Zephrun’s Imperium

Hmm... Well, I once thought that "The Happy Inquisitor" sounded like a bar, but that doesn't really serve our purposes.

Uh, this is just a little thing that I wrote a while back. I'm planning to expand Narick's character more later, but this is all I got for now. Narick gripped the pencil in a shaking hand, fist clenched white. The implant burned, intrusive and noticeable. Breaths. Deep breaths. That’s what the surgeon had suggested. It was an honor, they told him. You’ll hardly notice it, they promised. Well, maybe it was an honor, but no honor was worth this. He looked at the paper. Sketching had always calmed his nerves. But now with his dominant hand altered… He stared at the blank paper, placing the lead tip against it. The first stroke was sloppy, altered by his trembling wrist. As was the second. And the third. And the fourth. He erased the lines furiously. Maybe drawing it slower would help? No luck. Faster? Even worse. He threw the pencil down, looking away from his failure. Seconds ticked by, permeated by the metal’s stinging and a heavy blanket of silence in the air. Narick glanced over at the paper again and lifted it to look at the drawing below. Charcoal marks bled against the paper’s white, displaying an intricate image filled with contrast and careful detail. Hours of work poured on a single, simple sheet. It was hideous. He forced himself to turn away, continuing to think. Slowly, however, his gaze returned to the drawings. It lingered there, glued to the interweaving lines and curves connecting and crossing to make an image. No one had ever seen anything he had ever drawn before. Not even Lavis. He cringed at his work now, even as he stared at it, the metal implants buzzing and awake with pain. Gently, he placed his fingers atop the drawings, the action evoked almost through instinct. They were beautiful. There was nothing inherently wrong with them. It was just… painful. He took a breath, turning back around, trying to quiet his mind. Trying to push everything away. Trying to focus on something that didn’t hurt. That shadow in the corner, perhaps? The gentle snowfall outside? A pair of boots on the floor? Nothing, nothing, nothing. It all came back full circle. An eternal loop. From his right came a punctuated snap. The crackling of the hearth. Narick sighed, grateful for the noise’s distraction. Maybe he could focus on that. In fact, as he listened, he found himself drawn to the source, eyes lingering on the dancing crimson heat. Watching the flames made him realize the weight on his chest. He was quite tired and wished to sleep, but somehow he knew that he wouldn’t be able to drift off quite yet. The thoughts plagued him. Left to his own in the dark, he was certain the images would seep into his cracks, forcing their way into the shadows around the room. No, he couldn’t sleep. But he could stay up. The exhaustion was just another thing to zero in on. As he stared at the flickering tongues of flame, his breaths came more deeply. A sense of calmness settled over him, the fatigue washing through him evenly in an intoxicating way. He closed his eyes, listening to the beating of his heart and the hearth’s warm chatter. Just those soft noises. No sketching, no pain, no metal, no death. He didn’t think. He’d always had an overactive imagination. A blessing and a curse. For now, he was simply trying not to care. His mind was empty, his heart worn. The escape did not last long. Inevitably, the feelings, the images, began to stir. Memories. Captured perfectly and miserably. His hand shaking, the lines blurring. His leg and chest, his right forearm; all flared with burning pain. Narick gritted his teeth, opening his eyes. Silence reigned for a moment. Agonizing stillness saturated the air. He bore it as seconds ticked by, sweat accumulating on his forehead. He could hold out. He could always hold out. With a burst of impulsive aggression, Narick turned, grasping the pile of drawings in calloused hands. His heart beat loudly in his ears. For a long moment, his eyes lingered, surveying the art. Then he glanced at his wrist, a bit of metal shining, his fingers shaking. No, he thought uselessly. With a curt flick of his left hand, the pages tumbled into the fire below. Silence. He gasped, pulling his cold hands to his mouth. He didn’t breathe. Slowly his vision began to blur. “No,” he whispered. “No, no, no.” As the last of the paper burned away to ashen nothingness he stretched his trembling hand forth shaking his head, agony spreading throughout his body. That… that was his work. His art, his time. What had he done? What had he done? The building tears began to drip silently. He watched the flames, their heat kissing his cheeks. He allowed himself only shallow breaths. Uneasy calm filled the room.

I don't know, Luna. Is it really worth it? How are we gonna make all the merch?

That can be our slogan! Although it might deter business from Shallan...

We should ask Marsh to sponsor us.

How do we want to use the souls we steal?

Sweet! And we'll do seasonal hot cocoa and apple cider. We'll travel from world to world and fulfill our mission; to give the cosmere the food it deserves! Edit: Urithiru works.

Get someone to make some lemonade. It'll be a huge hit! Where do you wanna set up shop?

You know, @beantheboy12 and @Lunamor maybe you should just team up...

Butt Venture lost to Shard of Thought and jumped right back to The Longest Thread where he belongs!

You know... I was going to get some spiked french silk pie for one of my aquaintances... But I think I'm gonna have to go with that stew, Lunamor. 300th post!

Yup. I have chronic Kelsier-related issues.

Oh my gosh, don't even get me started about doodles. A shame I threw away my old science notes. I always get the best sketches. I drew Vin as an evolving pokemon once. Quotes, spikes, familiar fantasy faces, things scrawled in Dwarvish... It's a mess. And my planner... holy Kelsenity. No. Just... no.

Yeah, that's a relatable feeling. Favorite world in the cosmere then? Or, oo, never asked this one. Favorite Shard?

Well, welcome, we're happy to have you! Who's your favorite character and what Sanderson books have you read?

Oh, what the storms, I have a friend who might appreciate one of those pies. Got any french silk?

Yes. Clearly Marsh is the winner. Anyway, I ought to get to sleep. Until tomorrow!

But let's be real, this is adorable. Most adorable cosmere character, go!

Okay, that is adorable... But not as adorable as THIS!

Nah.