leaderless [ INTRO // OPEN ]

[magebind]

who ; magebind and anyone who wanders by
what ; Ketojan's intro to the station.
where ; Zone 01
when ; Now :|b
warning(s) ; Can't think of any!
notes ; Action or prose is fine by me!

Comments

[double_discs]

It was enough for Rinzler. He cared little for inflection and even less for the emotion behind it. The rough, tonelessness should have have garnered a ping of empathy or at the least a subprocess of curiosity as to why a User would be this way, but instead all it did was satiate the enforcer's need for proper identification. Thus satisfied, the security program leaned back away from the mage and began to inspect his form with a closer examination.

There wasn't really any armor to begin with once the huge collar was ignored, allowing the observer to focus on other features. The chains were pointless, useless and Rinzler rumbled in disapproval at the complete lack of protection over the vital areas of the chest. The rest was meaningless.

Had he been more perceptive he would have realized it was all a simple symbol, a projection of what the man was rather than who the man was.

His tone and pitch of the white noise returned to normal and remained there as he spoke again. "Saarebas. Confirmed. Good." He contemplated for a moment before barreling forward once more. He could do one of two things with the creature (it was too simplistic to think of as a User anymore, less intelligent and free-thinking than even Toothless). He could leave it here to continue wandering around the city aimlessly, or he could order it around and see where it finally broke. And if it didn't--then he would have a new plan for it.

"State current objective." If it even had one.

[magebind]

Objective? Only a few minutes ago he would have readily identified his goal: find his basvaarad. Find a leader. Now it seemed like a distant, foolish idea, a moment of idiocy not worth mentioning. It had been a self-determined objective, folly on his part--although in a strange way he had fulfilled it regardless. This man was not Hawke, was not even familiar to him in the least, but he filled the role as well as any.

Arvaarad had been right--of course he had been right--in that a saarebas could not be trusted outside their karataam. Without guidance, without supervision, there were too many chances for corruption to seep in. Ketojan--Saarabas--had erred in thinking he could choose a course of action for himself. It had caused only anxiety and uncertainty, emotions he had rarely felt while in service to the Qun. Now that he had found one more suitable to the task, leaving him free to assume his proper role, he felt peaceful, almost calm.

This was not perfect, of course. The man was not Qunari, and neither was Ketojan, but to the mage it was close enough. After the chaos of earlier, it felt right.

Ketojan's silence was his reply. He had no true objective, no current purpose except to follow and obey. His body language reflected that well enough, as it always had in the past, and there would be nothing gained by further breaking the rules of silence. Had this man been Qunari Ketojan's tongue, perhaps even his life, would likely already be forfeit for his transgressions, but this thought did not particularly bother him now. Any punishment incurred would be because he earned it through his own weakness, and he would welcome it.

[double_discs]

Rinzler snorted in derision at the lack of response. He'd almost grown upset until it occurred to him that it wasn't trying to defy but simply without any directive at all in its current state. It completely lacked a direction and purpose, did not even have the freedom of mind to even state this.

It was less than a bit. Even lesser than a gridbug.

"Perfect. New directive," he told the saarebas with cold efficiency, treating him like the lowest subroutine beneath every program on the Grid. "You are going to follow me. It is going to take a while, and there will be no stopping."

And that was that. He left no room for argument. He didn't expect any. Not even bothering to glance over his shoulder after he'd preformed a military precision about-face, he walked off with the sure confidence that he would be followed by his new soldier.

[magebind]

Another warm rush of familiarity. Orders, simple and clear, with no loose ends for him to even begin to think of fretting over. He had no qualms at being treated in such a way--expected it, even--and Ketojan seemed almost pleased to fall into step behind the man, content to follow even without the slightest idea where they were going or even what the strangers name was. It was not important that Ketojan know the destination, and as for names--he'd already half-begun to think of him as Basvaarad, urged on by the almost desperate need for leadership carved into him by the Qun.

He kept pace silently as he could, the only noise coming from his footfalls and the grinding of heavy links of chain against one another, without complaint. His eyes remained downcast, trained on the heels of his latest stand-in basvaarad, and he walked slightly closer than he would normally consider a respectful distance--above all else, Ketojan did not wish to become lost once more.