Gaius Septimus (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
survival_isnt_living) wrote2012-10-14 11:16 pm
survival_isnt_living) wrote2012-10-14 11:16 pm
Entry tags:
[Tu Shanshu] Application
Player Information:
Name: Lee
Age: 21+
Contact: AIM: fractaldawn
Game Cast: Lois Lane (DC Comics) -wherethestoryis - AC
Character Information:
Name: Gaius Septimus (Sep)
Canon: Codex Alera
Canon Point: 15 years pre-canon, when he’s just died.
Age: ~28 (Even semi-exact dates are rarely given; this is an admittedly younger-side guesstimate based on canon information).
Reference: Here’s Wikipedia on it. I will toss in this attempt at a canon timeline.
Setting:
Carna is the cosmic dumping ground of the Bermuda Triangle.
Even on a continent approximately the size of the continental United States, at least half a dozen different species—from all across worlds and times—have been unceremoniously stranded and left to make a new life for themselves in a strange, harsh world. They fought other races, fought each other, killed and died, and who knows how many over the millennia have been forgotten altogether. Some of the more enduring races live on other continents: the Marat, pale almost-humans with a strange bond to totem animals, on a continent to the east; the Icemen, mysterious creatures (read: yeti) manipulating snow and ice along the polar seas; and the Canim, nine foot wolfmen with a warrior culture and frightening blood magic (read: summoning eldritch abominations, no joke). They and all the other species unceremoniously dropped came the same way—simple accident. (Except, that is, for a strange crater and the bug-like hive-mind creatures who live in it. They came from space.) And even for these powerful species, Carna was a trial, and one little continent fought over by them and many others.
And then, one day, a band of eleven thousand got stranded there.
They were smaller and weaker than everything else around them, and of that number only somewhat more than half were even combatants. They were left in a world with frightening races, cruel weather, no basis of support, and no way to return home. They could only fight.
Unfortunately for everyone else on that continent, they were Romans.
One Roman Legion, including some Germanic mercenaries hired as auxiliary troops, plus the inevitable civilians who followed the camp: cooks, domestics, prostitutes, merchants, thieves, smiths and the occasional artisan. (I'm pretty sure they vanished in the first or second century CE, but I don't recall which Legion.) As their only options were grimly determined survival or rolling over to die, the Roman reacted predictably. Unlike some groups who got stranded, though, they were a fighting force to begin with, and one from a culture fond of standardizing its military. So they organized, and they fought. Systematically they won their battles, got settled, then won still more battles.
As the years went by they fought on, and slowly began to dominate the continent. As they did, race after race got exterminated altogether. The last to go were the Children of the Sun, a mysterious culture which used to live in the Feverthorn Jungle, in south-east Alera. No one has gotten into the jungle since, though, so no one really knows what happened.
In the end the tide turned in great part thanks to an astonishing talent: furycrafting. Sometime during those first thousand years the proto-Alerans established themselves on the continent, they developed the ability to use what they call ‘furycrafting.’ Functionally it is elemental spirit crafting.
Furycrafting comes in six elements: wind, earth, water, fire, wood, and metal. It drew on the wild furies—what the proto-Alerans termed the raging spirits of the land. Windmanes stormed and raked the fields; they could even kill. Legends sprang up of Great Furies, furies so large and powerful they could eradicate whole areas if they wished it. Most were uncertain if they were real. (Spoiler: They are.)
As years went on, they discovered the uses of their crafting, deepened their understanding of it, and eventually every Aleran could use crafting. It comes in different strengths: some can do little more than turn on furylamps (flick a light-switch); some are legendary powerhouses, capable of feats such as slowing the thaw, calming earthquakes or hurricanes, igniting volcanoes. They used their new weapon with their typical deadly efficiency, and began establishing their cities and spreading over the continent. And, as they grew more secure and widespread, they began to fight amongst each other. Their infighting left them vulnerable, and soon their internal strife only helped the other races in their quest to exterminate the proto-Alerans.
Finally, about a thousand years after the Roman legion arrived, a powerful Aleran crafter and leader, utterly sick of it all, grew determined to prevent the extinction of his people. Forcibly beating the rest of them into a centrally-governed empire, he established a capital—Alera Imperia—in the center of the continent. And thus Gaius Primus became First Lord of the brand-new realm of Alera.
Being descended from Romans, many of their places are named for places and people they no longer remember. Their major cities remain distinctly Roman in nature. The country, however, became populated with steadholts—farming communities, almost like ranches, with the Steadholder as a cross between owner, rancher, and local mayor.
The society remained very Roman as well, though with some changes. There are slaves, then freemen—not slaves, but disenfranchised all the same. Then come the Citizenry, a kind of low nobility. However, even among them, there are the counts and lords. Steadholders also function as a kind of citizen locally, authority wise, but in the grander scheme they are not. Steadholders generally apply to the local Lord (or High Lord, rather) for the land to settle.
Unlike in Rome, however, becoming a Citizen was based primarily on crafting. A person (usually with connections) who challenged and won in the juris macto (trial by combat, generally including crafting) would gain Citizen status. Despite this, however, generally children of Citizens—especially high enough ranked—will kind of hand-wave-ishly end up earning their own Citizen status. Additionally, Citizens were technically obligated to contribute to the defense of the Realm, duty to go with privilege, though everyone had some compulsory service with the Legions (as followers or soldiers). Of course, as strength of crafting is the key to Aleran society (and survival), Citizens are also required by law to marry and have children with other Citizens. Women are, naturally, even more disenfranchised as a whole; they mostly only gain Citizen status through marriage. A few earn it in their own right, however.
Despite the civil wars, continued eradication of other races, and standard intrigue, Alera remained standing, remained whole—or at least, the First Lords made sure to reintegrate any parts which tried to escape. In the thousand years or so since Alera was founded, her people remain the only inhabitants of Carna to have begun furycrafting. Since then, almost everyone has forgotten their Roman roots. Certainly the names have been lost; they seem to have no religion, either. (Approximately.) Many do not even believe that there was a time when their people didn’t furycraft.
The empire now consists of twelve major cities and High Houses, and covers the entire continent—and the House of Gaius still retains the Crown.
However, the years have taken their toll. Through the various upheavals (they’re a fractious bunch, after all) the House of Gaius has slowly been dying off over the millennium. They remain the family with the strongest crafting—the First Lord always exceeds everyone else in strength—but today there is only one branch of the line left, and the line hasn’t been particularly fruitful lately. In fact, it’s been linear father-to-only-son for seven generations, ending with the current First Lord, Gaius Sextus, and his son. Many of the other families have reason to bear a grudge against the House of Gaius, too. The balance of power has rarely been quite so delicate.
Gaius Sextus was approximately in his sixties when his son, Princeps Septimus was an adult. Something of a radical, Septimus became one of the first Citizens to actually speak out in favor of abolition. He and his more conservative father frequently disagreed, quite loudly—as Sextus put it, as a rule, they didn’t get along. Septimus was much more popular than his father, too. He had an integrity which inspired loyalty, and many people, from slaves up to some of the High Lords, regarded him as hope for Alera’s future.
However, in his youth he made some enemies of others of the Lords. When he was in his twenties, a series of assassination attempts began. Between his own crafting and skills and those of his bodyguards—among them his closest friend Araris Valerian, probably the best swordsman in generations, if not Aleran history—he survived them. However, finally one was too close a call, and Sextus sent him to Calderon Valley with the Crown Legion to Calderon Valley in the east to recuperate, far from anyone.
Septimus protested. He was overruled. In the end, he was right. Just before his planned departure, a horde of the Marat—on the other side of the isthmus—invaded in force, four clans or more. The Crown Legion was completely overwhelmed. The Marat later called it the Field of Fools: tens of thousands, combatants and non-combatants, Aleran and Marat alike, died in the Valley that day. The Legion was eradicated.
And with it died the last heir of the House of Gaius.
Worse, very few know or guess--and no one not involved can prove--that the Princeps didn't die at the hands of the Marat. He was assassinated by Alerans under cover of the fighting.
The future of the Realm is more uncertain than ever before. High Lords gather their resources, try to position themselves for the inevitable civil war for the Crown once Gaius Sextus dies—or they even try to take it early. Too many carry grudges against the First Lord, whether for being a Gaius or for failing to protect his son. Alera’s hope is gone.
That’s the running popular theory, anyway. Thing is, Septimus failed to communicate some vital information to any of his friends outside Calderon. He didn’t even tell his parents.
How different would Alera's future be if Gaius Septimus had fathered a legitimate son?
But that’s not his story.
Personality:
Septimus is vibrant. He tends to feel very strongly as a person, even before the peculiarities of his family play into it. He is also incredibly expressive, something not entirely common in the Aleran high nobility, all of whom are used to hiding their true feelings. He can too, of course—but it generally isn’t something he feels inclined to do. Some of that brilliance came from a sheer love of life which superseded many other emotions. Then, too, his liberality of thought—and politics—also contributed heavily in a society beginning to stagnate. He is never afraid to voice his opinion; he was one of the first of the nobility to actually speak out against slavery.
In general in his manners and convictions he consistently and mostly unconsciously projected a sense of integrity which consistently drew attention, loyalty, hope, and love from people, through any reasonable and some unreasonable action—at least, the ones who weren’t inconvenienced by his ideals. Sep’s fundamental refusal to give in (god help you if you try to win an argument against him, especially if he isn’t open to being convinced) added to that to create a nearly indomitable force of personality. Most people he could just override with it, although those he loved most never let him get away with too much.
It isn’t just in the case of one or two specific issues that he has that idealism, though. For any number of reasons—to try to live a life more full than confined to Citizen and palace life, to get to know his people, and just out of sheer restlessness and wanderlust—Septimus would frequently take trips, incognito, to see the Realm. It helped him see the many hardships and injustices in the empire he would one day rule, and his sense of right and wrong always objected strongly. He generally tried to fix whatever he saw for the better.
With all his talent, charisma, and easy success, Sep can be more than a little arrogant at times. It is noted that he always expected other people to act with the grace he exhibited. This is only reinforced by the number of enemies he turned into friends. As a result, he sometimes disregards social wounds which could fester and turn into something far uglier. Even then, he is naturally disposed to believe he can handle whatever is thrown his way. Whether or not he is conscious of it, or wants to admit to it, he is the crown prince and was raised as such. Conditioned to only really answer to his parents as an adult, he will generally be coolly unimpressed with many kinds of authority. He will be graceful, of course, and not make a fuss if there is no reason—but he does not take orders. He’s trained to give them.
The arrogance, of course, lends itself to somewhat excessive fearlessness. He’ll risk himself at the front of a battle, even when it’s inappropriate. Between that courage and his talent, on a battlefield he is a walking natural disaster. (Literally, in some cases.) It may have helped earn him the loyalty of the Legion and admiration of many, but it was also a huge risk—one which cost him his life. Still, it was rather of a piece with him, that determination to live as much of life as he could, regardless of the risk. He believes firmly, even if he never articulated it, that life is richer for the tears and pain that go with the laughter and brightness. Coupled with his stubbornness, it explains some of his more adventurous episodes—such as braving severe seasickness to hang out with pirates.
He can be short-tempered as well, particularly if something offends his sense of right and wrong. Though he heats up quickly, cools off fairly quickly, too. His cheerful grace afterward is one of those aspects which kept some—though not all—of the people he would best from outright hating him for it. Of course, he could also dismiss some of those grudges as basically unimportant. Impatience is another one of his greater failings. He has little tolerance for fools, and can be almost flippant about attitudes in authority he doesn’t care for—including his father.
Septimus is a genuinely kind man, and a generous one. He’ll treat anyone with respect unless they give him serious reason not to. From making sure any refugee or victim got shelter—and then justice—to a simple offer of a job to two young freewomen in dire straits, he did his best to alleviate suffering where he could find it. Even if it was simply being friendly on an incognito jaunt, he hated to see pain. One of the odder and more telling cases of that giving spirit was his acute awareness that Araris—his best friend—was in love with his wife. He said nothing, as he fully trusted his friend, but when he suspected he was marked for death, he sent Araris with Isana—not just for her safety, but for her well-being and care on a personal level. He had to have known or guessed that one day they would move on, and even before his death they had his blessing.
Then again, it’s all of a piece with his unwavering love of life. Being the only heir to a thousand-year-old dynasty, his father had tried to drill into him young that survival was a duty, that it was the first duty of a ruler. (An argument could be made that he was right.) But Septimus loved to laugh, to have a little simple, even silly fun.
He’s not all light-hearted fun, though. Sometimes his unyielding insistence on right and wrong can take a turn for the painful. It has, in the past, ended in the public humiliation of a once-friend for having taken advantage of a broken girl. And because of the circumstances, he wasn’t afraid to do it. It also brought him into conflict with his more conservative father rather frequently. They didn’t get along, as a rule, even though they did love each other very much. They just never expressed it well—and between that and being a little too driven in his determination to set things right, he has very little concept of what a functional family is.
His love of his family and his realm is, however, one of the cornerstones of his life. The two go hand-in-hand—as the heir to the crown, there was really no other option. He fell in love with his wife for any number of reasons, high among them that he could trust her. Trust is worth ten times more than gold at least, in Alera, especially for a man like Septimus. Combined with his stubbornness, he defied even direct orders as to his marriage, rejecting nobility, wealth, and all the usual jazz for someone with integrity equal to his own. After all, someone like that would be nothing but good for his people. He wanted to do what was right by them both more than anything, and to have them together. It was a feeling he valued in others, too—he hated the cold manipulativeness of Aleran politics.
Despite his distaste for those underhanded games, Septimus is not unaware of those nuances, nor is he incapable of handling them. When the assassination attempts against him started, he saw it somewhat before most (or any) others, though this might have been due to sheer instinct. He also independently found men talented enough to follow evidence he found to try to stop it. Unfortunately, he is a little too unsubtle and lacking in cunning.
He is not, however, unintelligent, being a talented military commander, equally through inspiring loyalty, training, and instinct. Though calculation is not usually in his nature, for a battle it will come out. He seeks to protect life—but he does know how to tally the cost. Somewhat despite himself, he has a deep-set pragmatism which will drive him to do whatever is necessary. Nonetheless he believes in other kinds of strength than sheer power or ability to kill.
Hating when he needs to draw on that part of him as he does, Septimus rarely allows anyone to see how much it or anything really troubles him. His usual response to frustration or pain is to grin through it—sharp and sardonic, sometimes even with a rather twisted kind of humor. With his position and duties, he doesn’t entirely know anymore how to really confide in more than a handful of people. And, really, he prefers it that way. Those moments of uncertainty are something the Princeps rarely allows anyone to see. Despite his gregarious nature and enjoyment of company, in that way he is as lonely as many more socially inept in his family.
A little known fact about the House of Gaius: they’ve got a hereditary precognitive gift of sorts. With it goes an insight about people, places, or events which sometimes takes a few leaps past logic. One way this plays out is simply knowing about something weeks or months in advance, frequently without even noticing; he may also simply have unconscious insight and/or knowledge about a person.
The less pronounced, less obviously ‘predictive’ manifestations is an undefinable sense about something—a feeling in the air or land or, as it is described elsewhere, a kind of certainty without emotion. It frequently manifests as a bizarre kind of certainty that doesn’t stem from arrogance or stupidity, from wishful thinking or educated guessing, just a Fact.
Sometimes it lends itself to a much deeper flash spontaneous and extensive understanding, seeing a pattern no one else can. Sep has come to rely on those instincts and predictive abilities over the years, even if not entirely consciously. In fact, he probably relies on it too much, as he does on the simple knowledge of his strength of furycrafting and his training. It makes him more reckless and overconfident than he should be sometimes.
Another of those family traits forms a fundamental, even founding principle of his soul: the passion of the House of Gaius. It’s a personal passion for something impersonal and utterly abstract; at full force, they can at least daze most empaths or psychics. Their anger, when fully provoked, takes a step beyond to something almost elemental. In the same way, the drive to shape a better, brighter future for Alera and her people both great and small burns with nearly all-consuming determination. The certainty and uncanny knowledge from their hereditary gift plays into it, too, combining elation, cold pragmatism, wonderment, and dread into something to convoluted to name.
Taken all together, that devotion and swirling complexity everyone in that family shares, the drive against any and all forces more powerful than they are, is something frankly only just this side of reason and sanity. And sometimes, in some of them, it may cross the line.
Septimus has that same passion, but it remains far more controlled and even, by contrast, somewhat quieter than others in his family. The lengths he would go to are always more reasonable, more simple in their enlightenment, and certainly less wily. It is that reason and care for others which contributes to his charisma, which always made people willing to follow that path. He isn’t to simply toss the book and rework it all from the ground up. Despite his power with crafting, and his popularity with people, this makes Septimus oddly less dangerous than he might have been.
Idealistic, almost (but only almost) unreasoningly passionate, vibrant, inspiring, full of integrity on a jaded playing field, and at some level nurturing a kind of joy: they make up the personality which was so magnetic in Alera, and which gave so many people hope. And he loves his Realm and his family more than his life.
Quite literally, which is kind of a shame, really.
BONUS ROUND:
Everything above is who he is at his core, and his usual personality. There are, however a few hefty changes for Tu Shanshu, purely due to circumstances.
Septimus has just come out of a devastatingly bloody battle, during which he failed to protect his friends, his soldiers, and many civilians, or even really fight the attacking forces. He was a little busy being brutally assassinated by some of his own countrymen.
He has incredible PTSD right now.
Still, given his personality and a lifetime of training in Aleran politics, he’ll do his best to cover that fear and grief and act as though nothing’s wrong. In Keeliai he doesn’t have to be Princeps. He’ll try to just take it easy, explore and get to know this strange after-life—well, better after-life than the oblivion of death, no? He’s a cheerful sort as a rule, and whether consciously or not believes firmly that surviving isn’t worth it if you don’t live. He’ll try to make the best of it. And, as he did at home, he’ll smile to cover the pain.
Oh yeah, and he’ll try to stay out of the politics. Politics got him killed. He’s officially sick of it. Chances are good he’ll fail miserably to follow through on that.
Appearance:
The men of the House of Gaius seem to be almost tediously alike. Several times throughout the course of the books the resemblance is noted. He is probably about six-foot-four, maybe more, broad-shouldered and with muscles built from years of wearing full Roman-style armor. He’s built along slender more than solid-brick-wall lines in shape. His dark hair will likely be curly if he ever grows it out more than the standard, military crop he’s had for years. His face is described as being ‘thin-featured, stark, handsome.’ Most notable, though, are his eyes, which are a vibrant grass green in color.
Abilities:
Furycrafting
AKA Elemental Spirit Magic, AKA Not Actually Avatar-world Bending
An overview of furycrafting and a more in-depth section on healing. Yes, they are links. I wrote the pages in question, though. I recently (read: while writing this) got into a major debate as to whether furycrafting is magic, a psychic power, or a mutation. (And, of course, then there’s the whole argument about those, etc.) I think given the nature of the rules and behavior, it’s probably classified under magic. Clarifications and specifics:
As far as crafting’s applications in-game: there are a couple ways of approaching crafting. One is as pulling on, essentially, ambient motes of energy. This has been shown to function not-in-Alera-proper (other continents). The other is of calling on distinct, concrete, manifest furies. These have a shape and frequently (though not always) a crafter will name them. (No one ever says “I Choose You, Poké-fury!” The sentiment is there.) While some of them may be stronger around certain locations, or vaguely associated with a landmark—a local river, say—they’re really more shaping energy to a specific form in the crafter’s thoughts. It’s almost like a summon spell, except the thing summoned is internal. There is the ‘talk to local great furies’—spirits of major landmarks, basically—‘and get them to do stuff’ ability, but that’s at the mercy of the setting. Sep can’t exactly pull the local mountain where he died along with him.
The House of Gaius is approximately the strongest bloodline as far as crafting goes; the First Lord is the most powerful crafter in the Realm at any given time. Even for their family, though, Gaius Sextus is remarkably powerful and subtle, and Septimus was almost as powerful as his father. (He set the nursery on fire when he was five.) He can do approximately anything on that page, though some of the more creative applications may not occur to him, and some of the subtler stuff will not occur/be difficult for him. He will likely start off slightly underpowered, just as he gets used to the feel of the Turtle.
Note: Both projective and receptive empathy only work in the physical presence of the people in question. Seriously, no vid-mind-reading going on.
Other:
- Septimus can block just about any empathic scan and more minor telepathic ones.
- He actually is highly conversant in political theory and How To Play That Game, tracking down conspiracies, etc. He just wasn’t ruthless enough to survive Aleran politics.
- Talented military tactician/strategist
- With or without metalcrafting, Septimus is a phenomenal swordsman. Certainly of his day and age he was one of the top five, some thought the best (although suspected by many that Araris Valerian quietly faked being just a bit worse than his Princeps). He’s not a prodigy with a bow the same way, but in general he’s been highly, highly trained in combat. In orders of specialty, he probably goes swords, knives, unarmed, bow, and then ‘whatever is handy’ for skill—discounting his crafting, of course.
- Septimus has a touch of foresight and insight (see personality for some of this) which goes beyond simply good logic or wisdom. One of his bodyguards used to keep a notebook on things Septimus would mention offhandedly, frequently (even usually) without even noticing, all of which wouldn’t turn up for weeks or even months afterward. Hand in hand with that he has preternatural instincts about people—Who They Are As A Person, or just intuit something a little close to the bone. He can’t necessarily focus it, though, although possibly if he tries really hard he can get something, but mostly it’s unconscious.
(Optional bonus: sometimes he does notice his more concrete predictions. At least one day I think he did. This is total speculation, but I suspect it is likely. There is a major, major spoiler in that post--not Tavi, he's obvious--so avoid it if you're actually going to read books five and six.)
Inventory:
As Septimus is coming from straight off the battlefield at Calderon, he’ll have his armor and uniform (helm included), probably longsword and gladius, and a dagger.
Suite:
Two options, I’ll leave it to you which is more appropriate:
FI-3B: Temper, royalty, and also there are obviously no failure modes of Septimus in the same complex with Lina, Tarrlok, and Harley, nope, not a one; or WA-3A: water = healing for him and boy does he need it, and again the combo of Favrielle, Namorita, and Amon is a lolarious building make-up.
In-Character Samples:
It was the business of moments: unearthing the documents case with its precious cargo—proof of marriage, and the child’s legitimacy—and handing it to Araris, followed by the signet dagger of the Princeps of Alera. It had hurt obscurely, to let it go. After so many years, it was like a friend, or a part of him. He knew it almost more by touch than by sight or even by shape, even though that appearance gave it power.
Appearance could be faked. But the metal was real. The weight was real. The hum of furies was real.
It was strange not to feel that perpetual presence at his hip.
And then Araris was gone, and Sep was alone. A moment’s careful sensing told him no one was near, for the moment—
And he sagged, leaning his weight on the table. The men couldn’t see. His singulares, even Araris, and furies forbid Isana: none of them could see the Princeps at a loss. They were all so uncertain. No, they were all so certain in the worst of their expectations. Only metalcrafting kept the swirl of fear, anger, hysteria—and worst of all, despair—from having him nearly unconscious from the strain. Sep forced himself not to think about what his wife would feel right now.
A small smile touched the young Princeps' lips. No. Your place isn’t with me today, Araris. I didn’t send you with her because of my uncertainty for myself. I sent you because I’m certain they’ll live. That thought shone still. Even as the chaos of the camp fractured Legion training, and the death waiting in the east poisoned the air. (The east haunted him: it wasn’t the Marat, the Marat he could fight. Maybe he wouldn’t win, but he didn’t fear that. What was it?) But he couldn’t waste time contemplating his own future. In the end, it didn’t matter. He knew one thing. His family would live. His Realm would live.
The crows can try to take me. It was a good thing there was no one to see that smile—the savage joy and grim determination and controlled terror and melancholy acceptance he could never show, all confined to the movements of a few muscles. I’ll make them pay in blood for it. And either way, they've already lost.
Closing his eyes for a moment, he nodded once. He drew on the metal of his blade, its serenity, and forced down the storm of feelings. All except one.
I love you, Isana, Octavian. I’ll keep you safe.
Network:
…remarkable, if there were some way to—
[Whatever the thought is, it’s cut off with a pensive hum, and a few moments later the feed clicks from audio to video. A handsome young man peers rather bemusedly at the screen.] I suppose anyone’s wanderlust should be satisfied by a location this… unconventional.
If what they say is true, though—about this place being between states of life and death, or really awake and dreaming—does that mean someone dreamed of all this? [He smiles faintly, his bright green eyes sparkling with mildly sardonic humor.] I think I’d like to speak to whoever did. Find out what else they might dream up.
[Beat.
Very clearly unable to stop himself:]
Are there only the five sectors of the city? I would have expected one for wind.
Name: Lee
Age: 21+
Contact: AIM: fractaldawn
Game Cast: Lois Lane (DC Comics) -
wherethestoryis - ACCharacter Information:
Name: Gaius Septimus (Sep)
Canon: Codex Alera
Canon Point: 15 years pre-canon, when he’s just died.
Age: ~28 (Even semi-exact dates are rarely given; this is an admittedly younger-side guesstimate based on canon information).
Reference: Here’s Wikipedia on it. I will toss in this attempt at a canon timeline.
Setting:
“That was the history of his people, after all. The Alerans had never let fear or the odds of failure deter them from overcoming, prospering. Their oldest histories, his uncle had once told him, reached so far back into time that the hide and vellum and stone they had been scribed upon had worn away…
Carna is the cosmic dumping ground of the Bermuda Triangle.
Even on a continent approximately the size of the continental United States, at least half a dozen different species—from all across worlds and times—have been unceremoniously stranded and left to make a new life for themselves in a strange, harsh world. They fought other races, fought each other, killed and died, and who knows how many over the millennia have been forgotten altogether. Some of the more enduring races live on other continents: the Marat, pale almost-humans with a strange bond to totem animals, on a continent to the east; the Icemen, mysterious creatures (read: yeti) manipulating snow and ice along the polar seas; and the Canim, nine foot wolfmen with a warrior culture and frightening blood magic (read: summoning eldritch abominations, no joke). They and all the other species unceremoniously dropped came the same way—simple accident. (Except, that is, for a strange crater and the bug-like hive-mind creatures who live in it. They came from space.) And even for these powerful species, Carna was a trial, and one little continent fought over by them and many others.
And then, one day, a band of eleven thousand got stranded there.
“…They had come to Carna from another place, a small band of only a few thousand, and had found themselves pitched against an entire world…”
They were smaller and weaker than everything else around them, and of that number only somewhat more than half were even combatants. They were left in a world with frightening races, cruel weather, no basis of support, and no way to return home. They could only fight.
Unfortunately for everyone else on that continent, they were Romans.
One Roman Legion, including some Germanic mercenaries hired as auxiliary troops, plus the inevitable civilians who followed the camp: cooks, domestics, prostitutes, merchants, thieves, smiths and the occasional artisan. (I'm pretty sure they vanished in the first or second century CE, but I don't recall which Legion.) As their only options were grimly determined survival or rolling over to die, the Roman reacted predictably. Unlike some groups who got stranded, though, they were a fighting force to begin with, and one from a culture fond of standardizing its military. So they organized, and they fought. Systematically they won their battles, got settled, then won still more battles.
“…They had overcome the Icemen, the Children of the Sun and their stronghold in the Feverthorn Jungle, had repelled the Marat and the Canim over the centuries to claim the land of Alera as their own. They controlled the seas around their home, had walled out the Icemen in the north, overcome the Marat through sheer savage fighting…”
As the years went by they fought on, and slowly began to dominate the continent. As they did, race after race got exterminated altogether. The last to go were the Children of the Sun, a mysterious culture which used to live in the Feverthorn Jungle, in south-east Alera. No one has gotten into the jungle since, though, so no one really knows what happened.
In the end the tide turned in great part thanks to an astonishing talent: furycrafting. Sometime during those first thousand years the proto-Alerans established themselves on the continent, they developed the ability to use what they call ‘furycrafting.’ Functionally it is elemental spirit crafting.
Furycrafting comes in six elements: wind, earth, water, fire, wood, and metal. It drew on the wild furies—what the proto-Alerans termed the raging spirits of the land. Windmanes stormed and raked the fields; they could even kill. Legends sprang up of Great Furies, furies so large and powerful they could eradicate whole areas if they wished it. Most were uncertain if they were real. (Spoiler: They are.)
As years went on, they discovered the uses of their crafting, deepened their understanding of it, and eventually every Aleran could use crafting. It comes in different strengths: some can do little more than turn on furylamps (flick a light-switch); some are legendary powerhouses, capable of feats such as slowing the thaw, calming earthquakes or hurricanes, igniting volcanoes. They used their new weapon with their typical deadly efficiency, and began establishing their cities and spreading over the continent. And, as they grew more secure and widespread, they began to fight amongst each other. Their infighting left them vulnerable, and soon their internal strife only helped the other races in their quest to exterminate the proto-Alerans.
Finally, about a thousand years after the Roman legion arrived, a powerful Aleran crafter and leader, utterly sick of it all, grew determined to prevent the extinction of his people. Forcibly beating the rest of them into a centrally-governed empire, he established a capital—Alera Imperia—in the center of the continent. And thus Gaius Primus became First Lord of the brand-new realm of Alera.
Being descended from Romans, many of their places are named for places and people they no longer remember. Their major cities remain distinctly Roman in nature. The country, however, became populated with steadholts—farming communities, almost like ranches, with the Steadholder as a cross between owner, rancher, and local mayor.
The society remained very Roman as well, though with some changes. There are slaves, then freemen—not slaves, but disenfranchised all the same. Then come the Citizenry, a kind of low nobility. However, even among them, there are the counts and lords. Steadholders also function as a kind of citizen locally, authority wise, but in the grander scheme they are not. Steadholders generally apply to the local Lord (or High Lord, rather) for the land to settle.
Unlike in Rome, however, becoming a Citizen was based primarily on crafting. A person (usually with connections) who challenged and won in the juris macto (trial by combat, generally including crafting) would gain Citizen status. Despite this, however, generally children of Citizens—especially high enough ranked—will kind of hand-wave-ishly end up earning their own Citizen status. Additionally, Citizens were technically obligated to contribute to the defense of the Realm, duty to go with privilege, though everyone had some compulsory service with the Legions (as followers or soldiers). Of course, as strength of crafting is the key to Aleran society (and survival), Citizens are also required by law to marry and have children with other Citizens. Women are, naturally, even more disenfranchised as a whole; they mostly only gain Citizen status through marriage. A few earn it in their own right, however.
Despite the civil wars, continued eradication of other races, and standard intrigue, Alera remained standing, remained whole—or at least, the First Lords made sure to reintegrate any parts which tried to escape. In the thousand years or so since Alera was founded, her people remain the only inhabitants of Carna to have begun furycrafting. Since then, almost everyone has forgotten their Roman roots. Certainly the names have been lost; they seem to have no religion, either. (Approximately.) Many do not even believe that there was a time when their people didn’t furycraft.
The empire now consists of twelve major cities and High Houses, and covers the entire continent—and the House of Gaius still retains the Crown.
“…With their furies and their furycrafting, the Alerans dominated the world, and no other race or peoples could claim mastery over them.”
( Furies of Calderon -- Chapter 34)
However, the years have taken their toll. Through the various upheavals (they’re a fractious bunch, after all) the House of Gaius has slowly been dying off over the millennium. They remain the family with the strongest crafting—the First Lord always exceeds everyone else in strength—but today there is only one branch of the line left, and the line hasn’t been particularly fruitful lately. In fact, it’s been linear father-to-only-son for seven generations, ending with the current First Lord, Gaius Sextus, and his son. Many of the other families have reason to bear a grudge against the House of Gaius, too. The balance of power has rarely been quite so delicate.
Gaius Sextus was approximately in his sixties when his son, Princeps Septimus was an adult. Something of a radical, Septimus became one of the first Citizens to actually speak out in favor of abolition. He and his more conservative father frequently disagreed, quite loudly—as Sextus put it, as a rule, they didn’t get along. Septimus was much more popular than his father, too. He had an integrity which inspired loyalty, and many people, from slaves up to some of the High Lords, regarded him as hope for Alera’s future.
However, in his youth he made some enemies of others of the Lords. When he was in his twenties, a series of assassination attempts began. Between his own crafting and skills and those of his bodyguards—among them his closest friend Araris Valerian, probably the best swordsman in generations, if not Aleran history—he survived them. However, finally one was too close a call, and Sextus sent him to Calderon Valley with the Crown Legion to Calderon Valley in the east to recuperate, far from anyone.
Septimus protested. He was overruled. In the end, he was right. Just before his planned departure, a horde of the Marat—on the other side of the isthmus—invaded in force, four clans or more. The Crown Legion was completely overwhelmed. The Marat later called it the Field of Fools: tens of thousands, combatants and non-combatants, Aleran and Marat alike, died in the Valley that day. The Legion was eradicated.
And with it died the last heir of the House of Gaius.
Worse, very few know or guess--and no one not involved can prove--that the Princeps didn't die at the hands of the Marat. He was assassinated by Alerans under cover of the fighting.
The future of the Realm is more uncertain than ever before. High Lords gather their resources, try to position themselves for the inevitable civil war for the Crown once Gaius Sextus dies—or they even try to take it early. Too many carry grudges against the First Lord, whether for being a Gaius or for failing to protect his son. Alera’s hope is gone.
That’s the running popular theory, anyway. Thing is, Septimus failed to communicate some vital information to any of his friends outside Calderon. He didn’t even tell his parents.
“The course of history is determined […] by the actions of the individual. […] If there is any lesson to be learned from history, it is that […] in that dire moment of uncertainty, that person’s decision, good or bad, right or wrong, big or small, can unwittingly change the world.
But history can be quite the slattern. One never knows who that person is, where he might be, or what decision he might make.
It is almost enough to make me believe in Destiny.
- FROM THE WRITINGS OF GAIUS PRIMUS, FIRST LORD OF ALERA
(Furies of Calderon - Prologue)
How different would Alera's future be if Gaius Septimus had fathered a legitimate son?
But that’s not his story.
Personality:
Septimus is vibrant. He tends to feel very strongly as a person, even before the peculiarities of his family play into it. He is also incredibly expressive, something not entirely common in the Aleran high nobility, all of whom are used to hiding their true feelings. He can too, of course—but it generally isn’t something he feels inclined to do. Some of that brilliance came from a sheer love of life which superseded many other emotions. Then, too, his liberality of thought—and politics—also contributed heavily in a society beginning to stagnate. He is never afraid to voice his opinion; he was one of the first of the nobility to actually speak out against slavery.
In general in his manners and convictions he consistently and mostly unconsciously projected a sense of integrity which consistently drew attention, loyalty, hope, and love from people, through any reasonable and some unreasonable action—at least, the ones who weren’t inconvenienced by his ideals. Sep’s fundamental refusal to give in (god help you if you try to win an argument against him, especially if he isn’t open to being convinced) added to that to create a nearly indomitable force of personality. Most people he could just override with it, although those he loved most never let him get away with too much.
It isn’t just in the case of one or two specific issues that he has that idealism, though. For any number of reasons—to try to live a life more full than confined to Citizen and palace life, to get to know his people, and just out of sheer restlessness and wanderlust—Septimus would frequently take trips, incognito, to see the Realm. It helped him see the many hardships and injustices in the empire he would one day rule, and his sense of right and wrong always objected strongly. He generally tried to fix whatever he saw for the better.
With all his talent, charisma, and easy success, Sep can be more than a little arrogant at times. It is noted that he always expected other people to act with the grace he exhibited. This is only reinforced by the number of enemies he turned into friends. As a result, he sometimes disregards social wounds which could fester and turn into something far uglier. Even then, he is naturally disposed to believe he can handle whatever is thrown his way. Whether or not he is conscious of it, or wants to admit to it, he is the crown prince and was raised as such. Conditioned to only really answer to his parents as an adult, he will generally be coolly unimpressed with many kinds of authority. He will be graceful, of course, and not make a fuss if there is no reason—but he does not take orders. He’s trained to give them.
The arrogance, of course, lends itself to somewhat excessive fearlessness. He’ll risk himself at the front of a battle, even when it’s inappropriate. Between that courage and his talent, on a battlefield he is a walking natural disaster. (Literally, in some cases.) It may have helped earn him the loyalty of the Legion and admiration of many, but it was also a huge risk—one which cost him his life. Still, it was rather of a piece with him, that determination to live as much of life as he could, regardless of the risk. He believes firmly, even if he never articulated it, that life is richer for the tears and pain that go with the laughter and brightness. Coupled with his stubbornness, it explains some of his more adventurous episodes—such as braving severe seasickness to hang out with pirates.
He can be short-tempered as well, particularly if something offends his sense of right and wrong. Though he heats up quickly, cools off fairly quickly, too. His cheerful grace afterward is one of those aspects which kept some—though not all—of the people he would best from outright hating him for it. Of course, he could also dismiss some of those grudges as basically unimportant. Impatience is another one of his greater failings. He has little tolerance for fools, and can be almost flippant about attitudes in authority he doesn’t care for—including his father.
Septimus is a genuinely kind man, and a generous one. He’ll treat anyone with respect unless they give him serious reason not to. From making sure any refugee or victim got shelter—and then justice—to a simple offer of a job to two young freewomen in dire straits, he did his best to alleviate suffering where he could find it. Even if it was simply being friendly on an incognito jaunt, he hated to see pain. One of the odder and more telling cases of that giving spirit was his acute awareness that Araris—his best friend—was in love with his wife. He said nothing, as he fully trusted his friend, but when he suspected he was marked for death, he sent Araris with Isana—not just for her safety, but for her well-being and care on a personal level. He had to have known or guessed that one day they would move on, and even before his death they had his blessing.
Then again, it’s all of a piece with his unwavering love of life. Being the only heir to a thousand-year-old dynasty, his father had tried to drill into him young that survival was a duty, that it was the first duty of a ruler. (An argument could be made that he was right.) But Septimus loved to laugh, to have a little simple, even silly fun.
He’s not all light-hearted fun, though. Sometimes his unyielding insistence on right and wrong can take a turn for the painful. It has, in the past, ended in the public humiliation of a once-friend for having taken advantage of a broken girl. And because of the circumstances, he wasn’t afraid to do it. It also brought him into conflict with his more conservative father rather frequently. They didn’t get along, as a rule, even though they did love each other very much. They just never expressed it well—and between that and being a little too driven in his determination to set things right, he has very little concept of what a functional family is.
His love of his family and his realm is, however, one of the cornerstones of his life. The two go hand-in-hand—as the heir to the crown, there was really no other option. He fell in love with his wife for any number of reasons, high among them that he could trust her. Trust is worth ten times more than gold at least, in Alera, especially for a man like Septimus. Combined with his stubbornness, he defied even direct orders as to his marriage, rejecting nobility, wealth, and all the usual jazz for someone with integrity equal to his own. After all, someone like that would be nothing but good for his people. He wanted to do what was right by them both more than anything, and to have them together. It was a feeling he valued in others, too—he hated the cold manipulativeness of Aleran politics.
Despite his distaste for those underhanded games, Septimus is not unaware of those nuances, nor is he incapable of handling them. When the assassination attempts against him started, he saw it somewhat before most (or any) others, though this might have been due to sheer instinct. He also independently found men talented enough to follow evidence he found to try to stop it. Unfortunately, he is a little too unsubtle and lacking in cunning.
He is not, however, unintelligent, being a talented military commander, equally through inspiring loyalty, training, and instinct. Though calculation is not usually in his nature, for a battle it will come out. He seeks to protect life—but he does know how to tally the cost. Somewhat despite himself, he has a deep-set pragmatism which will drive him to do whatever is necessary. Nonetheless he believes in other kinds of strength than sheer power or ability to kill.
Hating when he needs to draw on that part of him as he does, Septimus rarely allows anyone to see how much it or anything really troubles him. His usual response to frustration or pain is to grin through it—sharp and sardonic, sometimes even with a rather twisted kind of humor. With his position and duties, he doesn’t entirely know anymore how to really confide in more than a handful of people. And, really, he prefers it that way. Those moments of uncertainty are something the Princeps rarely allows anyone to see. Despite his gregarious nature and enjoyment of company, in that way he is as lonely as many more socially inept in his family.
A little known fact about the House of Gaius: they’ve got a hereditary precognitive gift of sorts. With it goes an insight about people, places, or events which sometimes takes a few leaps past logic. One way this plays out is simply knowing about something weeks or months in advance, frequently without even noticing; he may also simply have unconscious insight and/or knowledge about a person.
The less pronounced, less obviously ‘predictive’ manifestations is an undefinable sense about something—a feeling in the air or land or, as it is described elsewhere, a kind of certainty without emotion. It frequently manifests as a bizarre kind of certainty that doesn’t stem from arrogance or stupidity, from wishful thinking or educated guessing, just a Fact.
“Did you ever have a bad feeling about something? Like you knew something bad was about to happen? […] No. This isn’t like [nightmares]. […] I know. I know it like I know that water’s wet. That two and two is four. There’s no malice or fear attached to it. It just is.” – Cursor’s Fury, Chapter 3
Sometimes it lends itself to a much deeper flash spontaneous and extensive understanding, seeing a pattern no one else can. Sep has come to rely on those instincts and predictive abilities over the years, even if not entirely consciously. In fact, he probably relies on it too much, as he does on the simple knowledge of his strength of furycrafting and his training. It makes him more reckless and overconfident than he should be sometimes.
Another of those family traits forms a fundamental, even founding principle of his soul: the passion of the House of Gaius. It’s a personal passion for something impersonal and utterly abstract; at full force, they can at least daze most empaths or psychics. Their anger, when fully provoked, takes a step beyond to something almost elemental. In the same way, the drive to shape a better, brighter future for Alera and her people both great and small burns with nearly all-consuming determination. The certainty and uncanny knowledge from their hereditary gift plays into it, too, combining elation, cold pragmatism, wonderment, and dread into something to convoluted to name.
Taken all together, that devotion and swirling complexity everyone in that family shares, the drive against any and all forces more powerful than they are, is something frankly only just this side of reason and sanity. And sometimes, in some of them, it may cross the line.
Septimus has that same passion, but it remains far more controlled and even, by contrast, somewhat quieter than others in his family. The lengths he would go to are always more reasonable, more simple in their enlightenment, and certainly less wily. It is that reason and care for others which contributes to his charisma, which always made people willing to follow that path. He isn’t to simply toss the book and rework it all from the ground up. Despite his power with crafting, and his popularity with people, this makes Septimus oddly less dangerous than he might have been.
Idealistic, almost (but only almost) unreasoningly passionate, vibrant, inspiring, full of integrity on a jaded playing field, and at some level nurturing a kind of joy: they make up the personality which was so magnetic in Alera, and which gave so many people hope. And he loves his Realm and his family more than his life.
Quite literally, which is kind of a shame, really.
BONUS ROUND:
Everything above is who he is at his core, and his usual personality. There are, however a few hefty changes for Tu Shanshu, purely due to circumstances.
Septimus has just come out of a devastatingly bloody battle, during which he failed to protect his friends, his soldiers, and many civilians, or even really fight the attacking forces. He was a little busy being brutally assassinated by some of his own countrymen.
He has incredible PTSD right now.
Still, given his personality and a lifetime of training in Aleran politics, he’ll do his best to cover that fear and grief and act as though nothing’s wrong. In Keeliai he doesn’t have to be Princeps. He’ll try to just take it easy, explore and get to know this strange after-life—well, better after-life than the oblivion of death, no? He’s a cheerful sort as a rule, and whether consciously or not believes firmly that surviving isn’t worth it if you don’t live. He’ll try to make the best of it. And, as he did at home, he’ll smile to cover the pain.
Oh yeah, and he’ll try to stay out of the politics. Politics got him killed. He’s officially sick of it. Chances are good he’ll fail miserably to follow through on that.
Appearance:
The men of the House of Gaius seem to be almost tediously alike. Several times throughout the course of the books the resemblance is noted. He is probably about six-foot-four, maybe more, broad-shouldered and with muscles built from years of wearing full Roman-style armor. He’s built along slender more than solid-brick-wall lines in shape. His dark hair will likely be curly if he ever grows it out more than the standard, military crop he’s had for years. His face is described as being ‘thin-featured, stark, handsome.’ Most notable, though, are his eyes, which are a vibrant grass green in color.
Abilities:
Furycrafting
AKA Elemental Spirit Magic, AKA Not Actually Avatar-world Bending
An overview of furycrafting and a more in-depth section on healing. Yes, they are links. I wrote the pages in question, though. I recently (read: while writing this) got into a major debate as to whether furycrafting is magic, a psychic power, or a mutation. (And, of course, then there’s the whole argument about those, etc.) I think given the nature of the rules and behavior, it’s probably classified under magic. Clarifications and specifics:
As far as crafting’s applications in-game: there are a couple ways of approaching crafting. One is as pulling on, essentially, ambient motes of energy. This has been shown to function not-in-Alera-proper (other continents). The other is of calling on distinct, concrete, manifest furies. These have a shape and frequently (though not always) a crafter will name them. (No one ever says “I Choose You, Poké-fury!” The sentiment is there.) While some of them may be stronger around certain locations, or vaguely associated with a landmark—a local river, say—they’re really more shaping energy to a specific form in the crafter’s thoughts. It’s almost like a summon spell, except the thing summoned is internal. There is the ‘talk to local great furies’—spirits of major landmarks, basically—‘and get them to do stuff’ ability, but that’s at the mercy of the setting. Sep can’t exactly pull the local mountain where he died along with him.
The House of Gaius is approximately the strongest bloodline as far as crafting goes; the First Lord is the most powerful crafter in the Realm at any given time. Even for their family, though, Gaius Sextus is remarkably powerful and subtle, and Septimus was almost as powerful as his father. (He set the nursery on fire when he was five.) He can do approximately anything on that page, though some of the more creative applications may not occur to him, and some of the subtler stuff will not occur/be difficult for him. He will likely start off slightly underpowered, just as he gets used to the feel of the Turtle.
Note: Both projective and receptive empathy only work in the physical presence of the people in question. Seriously, no vid-mind-reading going on.
Other:
- Septimus can block just about any empathic scan and more minor telepathic ones.
- He actually is highly conversant in political theory and How To Play That Game, tracking down conspiracies, etc. He just wasn’t ruthless enough to survive Aleran politics.
- Talented military tactician/strategist
- With or without metalcrafting, Septimus is a phenomenal swordsman. Certainly of his day and age he was one of the top five, some thought the best (although suspected by many that Araris Valerian quietly faked being just a bit worse than his Princeps). He’s not a prodigy with a bow the same way, but in general he’s been highly, highly trained in combat. In orders of specialty, he probably goes swords, knives, unarmed, bow, and then ‘whatever is handy’ for skill—discounting his crafting, of course.
- Septimus has a touch of foresight and insight (see personality for some of this) which goes beyond simply good logic or wisdom. One of his bodyguards used to keep a notebook on things Septimus would mention offhandedly, frequently (even usually) without even noticing, all of which wouldn’t turn up for weeks or even months afterward. Hand in hand with that he has preternatural instincts about people—Who They Are As A Person, or just intuit something a little close to the bone. He can’t necessarily focus it, though, although possibly if he tries really hard he can get something, but mostly it’s unconscious.
(Optional bonus: sometimes he does notice his more concrete predictions. At least one day I think he did. This is total speculation, but I suspect it is likely. There is a major, major spoiler in that post--not Tavi, he's obvious--so avoid it if you're actually going to read books five and six.)
Inventory:
As Septimus is coming from straight off the battlefield at Calderon, he’ll have his armor and uniform (helm included), probably longsword and gladius, and a dagger.
Suite:
Two options, I’ll leave it to you which is more appropriate:
FI-3B: Temper, royalty, and also there are obviously no failure modes of Septimus in the same complex with Lina, Tarrlok, and Harley, nope, not a one; or WA-3A: water = healing for him and boy does he need it, and again the combo of Favrielle, Namorita, and Amon is a lolarious building make-up.
In-Character Samples:
“I’ll watch over her.”
Septimus clapped his arm gently, his tone warm. “Thank you.”
- Cursor’s Fury, Chapter 47
It was the business of moments: unearthing the documents case with its precious cargo—proof of marriage, and the child’s legitimacy—and handing it to Araris, followed by the signet dagger of the Princeps of Alera. It had hurt obscurely, to let it go. After so many years, it was like a friend, or a part of him. He knew it almost more by touch than by sight or even by shape, even though that appearance gave it power.
Appearance could be faked. But the metal was real. The weight was real. The hum of furies was real.
It was strange not to feel that perpetual presence at his hip.
And then Araris was gone, and Sep was alone. A moment’s careful sensing told him no one was near, for the moment—
And he sagged, leaning his weight on the table. The men couldn’t see. His singulares, even Araris, and furies forbid Isana: none of them could see the Princeps at a loss. They were all so uncertain. No, they were all so certain in the worst of their expectations. Only metalcrafting kept the swirl of fear, anger, hysteria—and worst of all, despair—from having him nearly unconscious from the strain. Sep forced himself not to think about what his wife would feel right now.
A small smile touched the young Princeps' lips. No. Your place isn’t with me today, Araris. I didn’t send you with her because of my uncertainty for myself. I sent you because I’m certain they’ll live. That thought shone still. Even as the chaos of the camp fractured Legion training, and the death waiting in the east poisoned the air. (The east haunted him: it wasn’t the Marat, the Marat he could fight. Maybe he wouldn’t win, but he didn’t fear that. What was it?) But he couldn’t waste time contemplating his own future. In the end, it didn’t matter. He knew one thing. His family would live. His Realm would live.
The crows can try to take me. It was a good thing there was no one to see that smile—the savage joy and grim determination and controlled terror and melancholy acceptance he could never show, all confined to the movements of a few muscles. I’ll make them pay in blood for it. And either way, they've already lost.
Closing his eyes for a moment, he nodded once. He drew on the metal of his blade, its serenity, and forced down the storm of feelings. All except one.
I love you, Isana, Octavian. I’ll keep you safe.
Network:
…remarkable, if there were some way to—
[Whatever the thought is, it’s cut off with a pensive hum, and a few moments later the feed clicks from audio to video. A handsome young man peers rather bemusedly at the screen.] I suppose anyone’s wanderlust should be satisfied by a location this… unconventional.
If what they say is true, though—about this place being between states of life and death, or really awake and dreaming—does that mean someone dreamed of all this? [He smiles faintly, his bright green eyes sparkling with mildly sardonic humor.] I think I’d like to speak to whoever did. Find out what else they might dream up.
[Beat.
Very clearly unable to stop himself:]
Are there only the five sectors of the city? I would have expected one for wind.