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Sun Nov 24, 2013 1:35 pm by Turbo

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Poll

Who should be part of the Chalice?

29% 29% [ 2 ]
29% 29% [ 2 ]
0% 0% [ 0 ]
14% 14% [ 1 ]
14% 14% [ 1 ]
0% 0% [ 0 ]
0% 0% [ 0 ]
14% 14% [ 1 ]
0% 0% [ 0 ]
0% 0% [ 0 ]

Total Votes : 7

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The Intercessory

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The Intercessory

Post  Turbo on Mon Feb 27, 2012 6:09 pm

In a world where the Brotherhood were much more open with their sister city members, little Egon never pursued a path of science. He wanted to be able to help people, sure, but he had designs on a much grander level, being able to interact with the Guardians and facilitate their interactions with the populace - a position with only one slot, and a lifetime guarantee attached to it. Being able to so much as work in the same office as Special Liaison Quincey had been sufficient for him.

Until the explosion.


Last edited by Turbo on Mon Feb 27, 2012 6:24 pm; edited 1 time in total

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Re: The Intercessory

Post  Turbo on Mon Feb 27, 2012 6:12 pm

Egon Hayek was an enthusiastic young individual who had just realised his dream job: working as attache and personal intercessory between the public of Albion and the Brotherhood. Despite having shown an affinity for sciences, his true life ambition had been to help people and work with the Guardians, his longtime idols. He was quickly able to rise through the ranks at the embassy and eventually make his rank known as the liason after an unfortunate assassination attempt took out his predecessor and several other officials. In his new capacity, he was determined to do the best he could to serve the Guardians, despite the grave and untimely nature of his promotion.

Today was his first day on the job, and already, he was swamped with demands from the Council to provide them with more access to sensitive documents and the Guardians. There were several threats made to his person and his occupation should he not follow through with their demands, but he knew well enough from his previous internships that there was little they could do to wound him if he lived inconspicuously and within legal bounds, and that the privacy of the Guardians was well worth more than a few scares. It was a little fatiguing though; there were a few in the hierarchy that refused to recognise his status due to his youth and inexperience, he still hadn't gotten his coffee yet, he'd had to turn down some washy physicist on a grant for access to Byron documents regarding a Siphon, and he still hadn't met with the Guardians to confirm his new appointment.

Not that he wanted to bug the Guardians. They had, of course, important business to attend to. Worldwide crises. Dealing with their newest hormonal member. Sending funeral garlands to his... ah... deceased predecessor... He adjusted his glasses, feeling awkward again over that. What if they themselves refused to acknowledge him? This wasn't an office that you could just resign from - the liason knew details about the Guardians that no one else did, and they were perhaps as close as anyone could possibly be, aside from their Constable in the EST... what if they wanted someone else? Someone older? Geh, now he was having a panic attack.


What had been the name of that man; the one that used to be charged with the task of annoying Spectre’s family and trying to sway them on political matters, things that would benefit Albion in some way or another? Scheduled meetings just to listen to the man go on and on and on, talk and talk and drive the black furred guardian to the edge of his patience. He never enjoyed the rants that nuisance spewed. He had been a pest in Spectre’s eyes. Liaison was just a fancy word for it, but he’s dead now. Now a new little parasite would gain the title and undoubtedly annoy him just as the last, and as the one before him, and even the one before that. They were all the same. Naturally, Spectre was not thrilled.

What was the name of the new one? Ezio? Ego? It was something along those lines. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to address him by name. Spectre never liked talking to Albion’s appointed liaisons, but he tried to be polite… Or at least not snap at them.

Spectre’s fingers glided across the screen as he entered in the numbers to contact the council on his holo-cam. (Or whatever the heck dat video phone thing is called.) Then he’d ask them to redirect the call to the new pest. Spectre wanted to check him out, see how much of a bother this one would be before the rest of the Brotherhood got a chance to size him up.

”Hello, councilor Mykol. Can you do me a small favor?”


The councilor probably didn't appreciate being used as an operator, but the call was patched through with few complaints. Mykol, of course, being the least abrasive and annoying out of the five council menbers. Egon was in the middle of fussing, downing coffee like he was drunk, and petting over his horrible hair day when he was interrupted by the call. With a suddenly dry throat, he hesitated over the button. Now or never. Time to prove his worth in the seat -- oh sweet Kitara, what if it was Spectre? What if he said something incredibly dorky to his favourite Guardian (not that he was supposed to pick favourites, but everyone in the office did, and it was usually based on how hunky they were), and Spectre would never speak to him again?! "H-hello? Good morning, Guardian." Pleasant smile. His soothing voice was well-admired. Maybe he wouldn't be--- it was Spectre. Goodbye world.

He observed. This new liaison appeared youthful, and from the slight hesitation he picked up in his voice at the first hello, seemed unsure of himself. Or perhaps that was not the case and the hesitation was because he was speaking to a guardian, someone considered to be.. royalty almost. It wasn’t uncommon for his presence, or the presence of any of the other guardians to put a stutter in the most intellectual and the most confident. Spectre observed that pleasant smile and sweet voice with extreme bias, his own lips set in a straight line on his muzzle, eyes looking bored, or maybe they appeared uninterested? Either way, he gave a light smile as he spoke, but it was just for show. “Good morning. This call is off the records, by the way, and is not being recorded, so feel free to speak your mind without concerning yourself with prying eyes, or ears in this case. You’re are the one replacing the liaison that had recently been murdered, yes? His death was mostly likely political.” Spectre didn’t care much that mentioning this echidna’s deceased predecessor might scare him.

The vid-screen didn't flatter him - the lighting was a bit too blue-tone, and he could see that it was the computer monitor lighting up a face among the darkness, and he looked like he hadn't slept in a while, but it was still the same man that his heart almost hurt for. The Guardian Spectre. He was acknowledging him! Ghn!

He recovered marvelously. "Of course. I myself did not presume to record either. My memory is flawless, and certain matters, I think, are not for the public ears. Discretion and the continued peace for your family is most essential, and though I do not feel... completely equiped for this job, as it came through a most disadvantageous and inopportune time, I hope I shall be able to serve you and your family as best as possible." He nodded to the query, eyes darkening and lowered in sadness. Special Liason Quincey had been a mentor to him, after selecting him for predecessorship, only a few months before his death. He came to see the man in closer light, the only one who was able to help him through the tragic loss of his mother -- enough of the sob-story though. "I have no doubt there were political shades to it. Quincey had a firm stance against 'Public Knowledge', as the movement is going by in Albion. He made many enemies." Egon took a deep breath. "And I am aware that as a young and inexperienced worker, I will be an even bigger mark for blackmail, bribery, and assassination. But I assure you, sir, his work will not have gone in vain." All this time, and he was too modest to so much as mention his name.


The guardian was completely ignorant to just how much Egon was ‘fangirling’ on the inside over the fact he was talking to his idol. There was no longer any stutter in the younger’s voice to indicate his presence- well not Spectre’s presence exactly for he was still just behind a screen- had any effect on him. The red furred male spoke with what appeared to be confidence, tripping on not a single word unlike some of the others the guardian had to deal with during numerous past occasions. Oh, and that was the last liaison’s name. Quincey. Yes, he remembered his stands against public knowledge. It was one of the things they agreed on, though Spectre could still have done without the insipid speeches. He waited until Quincey’s replacement had finished speaking before he spoke again himself. “You seem to already be well aware of the dangers you’re throwing yourself into then. You said it yourself. There will be those that label you for blackmail, and as evidence by the position you now hold, assassination isn’t completely out of the question either. You may end up just as your predecessor, dead at the hands of the people you work to serve.”

He paused before adding. “You still have the chance to back out of all of this. As soon as your position is confirmed your life shall never be normal again, you do realize? You’ll always be a target. People you don’t even know personally will be out to harm you all for things political.” Spectre’s voice was monotone, uncaring. and so were his eyes, but that wasn’t uncommon of him. As Spectre saw it, the other might take this in two ways: He was trying to scare him into backing down from the position, or Spectre was making sure he knew of the implications behind the role of liaison because he was worried about his well being and wanted to keep him out of harms way, protect him from ending up like Quincey.


He shook his head firmly. There was no way that he was backing out of this. "Respectfully, sir, I must remain. As Special Liaison Quincey is now out of commission, there is no one in this office that knows more about politics and mediation than me. He was grooming me for this role, sir. I suppose the threats must have been pretty terrible at that point, but... but it would be spitting on everything he taught and trained me through about dealing with you all if I were to back out now." He pressed his lips for a moment, looking away. Ah, coffee. Something to distract him. The young envoy took a deep drink, before turning back apologetically. "My will is to serve the Guardians. My position is to protect the people, and your privacy. I can assure you, sir, that I won't fail in either regard. Quincey's story is not unusual for our time, and there have been assassination attempts and successes along the way since this position was first established, but there have also been mention of the many generations of liaisons who have ceded to age before they could be harmed. Peacetime. I should be able to hope for strong relations between Albion and Echidnopolis, hm?"

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