The Wayfarer

[The_Godslayer]

System: ▓▝▝▝ UNKNOWN ▓ ▓ ▓
Location: - tt-rr-321561--▝▁ ▁ ▁ ▁▝ RV-Wayfarer, Lab C

▁ ▁ ▁ ▁ - lb - 88 - 14 - 7C - 04 - ▁ ▁ ▁ ▁

A ghostly excitement spread through the Wayfarer no matter how hard the Gardener tried to mute it. If he still had a heart, it would be racing. He had tried to keep tabs on Caliban's parasite, but with his low psychic power, it had proven difficult. All the information he had on it was that which Sh'ozak had made known to the mindshare. She thought it was a split-voice, an effect akin to a growing pain when Nomads engage in cognitive mitosis. But Gardener knew a parasite when he saw one. After all, he was the perfect parasite. Often times, he thought about consuming Hans or one of the lesser Lights, but there were far too many drawbacks for it to be worth it. Mindshare connection was too fast, they'd notice a betrayal in an instant, and destroy him as quickly as he acted. He needed something unconnected. Powerful, but inexperienced. Perhaps cut from the cloth of an Elder. And now, that opportunity finally moved in a visible way.

A lesser parasite; a perfect prey.

---

---

The Gardener's vicious psychic nature had a single major drawback: it required participation from his target to make full use of it. Although he had honed his craft to a state that blurred the lines between psychic effects and rewriting reality and the future itself, he did not have the power bank necessary to start his technique on his own. The rattle that started up when he began speaking was the universe's unspoken warning to his victims that they had engaged enough to empower him, that they had given him the momentum needed to move. And now, in this moment, by responding in kind, by including itself directly, The Watcher had fallen for the same trap that so many before have, and so many after would.

In a snap, a space-between-spaces was established between the Watcher and the Gardener, locking itself to the two of them. An under-developed bridge between minds, exactly how he needed it. Expanding it into a true mindscape runs the risk of Order scanners detecting Nomad energy, so a mere expanse of grey rock and black sky made up the horizon here, the ground plagued with wisps of the same black fog that the two of them used. More importantly, this null-space gave Gardener a direct access to the Watcher, bypassing Caliban's mind and Caliban's notice.

In the silence, the wisps of fog crawled together to make an inky black pool. From it, a single hand thrust up from the puddle of fog, and came crashing down to grip the ground. Following this, the manifestation of the Gardener, the form he held in his own mind, dragged himself from the darkness: A brolic Rheinlander in baggy white pants, tied to his waist with a red ribbon. He stood up straight, and whipped his golden-blonde hair back to reveal eyes that gleamed the signature blue of the Nomads. He held off on displaying his aura, as it was better to keep his cards face down until he needed to use them. Unlike in his own mind, where the Nomad overlay of himself smoothly swirled across his skin in marbled moats, here he had glistening blue and purple tattoos that crisscrossed their way up his arms and legs, across his chest and torso, around his jaw and face, and a single line that formed a circlet around his temple and forehead. The circlet tattoo had a gap in the exact center of his forehead. The ordered, organized display of his two-part self was a result of focusing, not allowing his mind to wander.

As the fog clung to his pants, all he did was cross his arms and laugh. It echoed in the empty realm, a taunt, loudly proclaimed. When he had finished, he simply stood there, grinning with equal parts malice and arrogance. He had heard the claim "only Harbinger decides when". With this act, he gave his rebuttal and challenge:

"Nah, I'd win."

▝▝▝▁ ▓▓▓▓▓

.͈̤̺̼ͣͭ͞҉̘̀ͫ̉.͎̬ͦ̔ͧ̍̾̃̍̇ͣ͝.͕̺̰̘ͧ̏ͥͬ̃.̪͙͕.͏̖͉.̴̯̤̭̟̍ͣ̄.̩̩͖͙̻͓̞̏ͨ̈́͋͒͂͆̃͛͛͟.̙̭̳́̂ͤ̀͘.̲͇̹ͩ̾̆ͨ̀ͫ͘͞.̘͕̮̟̉ͯ̃̒ͮͩ̂͘̚͜.ͅ҉͗.̵̣͕̄.̷̶̩̰̮͖̹̍ͮ̅ͨͤ́̉̎̇ͨ̍.̵̡̦̓̉ͬͅ.̸̬̞͋͂͑ͭͤ̑.̱̉͟.͏̛̳̺̟.̷̝ͩ͛.̜͍̏̒͌͗͢.̪̠̙̩̥̟͑ͬ̑̀́ͭ̾̀--+̸̸̴̣̠̠͍̦̫͂̓͗̐ͨͭ͘+̴̧̻̰̦̯́͊͒͗͌̐ͥͩ̐ͭ̔͟͞+̜̻͙̪̞ͥ̓ͯ̇̀͜͡͝͞+̫+͚̟̝͔̠̙̗̤͛̅̉̿͒̓ͬ͊́̚-̵̘̳̻̫̜̆ͥͯ̏͆̍͝͏̓-͕̰ͬ͂͛-̸̧̯̮̣̙͒ͣͧ̀͗҉̷͉̳̀ͣ̂ͪ͠-҉͓-̮̩̰̪͙̹̇ͪ̆̄͂̈ͧ́́̐́͘--▄▀▀▀

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I'll do something about my superiority complex when I cease to be superior.

"Whatever happened to catchin' a good old-fashioned passionate ass-whoopin and gettin' your shoes, coat, and your hat tooken?"