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[Asimov]

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Sitting in his makeshift library formed of old oak bookshelves hastily thrown into a stone catacomb underground, Kharaos continued his studies at a fervent pace. Searching for any clue that could put a halt to the morbid set of events set in motion not long ago. In his little experience with the beings, the Atalan were not seen unless such was their intention. When they summoned him to their cathedral or to Maedas, the towering blackrock fortress, they had appeared without the faintest of sounds.

Why did the hooded creature so blatantly reveal his glowing red eyes, a trademark of the Atalan. Why did he cross the gargoyle's path with naught but a smirk showing below the shrouds shadows. One thing the smith had learned over the years: an Atalan never strayed far from their Firstlord....Asimov. If they were here, Kharaos must find out why. Unrolling another scroll, the man read on.


To Pierce the Light

Pacing through the streets the roundears knew as Trinsic, Asimov always managed to find his way back to Kaane to comfort his over-troubled mind. Times when it was acceptable to let his cold emotionless visage slip to reveal a twisted torment that formed a bond with his mental anguish long ago. The population had long since returned to their shops and homes after the occupation by the Shadow Collective years back. There would be no conflict as long as they continued to stay away from the Shrine and out of the way of Asimov as he made his way towards his ever-changing destination.

A life so demanding…do you still question why you are incomplete..?

The voice asked as it floated – a whisper among the breeze. Glowing red eyes indicated the General had heard the question, but no answer found its way from his lips. Crouching upon the balls of his feet, Asimov balanced his weight with his hand, gathering dirt from the path in front of him. After what seemed but a moment, the Atalan rose and turned to find not city walls, but a dimly lit tent with flickering torches providing the only illumination on the maps in front of the Halda’Sul. Unable to control his movements, Asimov was trapped in his own body replaying scenes from his nightmarish past.

“It does not add up, Lord Asimov.” the Halda'Sul noted in an echoing voice. “They are beaten…there would be no reason to regroup for one last siege in this valley.” As he spoke he pointed to a location on the map. His silver hair flickered in the winds piercing through the two tent openings as his eyes met Asimov’s. “We have had no need, nor consideration to hesitate thus far, but my heart aches with uncertainty.”

“Worry not old friend,” the Firstlord heard himself say in a voice that seemed to boom within his head. Watching as he momentarily put his hand on the shoulder of the Halda’Sul before turning to leave, “This will be last blow.”

Wanting to push himself back to the planning table, Asimov sat helplessly as he watched himself prepare the legions. He wanted to tell himself that the Halda'Sul’s gut instinct was more accurate than the General’s confidence and instinct would allow. He wanted to tell himself he was marching the Atalan to their death. An Uviel’en that had opposed the creation of the Atalan had prepared the ambush that would cut their ranks. An arrival of human tribes to aid the remaining Reyk’xari warriors - the Atalan would be massively outnumbered and surrounded from the high valley walls.

The Atalan General made his way down the lines of elementalists and archers, broken into their combat squads. Everything appeared as it had centuries ago…everything but their eyes. They appeared…hollow..empty, except for the faint outline of their normal crimson irises. Eyes of spirits long since fallen – all staring directly through to Asimov, as if they knew he was watching this all take place again.

Are you afraid to walk your realm alone..? The whispering voice from before asked of Asimov, emanating from the unmoving mouth of one of the warriors.

Are you caught in the shadows from the lights we cannot obstruct..? The voice continued from the next Atalan in line as the General continued on. Each subsequent warrior adding in turn…

Can you feel the chain among us…?

It has been severed…

You fight now as we did in Kaane once you fell…

You fight without the very power you were made to provide…

You fight as many but not as one…

You fight yourself…

The general stopped at the end of the line and turned to address the army but no words came out. He hesitated as if waiting for Asimov to cry out from his helpless visionary position.

“There’s nothing I can say..” Asimov screamed. “Nothing that will change this reality.” He gazed on the army, which all turned in one fluent motion to continue their ghastly stare. “My eyes burn with the bond of our kin…but that bond is a broken shell of our past,” he spoke with an emotion cracked voice. “The lights of which you speak…they blind my consciousness. I cannot breach them to reach the others.”

They are the gap of our absence… The voice echoed in harmony with itself as it flowed from every member of the army, resounding within Asimov’s head.

We were meant to fight as one…

Your cry…your intuition…your direction…

…Can no longer be passed…

You must unite what was once lost…you must complete the chain once more… Said the voice alone as the army silenced. One Atalan stepped forward to continue speaking as his ghostly eyes flashed red with his words. Follow the lead of the one you least wish to trail. Follow the lead of the God you abhor. Let Tenebrous aid you where he first stood silent. He knows how to call to those who can no longer speak. He knows of Bloodfyre calling. Speak to him Lord Asimov…Speak to the Eyes of Kaane…

Once you do…you can reform…Iatha T'arilys Maedas


Rolling the scroll back up, Kharaos pondered what he had read. If Asimov had succeeded in reinstating the link between the Atalan, they would fight as they had during the Wars of Vanity. Each Atalan fighting independently, but within the greater goal set forth by Asimov fighting beside them....each completely aware of the thoughts, emotions and actions of their fellow Atalan. Each battle a dance of sorts, movements flowing around and amongst each other - their teamwork would be unmatched: every Atalan appearing to fight alone, but in reality all fighting as one...