• Mature • Submission to the Master

[Jonathan Burr]

27th of Ashan

Well, Jonathan had been ordered to meet the mage in Kaelserad, and was pleasantly surprised by what he saw. It was a nice little building on a pond with a willow shading it. The grassy knoll was bright with the Ashan rains and the place looked immaculately kept. It seemed like the sort of place a lord would keep for a summer home and not, as he discovered, a surgery. Was the mage he'd met in the woods a doctor?

Jon opened the front door and cleared his throat. A handsome young receptionist was at the front desk, and Jon found himself a little disarmed. How was he supposed to explain this? That he was just coming to meet Alistair? He wasn't foolish enough not to recognize this for the power play that it was. Alistair was showing off his achievements and presumably wealth by having him meet here. If he owned one such building, Jon could easily imagine him owning a half dozen others. Daeva agreed with him. It was a power play, but he was the stronger mage and in her opinion he was right to do so. In her mind that meant she had chosen the correct man to teach Jon. He was cocky, he was confident but he sorely needed guidance. He'd wanted her for so long she was concerned about his ability to realistically use the magic.

He padded into the surgery, barefoot and shirtless as usual. He walked up to the receptionist and grinned charmingly at him. "Hello sweetheart. I'm here to see Alistair." he said lightly. Maybe it was best to get off on the right foot. He had a country boy charm about him if used correctly. "Is he in right now?"

[Alistair]

Kleine... did not understand why the man approaching him was shirtless, and he immediately showed his disapproval. Kaelserad was not known for wholly unilateral customer service - Kleine was a choosy man, and he turned away the 'peasantry' without much empathy for their condition. Watering down the building into a rehabilitation center for people's mental impairments was not what he wanted, and he took no patients poorly dressed or unfit to pay without serious considerations.

So, of course, his immediate reaction was to try and swat the man away. "Alistair?" he questioned. "Typically, people refer to him as the Doctor. Did you have some... personal matter you wished to discuss?" he questioned. If the answer was no, he would do all that he could in his power to send Jonathan to the hills, and possibly the slaughter house if necessary. Kleine was... a savage, and he did not see the charm the man was attempting to carry. Probably because he'd spent far too much time with Damien, who on a casual level was the personification of charm, an aspect that wore quickly; Kleine had learnt that charm meant nothing. He was more of a numbers man - and the implications of this drab man staying here over-long did not sit well for Kaelserad's growth as a business.

"If you have no specific appointment with Alistair, I'll need you to head out, my friend. Kaelserad is currently focusing largely on soldiers and other combat casualties, and I don't believe I see anything like that on your person," he added, offering the man the empty receptionist stare.

But Alistair came out from his office, and glanced immediately at Jon, who more than clearly held particular... quirks about him that he hadn't realized. He looked far from presentable. This was immediately unacceptable, as while Alistair was a warrior and a mage, day-by-day he lived as a man of high profile. He was a politician, doctor. If Jonathan were ever to be seen in public with him, he could not... look like that.

The mage immediately said as much.

"Jonathan, you're going to need to dress appropriately. A linen suit or silk brocade. I can have attire ordered for you, if you'd like, but I am not going to be present with you looking like... that," he said. Clearly, the vulgar and aggressive man from before had disappeared. He was wholly different in public view, even when their only company was Kleine. Alistair liked to separate the grunge of his magical hobby with his business as a doctor. No one wanted to be treated by the man he presented himself as when he'd first met Jonathan.

"Anyhow," he continued, "come into my office. We'll speak there." The doors were thick and so were the walls - not much sound could escape. That was necessary for the two of them, of that he had no doubt.

[Jonathan Burr]

Jonathan really didn't mind the way the receptionist was looking at him. He knew what he was thinking. Jonathan had grown up in the lap of luxury living as a jeweler's son in Etzos. He knew what that slightly snooty glare meant. He thought this place was too good for Jon, or that he was expecting a handout of some sort. Jon grinned at him. "Yeah, I have an appointment. He invited me here and told me to wait for him." he said. "I didn't know he was a doctor. When I met him he was out in the woods killing deer. Like some sort of madman." He ruffled up his hair and shrugged. He wasn't expecting this. Typically he thought mages lived a little more spartan lifestyle but here this one was masquerading as a doctor? What was the catch? Was this just his day job? Something to fritter the time away while he sharpened his magic skills?

He offered a smile to Alistair when the man came out of his office, waving. "Daeva didn't think she'd fit through the door." he chuckled.
'I more had the receptionist and any patients in mind.' The Harvester corrected gently in his head.

Jon laughed a bit at the idea of dressing in silk. "I can't afford that." he chuckled. "You're funny. Silk. Me? I haven't worn silk since I was a kid." He swaggered into the office, pausing a bit to grin at the receptionist before he headed into the room. He found a seat and plunked down into it, stretching his bare feet out on the carpet. "You could have told me it was a little bit of a walk there, Alistair."

[Alistair]

"Deer?" Kleine questioned. Then, he remembered. This was two trials after Alistair's rampage, and he hadn't gone anywhere but Kaelserad the previous trial, which meant that he must've met this... person amidst his anger. From Kleine's own perspective, Alistair lashed out in fury, threw a violent fit and then returned peacefully to Ki'eiran after a few breaks of incessant fury. But he supposed that the mage had his... adventures while he was out; Kleine did not wish to deeply know of them, for he knew that Alistair's proclivities since embracing Syroa had begun to run much darker.

But he had no power of that. He was only... his eternal assistant. Often not speaking until spoken to, and of course, shutting 'the fuck' up when Alistair commanded. Kleine was... still angry about that, though perhaps sad was a better word. Dejected. It had been difficult on his self esteem, knowing that a man he cared for so deeply had disregarded him so easily.

And now, he had a new student. Kleine couldn't help but glare at him sourly as he put the puzzle together.

Alistair, of course, noticed much of this tensity... but not all of it. He didn't understand why Kleine seemed so bewildered by the presence of Jon, only that he was visibly frustrated. With that in mind, the mage guided him into the office ever-quickly, not intent on having a brawl between the two in his waiting room.

"Daeva is a Harvester, isn't she?" he asked, curious. "I met one in a Fracture once - this was many arcs ago, however, when I was under the tutelage of Talia Eisenwald. I... remember the one I saw. It was very different from her," he stated, thoughtfully recalling the beast. That one was a trickster - it held many forms. He did not know which one was real.

As for the silk, well. The mage rolled his eyes.

"I'll give you the gold for it - forty eight gold nels for a complete silk brocade outfit. If you want to be my apprentice, I demand that you wear something attractive, and modest. As you can tell, I'm a businessman additionally; also, a politician. I cannot be seen in public places with someone others might veer their eyes to in shock. This request is non-negotiable, Jon," he narrowed his brows at him and stared, sternly. While he was clearly acting much more put together and professional, his domineering nature was beginning to leak out into his words.

And he knew, and did not mind.

[Jonathan Burr]

'He is jealous of the attention Alistair is giving you. He wears it on his sleeve. Be careful, Jon. I don't think your joking is appreciated by that one...and he deserves your respect.' Daeva told him quietly. She'd picked up on human body language extremely quickly. Jon got the sense that Harvesters communicated more with their forms than with words, and once she'd learned to back-translate she noticed things he didn't. He wished he was that observant. He also wondered what he had to fear from a receptionist. 'Notice he hires no guards, in a place where medication sits freely on shelves, and the master runs in the woods.' Daeva said simply in response to his thoughts. Huh. Maybe she had a point.

Jon shrugged his shoulders and leaned forward to regard Alistair. "Harvesters from what I understand have many different forms. They're not like humans where the only things that change are sex, or body type, or hair. They push the limits. Some are male, some are female, some are both or neither at all. Hair, scales, feathers, skin, it's all on the table. I read the journal of a mage who'd tried to gain a Harvester. He sketched the thing before he died. Looked like a gigantic insect dog. I studied a lot of what other people said about them." he told Alistair. "I had to have her."

Daeva appeared next to him, chuckling. Her form looked even bigger in such a room, her head barely grazing the ceiling. 'He was determined. His call to Emea sounded like a battle cry. Few mages are so bold even if he was so out of ignorance.'she told Alistair. 'I promise you he will be dressed better upon our next meeting. He knows how. He only likes to play the country peasant.'

Jon raised an eyebrow. "I don't get a say in this?"

'No.'

Jon shrugged. "Well I guess with the lady and a man who punched a deer to death wanting me to wear a shirt, who am I to say no? Just...something comfortable is all I ask." he said to Alistair. "But we're not here to play dress up. You're a politician, eh? What made you stop from wringing my neck in the woods? One thing I've learned since being an Aberrant is we're hated in most areas. Killed outright in others."

'It is rare, but Harvesters do mourn their mages, if their mage was a good match. Many times, they are merely disappointed at the weakness, and the prospect of starting over.' Davea agreed.

[Alistair]

As far as Alistair was concerned, 'none at all' would suffice in describing Daeva. While most had a prejudice against mages, Alistair had a prejudice against the spiritual. They were - in many ways - whole opposites to the domain mages, who thrived off of ether. Spirits did not operate as such, and typically served as a method of population control for mages. Many mages were killed by spirits within Fractures, and many more hunted them relentlessly in their dreams. Others killed them upon contact, and often spirits sought out mages to test their power.

He knew that the Soraanar he'd fought in the past, Kerad Reyn, thrived on testing his spiritual energy against ether. So many of them seemed inclined to do mages great harm - Fractures were evidence of that. As a result, Alistair was immediately skeptical of Daeva, who he was content mostly ignoring. Even when talking about her, he preferred Jonathan's explanation, and he picked and chose what he would take out of his words.

"I see," he responded, glancing back and forth between the two of them. She was impossible to read, with no considerable... face to speak of. Her peculiarities ran on and on, and Alistair had no interest in trying to decompose them. He only knew that she would be a factor in mentoring Jonathan, but hopefully - he imagined - she would mostly keep quiet throughout their instructions.

"Tell your ether repository to shut her mouth, by the way," he said, gazing stoically at the apparition. He clearly had no regard for her, and did not consider her a wholly thinking individual, and certainly not a feeling one. Emean entities may as well have been products of pure imagination, in his view.

"You can wear something comfortable if you'd like. It just can't be... proletarian," Alistair explained, offering his incredibly liberal dress code. Clearly he was not so strict on the linen suits and silk brocade -- even though he preferred them. The man could wear... a simple tucked shirt if he desired, if the pants were right for the combination. "As for why I didn't kill you, well. I was in a sour mood, but that doesn't change my ideology," he stated, continuing to stare, with an inquisitive look.

The good part came. Something he didn't get to admit often.

"My actions are for the collective," he said, breaking the association between his kind action and Jonathan's individual humanity. "Magic is the future for our species, the Immortals are not. Right now, we live in a pivotal moment, where our kin are being tested; burned alive and damned to shame if they fail. We have all been too quiet, and too disorganized. Mages must gather, and we must be allies. We are the future of this world."

Which answered Jonathan's question, he believed. Alistair held no value on him as an individual - not yet, anyhow. It was his spark that mattered. Each and every mage had intrinsic wealth to him, each a soldier in the war to come. So, he recruited, and he gathered. Jonathan was among the first, but with devotion, he would not be the final.

[Jonathan Burr]

Jon glared at Alistair. "She has a name." he growled. "She's with me. You want to recruit mages so badly? You value them so badly? Start with valuing what they value. She and I are in a partnership more intimate than anything I've ever seen or had. She's part of me, and I'm part of her. So don't shit talk her." He folded his arms across his chest. Daeva chuckled and butted her head against Jon. She liked the way her mage was ready to go to bat for her, even if doing so in a combat setting wasn't going to go too well for him. He had spirit. Young foolish spirit but spirit nonetheless.

'Alistair, he does have a point. Would you disrespect the earth to a Defiance mage? Would you sour a stream to a man who has close relations with the water? Treat a lich as you would a cabinet?' she chuckled. 'Understand your fellow mages before judging them.' She settled down on the floor, smiling a bit.

Jon nodded. "Damn the Immortals. They've done nothing but pick their favourites and watched us like a goddamn chess game. I don't know why people are attacking us, when our craft could damn well save them the moment the Immortals get bored and start attempting to wipe the board clean." he agreed. "We need an army of some sort. Get this world to realize what we are. Get the spirits some respect. I don't know how many other Aberrants in this world there are but we should find them. Davea can talk to them."

The Harvester laughed. 'Jonathan. Harvesters do not form armies. We are loners. There are not too many of us in this world besides. There is only one other I can think of, and he would mock you up and down before letting his mage tear out your throat.' She said, sounding amused. 'It would be better to seek out Defiance mages, or Rupturers. Or Transmuters, like yourself.'

[Alistair]

Jonathan was absolutely right... to an extent. If it came to any other school of magic, Alistair would have showed immense curiosity, appreciation and interest in their art. But Aberration was different - it was a magic that needed to be contained, a black flag even among mages. Aberrants did not do well with other Aberrants, or other mages in general; their history upon colliding tended to be one of violence, and dissolution. The Aberrant would flay their peers or die in the attempt. This process repeated itself for time immemorial - to this trial, he'd only met one powerful Aberrant who cooperated with others. Vincent, of the Coven.

Even then, his loyalties were to Ellasin alone. Others feared him, avoided him; he handed out commands in a cruel and menacing manner, his low voice booming when necessary but quiet and raking in all settings otherwise. Aberrants were... the stuff of nightmares. And the discomfort at the thought of being flayed was enough to drive others away.

While Alistair viewed mages as a brotherhood, Aberrants were the sordid half-sisters that no one really wanted around. They merely accepted them with eyes glued to their back, watching and waiting for the betrayal.

And it ran in a line - because something Alistair could only faintly recall, was that Harvesters were prone to betraying their mages. Nearly all of them did at some point. It did not matter how cozy their relationship prior to that had been. Nothing mattered but the ether.

So, with his mental judgments made, he decided to mostly ignore Jonathan's protestations. They didn't matter - he was a calculating man, and his calculations were self-evaluating. There was no need for a second opinion on this matter.

"Right," he started, a smirk covering the corner of his lips. "So -- with that in mind. Tell your ether repository to shut the fuck up," Alistair grinned, finding the power dynamic between them immensely satisfying. He was training his Aberrant. If there could only be one within the ranks of the group he wished to form, it would have to be a well maintained one. He could not allow the Harvester free reign, nor could he promise that the Aberrant would not go unchanged.

He was clearly a wild card, and that element of him required re-imagination. Alistair was keen on obliging that task.

"We'll do what we must to protect our art. I believe that in order to succeed, mages must build their own society. We can populate, and initiate our children. We can build hierarchical structures, and draw borders, even if we exist as a realm within a larger sphere of influence. That is my goal - not armies, not invasion forces. A civilization; growing, organized. For now, we'll cut the talk of Immortals and bloodshed. That won't... be very popular with recruitment, or public opinion," he said, shaking his head.

"Anyhow - Jon. Explain to me what you want magic for. Is it just to go on a killing spree? Seems you're keen to the thought," he questioned. Unfortunately, Jon's desires seemed to run red; not a pleasant sign, as of yet.

[Jonathan Burr]

"How about you shut the fuck up," Jon growled. "and listen to her. She's smart. She's not something I store ether in. She's mine. My own. And I worked to get her. You have no idea how much I studied. Ten years of grabbing up every little rumor and scrap of paper even hinted to be touched by an Aberrant. I read poems, books, fevered scribblings by mages who had clearly gazed into the abyss and lost. I used every bit of money and connections my parents had to buy all this. It led me to one lead. A single lead, in ten years. I wanted Aberration because I wanted what no other mage in this world has...a connection to Emea. A citizen, if you will, of Emea, as my right hand day and night. That world is the final frontier of everything, Alistair, and the more we understand it the more we can draw power from it. If you want a civilization, Emea is where we draw our fount from."

He settled back. "She's going to find me a Fracture, and when she does I'm going to study the living hell out of it. I waited this long to get this connection. I survived the worst nightmares you've ever seen. I want knowledge of how Emea works." he said. "I don't...I don't know what came over me in the woods. But exploring that knowledge is the answer. I know people hate us. I know even among mages we're considered the ones most likely to break and destroy other mages. I want to change that."

Davea smirked. 'He is a dreamer.' she said simply. 'But he works for what he wants, and he gets it.' She wasn't part of this power struggle and she knew it. It was Jonathan's feverish desire for power and knowledge, and Alistair's want to control. In the right hands Jon could be a good tool. He liked to research, to take apart and find out how things worked. A personality like that could forge war engines and cities.

[Alistair]

Surprisingly, he agreed with the other mage, very much so. Emea was the source of magical power. It was the Dream that offered them their strength, and from the dream that ether flowed. The spark once belonged there, he knew. Mages did need to master Emea - it was their greatest resource, which was ultimately why Ellasin sought out a way to tap into it. Alistair... had to concede that point. Perhaps Daeva had some significance, more than just an ether repository. But what did she really know? Harvesters sought knowledge and power. They did not necessarily have much on their own.

And if they really offered so significant a boon, why did every Aberrant fail? The Harvesters seemed more like falsely domesticated leeches than sources of wisdom. Then, it began to make sense; his discontent for the situation they were in. This meant, unfortunately, Jonathan's persuasive argument only began to wane in importance the more he considered it. It was not Daeva's nature as a Harvester that caused Alistair's instinctive reaction for her to cease in speaking.

It was the fact that she was speaking, constantly, while he was trying to instruct - derailing their conversation, in his view. For a man with little time to spend outside of his profession, training and study, their distracting speech... irked him.

"I'm asking Daeva to stop talking so that we can have a proper master-apprentice conversation," he stated, groaning in frustration. "I can't focus when a fucking apparition is yapping over your shoulder the entire time, Jonathan," Alistair added.

"I get that you're immensely satisfied with your new friend, but you have her floating behind your ass all bloody trial, all bloody arc. Right now, I'm dedicating my time to you. I don't want conflicting messages, I don't need a second opinion, and I certainly don't need someone agreeing with my assertions endlessly. That's why, for the last time, Daeva needs to stop talking. This three way apprenticeship is really not something I'm immensely drawn to," Alistair stated, making his position clear. Even if just for their introductions, he wanted it to be the two of them. This was not a social gathering. It was instruction.