Legacy: Beyond the Veil

The Captain-emissary

"And we're absolutely sure of this?" Thane wanted to ask. He did not, because that would be an insult to the scribes. They were the best in their field and did not need his second guessing. The standards of the Kinsworn demanded as much.
"Very well." He said instead. "Please put this data on lockdown until I can converse with lord Harir."

The senior scribe in front of him nodded and set to work, her fingers manipulating the data with a grace and purpose he could have never matched. The woman was old; she would be lucky to live another decade, even considering the life-extending treatments that came with her station.

This woman –Igrit, her name was– had been born and raised on the flagship, trained to perform administrative duties from the moment she was old enough to read and write. Most of her life had been spent in service to the Oracle, and now her own children and grandchildren were in the process of donning the great mantle of her responsibilities. Such was the life of those who pledged themselves to Lord Harir.

After One-hundred-and-twenty years of loyal service Igrit was, without a doubt, one of the most senior people aboard the Exemplar of Valour. Yet Thane remembered when Igrit was but a tyke running through the ship's sprawling corridors like it was yesterday.

The senior scribe may be old, but he was well and truly ancient. He found it disconcerting how his perception of time had shifted as he grew far older than what a normal lifespan could– and in his opinion; should– be.

When asked about his long life, Thane often said that years had started to feel like months, but perhaps that observation was obsolete by now. Not years, but decades felt like months to him nowadays. He wondered if his experience of time would stretch further yet. Would he live to see the day where he experienced centuries as weeks? Thane expected he would not, or perhaps he simply wished so. Mortality was not something he'd ever thought he'd long for, yet–

"–Ahem." Igrit interrupted his musings. "Lord Equerry?" She asked for what Thane now realized was not the first time.

"Pardon me, mistress Igrit." He said, straightening his back. "I was lost in thought. These readings have given me a lot to think about."

"I do not know what readings you speak of, my lord." Igrit said with a deadpan voice. "I have sealed the documents you requested. Is there anything else I can be of service for?"

Thane nodded thoughtfully, carefully observing the woman's features. Her eyes, normally clear and focused despite her age, had a strange gloss to them and her lips twitched sporadically. The signs of a freshly implemented mental lock were written all over her face. Looking behind her, Thane saw the screen she worked from now displayed confirmation that the datasets were hidden behind the highest orders of encryption. A level of security that even Igrit, with all her experience, wasn't cleared to access.

He sighed, allowing his armor to hide the expression of emotion. "Thank you, mistress. That will be all for now." He said, then turned away. The practice of sealing away information, going so far as to forcefully encrypt memories, was one Thane was deeply averted to. Still, he couldn't deny its effectiveness.

When Thane had entered the ship's administrative center there had been clear agitation among the scribes. He couldn't blame them, not when what they had seen carried such grave implications. His presence did serve to alleviate some of the worst unrest. As the immortal right hand of Harir himself, Thane recognized he was a symbol as much as he was a warrior. An everlasting pillar of virtue and duty that inspired the crew of the Exemplar as much as it did his soldiers on the battlefield. As much as he appreciated the effect he –or the symbol he represented– had on people, he knew that it alone was not sufficient to maintain morale.