Alex Summers
From Changeling Venue
| Seeming | Elemental Fireheart |
|---|---|
| Court | Summer Court ••• |
| Freehold | Summerhold |
| Player | Travis Clark |
Contents |
Overview
Alias(es): None
Real Name: Michael Andrew Adair
Age: 29
Concept: Warmachine / Hero
Entitlement: Knighthood of the Dragonslayers
Physical description: Strong and tall, Fire burns in his eyes changing colors as his temper flares. His skin is a light looking metal and has several heat vents as well as rivets where the sheets of metal connect.
Character Livejournal:
Character Information
Memories of Flame and Ash
Current Activities:
King of Summer, Club Manager
Background: I was born Michael Andrew Adair. Or at least that's what the name on the photograph tells me, that I took from the wallet of the thing that lay dead at my feet. It looked like I did, well, like the Mask I wear when in public. But it wasn't me. It was never me.
Maybe now my parents can grieve like they should have been able to 10 years ago when their REAL son died.
My memories are fleeting at best of my life before The Game, and my dreams are nightmares of the Hell that was inflicted on me while I was there. But some days I can remember. And it is during those brief moments of remembrance that I truly hate Them for all that They have done.
It was the night of the Playoff game, my senior year. Coach had told me that I needed to make a good showing of it that night, because there were scouts in the audience and no doubt, one of them would be asking me to sign with a College before the night was over. All I had to do was play the way I had played all year long and my future was secured. I remember being given a few minutes alone in the locker room, before I needed to go on the field. Just a few minutes to focus. "Get my head where it needed to be". I'd done it so many times before.Tonight was no different…. So I thought.
I had just finished running over the playbook in my head, like some strange litany when I heard a noise coming from the showers. Sounded like someone tapping on the pipes. There shouldn't have been anyone there, everyone should have been getting ready to run out onto the field under the Friday Night Lights to the sounds of the Marcos De Niza marching band. I should have done the same thing. But, with my helmet in hand, I stepped through the doorway and looked into the tile covered room. The shoulder pads and other gear helped absorb some of the blows when they grabbed me. I used to fool myself by thinking that if I had been WEARING my helmet, instead of just carrying it, maybe I would have had a better chance. I know better now. Nothing would have mattered.
I was beaten, bludgeoned and knocked unconscious. I only have vague memories of the searing pain of the Thorns as they ripped through my uniform and began the process of removing my precious humanity. Began the torture of eradicating my soul.
I remember pain. Deep, throbbing pain. And then heat. Unbearable heat.The kind of heat that my Chemistry teacher used to describe when he showed us Phosporus as it exploded when it came in contact with air. It was a searing, never ending pain. I screamed. I think I screamed until my vocal chords were burnt away. But it never ended. Through it all, I remember hearing two voices. One kept telling me to stop fighting. That the pain would stop sooner if I just stopped struggling. It would be over soon, if I just let the fire do its work. The other was more distant, less frequent. It was a strange voice and one that when I wake from nightmares now, I still hear ringing in my ears. It kept saying the same thing over and over
" You will win The Game for me."
I don't know how long I was there, in the infernal forge of Lucifer's own creation. How does one measure the moments when one is suffering for an eternity. Dante says that the deepest pits of Hell are lined with ice. I can tell you that he was wrong.
I do remember when it stopped though. I can tell you the exact minute. The very second that the physical pain ended and why. And I have no one to blame for it but myself. Because I was weak. Because I gave up. Because I stopped fighting. The minute that happened… the barest instant that I even contemplated yielding to the enemy.. and it was done. There was a flash of intense heat one last time and then I felt it in my chest, on the left, just underneath my ribcage. A white hot..almost cold….stabbing pain that ripped through me…through my heart…and then…it was done. The chains that held me broke free and I stood there, in the fires of Hell, some strange freak of nature. But the pain was gone.
"Step forward, my child. My beautiful , beautiful child." The Voice called to me. And like the broken thing that I was, I obeyed.
And collapsed in a pile of fire and embers at its feet.
"You fool!" he swore, and I remember the sounds of someone screaming and the sickened, wet "thunk" of a body being slammed against the wall and breaking. "What have you done to him! I knew I should never have trusted your hands on this Master Piece."
And then there were hands. Cool hands. Skilled hands. Gentle, calloused hands. Hands that lifted me and molded me into form once more.
"I will fix this. You are my Trophy. I will not let you down. You will win The Game for me." The Voice soothed. Then there was the cool feeling of something solid being placed against my forearm. The heat from my body lapped at it like water at the sands of the beach and slowly, it became one with me.
They used to use pig skin for skin grafting on burn victims. Did you know that? I wonder if this was like that, only with metal. Slowly, carefully and with the skill of a Master Smith, the fire that was my self and my soul was grafted with plates of metal, until finally, I stood, a metal man, with a core of fire burning within.
I learned later that I had been an experiment. The GameMaster preferred his Game Pieces to be men made from metal which he called Metalflesh, but He had decided that His tactics on the Board were no longer working. So he had conscripted his Workers to craft him a new piece. A Master Piece. To help him win His Game. I was to be one of four unique Pieces for the Board. The GameMaster had hoped to fashion pieces from the raw elements themselves, but he lacked the knowledge and craftsmanship to create a being made from any substance that was not metal. And so we were born. Air, Earth, Fire and Water. The bastard children of a workman's obsession. Our purpose was singular.
Win The Game.
I didn't think too much about what happened to me after that point. In fact, I don't know that I thought much at all about anything. I was void. Void of purpose, of thought, of emotion. Polished and primed, I was placed in a solid glass case and left alone.
Soon there would be a man who would come to me regularly. He would take me out of my case and he would give me exercises to perform. They were strange, but at the same time I found comfort in their routine. And so I complied.
In the time before here, I had been planning on dedicating my life to the pursuit of a specific sport. This was really no different, I kept telling myself. I told it to myself so often that I eventually came to believe it. It was, after all, what I was designed for.
Strategy. Tactics. Analysis. Decision. Action. These would become my life. I was a General on the playing field of metal men. Their actions, their lives and their deaths were my responsibility. When we won, I was well rewarded. When we did not…others paid the price. I was too valuable to injure. Too precious to risk damaging. So others would be punished in my stead while I was forced to watch. I learned the lesson well. And quickly.
How many Games did we win for Him? I do not know. How many did we lose? I try not to think about it. But their screams still haunt me in the night some days and they will be with me for as long as I live. An eternal gift from Hell. Days become weeks. Weeks months and so on. Again, time is immaterial in a place that is eternal. But something changed one day. Something in the routine. Something was ..just a little bit off.
It was a smell. I think. Yes. It must have been a smell. They say that scents are the strongest memory triggers that there are. So, yes, it must have been that which brought the memories of my former life to the forefront as I looked down on my Trainer that morning. There was something almost familiar about him, in the way he moved and the tone in his voice. And I think back now and realize was the aroma was that brought me out of the fog of sleep which surrounded my mind.
Popcorn.
As strange as it was, it was the aroma of popcorn, coming from some unknown source which helped me to open my mind and see this little man kneeling before me with different eyes. The familiar smell of popcorn as it drifted across the stands and onto the field. Hot, salty, and specific. I smelled it and I remembered.
This was not my home. And I did not belong here.
My Trainer looked up at me and saw that spark of recognition in my eyes. He glanced about, with an almost frightened look on his face. And then he swallowed hard and did something part of me had been hoping to hear for some time. He asked me to help them escape.
We had a Trainer on the team in High School. He was a little guy. Couldn't have been more than 5 feet even. But he was quick. And he was smart and he had a talent for knowing how to wrap an ankle or ice a strained shoulder. His name was Steve. I looked down at the little Wizened who was looking up at me and all I could think of was that guy back home.
Home.
I agreed.
The strategy of winning against a more powerful foe is that they can often be taken when sheer numbers overwhelm them. There will be losses. But the end goal is still victory. We had the numbers. The Game Master could not stop us all. There would be losses. But they were willing to accept that, if it meant Freedom for even one of us. The Master Pieces all looked at one another and in silence; we accepted the fate of these people as our own. And the Battle began.
Every time I take to the battlefield, I remember that day. With every swing of an axe, or command issued, I remember that weight. Cries for Freedom were soon mixed with screams for mercy. But we did not yield. Eventually, we split the army, in order to force Him to chose who to pursue. I was his First. But I was not his Favorite. When the choice was made, I knew that I had been given the berth that I needed to make my escape. But at what price to my counterpart(s)?
To this day, I still do not know if any of them survived.
The pain from the Thorns the second time through was negligible compared to the suffering that I had endured for so long. I almost welcomed it as a reminder that I was still alive.
Beaten, bruised, bleeding and near dead, I fell out of the Hedge and breathed deeply of the pollution stained air of metropolitan Phoenix at the feet of an unknown man. I managed to roll over and attempt to bring my arms up in a defensive posture, just as I heard him say, "It's alright. You're out. We'll take it from here."
Then there was blackness and sleep.
The man was Aneirian Gynholm, I would come to know him as the King of the Court of Summer and he would become the man who would help me better understand what They had done to me. A Draconic Fairest, Anerian's militant outlook on the world and our condition were comfortable and familiar. Truly something that I could undertand. It was under his mentorship that I would come to know my first real emotion since They ripped my heart from my chest an eternity ago.
Anger,
I watched as my King showed me all the things in life which were now denied to me, thanks to Them. My mother and father, my sister, my college career, my future. All the things which a normal boy of 17 would have had available to him. All the experiences that shape a young man's life. Stolen. Gone. Destroyed. And I felt the fire burn within me and I BECAME Wrath. I do not remember everything which happened with that realization, but I remember the aftermath, I remember the lesson. I remember being told that it was I who had created the havoc and destruction which Anerian and his Court had to clean up. But I could find in me neither remorse nor sorrow for these actions. There was merely void, And this, too, made me anger. For not only had my life been stolen from me, but my very ability to know and connect with humanity itself had been severed, For all those who were around me, I was alone.
And it angered me.
Anerian was a good man, Before his fall to madness, And it is THAT man that I remember. The one who tried to help me understand, The one who helped me channel, The one who believed in me.
He made me his Herald for just that reason, in hopes that such a position, in the eye of the public view would help me to learn how to interact once more. And in time, it did. Not the true emotions of humanity, no, those were still denied to me, but I watched and I learned. I learned the responses on the faces of people. I learned to mimic their reactions to situations and while, I learned to lie. I could not relate to them personally, the ACT made them think that I could, and thus made them less uncomfortable around me.
I was accepted.
I mentioned that my mentor fell to madness. Indeed, it is true. His anger and grief consumed him for his failure to protect those whom he loved. There are days that I envy him that. Even in his madness, to know such strength of emotion as those which would possess and drive a man to acts of atrocity. I often wonder if it will take such force to re awaken that which was taken from me. I hope that is not the case. But hope too, is fleeting at best.
I listened to Anerian's words as he battled with his inner demons. Struggling against the man he had become and wishing to become the man that he once was. He mentioned a name. Tomas Miguel san Rafael. And when Anerian could battle his demons no longer, for they had come to take him back nto Hell, I sought out this man. My journeys took me south into the jungles of Central America. There I would meet them. The Knights of the Dragonslayer, followers and students of Sao Jorge, the legendary embodiment of Saint George who battled against Lucifer's guise as a Dragon. I sat at his feet and I listened and I learned. I learned that someone must be willing to look where others dare not to. Someone must be willing to undertake the missions that would kill others. Someone must be willing to put the Freehold and its members before themselves, their desires and their needs.
We are only concerned for the safety of the Freehold. That is what Tomas taught me. To help preserve its safety, its sanctity and its sanity at any cost. That is the vow that I have taken and it fuels the desire in me to ensure that this…none of this…. Happens again. Not to me. Not to anyone.
Never again.
A Full House (Motley)
Embers (Allies)
- Morgana Damphair- Good friend, Better listener.
Fuel for the Fire (Enemies)
Domino - Untrustworthy and a danger to all Lost around it.
Character Inspirations
Leonidas - 300
Riddick - The Riddick Series
Beowulf - Beowulf
Tyler Durden - Fight Club
Data - Star Trek
Soundtrack
Fake It - Seether
Serpent's Kiss - Symphony X
Ember To Inferno - Trivium
No Saving Me - Walls Of Jericho
The End - Roadrunner United
Forget To Remember - Mudvayne
Laid To Rest - Lamb Of God
Heaven's A Lie - Lacuna Coil
Did My Time - Korn
When Darkness Falls - Killswitch Engage
Karma - Kamelot
Reflect The Storm - In Flames
Behind The Crimson Door - H.I.M.
Weep - Greyscale
Rebels Of The Sacred Heart - Flogging Molly
Recognize - Flaw
Black Fire - Dragonforce
Goodbye - Caliban
Quotes
"I was powerless to stop one friend from returning to hell, I will die before I let that happen again!"
"I like Alex. He burns hot as hell, as so many Summer do, heedless of if they have the fuel to burn forever or only minutes. He tries hard to be a good King; no matter if it is hard or easy. He tries hard to be a good man; no matter if he understands Mankind any more or less in the situation. And yet I fear someday, for the good of Order and Law, I may have to quench that fire of his." - die Rattenkonigin
" He asked me what I wanted for my Emergence Day once. I told him to quit trying to get himself killed." Morgana Damphair
"I find its best to move out of Alex's way when he's hell bent on something. He has a tendency to burn things indiscriminately." - Bolgra
"Boy oh boy, Captain Clueless sure is always hot under the collar. I could toast marshmallows off his abs, that one." - Speedy G
"Al? Someone has to make sure the kid keeps cool, he's a King after all." - Jimmy Quick
"Thar be many sides ta flame an fire. Alex be the part that burns so hot ye cannae see it." - Mister Greenbriar
"Intriguing. I do love a challenge." - Mara-Zen
"He found out what I was and tried to kill me. But it's okay, we're passed that now... I think." Sirius Grin
"Alex is like a shiny, hot big brother…I mean hot in a temperature way not a looking way…It would be weird to say that about your brother…Alex is like a really shiny big brother!!" Anomaly Jones
Rumors
Alex has a theory that the way to regain his soul is through the mastery of passion.
Alex is responsible for the disappearance of many Lost.
Alex belongs to a rogue group of militant Lost who seek to bring war against the Gentry on their own terms.
Alex had a near miss as a target for the Duchy of the Icebound Heart. Wondering how near a miss? You'd better ask Pyotr Koud Hart.
Alex got drunk one night in Vegas and ended up married to Morgana Damphair but they don't talk about it
