventional sense, he would need to sleep after great exertion.

OOC: The sound of evil cackling can be heard, Stage Left.

OOC: Oh FFS.

P.S. Kazansky is not Canon. Period. Tolkien nerds will be evicted forcefully.

Dysaryn looked intently at the individuals drilling on the field and nodded. "Something like that. Aye, you would be one to see in terms of effectiveness. 'Ends justify the means,' eh?"

Dysaryn exhaled slowly, "Morals. Kazansky. That is why they exist. Because I have the moral strength of character to allow other people to help me. Because I -hate- using my power."

He turned to face Kazansky, and his eyes were hard. "Because everything has a price, Kazansky. And usually, you don't even see that price. Because it falls upon other people. Innocent people."

His eyes weren't just hard, they were cold. Cold as ice. Those eyes...they were the eyes of the man who had hunted down the entity responsible for instigating the Fall of his race and killed him...those eyes showed a whole new aspect of Dysaryn Stark.

They were the eyes of the man who blamed himself for the Fall.

"Take, for example, your little Allanean method of execution by 'Dolphinization.' You no doubt think that is somehow humorous or fitting as 'punishment.'"

He locked Kazansky with that ice-cold gaze of his.

"No living being deserves that, Kazansky. There is a reason that we require all who would sentence an individual to death to carry out the sentence themselves. There is a reason that the only legal method of execution is beheading by the sword. It isn't just Tradition, Kazansky, it is morality."

Those eyes...captivating...chilled to the bone.

"Kazansky...I was just using 'Dolphinization' as an example, because it applies to you. Because even if it wasn't your personal policy, you were still aware of it...and you did nothing to stop it. That alone gives me little hope for you..."

He turned away, re-focusing his attention on his Twilight Seraphim...decent men and women, all. Nothing like the sick bastards who would ever countenance something like 'Dolphinization.' Just the thought of it...

If one thought to look, his hand was hovering dangerously close to Heartsflame's grip. There was a time that for that alone he would have condemned Allanea to death, aye, and seen to it personally, at that.

But that was before he had, along with the help of his father and grandfather, pulled the worlds that would form Revenia from their fragmented dark age. Before he became a living symbol.

There were times he regretted it.. times that he wished to leave it all behind, head out another Wandering...and maybe sometime he would, but not yet. He was still needed...and for much greater things than trying to teach one Alexander Kazansky restraint...

But it helped...every little bit helped.

Kazansky shrugs. "I do not rule Allanea any longer. I do not rule it since the War. Only thing I did was build a ship. Dolphinization? Yes, I have heard of it. Do I like it? No. But it's a punishment only for the worst and most terrible of monsters, and it has yet to be used. Applicable, if I remember, for stuff like genocide. After which point, I believe that if one willingly and intentionally kills millions of innocents, it no longer matters how he dies. For this reason, I have not opposed it - and for the fact I was pretending to be dead until recently.

In the early age of Allanea, a commander under me ordered the destruction of a nation. Yurka. A mistaken analysis has cause him to think they have caused a nuclear detonation - which have turned to be a friendly muntion. Yurka was erased from the face of the earth. I had to remove him. I had to kill him, too - he murdered 800 million people. But the hatred that overtook my own people back then - and the fear cause by the first explosion - was such they... they protected that man. To this day, I believe that this commander - if I could have tried hiim - would have deserved any death I could have devised. THhe people of Allanea have changed, I think. They understand that now. Do you think, if he's alive now, that he's too good for something long and protracted?"

Kazansky looks at Dysaryn: "To this day, I feel shame that I haven't just forgone the legal route and strangled the sick fuck myself."

"As to your question of my morality... the role of the warrior is to protect. Each soldier who fails to use the most efficient tactics, and each leader who fails to employ them, is responsible for the losses that ensue - responsible to his dead comrades, to their families, and to every civilian who dies as result. The soldier... in Allanea, people volunteer for the Army. In doing so, they know they may die. The only purpose of their service is to endanger their lives - and to sacrifice them, so others may live.

The reason that I used a volunteer force is exactly that. Because I don't believe the end justifies the means . I don't sacrifice unwilling victims on the altar of Allanea's interest. I call for volunteers to risk themselves, and when I can, I go with them. You know I do that. Remember where you... met me."

He snorted.

"Oh, you showed me, that you did. Except for the last part. I don't want soldiers who willingly lay down their lives for their country. I want the kind of soldiers who can't let go of life."

He smiled, then. "But that is neither here nor there. You speak of genocide, and you speak of a wish to kill the man responsible with your own hands...you undoubtedly know that even if you had, it wouldn't have changed what happened."

He stretched out, "Allow an old man to tell a story, Mr. Kazansky..."

Some might find that humorous, as Dysaryn Stark looked to be around the ancient and decrepit age of twenty one. It was all too easy to forget that he had lived for over five hundred millenia...

"My people, the Ascended, effectively became extinct as a race approximately one month after I was born. Theories as to why abound, and nobody is particularly sure exactly what happened...including myself. But I did learn -who- caused it..."

He smiled a predatory smile...and the glint in his eye was that of a born hunter.

"I hunted that bastard down like an animal. Took me two hundred years, but I finally cornered him. He called himself a god, Mr. Kazansky. Said that he would give me a chance to leave, spare my life...so forth."

He closed his eyes, obviously remembering...

"I killed him, Kazansky. Despite his not inaccurate statement. Despite all his power, despite the fact that I was just a speck in history beside him. Despite the fact that he had destroyed worlds, ended entire civilizations...I, one man, not even a particularly exceptional one at that time, killed him."

He smiled grimly. "I'm not feeling up to storytelling today, Mr. Kazansky, but the moral is a simple one. It doesn't matter who or what you are, how long you've lived, or what you've done; in the end, somebody will still take you to task."

Kazansky shrugs. "In a way, you are right. Not necessarily literally, but you are. I have always, mind you, tried to remain moral. The reports of me as a monster who drinks children's blood are exaggerated." He smiled unhappily.

"On the other hand, Mr. Stark... Perhaps you misunderstand. I am no longer a leader of Allanea. I have quit. I have been persuaded to quit any position of power of Alllanea. I have overseen the production the USS Miriel" - Kazansky smiles uncomfortably - "And I have wanted to leave after that. But then McPherson came about. And I realized I had to kill him. After that, I planned to quit.

Using my power? I will not hold any, anymore?" Something in Kazansky's voice betrayed a hint that this wasn't quite a voluntary transition.

Dysaryn sighed.

"No, Alexander. Not that type of power. Let us both assume that we realize that you have certain qualities that make you...different...from your peers. I believe that you consider yourself to be some sort of demi-god..."

He obviously held a low opinion of this...

"and that is what makes you dangerous, Mr. Kazansky. That is also what makes you valuable. You have the -potential- to do great and important things...but you also have the capability to do great harm. That is why you are here, Mr. Kazansky...why I, despite my better judgement, I ordered Caspian to...transport you here, to me...to use his sword, instead of his scythe, as it were..."

He looked Kazansky in the eye.

"Because I hold some small hope that you aren't as stupid as popular imagery holds you to be. Thus far, I haven't noticed any terrible glaring faults. We shall see."

He smiled faintly, and motioned for Kazansky to follow him. They strolled on.

"So, tell me, Mr. Kazansky. What possessed you to name a ship after Sirithil of Menelmacar's grand-daughter?"

Kazansky stops. Again, his face and ears assume the same complexion as they have when Dysaryn has asked him about his love life.

"Mr. Stark, " the boy replies, pleadingly, "Do we really have to go there?"

Dysaryn raised an eyebrow.

"Yes. Yes we do. Because it is important. Maybe vital. Maybe not. I don't know, because we haven't gone there yet. So, let us not only go there, let us do so in detail, and let us do so now."

Alexander Kazansky looks at Dysaryn pleadingly, as if trying to avoid a sentence:

"I have seen her in Menelmacar during my visit there - on the evening of the War. I..." he lowers his eye, "I love her. She is the most beautiful person I have ever met, and from what I saw of her, she is possessed of quite a functional brain, as well.

Her Majesty, Elentari Sirithil nos Feanor, has told me that I would not be able to see Miriel until I resigned all positions of power. At first, I wasn't... wasn't too sure about that, for I believed it was my duty to remain on post to do all I could to return Allanea to at least a semblance of freedom. I did that - the current ruler recognised Allanean's freedoms, and they have already had an election. As I saw that soon, the Prussians would be leaving, I decided I was no longer needed. That was on the day of McPherson's death. You know what happened next."

He stands still, looking away embarassedly. His face and ears felt as if they were on fire, and looked the part. :)

Alexander stopped. His face grew pale suddenly, and he stared suddenly somewhere beyond, where even Dysaryn Stark couldn't follow his glance. It is uncertain how or why, but he knew about everything. In a blink, he could see Sharan's face in front of him. And he would remember him.

He looked at Stark. "Nevermind, Mr. Stark... it doesn't matter. Doesn't matter anymore."

TAG (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v251/Tindalos/allanea.jpg)'ed.