[centre][h1][b][color=#edd06f]|| Duncan Mallard||[/color][/b][/h1][/centre]
[centre][h3][b][color=#edd06f]|| The Cat and Concert ||[/color][/b][/h3][/centre]

With the detached disinterest of the lazy cat watching over the mouse scurrying to and fro in its vain struggle for survival, the lanky ghoul watched as body after body flooded into the shuttle bay. His expression did little to betray the turmoil storming his mind as the buzzing began. With each new face, the buzzing in the boy’s head grew louder and louder, the various disembodied voices clashing against each other, merging and breaking apart as they formed a mad orchestra performing a concert that moved between beautiful symphony and agonizing discordance.

With every new thought or observation given form to join the disharmonious harmony, the paradoxical performance swelled to its climax. The young Spectre felt as if his mind were splitting apart at its seams. 

[i]Not long now[/i]

The words cut through the noise. The soothing warmth of familiarity serving as a shining beacon in the dark sea of insanity. As the boy focused on the words, his mind’s eye shifted, it’s gaze fixed solely on the source of its respite. As he grew closer, the orchestra’s damned song faded into the gentle hum of a choir. The boy’s eyes shifted from the impossible sea of faces to the form of the Holy Man gazing upon something in his hand. It would be nothing for the young Spectre to peer into his comrade’s mind, to see what he was seeing, know what he was contemplating.

But he wouldn’t dare. 

Not this one. 

Never this one.

The Holy Man towered over his brothers, the Spectres who congregated around him. There were some within their ranks who avoided the man…but they all recognized him. In some capacity anyway. Duncan certainly did. To the boy, he was the calm at the center of the storm. Order within chaos. An abnormality amongst abnormalities. Proof that they weren’t doomed to be the monsters that others saw them as. The potential to be…good?

No.

Not good.

Never good.

Images flashed across the boy’s mind. Blurry. Unfocused. Painful. He pushed them away, back into the dark shadows they sprung forth from.

With his train of thought derailed, Duncan turned his attention to the other wreck occuring before him. The Others gathered around their own ranks. Metal men in garish garb. Mages mulling over malevolent magicks. Some gave speeches, some gave insults. Some prayed like the Holy Man, some laughed with their fellows. The many little rituals of the men and women preparing for battle, with him as their silent, unseen audience. Occasionally, stray thoughts would pierce Duncan’s calm. He would let them in, let them say their piece, then let them leave. And then he would ponder. 

Those thoughts of love.

Thoughts of joy.

Thoughts of duty and glory.

Of dread and sadness.

Of fear. 

Of hatred.

He would hold each against his own heart, hoping to identify that feeling which resonated with his own…but he did so in vain. Whatever moved him, he either did not find it amongst the thoughts of the Others, or could not recognize it. For these gathered few, this would be a momentous occasion, something extraordinary that they would hopefully look back upon. But for Duncan…the coming battle would be no different than breathing or eating. For this was his purpose, his very reason for creation. 

Like the cat finally pouncing upon the mouse, there’s no greater reasoning or motivation to the act. There is no malice. No joy. It is merely instinct.

Pure and primal.

[hr]
[centre][h3][b][color=#edd06f]|| The Doubt and Hope ||[/color][/b][/h3][/centre]
[centre][@TheMerlin][/centre]

As the Spectre shuttle lurched forward and took flight, Duncan found himself thinking of the Others. Before today, he had only worked with others within his own order. His own brothers. He knew little of the other Belisian forces. And there would have been a time when he would have gladly kept it that way. He had his tasks and they their own. But…something stirred within the boy. An uncertainty. A change. He had noticed it before. Back when his bro-

[b][sub][sub]no no no no no no no no no[/sub][/sub] [sub]no no no no no no no no no[/sub] no no no no no no no no no [sup][h3]no no no no[/h3] [h2]no no no no[/h2] [h1]no[/h1][/sup][/b]

Another series of unfocused memories began to surface in the boy’s mind, but he averted his gaze. He knew that to gaze upon those images and slides now…it would break him. He didn’t know where that knowledge or his absolute certainty came from…and that terrified him. But ever the master of many masks, the boy refused to allow his face to betray him. His was a stony demeanor, the ghoulish Spectre of Dr. Mallard. In an effort to steel his mind, the boy found the Anchor. Liffis Kai. The Holy Man. He pushed his mind towards the solemn Spectre delicately, careful not to push too far. There would be no melding, no invasion. Only the passage of a thought - four words in an attempt to seek assurance.

[color=#edd06f][b]”Knights…Mages…good people?”[/b][/color]

In a shaky, uncertain voice, the young Spectre would speak his thoughts aloud rather than risk intruding upon the Holy Man’s privacy. For many, it would be their first time hearing the boy’s voice outside of their own heads. Raspy. Hoarse. Some shifted their gaze upon him, sizing him up, searching for weakness. Others turned towards Liffis, curious to see his reaction to the strange outburst. Most remained unfazed, their minds solely focused on the task at hand.

The young Spectre, however, awaited the sage’s wisdom with bated breath, his eyes trained solely towards Kai. The Belisian weapon was little more than the boy Ducky once more, a creature of earnest, unabashed curiosity.

And the answer he was given would doubtless shape the boy’s troubled heart.