Bonds (Ellestaria)
| Bonds (Ellestaria) | |
|---|---|
| Date of Cutscene: | 27 August 2011 |
| Location: | None |
| Synopsis: | Working late on the Soul Gem problem, Ellestaria reflects on life since joining the Union. |
| Cast of Characters: | 231 |
| Tinyplot: | Walpurgis Night |
"Neptune, time?"
"Five Thirteen A.M. local time," responded the dimly-glowing computer. Ellestaria hadn't installed a full AI on the notebook computer, but a limited-response one really helped out when needed. As adaptive as she's been, the Atlantean was still relatively new to advanced technology like that. The little virtual pet helped out immensely, and the tiny mermaid icon it used was usually something that lifted her spirits slightly.
Not this time, though. Ellestaria slumps back in her chair, rubbing her temples as she contemplates the fatigue and the long night she's just gone through. Still nothing to show for it. Working with souls was already tricky business, and without any way of safely experimenting, it was doubly difficult. Add to that a completely foreign set of magical rules, and it was no wonder she couldn't make much headway on the Soul Gem problem.
But she had to try.
A heavy sigh, and the biomancer reluctantly mutters, "Close files and shut down for the night." Obediently, the light flickers out, leaving Lest in a near-darkness lit only by the dim glow of a few of the other trinkets in the lab. It wasn't really organized yet... the move into this place under the mountain still had some ways to go, but she was isolated and had more room, so here she worked. Into the wee hours. Some Atlanteans had reduced their need for sleep, but Ellestaria was too young for that treatment.
Far too young. The girl sighs, gathering her hair back and rising to stretch weary muscles. Kuklos ka Ellestaria, Dragon Maiden, Last Scion of Atlantis, Biomancer... Third Class. Sorceress license: Third Class. She was still a child, compared to most of her kind, and it was times like this that she felt it the most. Much as she'd learned in leaps and bounds since exploring the Multiverse, she was still lacking in experience. It was not something she'd shared with most of the Union... she commanded some respect, some admiration even, and that was nice... but deep down, she knows that pride alone isn't the reason she avoids mentioning how amateur she really is.
Fear. Fear kept her from saying more. The nightmares had stopped, but at times like this, she could still feel that empty horror at watching her home, her entire people, devoured by their own magics. Perhaps she had not seen it with her physical eyes, but she could feel it, the sudden collapse of magic and the death of her kin. All but a handful on the Mainland... and those had died, one by one, in the days and weeks after. If the others knew just how green she was... It was irrational, with how many youths were in the Union, but something she couldn't shake.
And now she had to watch more innocents die. To watch children forced to kill children. Their friends, no less. Lest closes her eyes again, feeling the ache start to crawl into her once again. They were Mainlanders. Children, yes, but not her people. Yet... after all this time, one thing she had dreaded would happen had, indeed, snuck up on her. The Union was full of idiots and loudmouths and fools, perhaps... but they were /hers/ now. She could dislike some of them, even rage at them, but now... they were Family, in a sense. Squabbling, bratty, annoying family, yet family nonetheless. She had a home. She had people she had sworn to help. She had a purpose. She even had... whatever Amalthea was. The only bright spot in all this, the success in helping her 'Knight' reclaim her sister's sanity, is all that kept her going. The room spins as a dizzy spell hits the exhausted Atlantean, and Lest shakes it off. "Ugh..." Even now, thinking about the horror on the faces of those girls made her feel ill. No more... she couldn't allow more. But she knew she couldn't keep this pace up. She'll make a mistake, and things will just get worse.
With a heavy sigh, the slender Atlantean looks over the lab one more time, then retreats, staggering toward bed, and the comfort of a sympathetic, if grumpy, mystical construct's reassurance.
If only she had more time.
