Alistair Starrise

The clinking of shimmering crystalline glasses rang off the walls of a similarly crystalline tower. Thousands of tics into the air above Cleon, a crowd of hundreds danced around in glowing candlelight. The scent of strongest liquor, sweetest dishes, most seductive scents, and most ugly laughter flowed throughout the wealthiest of all the Isles. Outfits of absurd glory and strangest design scraped their silken forms upon the stone floors. Whirling purples and golds and maroons and turquoises clashed in the dim, sensuous light of the ballroom chamber. The night was beginning to die, to collapse, and to rise into day with the breaking of light. Everywhere one looked they could see a couple of gallavanting nymphs about to depart into dalliance - in every corner another pair feeling each other's bodies with gazes so lustful they would have given blush to Aphrodite. Across the dance floor groping hands, wandering eyes and ripped cloth revealed the death of shame that comes with drink. At the north edge of such a fanciful display of debauchery stood a figure, not solitary, but set apart by status. To his sides were attendants and guards that stood around him to suit his every whim. He watched the celebration's end with continuing relish. A few moments later he sent a team of attendants in to take his various newly paired guests to their requisite quarters; for whatever final summits of pleasure they might reach that night. At the end of said departures there were only 5 guests left on the floor; those he wanted to talk to. He snapped his fingers and his attendants left, closed an locked the doors, leaving his guests behind, and only his guards to watch on. "I take it you didn't enjoy any of my refreshments", the host said. "I can't say that we did, sad as it is, dear boy. Though it seems your brother certainly did." The chief of his guests said. The host snickered a moment, in what seemed genuine good faith, looking at the only one of the 5 to which he was related. He lay against a pillar on the left side of the ballroom, collapsed in a drooling drunken heap, ruining clothes that cost several hundred years' salary for a common laborer. The host rolled his eyes, knowing his brother'd throw that pair away and replace it without struggle or hesitation. Still, it was a bother and a shame to his brother that he could not care for himself. His other brother was far off and suffering in his irrepressible stress over work some servant could do - or rather, a few hundred servants. "I regret his being so incapacitated, good sirs, really I do. I warned him that there would be guests of importance here and to be-" "Worry not, good man, there's no shame in celebration. It's the Festival, after all", said the lead of his guests. In front of him stood three members of the Watcher's Knights - three Knights dressed in Gray and Red, bearing the insignias of the Inquisitors. Hovering behind them was a figure of bounty to the man, a figure he had placed a several hundred million Thelt bounty atop. He snapped his finger again, pointed to his brother, and a trio of guards held him up and took the drunken man to some bedroom of the manor. Crystallinum, his gargantuan home on the 4th level of Cleon, shimmered in the pitch-black dark and glinted into the window and against his eyes. "I hope you do not especially mind the setting. I understand it's quite the mess", said the host, as he crushed a priceless glass beneath his feet into a fine powdery dust. His soldiering guests chuckled, "No,", said their lead, "of course not sir. We are used to significantly less finery. However, 'tis late, and I would, if it should please you, wish to depart by morning - thus I believe it necessary that we complete our business with some haste". The host smiled, in a sheepish yet grandiose way, "Of course. I hope you have not minded the setting. The party served as excellent cover for your appearance here; were you seen to enter my home without some form of excuse and explanation I am sure it would have created quite a stir in those filthy rags we call the press", he said, with an appreciative murmur of laughter. "To business then", said the host, "may I see the subject of our meeting". Here the two knights at the shoulders of their commander grabbed the frame of the nervous criminal and tossed him on his knees afront of the host's shining magnificent feet. "Exactly right?", asked the Knight's commander. "Exactly right, yes, yes", said the host, holding up the face of the silent cowering prisoner to check for marks of identity. "I hope you know I am extraordinarily appreciative of the Knights service in this regard. I'm sure you know I am prepared to render payment in whatever form you'd most like, Consul Arepnos. Would a check with Gasolrin's Offices at the Mount of Peace suffice? If not I have the pure coinage; it would simply take some time to have it all loaded unto the several hundred carts it would take.". The Consul raised his hand in a gesture to silence the young host. "We would like to accept payment in some other form if it is agreeable to you.". "Name it, your excellency, surely you know I'm a sure bank for your Order". The Consul nodded, "Yes, of course. But the form of payment we request is not of a certain monetary value.". The fake smile that had been borne on the host's face started to fall. "And what form would you be referring to", he asked, half-knowing what the Consul referred to. "No real action on your part. Instead, of course, an end to certain actions. An abstinence of sorts Firstly, of undue harm to this prisoner, and then...". The smile finally fell and a slightly bitter not came into the host's voice. After a long pause he simply asked, "Whom?". Consul Arepnos handed him a small satchel of leather, which the host quickly popped open and fingered through. Arepnos spoke, "114 total targets - the proof against each of them is almost undeniable. We know, however, that during the time it would take for our men to either breach their quarters or file warrants of search or seizure they would cover their tracks almost flawlessly. Therefore we must surprise them. We're not asking much. We will take care of everything. None of your operatives will be harmed. You have the right to your businesses' privacy, and we will continue to investigate those branches which are particularly...notorious. You have always been extremely cooperative to the Order, and we know how much it saddens you too to hear that your employees are performing acts less than lawful. In ten days time, which will be the 6th of Marpenoth, all we ask is that hidden orders be sent out to your troops to stand down when ordered - let our troops surprise them before they have a chance to hide". The host stayed silent for a few minutes, walked a few steps backwards, picked up a bronze pitcher from the ground and in a single burst of rage threw it into the wall. He breathed a few moments more, curled over himself, his hands hanging down . The Knights said nothing. "It sickens me! You know that? Just sickens me...", said the host, his words trailing off. "We know, Mr. Starrise, we do, and we-". "and you know how this always makes me look, right? You are aware how much of a crisis of public image this is every time I have to-", said the host, cutting off the Consul and getting cut off in turn. "We know, sir, yes. And truly, we've been merciful every time this has occurred...especially to not look further." The host snapped his eyes to stare directly at the Consul, an indignant questioning rage evident within them. "And what is that supposed to mean?", said Starrise, as the two guarding knights looked away from the obviously enraged man. Though they were in no danger of violence from Alistair, or any of the thousands of watchmen that patrolled the halls of his palace, they still felt an ineffable sense of shame under his gaze. The Consul looked on, used, by this the 17th visit of this type he had carried out, to the antics of Alistair Starrise. "You know very well how clean your hands are. And I would guess you know somewhat how much we know as well. And they're never as clean as you pretend". "Nothing of what you have dealt with was connected to me...strictly", Alistair said, with a coy smirk sneaking onto his face and into his voice. "Yes sir, of course sir. And thus, you have escaped any further investigation. Because frankly, you've been far too useful to the Knights thus far. I know who donates the Thelts that buy my Armor, my clothes, Vyxipod, and food. I know whose Gates I walk through to get home to my wife and children in the few days I get of vacation. Which actually brings me to the second request we have." Alistair feigned surprise and indignation at this, "Oh there's more is there? More demands you place upon me?" The Consul sighed, "Yes, Sir, and this one is much smaller, we believe. We simply require the use of one of the Gates to Winjanap for the course of several days. We truly do not care which entrance, and, though we'd rather not incur the cost, we could quite easily go to one of your competitors. We'd just like to reserve it for around 15 days sometime around Wereyear, and to know of at least one Gate to reserve." Alistair put up one of his eyebrows, "What in the Hells do you need that for"? "A project of the Knights Charitable, sir", said the Consul, betraying no emotion. "Fine, fine - you know I'm such a sucker for those anyway...How does the gate to Hanipur sound? Number 232, Near The Citadel on the First Level? Wereyear the 5th to the 20th?" said Alistair, mentally checking for any conflicts while he listed it off. "Wonderful, sir, the Knights thank you" Said Arepnos. "And you said Marpenoth the 4th?", asked Alistair. "Yes sir, if you'd like I have a full schedule of arrest and seizure actions that will be published that morning so as to close total chance of early discovery. It's in that packet, I would be more than happy to walk you through." "I'm sure its riveting, Arepnos, I'll be sure not to read it before bedtime - don't concern yourself", said Alistair said, cheekily ribbing the tenured Investigator, "Jossie, right those dates down", motioning to an attendant to document the terms of the deal. He walked to a stairway door and opened it, as the Knights Inquisitor followed him. "Well, I suppose we'll consider it even then. Good night to your excellency, and to you honored knights", he said, extending his hand for shaking to each of them. They did so, and began to depart, confident in the trust that Alistair would do as promised - as he always had. "And Arepnos...", Alistair said as the Consul Inquisitor marched down the stairway to the ground level. "Try and actually catch me next time, will you? It's awful to watch you all struggle like this". The Consul didn't pause, simply shouted back over his shoulder, "I don't think we ever will, Mr. Starrise". Alistair burst out a single laugh, "No, you damn surely won't", he said, and he closed the door to the ballroom behind him. He walked over to the prisoner still shivering in terror on the floor. Alistair squatted over him, "Undue harm, sure", he said. The prisoner whimpered in fear. "But all of what I'll do will be more than due", said Alistair, and pulled him to his feet. The prisoner began to sob uncontrollably, the last of his pride collapsing in fear. "Oh, you poor pathetic bastard, what's wrong now", said Alistair, passing him to a small group of guards, tossing him on one of their shoulders. "th-the....the-th...le..lef-", the prisoner said as his chained body quivered and the guards began to march down a passage to a different staircase. "Spit it out you traitorous bastard", Alistair said, with an angry sneer. "They left me!", the traitor screamed, and roiled around on the shoulder of the Hobkobold guard that carried him. Alistair burst out laughing, almost doubling over in utter shock at the prisoner's confidence of his own security. "You killed people in your escape, you utter moron! That's what you did wrong! That's why they left you! The Knights couldn't care less about a murderer, even moreso a mass-murderer. Do you know how many people died in your explosion?", Alistair asked, as he opened the door to a secret passage off the side of the stairway. The prison didn't dare say another word. "Your little escape fiasco killed 94! 94 people! Great Death, if you killed any more, you could be one of my managers", he said, snickering at his own joke, and opening a door within the passage to reveal a wall full of chains. The guards threw him against the wall, and before he had a chance to stand, removed his chains an replaced them with the cuffs hanging from the wall. The chamber was circular, covered in a smooth, black stone of some unclear variety. The guards departed, leaving Alistair alone with the chained man. In the center of the room, just before the door was a circular platform, the bottom of which glowed orange with some ethereal light. "You betrayed me", Alistair said, sitting atop the platform. The prisoner was beginning the calm down, and his sniffling filled the quiet room. After a few moments, alistair in a rasping, vicious voice, asked, "why?" The prisoner said nothing, looking down at the floor beneath. Alistair sat there tolerating his silence for a moment, he had becomed used to this pattern in his captives. "Was I simply paying too little? Was it the position? Did you have enough to do? Did you miss a promotion? Was the commute just that bad that you just...had to-", here he stood to his full height, "murder 94 of my employees!?". Grasping a knife from his vest pocket he stabbed deep into the prisoner's eye, causing him to screech in utter anguish. "Did you have to destroy one of my most important office buildings!? Did you just have to go and endanger the lives of thousands?! Did you just have to go and do that you useless bastard!?", Alistair screamed at him. He was curled cover the prisoner's body, driving the dagger ever further into his skull. Alistair breathed, and calmed himself a moment. He wiped the blood off of his hands unto his clothes. He grabbed the prisoner, and clicked new chains unto the pillar in the middle. "You've cost me millions of Thelts, a huge deal of stress and caution, and - now, 114 of my managers! Who are now going to be hunted down by the Inquisitors!", he said, breathlessly angered at the man. The prisoner continued to scream and writhe in pain. "It doesn't matter now, and I should stop caring, really. Still...at least you've had your dose of vengeance. I'll cauterize that wound of yours in a second, don't you worry. You'll be back in my repertoire in a moment. You'll be serving here in a moment, actually; here in this house." The Prisoner spoke, choking on his own blood, the knife left in his eye, "You'll let me live? You'll let me stay here?" Alistair chuckled, "yes, yes, sure; you'll live here in this house for a long, long time - ever at my service. One more thing though...", he said, as he loosed the weakened man from his chains, and strapped him to the new ones on the bottom of the pillar. "What...what are you doing?", the prisoner asked. "Never you mind" said Alistair, stepping out of the door, and leaning next to a lever. "Ah, this really is my favorite part", said Alistair as he pulled the lever and watched on. Instantly, the chamber began to fill with that same orange glow that was at the bottom of the platform to which the prisoner was chained. A sliding, clear, absurdly bright substanc flowed out from the ceiling, the platform, and hundreds of tiny little holes on the walls. Molten crystal flowing out into the room began to creep nearer to the prisoner. "Alistair! Alistair, no! No! Please! Please! Have mercy! Please!" the prisoner yelled until Alistair closed the door and his pleading was replaced with screams of horrid pain. Alistair giggled for a bit until he was sure the room was full, and his prisoner enclosed in a hard, dazzling crystal layer. He waited around an hour, passing it playing with a handful of little tops he kept in a pouch at his waist. Eventually he cracked opened the door with some stain to find a wall of pure, shimmering crystal. He whistled to beckon his servants, "Alright lads, to chiseling with you. I want him broke out of their in 8 hours maximum", he said, as he departed to his bedchambers. He didn't undress, didn't undo his hair; simply lay flat on his bed and fell asleep. A matter of hours later he awoke, took breakfast, changed, washed, and readied himself for the day. Singing in the halls was the choir he had awaken him every morning. He marched down to the balcony of his home, and waved to the brigade of reporters he had called the day before. He left the balcony to the podium that had been set up for this announcement. "Good morning, and may the gods bless you all. I've gathered you all here today to display the newest addition to my gallery of sculptures. This work was composed by an artist that has opted to remain anonymous, and I find it to be a wondrous addition to my ever growing collection". The reporters sat enraptured, knowing that whatever work he unveiled now would inevitably influence thousands of subsequent works and styles and high fashions across the Isles for months to come. "I had the privilege of naming it, and thus I am pleased to present to you, The Coward's Way Out", and with that, he pulled the curtain from a sculpture to his left. An incredibly lifelike crystal statue, sprawled out as if cowering away from earth itself, speared through with a knife in its eye, and its face twisted in irrepressible pain shined in the morning light. Every muslce fiber could be seen, every contortion of his body, and the force of the scream it surely was meant to be making could almost be heard. It was almost as if the statue was alive, or, at least, was once living. Alistair smiled on at the statue, while reporters took photoloses and raised their hands to ask questions. "Alistair, Alistair, Alistair", they cried out for his attention - and it seemed to him almost like cheering. Alistair smiled, and could almost still smell the blood, feel the warmth of viscera, and hear the beauty of those screams. He chuckled and turned to the reporters, smiling on as he always did - safe in the knowledge that he was too good to catch. Safe, knowing, that money closes all wounds, and all lips. Safe, knowing, knowing; that they damn surely won't catch him.