Monday, June 23, 2008
On Agrinor, a planet in the Gelise system, creatures that are relatively humanoid in appearance have thrived there for about 30,000 Earth years. One section of the planet, the tribe of Riten, are considered the most advanced for this planet.
Riten have divided themselves into different castes that a child is born into. There are political castes, where the alleged "conquerers" are from. There are also magic-using castes, scientific castes, and many others. Some castes are based upon the looks of a child. WindRiders are such a caste.
Some children are born with wings, and these are considered "WindRiders". They are mostly used for carrying messages from place to place, and are considered inviolate by other tribes - unless the tribes are at war, then they are usually the first attacked. WindRiders are covered with a downy fur, have feathers for hair, and are lighter than their more humanoid (Walker) cousins. Many WindRiders are physically weaker than Walkers, but some have abilities that their cousins do not. Some can create ice around their bodies, but still be light enough to fly. Some have innate psychic abilities to rip others' minds apart. Still others have a special affinity with blades, plants, swords, or even are excellent brawlers in their own right.
One of these WindRiders was on a mission to deliver a message to a special mage. This mage thanked him by telling him he had learned a new spell that could "teleport" him directly back to the originator of the message. Unfortunately, something happened, and he was mistakenly teleported to a Circle of Thorns ceremony in Perez Park. Barely escaping with his life - he could not fly because the gravity on this planet was stronger than his own - he found his way to Atlas Park. There, he was able to meet up with a young man named Suicidal Wombat, who took him under his wing, so to speak, to teach him a little bit of the ways of Paragon City. Now with his ability with psychic fire, he has chosen to assist the heroes in their constant fight for justice and honor, values that he, as a visitor from a different planet, is beginning to learn. Meanwhile, Wombat has promised to find a way to get him back home.
Riten have divided themselves into different castes that a child is born into. There are political castes, where the alleged "conquerers" are from. There are also magic-using castes, scientific castes, and many others. Some castes are based upon the looks of a child. WindRiders are such a caste.
Some children are born with wings, and these are considered "WindRiders". They are mostly used for carrying messages from place to place, and are considered inviolate by other tribes - unless the tribes are at war, then they are usually the first attacked. WindRiders are covered with a downy fur, have feathers for hair, and are lighter than their more humanoid (Walker) cousins. Many WindRiders are physically weaker than Walkers, but some have abilities that their cousins do not. Some can create ice around their bodies, but still be light enough to fly. Some have innate psychic abilities to rip others' minds apart. Still others have a special affinity with blades, plants, swords, or even are excellent brawlers in their own right.
One of these WindRiders was on a mission to deliver a message to a special mage. This mage thanked him by telling him he had learned a new spell that could "teleport" him directly back to the originator of the message. Unfortunately, something happened, and he was mistakenly teleported to a Circle of Thorns ceremony in Perez Park. Barely escaping with his life - he could not fly because the gravity on this planet was stronger than his own - he found his way to Atlas Park. There, he was able to meet up with a young man named Suicidal Wombat, who took him under his wing, so to speak, to teach him a little bit of the ways of Paragon City. Now with his ability with psychic fire, he has chosen to assist the heroes in their constant fight for justice and honor, values that he, as a visitor from a different planet, is beginning to learn. Meanwhile, Wombat has promised to find a way to get him back home.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
June, 1995.
The man known as Powerhouse Jack sat in the air conditioned confines of Hero Corps, Mexico City. His Spanish was virtually non-existent, so he was lucky to be able to get here in the first place.
He waited for his interview for a job here. He had seen Luminary and, being that he was already a hero-for-hire with Freedom Incorporated, decided that the time of being stuck as the “big, dumb ox” was over. At Freedom Inc., he was a glorified strongman, going all across the world to end strikes or put the fear of God into some governments. His last stint in Yugoslavia, watching the dissolution of that state into smaller states, like Croatia and Bosnia, turned him away from heroing and more into rescuing. He did not want to find himself involved in that kind of a bloody conflict, where he didn’t know the sides.
“Good morning, Mr. Simon,” said a man coming up on his right side. He put down the magazine and looked up to see a man, who couldn’t have been older than late 20’s, standing at the door. “If you’ll come with me?”
Jack followed the young man quietly. If he was a hero, he thought, I think I’ll give up.
“Please be seated,” he said, letting him into a spacious office that overlooked the southern side of the city. No one sat at the desk, which was unusual to him. The young man left him without watching him sit down.
Jack sighed, went over to the window. He glanced at the desk, and stopped, seeing a folder with his name on it. It looked about half an inch thick. Jack was curious, but decided against looking at it. Instead he continued on to the window, looking outside. He heard the door open but didn’t turn around.
“Ah, Mr. Simon.”
Jack turned around to face a different man, this one with glasses and a beard, who smiled broadly and approached him.
He felt Lodestar’s presence strongly for a moment, and the man’s smile wavered just slightly. Now Jack smiled. “Get out of my head, mister,” he said quietly.
“Hm, you have a way to block me,” the man said. “That’s interesting and useful.”
“It’s also rude what you’re doing.”
“Nothing more than trying to put you at ease, Mr. Simon.”
Lodestar felt like a man leaning over him, his presence was that palatable. It did not feel very safe. “I was at ease until you tried invading my mind.”
“Please, I won’t do it again. Please, sit down.”
“What’s your name?” Jack demanded, moving to the seat across the desk.
“Jimmy McDaniel. I’m called Psylink.”
Jack only hmpfed at him as he sat down.
“We’ve looked over your resume, Mr. Simon. We can’t rightly tell if you’re a mutant or something else.”
“I am not a mutant, so I must be something else.”
“Something is keeping you young, because it says here you were with the Sand Kings, and we did find a Powerhouse Jack in that group.”
“You don’t believe I’m the same person?”
“Well,” laughed McDaniel, “It is rather hard to believe.”
“I see.” Jack got up from his chair. “You’re worse than the Phalanx. At least with Freedom Inc I don’t have to be interviewed by a sniveling, untrusting group of kids like you. I was at least given the respect I deserved.”
McDaniel said, “And you will.”
“Bullshit,” snapped Jack. “If you can’t trust me enough that you need to rifle through my mind, then I don’t need to be here.”
“Sir, wait!”
Jack had his hand on the door. Lodestar still sat on his shoulder like a cat. Jack crushed the handle of the door in his hand. “You’re too young to know,” he retorted, and yanked hard on the door. It came off its hinges, and Jack threw it into the room, where it landed on a spacious couch.
The man known as Powerhouse Jack sat in the air conditioned confines of Hero Corps, Mexico City. His Spanish was virtually non-existent, so he was lucky to be able to get here in the first place.
He waited for his interview for a job here. He had seen Luminary and, being that he was already a hero-for-hire with Freedom Incorporated, decided that the time of being stuck as the “big, dumb ox” was over. At Freedom Inc., he was a glorified strongman, going all across the world to end strikes or put the fear of God into some governments. His last stint in Yugoslavia, watching the dissolution of that state into smaller states, like Croatia and Bosnia, turned him away from heroing and more into rescuing. He did not want to find himself involved in that kind of a bloody conflict, where he didn’t know the sides.
“Good morning, Mr. Simon,” said a man coming up on his right side. He put down the magazine and looked up to see a man, who couldn’t have been older than late 20’s, standing at the door. “If you’ll come with me?”
Jack followed the young man quietly. If he was a hero, he thought, I think I’ll give up.
“Please be seated,” he said, letting him into a spacious office that overlooked the southern side of the city. No one sat at the desk, which was unusual to him. The young man left him without watching him sit down.
Jack sighed, went over to the window. He glanced at the desk, and stopped, seeing a folder with his name on it. It looked about half an inch thick. Jack was curious, but decided against looking at it. Instead he continued on to the window, looking outside. He heard the door open but didn’t turn around.
“Ah, Mr. Simon.”
Jack turned around to face a different man, this one with glasses and a beard, who smiled broadly and approached him.
He felt Lodestar’s presence strongly for a moment, and the man’s smile wavered just slightly. Now Jack smiled. “Get out of my head, mister,” he said quietly.
“Hm, you have a way to block me,” the man said. “That’s interesting and useful.”
“It’s also rude what you’re doing.”
“Nothing more than trying to put you at ease, Mr. Simon.”
Lodestar felt like a man leaning over him, his presence was that palatable. It did not feel very safe. “I was at ease until you tried invading my mind.”
“Please, I won’t do it again. Please, sit down.”
“What’s your name?” Jack demanded, moving to the seat across the desk.
“Jimmy McDaniel. I’m called Psylink.”
Jack only hmpfed at him as he sat down.
“We’ve looked over your resume, Mr. Simon. We can’t rightly tell if you’re a mutant or something else.”
“I am not a mutant, so I must be something else.”
“Something is keeping you young, because it says here you were with the Sand Kings, and we did find a Powerhouse Jack in that group.”
“You don’t believe I’m the same person?”
“Well,” laughed McDaniel, “It is rather hard to believe.”
“I see.” Jack got up from his chair. “You’re worse than the Phalanx. At least with Freedom Inc I don’t have to be interviewed by a sniveling, untrusting group of kids like you. I was at least given the respect I deserved.”
McDaniel said, “And you will.”
“Bullshit,” snapped Jack. “If you can’t trust me enough that you need to rifle through my mind, then I don’t need to be here.”
“Sir, wait!”
Jack had his hand on the door. Lodestar still sat on his shoulder like a cat. Jack crushed the handle of the door in his hand. “You’re too young to know,” he retorted, and yanked hard on the door. It came off its hinges, and Jack threw it into the room, where it landed on a spacious couch.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Jack looked up at his maid, who set the glass of orange juice down in front of him. “Thank you, Alicia.”
The big woman smiled at him. “Did your laundry again this morning?”
“You don’t need to know.”
“Your age is finally catching up with you?” She knew Jack’s true nature, just like most of the servants who grew up in the mansion with the eternally young Jack Simon. Jack only looked at her over the glass, a look that meant Don’t push. “Yes, sir,” she stated, and walked over to the kitchen door. She paused. “Will you be home for dinner, Mr. Simon?”
“I should be. Keep it warm for me.”
He had finished his patrol and was going to head home when he decided to call Elaine. He connected on the first ring. “Let me make it up to you,” he said after greeting. The night before, she had called him. Unfortunately that was his usual Friday drinking night, with his friend Shawn and some buddies down at some pub that they would crash. Shawn had taken the phone out of his hand and started talking to her, “A girl? You got big breasteses?”
Jack wanted to melt into the floor and kill Shawn at the same time. Elaine didn’t seem to mind it, but it bothered Jack to the very core. She was pretty, there was no doubt about it. But he had some scruples, some class.
She accepted his invitation, and they ended up, again, at Pocket D, though this time in the Tiki Lounge, where there was actual food and service. He tried to ignore her watching him, blushing slightly. “They have a salmon salad here,” she said.
“I was going to go for the chicken club. You get what you like.”
“Ok.” She flipped a page in the menu and announced, “In that case, I want a 10 oz T- bone with baked potato and a side salad.”
“How would you like that cooked?”
Elaine hid her surprise. “I was just joking, but if you're serious well done.”
“Do you want a drink to start?”
“Yes, a Mimosa would be nice.”
After calling over the waiter and placing an order for a jack and coke and the mimosa, the two stared at each other for a little while. “So…” trailed Jack, slightly uncomfortable.
“So, how're things?”
“Busy. Really busy. I had to fight off some real villains over in Faultline today…”
He found himself chattering about Nocturne and an arbiter that he had to do battle with, along with their submarines.
She suddenly burst, “I know this is going to sound lame, but you're so strong.”
He stopped in mid-sentence and flushed red. “Oh, uh, well, thanks…is your home dimension different than this one?” This, to change the subject as fast as possible.
As Elaine explained how her dimension was the same as the one they were in, their drinks arrived. They placed their orders, and Jack relaxed against the couch.
“Tell me about your wife.”
He almost blurted out, “Why?” but realized quickly that the reason she asked was because she wanted to compare herself to her. His wife existed in name only; she took care of the home while he was gone, which was more often than not. It wasn’t until she told him she was terminally ill with cancer that he stopped working and stayed to make her last days on earth as comfortable as possible. She died at 72, looking all of those years, while he still looked 35 as he helped to carry the casket.
The two of them knew this arrangement, which wasn’t very strange in the ‘60’s. Neither of them ever discussed what they did with the lovers they took on the side, and as long as he came home to her and she took care of the domestic issues, both of them enjoyed the arrangement. How to explain to this girl that the woman existed as a crutch, something that he could pull out and lean on when the girls got too hot and heavy for him, like this one?
“She was lonely,” he finally said. “I worked a lot.”
“So how long have you been fused with Lodestar?” Then she giggled.
“You’re shut off now.”
“Don’t shut me off, I’ve had a long, hard week.”
“Okay, okay, but I don't want it to be said that I took advantage of you or anything.” He felt the color rise to his cheeks.
“You wouldn't do that,” she said quietly, “even if I wanted you to.”
The food arrived shortly after that, saving Jack’s face, but not to stop him from blushing. They discussed Lodestar, and some of his past work. They finished off their dinner, and he asked what was so difficult about the week.
“Lots of pressure at work to sell things. Problem is no one is buying - the economy is very rough right now.” She grinned. “And it cuts into my heroing.”
“Go with where you make the most money.” He knew how that sounded, and qualified it. “At least that's how I think...”
Elaine sipped her drink. “Nothing wrong with that,”
“But when you said prostitute yourself for money...”
Elaine laughed suddenly, though it was uncomfortable. “Did I say that?”
“When we first came here, yes, you alluded to it. People do desperate things for money.” Then he realized what he said, and the look Elaine was giving him was not pleasant or happy. “I mean, you in a general sense, not you!”
“Well, I did things in my past that I regret, I'm sorry if you don't approve.”
“You...no, that doesn't matter.”
She turned away from him. “Sure it doesn't. You think I'm some sort of slut now.”
“What? No!”
“Then what did you mean?”
Jack blushed, for an entirely different reason. His Alabama accent came out. “I meant "you" meanin' "people", not you yerself. If ya did that, it’s past.”
“Ok, then prove it.”
“How?”
“Kiss me.”
“H--here?”
“If you don't think I'm a a harlot.” She stood up, but reeled backwards, back onto the couch they sat on. “Whoa.”
Jack immediately gathered her in his arms.
The two stared at each other. Then she leaned over and kissed him. She tasted sweet, of the Mimosa and the liquor; he kissed her back without realizing what he was doing. He held her tighter, not wanting to let her go, to let this moment end…
And her phone rang.
“I…I need to take this,” she said, breaking the kiss.
He nodded, turned away from her. She’s old enough to be your granddaught—He squashed that voice, his own voice, a voice of reason. Reason did not apply here, not anymore. As far as the world was concerned, he was 35 and out apprehending criminals for the PPD. Period.
She closed the phone with a sigh. “I have to go.”
He nodded. It was a good idea now to give him some time, some space, to really decide what to do in this situation. He was going to be dead by the end of the year; what did it matter if he took her until that time?
He squashed that voice too, as she hugged him and bid her goodbyes. Because I’m not here to hurt anyone, Lodestar.
The big woman smiled at him. “Did your laundry again this morning?”
“You don’t need to know.”
“Your age is finally catching up with you?” She knew Jack’s true nature, just like most of the servants who grew up in the mansion with the eternally young Jack Simon. Jack only looked at her over the glass, a look that meant Don’t push. “Yes, sir,” she stated, and walked over to the kitchen door. She paused. “Will you be home for dinner, Mr. Simon?”
“I should be. Keep it warm for me.”
He had finished his patrol and was going to head home when he decided to call Elaine. He connected on the first ring. “Let me make it up to you,” he said after greeting. The night before, she had called him. Unfortunately that was his usual Friday drinking night, with his friend Shawn and some buddies down at some pub that they would crash. Shawn had taken the phone out of his hand and started talking to her, “A girl? You got big breasteses?”
Jack wanted to melt into the floor and kill Shawn at the same time. Elaine didn’t seem to mind it, but it bothered Jack to the very core. She was pretty, there was no doubt about it. But he had some scruples, some class.
She accepted his invitation, and they ended up, again, at Pocket D, though this time in the Tiki Lounge, where there was actual food and service. He tried to ignore her watching him, blushing slightly. “They have a salmon salad here,” she said.
“I was going to go for the chicken club. You get what you like.”
“Ok.” She flipped a page in the menu and announced, “In that case, I want a 10 oz T- bone with baked potato and a side salad.”
“How would you like that cooked?”
Elaine hid her surprise. “I was just joking, but if you're serious well done.”
“Do you want a drink to start?”
“Yes, a Mimosa would be nice.”
After calling over the waiter and placing an order for a jack and coke and the mimosa, the two stared at each other for a little while. “So…” trailed Jack, slightly uncomfortable.
“So, how're things?”
“Busy. Really busy. I had to fight off some real villains over in Faultline today…”
He found himself chattering about Nocturne and an arbiter that he had to do battle with, along with their submarines.
She suddenly burst, “I know this is going to sound lame, but you're so strong.”
He stopped in mid-sentence and flushed red. “Oh, uh, well, thanks…is your home dimension different than this one?” This, to change the subject as fast as possible.
As Elaine explained how her dimension was the same as the one they were in, their drinks arrived. They placed their orders, and Jack relaxed against the couch.
“Tell me about your wife.”
He almost blurted out, “Why?” but realized quickly that the reason she asked was because she wanted to compare herself to her. His wife existed in name only; she took care of the home while he was gone, which was more often than not. It wasn’t until she told him she was terminally ill with cancer that he stopped working and stayed to make her last days on earth as comfortable as possible. She died at 72, looking all of those years, while he still looked 35 as he helped to carry the casket.
The two of them knew this arrangement, which wasn’t very strange in the ‘60’s. Neither of them ever discussed what they did with the lovers they took on the side, and as long as he came home to her and she took care of the domestic issues, both of them enjoyed the arrangement. How to explain to this girl that the woman existed as a crutch, something that he could pull out and lean on when the girls got too hot and heavy for him, like this one?
“She was lonely,” he finally said. “I worked a lot.”
“So how long have you been fused with Lodestar?” Then she giggled.
“You’re shut off now.”
“Don’t shut me off, I’ve had a long, hard week.”
“Okay, okay, but I don't want it to be said that I took advantage of you or anything.” He felt the color rise to his cheeks.
“You wouldn't do that,” she said quietly, “even if I wanted you to.”
The food arrived shortly after that, saving Jack’s face, but not to stop him from blushing. They discussed Lodestar, and some of his past work. They finished off their dinner, and he asked what was so difficult about the week.
“Lots of pressure at work to sell things. Problem is no one is buying - the economy is very rough right now.” She grinned. “And it cuts into my heroing.”
“Go with where you make the most money.” He knew how that sounded, and qualified it. “At least that's how I think...”
Elaine sipped her drink. “Nothing wrong with that,”
“But when you said prostitute yourself for money...”
Elaine laughed suddenly, though it was uncomfortable. “Did I say that?”
“When we first came here, yes, you alluded to it. People do desperate things for money.” Then he realized what he said, and the look Elaine was giving him was not pleasant or happy. “I mean, you in a general sense, not you!”
“Well, I did things in my past that I regret, I'm sorry if you don't approve.”
“You...no, that doesn't matter.”
She turned away from him. “Sure it doesn't. You think I'm some sort of slut now.”
“What? No!”
“Then what did you mean?”
Jack blushed, for an entirely different reason. His Alabama accent came out. “I meant "you" meanin' "people", not you yerself. If ya did that, it’s past.”
“Ok, then prove it.”
“How?”
“Kiss me.”
“H--here?”
“If you don't think I'm a a harlot.” She stood up, but reeled backwards, back onto the couch they sat on. “Whoa.”
Jack immediately gathered her in his arms.
The two stared at each other. Then she leaned over and kissed him. She tasted sweet, of the Mimosa and the liquor; he kissed her back without realizing what he was doing. He held her tighter, not wanting to let her go, to let this moment end…
And her phone rang.
“I…I need to take this,” she said, breaking the kiss.
He nodded, turned away from her. She’s old enough to be your granddaught—He squashed that voice, his own voice, a voice of reason. Reason did not apply here, not anymore. As far as the world was concerned, he was 35 and out apprehending criminals for the PPD. Period.
She closed the phone with a sigh. “I have to go.”
He nodded. It was a good idea now to give him some time, some space, to really decide what to do in this situation. He was going to be dead by the end of the year; what did it matter if he took her until that time?
He squashed that voice too, as she hugged him and bid her goodbyes. Because I’m not here to hurt anyone, Lodestar.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Mature theme, parental discretion is advised.
“Oh, Jack!”
Jack Simon, known as the hero Powerhouse Jack, woke up sweating, his sheets now stained. “What the hell…” He hadn’t had a dream like that in years. Now this Elaine, and some other women, awoke such power and passion in him again that he felt like a giddy schoolkid on his first date all over again.
One good thing about Lodestar: Jack hardly knew he was there. Lodestar hardly ever talked, except to guide him into being silent or sounding profound. Sometimes Lodestar spoke for him, but that was when he was nervous – like when he proposed to his wife or had to sometimes make a speech in front of people.
He got up out of his spacious queen sized bed and looked around the darkened room. He didn’t want to tell Elaine the truth, how he had prostituted himself anywhere and everywhere for the Hero Corps, so that he wasn’t only a simple stevedore, but a super-powered stopper-of-trains or carrier-of-heavy-equipment. He had retired after the first Rikti war, after seeing the animosity of many new heroes and the near eternal back-biting of some Peacebringers. Lodestar was known for being neutral – sometimes his host was known for being undiplomatic.
Eighty-one years, he thought, even though he looked much younger. Once Lodestar left him, he’d turn into the ancient old man that he was, and all his systems would fail. He would die.
He wanted one more time out in the world, to help citizens, to fight crime, to bring honor and glory back to heroing. No more listening to the politics of the Kheldians; he would do what he did best, beat things, lift, carry, and support.
But first, he had to change the sheets.
“Oh, Jack!”
Jack Simon, known as the hero Powerhouse Jack, woke up sweating, his sheets now stained. “What the hell…” He hadn’t had a dream like that in years. Now this Elaine, and some other women, awoke such power and passion in him again that he felt like a giddy schoolkid on his first date all over again.
One good thing about Lodestar: Jack hardly knew he was there. Lodestar hardly ever talked, except to guide him into being silent or sounding profound. Sometimes Lodestar spoke for him, but that was when he was nervous – like when he proposed to his wife or had to sometimes make a speech in front of people.
He got up out of his spacious queen sized bed and looked around the darkened room. He didn’t want to tell Elaine the truth, how he had prostituted himself anywhere and everywhere for the Hero Corps, so that he wasn’t only a simple stevedore, but a super-powered stopper-of-trains or carrier-of-heavy-equipment. He had retired after the first Rikti war, after seeing the animosity of many new heroes and the near eternal back-biting of some Peacebringers. Lodestar was known for being neutral – sometimes his host was known for being undiplomatic.
Eighty-one years, he thought, even though he looked much younger. Once Lodestar left him, he’d turn into the ancient old man that he was, and all his systems would fail. He would die.
He wanted one more time out in the world, to help citizens, to fight crime, to bring honor and glory back to heroing. No more listening to the politics of the Kheldians; he would do what he did best, beat things, lift, carry, and support.
But first, he had to change the sheets.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Lodestar knew he had not completely gone from this world. He could feel the other souls around him, human souls, caught in the Pillar of Ice and Fire.
The Guardian returns!
In his essence, he knew what it meant, how excited the other souls were at its return, so he retreated away, attempting to find rest in the cacophony.
Then, the Guardian was no more.
Whether she died, or gave up, whether she moved on or went elsewhere, none of the souls knew. Finally, it was quiet, and Lodestar could find his rest, though it became too quiet, and he ventured forth to the edge of the Pillar to see what was going on.
Twilight’s Son hovered there, watching.
Lodestar, you are needed.
I rest, Lodestar replied, retreating slightly.
Find the Guardian.
Find another. I rest—
Not in peace.
No, not in peace, he thought forlornly.
Once more, Lodestar, find the Guardian, see if she is true, and you will find peace.
A host.
Then Twilight’s Son began to sing. The language became clearer in his mind, as he remembered his former host, remembered his hosts before that, the heroes, the men and creatures he had aided, and most of all, he remembered himself. He remembered that he was a hero.
I have found the Guardian, Twilight’s Son.
And?
She has chosen to learn dark ways. Lodestar almost spat the words out, his anger palatable. She’s a shade, still powerful, but a shade nonetheless. She is under another’s spell.
You no longer guide, Lodestar. You have an opinion of this matter.
She is the Guardian and has a responsibility. What can dark arts teach her? Who will guard
There are many other heroes who would gladly take her place.
“She can’t just give it up!” Lodestar roared, no longer content with mere mind contact. “She has a responsibility!”
“As do you, now, to guide her back to her responsibility.”
“I can’t go to Grandville.”
“You can go between dimensions, and you can stay here. The Midnighters are looking for new members.”
He shook his head vigorously. “No magic.”
Twilight’s Son chuckled, a sweet tone to the sound.
“You stay entrapped in nine generations of Aztec priests and see how you like it.”
You still are angry at your past hosts.
I’m angry at magic.
Magic is what made the Guardian, and magic is what made you.
His human face contorted into a look of disgust for a moment before he heard the swishing of wings.
Yes, StarWyng comes here often to fly.
Nate is still dead.
No, he isn’t. He was brought back to life to continue his killing ways.
“StarWyng should have killed him by now, then.”
No, she hasn’t.
She will kill me, instead.
No, she won’t.
“We’ll see, fellow traveler,” Lodestar said, striding away. “We’ll see.”
As it happened, she did not kill Lodestar; in fact, she embraced him as if she has been lost without him. Lodestar was slightly upset that Nate wasn’t dead by now – his time with his last host had burned him. But part of an unsaid rule of Kheldians is that once a new host is chosen, the old host was to be forgotten.
But the magic spell took the attributes of his last host. He looked like Nate, sounded like Nate, felt like Nate. Lodestar couldn’t forget him that easily.