CrimsonStar:Alecto

Game: Children of the Crimson Star

Alecto (uh-LECK-toe) is the eldest daughter of Stheno, Lady of House Erinyes.

The Flame and the Void

"Auntie, how much longer must I OWW!" The switch cut the air, though no hand held it, arcing into the child's back. Her fingers closed tightly around an ember, she gathered herself. "I apologize, Teacher."

"Ah, good, young Alecto. At least you didn't ask me what you did wrong. This time. And the answer, child, is that you will hold the fire in your hand until you can hold it in your mind. You are the flame. You are the void, with the flame burning within. You are a daughter of Erinyes, and you will master this if it kills you." The child's anger flared, the ember brightening to a fierce red as she buried the emotion inside. "Better. Not good enough, but better."

When Constabulary Duty's to be Done

"Well, sure, there's lots of templars I don't like working with. Sister Sarah will have a man flogged if he forgets to praise the King's name, and that greedy little toad Tithian keeps damn near all the bribe money for himself. But that Alecto girl, she scares me. I mean, little slip of a thing, barely comes up to my short ribs, and that's counting those weird horns. And it's not just that she isn't human; sure, blood-red skin, horns and tail like a kirre, that's pretty off. But it's her eyes that spook me. Every time she hears an order she doesn't like, or I have to tell her some bad news, it's like she's just storing all that rage somewhere inside. You can see it burning in those eyes, and you can just tell someday it's going to come burning out. Me? I intend to be far, far away when that happens. Hopefully in a nice solid stone building, with nothing flammable around." -- Torok, Tyrian Royal Guardsman

Star Dream

You are on a puppetry stage. It seems huge and brightly lit by a blood-red light. You realize that the marionette that is being played for the audience is you. At first the puppet master is your mother, laughing. She asks, “Who is your mistress?” In a childlike singsong voice, you answer, “You are, mother.” The audience is made up of sacrificial victims, each bearing a red star tattoo. They boo and hiss as blood gushes from their wounds. “Who is your master?” booms the voice of Kalak himself. In a childlike, singsong voice, you answer, “You are, God-King Kalak.” Again, the audience boos and hisses. The third puppeteer is you, clearly dead by sacrificial right. “Who will save the children of the star?”

The scene changes. There is a massive battle. You are overlooking the chaos. An armored legion is standing at the ready beside you. “Mistress…orders?” asks a somewhat nervous soldier. “I think it high time we show up my sister, don’t you? Forward.” The order is issued on your authority and yours alone.

Your vision turns to a red light from a star that seems to bleed. You wake up with a tattoo.