Trystan Sallow

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About Trystan Sallow

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    Hugh Dancy
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    Eye Mage, First Class - NY
    New York City
    Order of Light
    Trystan measures 5'9" and weighs 160 lbs or almost eleven and half stone as he would put it. He tries to stay fit. He jogs but he's not exactly a physical specimen when it comes to athleticism. He is, though, quite handsome and quite English so that makes up for it. This is accentuated by his trendy urban style of dress which almost always includes a blazer or some kind. Even on warm days his skin rarely see's the light.

    His naturally wavy brown hair is kept long giving him a 'peter pan' look. His soulful eyes are a deep green and he doesn't seem to have the ability to hold a tan.

    Trystan pretty much always has his hands in his pockets. Even wearing gloves doesn't hinder his ability and even if it did he couldn't bear the social stigma.

    Naturally he has an Oxford District English Accent.
    Those that solely describe Trystan as witty and cynical are fortunate enough not to know him very well. On the surface he can be very amiable but beneath lurks a dark and brooding figure plagued with periods of depression and anxiety. Even before the Resonance his dreams were tormented by the 'demonic minds' he mentally dissected and now he deals with actual monsters. Despite all this though he's really not one to wallow in it, one might say he's at odds with his own optimism.

    While not the most social of people he's not adverse to the company of friends. Of all things, he enjoys the most sitting down with a good book, preferably (and now required) the printed kind, especially comic books and graphic novels. He himself depicts his own visions in a comic book style art. He is quite intrigued with how the current world as it stands is beginning to resemble comic-book mythology.

    Music is optional to him, he's most comfortable with his own thoughts and out of touch with what's popular. He spends a lot of time researching and documenting his cases.

    Cooking. He hates it. Trystan doesn't even care one way or another how food is prepared. He openly admits that "Fine dining is wasted on him". He also rarely drinks, simply disliking the taste of alcohol and would never try and pass it off as some kind of lifestyle choice. He's basically not a very domestic person, preferring to be on the move and living off room service.

    He enjoys watching tennis and track and field but little else interests him when it comes to sports. Trystan enjoys bringing out the racket on weekends or when ever he gets the chance for a match.

    Dependability is a definite strength but he's definitely apprehensive of risking his life for another. He's been in a such a situation before and can honestly say that's he's not sure he'd stick his neck out a second time.
    Trystan carries a gun, usually whatever the standard issue of the area is. He's not particular, it's just a tool. He always has the usual personal items on him, a phone, wallet, that sort of stuff. He wears a gold commemorative ring he received from a memorable tennis tournament back in England, on the same right hand he wears a ring of the Order in Sydney.

    He also carries a notebook with him. Due to the interference that mana can impose on electronic devices he never uses his phone for an extended period of time thus he doesn't trust it to list important information. The small notebook is used for sketching and documentation.

    He owns a home on 'City Island (Bronx)' south of Pelham Bay Park. Located on the 600 block of King Ave, he lives in a renovated two story home built in 1898. The blue painted house, shaded by a canopy of large trees has a backyard that overlooks Long Island Sound. He drives a 1986 Aston Martin V8, hard top, right hand drive, which was shipped from England to Australia then to the EAA.


    CLASS: Psionic
    — Psychometry • Clairvoyance (Clairaudience) • ESP • Telekinesis

    As a part of his repertoire of cantrips, Trystan is able to perform such feats as see objects or colours (without his eyes) when he touches them. He also has a form of ESP/Precognition, alerting him him of hidden dangers a few moments before they occur (sometimes offering him enough time to react, sometimes not). This is not 100% accurate, sometimes it's a feeling, sometimes he see's a quick preview. The visions he receives are cryptic at best and more than often the meaning them does not become apparent until after the fact. Naturally he also filters out a lot of this information and simply disregards it, otherwise he'd go quite mad.

    He's also prone to prophetic dreams. This is his subconscious acting upon his Clairvoyance. He always has a sketchbook and medium with him, on his person, at his beside, so that he can capture these dreams and try and make sense of them in the days, weeks or even months to follow.

    LOW-LEVEL SPELLS (12 charges)

    At the time of the Resonance the first ability to manifest itself was a sensitivity to psychic or significant impressions. Even to this day if he touches an item or stands in a significant area while his mind is in the state of pondering a question or simply curious, he will receive an impression. The 'hit' is more of an annoyance than anything because the information is often cryptic or a brief glance that could be easily misinterpreted. He has simply learned never take what he sees at face value because the scene of say, a vicious murder, may be partly due to his own personal perception or even a favourite movie etched into a person's possession.

    This psychic or psionic ability is the foundation of all his spells. He has honed it to range from low to high, the first being able to draw information from a single item or collection of items pertaining to the same 'impressions'.

    The first stage of this spell allows him to sense if an item does indeed possess an 'impression'. The second stage relays to him in a matter of seconds a fragment of information, usually the flash of an image, sound, taste, scent, or all of them. The information he receives had to be combined with something he already knows or will learn or else it really won't make that much sense. *The amount of time he goes back depends on the object/place and the case.

    ** The question of "What happens when he touches a person?" often comes up. Naturally people are curious that if he is able to derive information from a place or inanimate object what happens with sentient forms? The answer is quite simple, "Nothing". Trystan can only read the impressions after they have been transferred and inscribed into a place or thing. The source itself is far too chaotic to read. Besides, how boring and maddening to know everything about everybody one touches. Where's the fun in that?

    This is a defensive spell. For a brief time, approximately five minutes, Trystan can use E.S.P. to sense the presence and relative location of any hostile entities within a 60' radius. He can also triple that range if he focuses on a specific place he can see, such as a window or doorway. This would allow him to know whether or not there is an entity in that location that is or could be hostile toward him. Basically it senses 'threats'.

    This would be considered short-range scrying. He can immediately know the direction of a person or thing he has established as being 'unique' within a 10 km (6 mile) radius of him. If he meditates for a few minutes he will receive a brief vision of where they are, but will not see them. This is due to the fact that the ability being invasive is effected by 'conscious will'. If the person knows they are being 'spied on' this spell may not work. It will most certainly be countermanded by magical wards. The closer the person or thing is, the clearer the vision.

    Starting a basic cantrip allowing the minor telekinetic manipulation of minute objects Trystan developed the ability to exact a telekinetic push of up to three hundred pounds of force across an area of no more or less than ten square feet (no specific targeting) with a maximum range of 50'. This basically feels like being struck by a really heavy big block of foam. He can extend the range up to 150 ' but at that range the amount of force is reduced to approximately twenty five pounds which across a ten foot square area would be equal to a stiff gust of wind. **Naturally he can manipulate the amount of telekinetic force if he wishes.

    MID-LEVEL SPELLS (5 charges)

    The next level of his psychometric skills takes some time and concentration. It also requires an item or place of significance pertaining to the event that the psionic wishes to know about. Casting it, Trystan can extract approximately two minutes of basic information that may be enough for him to transfer to his clairvoyance. At this stage of the ability he can go deeper into the history of an object or place but no further than ten years.

    This is simply a more invasive form of Clairvoyance I with a greater range, thus requiring more effort and drawing more energy. Once he has enough information on whom or what he is looking for (quite simply put he needs enough details to establish the uniqueness of what he's looking for) he needs time to concentrate and enter a meditative state. His 'mind's eye' can then travel up to 40 km (24 miles) away and provide him with vivid details of things existing around the person or thing he is looking for. He will see and hear the area, but not in 'real time'. It is an abstract perception.

    Telepathic (Empathic) defence. This spell can be cast even when under telepathic attack (unless the assault has severely stunned Trystan). It provides a shield that protects against mind reading, scrying, attacks. One casting can be maintained for up to twelves minutes and can be continued in succession allowing for up to 60 minutes of defence.

    This is full blown telekinetic manipulation. Maximum capacity is 200 lbs within a 100 foot radius, beyond that his power quickly wanes stretching to 200 feet where he can push a quarter. The ability allows complicated maneuvers including being able to choke a person, but maintaining one's concentration on such a feat is no small matter and it takes a lot more force than one might realize to actually hold and squeeze the life out of a person. The ability also allows him to levitate up to 100' but no move. He can grab hold of a solid object to slow the decent of a fall but doesn't have enough strength to immediately 'catch himself'. Once cast, he can utilize the ability for approximately five minutes.

    HIGH-LEVEL SPELLS (2 charges)

    He can actually enter the vision and control it. Allowing him to gather up two to three minutes of detailed information. Wards will still greatly affect his 'eye' making things dim and even traumatic depending on their nature. Magic aside, he can delve deep into the history of a place or object. The range of time is virtually unlimited so he needs to have an idea how far to go. Also he is limited by the amount of specific information that exists in the 'source'. Too much information from other 'sources' greatly degrades the information.

    Trystan employs this spell to crack a ward. If the place or item he is attempting to read has been charmed to prevent information from being 'seen' (or obscured in some way) he uses the highest form of his psychometry to penetrate the wards. During this infiltration he wanders into a nightmare and what may take hours will in fact be minutes. This spell counts as two High Level castings. Not only is he drained after using this spell but he's pretty much in a fog for the rest of the day which is why he often employs the spell in the morning. The residual affects of the spell make it difficult for him differentiate 'viewing visions of the past' from reality. The spell also provides the 'power' to delve back further into the 'recorded moments of time' and see more detail in everything. It is actually quite a traumatic experience for the mind and each time he uses the spell, Trystan's mental health slips a little more.

    This is Clairvoyance II with unlimited range. The search can take hours and during it, Trystan risks becoming lost. After it's use he is wiped out for close to two days while his mind becomes accustomed to his body again. The more he uses his clairvoyance at this level the more disassociated he becomes. The details he captures using this ability are staggering but they take their toll.

    Stronger than his 'mental shield', the 'mental wall' provides protection in a ten foot radius from himself and lasts for 10 minutes. Capturing a telepath within this radius can actually impose his own will over them, in a sense trapping them in their own mind for the duration of the spell. It's basically a battle of wills at that point. Nothing is definite.

    This allows a single telekinetic burst which can crush, push or pull. He can create a shield around himself for about five seconds that will divert bullets, missiles, most explosions, but the concussive force would still throw him. It has a range of sixty feet and can exert approximately six hundred pounds of force that immediately diminishes past his maximum range.

    LEGENDARY SPELL (1 charge)

    This is a car crushing, wall smashing, truck stopping, mind bending force released in a single burst. It has a critical range of sixty feet with residual effects spanning up to 300. He can also choose to blast it in all directions if he wishes, a powerful sphere of near impenetrable energy (a concentrated force of ten tons could penetrate it) crushing and pushing all in it's path. The power of the telekinetic burst is incredible, measuring close to ten tons of force but it is not a 'fast moving' attack. The force is moving no faster than 20 kmph (12 mph) so it does all of it's damage by crushing people into other objects. The force of the power can be conical but it can't be concentrated on a single small point. Unless a person becomes trapped between the force and a solid object they will simply be pushed away, maybe knocked down. He can, however, depending upon his position aim the force downward compacting everything in a sixty foot radius from himself into the ground. The force itself is not actually solid. It's not like he is creating an invisible wall, it is a visible distortion in the air, like transparent waves of water. The telekinetic force is to a degree pliable which can make it difficult (if needed) to squash people/creatures on soft ground.

    Not only is this 'repulsive force' kinetic, but it also 'psychic'. It acts on not only the physical but also the mental. This means that non-corporeal entities, that is to say entities without physical substance or even 'thoughts' are repelled as well. Psychic attacks will not be able to penetrate the barrier, at least not easily. They will be reflected back toward the attacker.

    This spell is cast at great strain, thus after it's use he is completely drained of mana for some time.
    • ARTISTIC. He's an exceptional artist, using his ability to capture realism with various medium to depict his clairvoyant visions

    • TENNIS. By professional standards he's a mediocre tennis player

    • PSYCHOLOGY. His most prominent skill is behaviour analysis but that really doesn't translate all that well to the practical world.

    • WOODWORKING. Surprisingly enough he's not bad with his hands, an amateur cabinet maker. Working with wood is therapeutic but he's never home long enough to ever finish anything he starts.

    • COMBAT. He's taken basic self defence and has some hand-to-hand combat experience from his time at MPS.

    • SAILING. Trystan has always loved the sea and knows his way around a Sloop style sailboat. He's no expert but he can sail and navigate. He has his basic seamanship.

    • LANGUAGES: Can read Latin and Ancient Greek. Speaks enough French to get by and knows some German.
    Born into a privileged family in Oxford Trystan's life was the picture of perfection. Comely and wealthy, his jet setting youth surrounded his dream to be an international tennis star while he steadily pursued his formal education at the prestigious university of his home.

    In time, his illusions of professional tennis were shattered but he had the promise of a doctorate in psychiatry to fall back on. His father expected him to follow in his foot steps and he was doing just that no matter how much he convinced himself that he was nothing like the man. His course was set, but it took a drastic turn when one of his best friends (Charity Kingston) was murdered, the victim of one of England's most notorious serial killers, 'The Humberside Hangman'. An uncatchable killer, police were baffled until Trystan stepped in to provide his exceptional insight on the investigation. So impressed was the senior investigating officer (Rachel Weeks) that she allowed him to participate in the case and Trystan's path in life was suddenly changed forever.

    After assisting in the capture of the notorious 'Hangman', Trystan's parents were outraged to learn that he was throwing his career away to pursue law enforcement. Wealth and prestige suddenly paled in comparison to pursuing murderers. Upon earning his doctorate he joined the behavioural analyst team at the Metropolitan Police Service (MPS, 'the Met' or otherwise known as Scotland Yard). For six years he tracked down suspects and analyzed convicted murderers and became so personally invested in his conviction that he burnt out.

    In 2009 he moved to Canberra, Australia to get away from it all and started working for the New South Wales Police Force. A year later the Resonance occurred. As his abilities began to manifest, the answer to controlling them seemed to lie with the Order of First Light in Sydney. While he desired to work toward the position of Sword Mage, the Arch Mage Liam Reynolds saw his potential and personally trained him to utilize his gifts. For over three years he was an 'Eye Mage' using his 'sight' to guide Swords and police. He grew tired of it but a man of his talents just couldn't 'turn a 'blind eye' to the visions. Reynolds would not allow him to leave the position and so Trystan decided that another change was in order. In March of 2016 he left Australia and transferred to the New York branch where he applied for the position of Sword. He received it, but in that same year the rebellion that created ARMA occurred thrusting him back into the position of an Eye.

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  • Role Play Sample
    Was it a different world? New York City. The gateway to a new horizon; a new beginning. Trystan wasn't sure of much anymore. The Order had become his life and in some ways his prison. As much as the former Eye wanted to leave he had no where else to go. Where could he go? "If you weren't part of the Order you're little people" was how his former boss put it, and he'd been on the other side. He'd "educated" rogue magus before. It wasn't something he looked forward to. A member of the Order going rogue was an embarrassment and usually dealt with as swiftly and cleanly as the executioner's blade.

    Trystan would always choose to keep his head, even if meant compromising his ideals. His sanity, however, was another matter. Nothing really mattered much after he lost his marbles but thankfully the New York Branch had honoured his request for transfer in the role of a Sword, the position he had originally desired.

    "Are you sure I can't change your mind?" Reynolds already new the answer to his question but had to ask.

    Trystan stared out across the tarmac of the airport toward the imagined shores of North America. "I need this."

    His former boss nodded. He understood more than he let on but his hands were tied. Trystan's abilities were wasted in any other position.

    "God-speed." He granted with an extended hand.

    Trystan offered a firm embrace. They had been through a lot together, he would miss their friendship.

    "Take care Liam."
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  1. Penultimate

    [trystan]Thank you.[/trystan] He wasn’t exactly ‘rolling in it’ as the American’s said, and her teas were a delicacy one expectantly paid for. Guns. He didn’t retort. The American fixation with the need to ‘blow away’ enemies was deeply seeded in their culture. The Englishman simply couldn’t relate and now, of course, the need for protection these days was truly warranted. Guns the Order could deal with, but Humans dabbling in ritualized magic was entirely another matter. [trystan]So, in answer to your query. Yes, yes, yes, and yes.[/trystan] he bobbed a finger to and fro in rhythm with the words, then gracefully gesturing to the electrical components around them. [trystan]Thus far all of this has held magic at bay, made it exclusive to the ‘altered’.[/trystan] The hand swinging between Rorye and himself, [trystan]Not so anymore.[/trystan] [trystan]There seems to be a correlation between this resurrected ‘arcanery’ and technological dampening but investigations into this are ongoing. What we do know for sure is that certain knowledgable individuals are delving into the rituals of old and performing magick.[/trystan] Trystan’s feet began to pace with his thoughts. [trystan]The spells are laborious, reliant on specific times, locations, components and often ‘life’ itself. We take so much for granted.[/trystan] He was of course alluding to their own powers, especially those of Magus. The energy they harboured that allowed them to bend magic to their will was nothing short of phenomenal. [trystan]The difference between this ‘sorcery’ and our own brand of magic is that they are not bound to our classifications. While we are unable to control the magic of other disciplines, Humans are not. They can master the ritual of any field, they are perfectly neutral in this matter. This threat is the backbone of the truce between ARMA and the Order.[/trystan] He finally divulged. Few were aware of the actual reason behind the truce. It was known that Alistair was invited to the Citadel to meet with Overseer Setgrave, but what exactly transpired between them remained unknown. Trystan knew, only because of his position as the Overseer’s counsellor. Not exactly a standing title, but more of an additional duty as a Seer with his particular skill set.
  2. Penultimate

    Trystan acknowledged her query with a vacant glance, his stare trailing off with thoughts on the blood moon. Drawing a small leather bound book from the inner pocket of his coat, Trystan began to thumb through it. Working backwards from the blank pages of the latter half, he quickly scanned through the detailed pencil and pen sketches until he found what he was looking for. There in the center of a thick bramble of branches stared back a red coloured iris, only it was no eye. He knew that now. [trystan]Sometimes, these make little sense at the time.[/trystan] He explained, showing the picture to Rorye, [trystan]Sometimes, they make any sense, not that this particular forewarning provided any insight.[/trystan] he laughed, mocking his precognition which he more appropriately referred to as ‘inconvenient prophecy’. It did, however, verify the phenomena. At least in his mind. Another spontaneous Nevusian event. Trystan did not bother to explain the particular nature of his gifts. She’d make the connection. Instead he returned to her original question. [trystan]I told you. We’re investigating all shops that may intentionally or unintentionally stock components that could empower arcane incantations. Or haven’t you heard? There’s a new breed of magician on the streets, one that conjures mana the old fashioned way, trading life for power.[/trystan] He tucked the sketchbook back into his coat. [trystan]That and I fancied a cup of Elderberry Tea.[/trystan] He quipped, trying to lighten the mood somewhat. Trystan was hardly ignorant of the Order’s reputation of recent years, but he continued to have faith in the organization. It was after all founded on the very values he held close to heart. Founded being the key word in this respect. The truce between their factions hardly dispelled the dissension, not that he denied most of their actions either.
  3. Penultimate

    Trystan diverted his eyes to the wall as he became conscious they were lingering a little too long on the buttons she was closing. [trystan]Of course I…[/trystan] He replied, abruptly pausing mid sentence as she continued on about ‘full moons’, of which he was well apprised. None of what she saying actually made any sense until she said, “Red.” That’s when his green eyes brightened in the flickering glow with both surprise and fear. It all made sense now. [trystan]A blood moon.[/trystan] The words quietly rolled off his tongue as if uttering them aloud would bring a curse down upon them. [trystan]No…[/trystan] He answered her question regarding the noise on the roof, alarmed of what it might and probably be, [trystan]I’m alone… Shopping?[/trystan] Trystan was a tad distracted by the prospect of having to deal with an enraged Lycanthrope, [trystan]Oh, well, please pardon the intrusion then. I’m sure you’re aware of our concern with the rise of practitioners utilizing the arcane arts… [/trystan] Trystan’s head shot to the right as a slight scratching sound distracted him. [trystan]Your shop,[/trystan] He continued, nervous eyes scanning his surroundings, [trystan]is a treasure trove of components that could potentially empower these sorcerers.[/trystan] Speaking of which, he wished he had access to some ancient incantations right now. Invisibility would come in handy. [trystan]Do you think it’s one them?[/trystan] He inquired of Rorye. She displayed the savvy of a warrior, and figured she was probably knowledgable of these things. Far more so than he anyway.
  4. Penultimate

    Trystan was thankful the situation hadn’t turned bloody. Specifically his blood, but he quickly got the feeling that it may yet spill one way or the other over the course of the night depending upon his choice. She presented him two options, one that would spare him from the yet unknown wrath of impending danger or her own. Five minutes flashed by, his involuntary sigh preceding the hollow clang of the heavy door closing before him. [trystan]My name is Sallow. Trystan Sallow. I’m of the Order.[/trystan] He divulged, a hand raised between them in a gesture of peace. He knew who and what she was, as well as her affiliation to ARMA. It was a faction that could react with hostility, so for the moment he left out the details of his current assignment. She might NOT take kindly to being spied on. [trystan]What’s happening? Are we being attacked?[/trystan] He inquired. Not that Trystan wasn’t capable of ‘seeing’ for himself, but he wanted to avoid any noticeable castings, else she take it the wrong way.
  5. Penultimate

    Trystan sipped his tea and milk savouring the delightful concoction enhanced further by the relaxing ambience of the shop; an ‘occult shop’. The visit wasn’t personal but the Magus took pleasure where he could, even when on duty. Placing the ornate cup lightly back on to it’s saucer, his left hand moved to the right and adjusted the coppery coloured ring on his middle finger. It was beginning to itch, the enchantment fading, and with it the suppression of his magical signature, the mana that could easily betray the presence of a Magus. Impossible to ‘turn-off’ but it could be temporarily suppressed through the means of a charm. Unfortunately the ‘cancellation’ was short lived, the mana coursing though his body overwhelming the counter-acting talisman. In fact, it was getting down right hot. ‘Damn.’ Trystan was quite comfortable, nestled in the plush high backed chair of a corner table. He would have liked to finish his biscuits but he dare not risk the exposure. It was time to go. He hoped by chance to bid the owner of the establishment, the one he was investigating, a fond farewell, but as he descended the stairway she was hurriedly skipping up a winding staircase. At least he assumed it was her, he only caught a glimpse. There was an anxiousness to her movement, and the ‘psionic’ was suddenly assaulted by the sensation of ‘danger’. Something was wrong, of this Trystan had no doubt, but the reasons were vague, in fact he picked up on no details at all. Rorye, seemed to know what was going on. Peeking up the twisting stairwell he paused and considered where it went, arriving at the conclusion that it went to her private dwelling. He wasn’t much one for trespassing, at least not without just cause. The ring was burning now and he had little choice to remove it. Thrusting it into the pocket beside his signet ring of the Order which he had removed for obvious reasons. He hastened up the stairs, but was stopped but an eerie sound echoing through the streets. ‘Was that the danger?’ Trystan ventured. Retreating back the way he’d come, down the stairs and through the labyrinthian home only end up face-to-face with Rorye. They almost collided as she kicked off a wall and softly landed on the landing in front of him. All Trystan could do was stiffen up and make a funny face, his eyes scanning her up and down noting the sudden change in wardrobe. She was armed! Instinctively Trystan through his hands up in submission, not knowing what else to do. Perhaps there was a move or two he could have made, but in his experience a person carrying blades usually knew how to use them, and use them well. The Magus uttered a sigh of relief not be cleaved in two, and jumped when she shouted to the other woman, “Nina, now!” [trystan]Now?[/trystan] Trystan repeated in his English timbre, [trystan]Now what?[/trystan]
  6. Nightshade

    WEDNESDAY, JULY 17th, 2019 — CONNECTICUT Gleaming bright in the mid-afternoon sun the white SUV cruised northward along the vacant highway while it’s driver listlessly fiddled with the map display. Global positioning systems weren’t what they used to be. There was a serious lack of resources when it came to satellite support but there was a lot more to it than just general maintenance. Like most things these days, technology suffered the effects of the Nevus. Some places more prolific than others. Even his own mana might have been, probably was to some degree, messing with the vehicle’s computer. He didn’t need it anyway. It was of the reasons most members of the Order tended to drive late model vehicles. He’d have requisitioned one in advance if he’d had the time. As it was, the Magus was acting purely on, well, one might refer to it as instinct but those familiar with the nuances of a psychic’s mind knew better. Trystan had awoken that morning with a nagging. The sort you got when something important was misplaced only you weren’t sure specifically what that thing of importance was. Hardly a novel sensation for a ‘sensitive’ but the impressions were somehow different, more pronounced. It’s drawings had dominated his sketchbook over the past week, a cryptic vignette that had made little sense until that very afternoon. He had been tasked with clearing out the desk of a fellow Magus that had gone missing months ago. He’d requested the job, if only to satisfy his curiosity and have one last ‘look’ at the life of Third class Shield. Peter Pembry was a former special operations officer gifted with the abilities of a Magus. It had taken the man a few years to embrace the calling but when he had finally given up his old life for the Order he immediately proved himself an asset. Unfortunately like many of his kind he struggled with the realities on this new world and had been passed up for promotion several times. Assigned to the case, Trystan had focused on this doldrum, but to no avail. No other clues yielded through the psychometry of his personal possessions had allowed the psychic to glean his whereabouts or even derive a single indicator of the motive. The eerie details of the vanishing had continued to haunt him and Trystan had felt that one last scan of the man’s belongings would give him closure. Instead, it had inadvertently allowed him to piece together the cryptic mosaic of his mindscape and point him to a specific place. The revelation was hardly a break in the case. The experienced Eye had long accepted the fallibility and vagaries of his visions, but he had felt as if he had tapped into something. The extent of it went beyond his comprehension and against all better judgement Trystan had given to the overwhelming obligation. ‘Was there a connection?’ Trystan didn’t know, but something was drawing him north. Often times there was little else he could do to appease the obsession of his wandering ‘eye’ but to fumble along behind it. That very afternoon he obtained a vehicle and left the city, but for the life of him, the normally cautious Magus could not recall whether or not he recorded the reason for his departure or even the destination. ‘Strange.’ Not one to deviate from standard protocol, Trystan could only assume that he followed the basic procedure. Why would he not? Taking the exit to Millbrook, he turned off of the Taconic State Parkway and headed east on the 44, the only route safe enough for higher cruising speeds. His destination was located in the northwestern corner of the state of Connecticut. The ‘Wilds of Connecticut’, two terms in tandem that would have been considered an oxymoron prior to the Resonance but since then much had changed. The entire region had been plagued with the zombie virus and a blight had rendered the land infertile. Arid steppe and wind swept wasteland stretched to the horizon. As far Trystan knew nobody lived in these barren lands. The bulk of the population adhered to the southern and eastern parts of the state where the land had remained fertile. Even the zombies had long since expired or were forced into permanent stasis upon the bleak, lifeless heath. Trystan drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in time with a classic tune, the heavy thump of his signet ring resonating in his thoughts. He’d been too long in the city of late. It felt good to hit the highway, explore a little. That’s all he figured this was going to turn out to be, a ‘Sunday drive’ on a Wednesday. It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d followed a vision into the wilds only to arrive at a destination that served as a catalyst to produce more pieces of the puzzle. The coalescence of a myriad of fragmented possibilities into one comprehensible idea momentarily alleviating the burden of self perpetuated intrigue. Tapping the break, Trystan swerved, narrowly missing the dried carcass of some unidentifiable form of roadkill. A long exhale ensued, widened eyes putting daydreams aside and focusing on the present. ‘What the hell was that thing?’ The fleeting image in the rearview mirror might have been a deer but it was too robust. Streaks of dried blood denoted it to have been killed by a heaving impact, a land-train to be specific. Passing near the carcass the psychic saw the creature’s last thought, the reinforced steel grill of an enormous semi-truck. They were used in Australia their popularity now growing to haul cargo across the vast, unpopulated areas of North America. ‘But why would one come all the way out here?’ Trystan’s question was answered a half hour later, when the barren shoulder of the highway suddenly burst into a vibrant verge. Lush vegetation thickened with each passing second and in the distance a bright verdure contrasted against the brilliant blue of the summer sky. A sign was quickly approaching and instinctively the Magus reduced speed as the rooftops of structures rose in the distance. ‘Where was this?’ He pondered prior to reading the pristine sign’s message, ‘Welcome to Lakeville’ To his right a small lake, a little over a kilometre in width, sparkled in the afternoon sun like a blue gem, the white of a sail dancing across it’s shimmering surface. Healthy trees, bumper crops and well kept homes surrounded the highway hugging town as if the catastrophe that struck the area had never occurred. These were, however, incredible times and thus the Magus immediately began to formulate a rational explanation for this oasis in the desert. There were three small people riding their bikes on the shoulder of the road ahead of him. Children, their smiles beaming as he passed by, the smallest among them exuberantly waving. Trystan waved back, returning a hesitant smile. There was something ‘off’ about this place, though he sensed nothing that would support the feeling. There were stranger places in this world to be sure, so the Magus chalked it up to paranoia. It was a quaint town, grand old trees shading the sidewalks. Many of the homes and buildings dated back to the early 1900’s, predominantly white washed or brick giving the borough a coastal feel. It appeared to be a resort town, banking on it’s close proximity to two lakes, but no longer. He doubted few came up this way very often, although there were the definite signs of a freight truck. Still, there were a few vehicles about save for those owned by homeowners or staff. The slate blue siding of a large ‘A-framed’ building caught Trystan’s eye, the name ‘Boathouse’ laid over the image of two crisscrossing oars across the front. Decorative white trim and french windows were immaculate, hardly the rundown restaurant of a place beset by hard times and yet the place wasn’t large enough to sustain it’s economy without the commerce of outsiders. He noted a few patrons through the large windows, and to be fair, it was four in the afternoon on a Wednesday. He kept driving along the main street, following highway 44 through the small town. It barely took ten minutes to near the outskirts and it was at that point that better judgement finally won out and Trystan decided to call into the office. ‘No service.’ He wasn’t surprised. Like GPS, the reliability of cell phones had plummeted, especially over the last few years. He needed a land line, of course that meant stopping and getting out of the vehicle, two things of which he had hoped to avoid. Coming up on his left he saw a sign, ‘Inn at Iron Masters’, and down the lane from it was the motel. As good a place as any, Trystan figured as he hung a left and drove toward it, the crackle of stone beneath the tires breaking the eerie calm. The bells attached to the door of the motel’s office chimed as the Magus entered, hands tucked into the pockets of his linen pants. [trystan]Hello?[/trystan] He called out, after waiting a few minutes. He then tried the phone on the counter. Dead. ‘Great.’ [trystan]Hey! Excuse me![/trystan] He tried again. Nothing.
  7. It's a Wonderful Fae Life.....

    The racing green coloured Aston Martin parked and leaning back into the seat of the right hand drive Trystan could only issue an annoyed groan. He’d been trying to escape this very street for the past hour, always ending up in front of the same pale stone building. ‘A vision?’ The psionic magus had considered. It would not have been the first time he struggled to differentiate the physical from the imagined. It all seemed to have something to do with this recurring structure to his right. So, determined to get to the bottom of it all he stepped out of his car and ventured toward the doors of the establishment. They were unlocked, the rhythmic sound of music emanating from within. ‘A club?’ Yes, it was indeed some kind of a night club, although oddly he’d never come across it’s likes before. Trystan loosed a couple of buttons on his stylish pea coat, the ornate red and silver brooch of the Order upon his lapel stark against the black attire. Removing a glove his hand lightly touched one of the ornate wooden doors. Nothing. His extra-sensory perception yielded no danger and so he followed his feet up the stairs to find himself standing before a beautifully crafted bar. The wood was burnished to a high sheen, the glasses and bottles equally polished, sparkling in the dim lighting. Next to him, a man in rather festive sweater was demanding of the bartender how he arrived in this place. He didn’t seem to have the answer, nor did the tall, statuesque woman on the other side of the ‘seasonly’ clothed man. [npc] A complimentary drink?[/npc] Offered a fresh faced girl. The server was very petite. Glossy auburn hair hanging to her shoulders and her sparkling green eyes were as verdurous as his own. Trystan pulled his eyes from her elegant features to the tray she was carrying. Upon it were a spectrum of cocktails in martini glasses. He chose the pale green one that bore the distinct bouquet of apples. [trystan]Thank you.[/trystan] ‘What was this place?’ He was about to question the server when he spied a familiar face. It was Alistair Greene. The Commander of ARMA! Naturally he was hesitant, after all, their two factions weren’t on the best of terms. Water under the bridge as far as Trystan was concerned but many magus didn’t share his sentiments. He ventured to think that the pale eyed leader of the fractured group was no different but it was the Christmas season after all. Taking a few sips of his drink Trystan meandered his way toward the commander. The closer he got, the lighter his steps became, but the sensation had nothing to do with nervousness and everything to do with the fact that he was floating! Trystan couldn’t believe it. He was hovering over the floor. He was flying! Incredible! He was completely weightless. Putting a toe to a nearby wall, he lightly pushed himself toward Alistair, sipping his drink as he glided through the air. Of course everyone else but Trystan saw the truth. That he wasn’t flying at all. With his arms extended like a bird, Trystan lightly pranced, in slow motion, across the floor toward the ‘Bunny Commander’. [trystan]My word![/trystan] He exclaimed at Alistair’s transformation, [trystan]What’s up Doc? Oh! I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I said that.[/trystan] His head was spinning. It was becoming difficult to maintain a straight face. Especially staring into the face of a six foot bunny! The ‘seasonally dressed’ guy was speaking in a strange tongue; the taller woman sprouted wings! It was all Trystan could do to not burst out into laughter. But this was no laughing matter! Wasn’t it?