Who was he?
A fragment, a shard of a greater being, sent through the rifts during the war to see if Paragon was viable for the main mind, but it failed, Preatoria had been beaten back, he had been abandoned as the main mind turned elsewhere, to loftier goals.
He was once Metronome, hut now.... He was different, his sliver of psych had grown, evolved, he would make primal earth suitable, he would rise up... He just needed time, time to build his army.
The Hollows.
He stood in the abandoned building, looking at his hand. In it he held the psych of another one of Paragons lost and forgotten, so many homeless, so many aimless, he would fix that.
With his free hand, he moved with the grace of a master surgeon, cutting, sculpting, re working the mind. He had learned from the seer minds he worked with in Praetoria how Praetor Tillman had edited them, but while she was a butcher, hacking great chunks of the mind away, he had learned a more gentle touch, he was an artist at mental manipulation.
Placing the finishing touches, he turned to a bed where the vacant shell of a clockwork waited, with skill and grave he gently placed the edited mind into its new shell, the clockwork shuddering before slowly sitting up, looking around and bowing before him.
Another success, he let it stand, walk around, get used to its new form before other clockwork came in and lead it out, it would be given a name, purpose, another willing pawn in his growing forces.
That left.... The shell.
Turning to another bed, a male body layed there, eyes vacant, a look of fear etched onto his face as thick restraints held the body down, five burn marks on the forehead where he had pulled the mind free, leaving a brain dead shell.
He checked the body over, not too malnuroused, all the teeth where in tact and no sign of drug abuses he could see. With a simple mental impulse, he called forth one of his more earlier experiments, large constructor body with simple brutish mind, it stomped in, his head bowed as he awaited his orders.
"Contact Rollister, I believe he will pay well for this shell." The Herald said, there where only two buyers of bodies that he trusted, the Circle of Thorns and the Vazhilock, in honesty he rather not detail with either.... But building a revaluation was expensive and it would only be so long before the mindless shell expired and started to stink the place up.
Retrieving his staff, something he had prised from the fingers of a dead hero, he made his way into what was once a community room and smiled, rows of clockwork stood there, their heads turning as one as he entered, dropping to one knee and bowing their heads to him.... This was power, this was strength, his army would rise up and take paragon by force, he would find Penelope Yin, the Praetorian one and craft her into his perfect princess.
And nothing would stop his glorious evolution.
A fragment, a shard of a greater being, sent through the rifts during the war to see if Paragon was viable for the main mind, but it failed, Preatoria had been beaten back, he had been abandoned as the main mind turned elsewhere, to loftier goals.
He was once Metronome, hut now.... He was different, his sliver of psych had grown, evolved, he would make primal earth suitable, he would rise up... He just needed time, time to build his army.
The Hollows.
He stood in the abandoned building, looking at his hand. In it he held the psych of another one of Paragons lost and forgotten, so many homeless, so many aimless, he would fix that.
With his free hand, he moved with the grace of a master surgeon, cutting, sculpting, re working the mind. He had learned from the seer minds he worked with in Praetoria how Praetor Tillman had edited them, but while she was a butcher, hacking great chunks of the mind away, he had learned a more gentle touch, he was an artist at mental manipulation.
Placing the finishing touches, he turned to a bed where the vacant shell of a clockwork waited, with skill and grave he gently placed the edited mind into its new shell, the clockwork shuddering before slowly sitting up, looking around and bowing before him.
Another success, he let it stand, walk around, get used to its new form before other clockwork came in and lead it out, it would be given a name, purpose, another willing pawn in his growing forces.
That left.... The shell.
Turning to another bed, a male body layed there, eyes vacant, a look of fear etched onto his face as thick restraints held the body down, five burn marks on the forehead where he had pulled the mind free, leaving a brain dead shell.
He checked the body over, not too malnuroused, all the teeth where in tact and no sign of drug abuses he could see. With a simple mental impulse, he called forth one of his more earlier experiments, large constructor body with simple brutish mind, it stomped in, his head bowed as he awaited his orders.
"Contact Rollister, I believe he will pay well for this shell." The Herald said, there where only two buyers of bodies that he trusted, the Circle of Thorns and the Vazhilock, in honesty he rather not detail with either.... But building a revaluation was expensive and it would only be so long before the mindless shell expired and started to stink the place up.
Retrieving his staff, something he had prised from the fingers of a dead hero, he made his way into what was once a community room and smiled, rows of clockwork stood there, their heads turning as one as he entered, dropping to one knee and bowing their heads to him.... This was power, this was strength, his army would rise up and take paragon by force, he would find Penelope Yin, the Praetorian one and craft her into his perfect princess.
And nothing would stop his glorious evolution.
Neph: I wanna fight!
