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Introducing Adam Wakefield
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Posts: 1,156,071 Arc User
(Author's note: While Mr. Black's intro was an origin/bio written as a fictional vignette, introducing Wakefield the same way would have gone on for chapters. Here's a quick precis:
Lord Adam Wakefield was born in 18th century England to a well-off family. A person of curiosity and compassion, he used his family's wealth to become a Renaissance man in hopes that he could repay the world for what his family had taken through corporate colonialism.
Quite by coincidence (or was it?) Wakefield's path eventually crossed with a traveler of time, space and reality who, upon deciding that Wakefield was worth the effort, taught him how to walk the timestreams. Soon enough Lord Adam Wakefield stepped out of the timeline he was born into. He began using his newfound abilities to gather the knowledge and technology of every reality he could reach, and using what he learned to overwhelm degradation and corruption wherever he found it.
Over the years Wakefield has met travelers from other planets, other times and other universes, each of whom have found ways to walk the timestreams - some for good, some for ill, and some for personal amusement. A small informal alliance of these travelers has gradually formed around Wakefield. They come together for the occasional "project," opposing some force they find too destructive or studying a newfound phenomenon to add to their abilities, and also, as we'll see, for the occasional party.
But enough backstory!)
Cheps Mansi, once a personal servant to the god-king of Egypt, now knew a secret so terrible it would topple the empire: If Pharaoh was a god at all, he was the most minor of deities.
In his earlier years Cheps had scurried about the palace with his head down as was expected of a servant to Egypts god on earth, but these days he strode the halls straight-backed and unhurried, leading an argosy of kitchen slaves and trailing a wake of delicious scents, for now it was his personal charge to serve the true gods and he knew them to be as lenient as Pharaoh was unforgiving.
His life would have kept the straight-arrow course of every other court servant had not the gods themselves given him the opportunity to be their steward. The day theyd first arrived, Fortune had chosen Cheps to be the servant kneeling next to Pharaohs throne. It was he who had watched the outlandish characters step out of the wall of the throne room as if through a door. It was he who watched them brush aside the might of the royal guard in mere seconds with fists and light.
Most importantly it was Cheps who had seen Pharaoh himself - a god generously incarnated in a human body to lead Egypt to greatness, a man whom it was unthinkable to even touch babbling terrified platitudes face-down on the floor, a boot on his head and his own dinner knife at his untouchable throat.
The gods had informed Pharaoh that theyd be visiting from time to time without notice, and told him to provide all the respites customary to travelling royalty. Pharaoh had turned to Cheps and immediately elevated him to Head Servant of the gods, and that had been that.
Since then the gods had descended upon the palace with regularity. They feasted the kitchens half-empty, frolicked in the baths and stored arcane artifacts in the royal treasury. They swived liberally from the palace harem and stained Pharaohs finest linens in the process. Being gods, they naturally had prodigious appetites for the royal apothecarys stock of spiritual plants. At times like this Pharaoh became a prisoner in his own palace, furious at the indignity but petrified to open his mouth, and Cheps became steward to the most powerful beings in the universe.
He led his servants to the rooftop garden where the gods had asked to take their meal. As his charges swarmed the table diligently laying out fruits and nuts and quietly offering spiced morsels of meat, Cheps took note of the gods that had arrived today.
Dark rider Delancie stood at the edge of the roof taking in the blazing yellow and blue horizon. Baron Vaun Moebius, his long coat shifting and swirling like a living thing, sat at the table preparing some elaborate thing that Cheps had learned was a pipe. The lanky giant Agent Fourteen was absorbed in one of the spirit planes, tapping the air with long fingers and staring intently through bizarre headgear into nothing.
And there was Lord Adam Wakefield, pushing up his shirtsleeves to clear scrolls from the table in a most ungodlike show of helpfulness. As the meal was being laid, Wakefield asked Cheps to look through the gods personal stores in the treasury and retrieve any bag marked with the glyph for Weapons. Cheps marshaled his charges away on their mission while the others looked at Wakefield with suddenly wary eyes.
Whats this, Wakefield? asked Delancie pointedly. I didnt know we were here on business. Tell me were at least spending the night.
Sorry, old man. Ive been working on this one on my own, and I didnt realize how big it was until too late. Sit down, for gods sake. Moebius! Youve got this planets first iteration of beer sitting in front of you, get some down your neck.
The elegantly thin baron took a discriminating draft and gave a belch of consideration. Honestly, Im not impressed. Tell me again why we didnt meet at the German abbey?
For one thing, there are serious currents in that part of this timestream right now. Wed all have arrived years apart from each other. For another, it's awfully cold there.
Agent Fourteen pushed his dataglasses up into a nest of green hair. So, ah, your problem here. Is it the anomaly Im seeing in, ah, by their Gagarin calendar, the twenty-first century, yes?
Gregorian.
Fourteen waved dismissively. Youre the native.
So I am, said Wakefield, and yes, thats the problem Ive found, but it turns out it's in an entirely different timestream.
Delancie spat to the side. I like this universe, he growled. It's easy to travel, and most of our caches are here. Have we even set up shop in this other timestream?
We haven't even been there before.
Moebius whistled. An honest-to-god expedition! No wonder were gearing up.
Agent Fourteen spoke up, and Wakefield caught the worried frown on his face. I hope we're going to war for a good reason, he said.
Well, here's the thing, gentlemen. Earth in this timestream is full of individuals with superpowers. Wakefield paused to let each of them consider the implications. Theres much we could learn from a world like that. The risks are obvious, buy my people in this timestream are in danger of wiping themselves out. If were going to stabilize them we need to get to work yesterday he gave a cheeky smile. Or more precisely, in about five thousand years in another universe, which is where Daim Damage and Anansie went yesterday. Theyve made it through to the right place and theyre maintaining one end of a portal until we arrive.
Cheps and his servants returned bearing heavy bags and long rolls of oiled leather. With practiced ease the travelers began unpacking their gear and unlocking the time-slows that kept their items aging at a snails pace while in storage. In the midst of inspecting weapons and donning armor, their opulent feast was reduced to an absent-minded snack while they worked.
Wakefield found his sniper rifle easily enough, it being nearly as large as he was. Hed put away his machine gun shortly after using it and the heavy weapon came out of time-slow still warm. He spent a while cleaning the machine, marveling yet again at the simplistic technology that nevertheless put an entire rifle companys fusillade in the hands of a single man. He passed his various gadgets to Agent Fourteen to check since the other man was never without a panoply of computers and power sources. Another minute went by as he searched through the spreading piles of gear.
Well this is a touch alarming, Wakefield said eventually. Anyone seen my sword?
Hup, called Delancie from the other side of the table, hoisting Wakefields saber in one hand and his own katana in the other. Refreshing your time-freeze.
Much obliged, D.
Wherever there were tales of Wakefield on the lips of a civilizations people, they spoke of him and his sword in the same breath. Wakefield had once propped open a portcullis with his sword, it was said, long enough for the townspeople to sack a corrupt lords castle. Hed cut his way into a spaceship or was it out of one? It was said that his sword talked to him in rhyme, that it was a dowser's wand or a divining rod, that it was named Sindjahl or possibly Justice. In truth Wakefields sword was simply nameless steel, and its only unusual property was that it had been time-frozen.
Any being that traveled the timestreams regularly learned hidden quirks about time and space. Slowing a local moment or time-slowing an item were tricks that came easily to any of them but Delancie had studied these sorts of abilities extensively until, among other things, he learned how to freeze objects in a single moment of time. This effectively made a thing indestructible and eternal, but it wasnt always useful any object with moving parts wouldnt function, for instance. On the other hand, it turned a freshly sharpened sword into an unstoppable force.
Moebius had no need for armor like Agent Fourteens abbreviated exosuit or Delancies oversized plates of leather his long coat was a living thing, tough as nails and constantly rearranging itself to protect its wearer. Wakefield himself eschewed armor, a habit his companions frequently described as foolish, but in the thick of battle they often chose to stand their ground in real time. Wakefield felt much safer sniping from afar and time-slowing the battle when it came to him, weaving past his enemy's bullets while returning fire with uncanny quickness and lashing his sword like a snake's tongue.
Agent Fourteen passed his gadgets back, and Wakefield shrugged into his coat to pocket them. He hung his machine gun beneath his jacket and his sword at his side. He slung a satchel over one shoulder and his sniper rifle over the other, the straps crisscrossing his chest. As his companions finished their own preparations Wakefield put up his feet and began lacing the boots he normally left open and loose, t******* a few inches from one leather bootlace to tie back his long hair.
Alright gentlemen, Wakefield said to his companions. Ill set the other end of the portal. Opening a doorway in reality was an effort somewhere between concentration and meditation but Wakefield, ever the showman, slashed the air around the blossoming passageway with his sword as if cutting his way through to the next universe. When the howling, scintillating rift was stable, the companions each shook hands to reinforce quantum linkage and narrow their window of arrival, and then one by one slid between the curtains of existence, bound for a new and unexplored reality.
Lord Adam Wakefield was born in 18th century England to a well-off family. A person of curiosity and compassion, he used his family's wealth to become a Renaissance man in hopes that he could repay the world for what his family had taken through corporate colonialism.
Quite by coincidence (or was it?) Wakefield's path eventually crossed with a traveler of time, space and reality who, upon deciding that Wakefield was worth the effort, taught him how to walk the timestreams. Soon enough Lord Adam Wakefield stepped out of the timeline he was born into. He began using his newfound abilities to gather the knowledge and technology of every reality he could reach, and using what he learned to overwhelm degradation and corruption wherever he found it.
Over the years Wakefield has met travelers from other planets, other times and other universes, each of whom have found ways to walk the timestreams - some for good, some for ill, and some for personal amusement. A small informal alliance of these travelers has gradually formed around Wakefield. They come together for the occasional "project," opposing some force they find too destructive or studying a newfound phenomenon to add to their abilities, and also, as we'll see, for the occasional party.
But enough backstory!)
Cheps Mansi, once a personal servant to the god-king of Egypt, now knew a secret so terrible it would topple the empire: If Pharaoh was a god at all, he was the most minor of deities.
In his earlier years Cheps had scurried about the palace with his head down as was expected of a servant to Egypts god on earth, but these days he strode the halls straight-backed and unhurried, leading an argosy of kitchen slaves and trailing a wake of delicious scents, for now it was his personal charge to serve the true gods and he knew them to be as lenient as Pharaoh was unforgiving.
His life would have kept the straight-arrow course of every other court servant had not the gods themselves given him the opportunity to be their steward. The day theyd first arrived, Fortune had chosen Cheps to be the servant kneeling next to Pharaohs throne. It was he who had watched the outlandish characters step out of the wall of the throne room as if through a door. It was he who watched them brush aside the might of the royal guard in mere seconds with fists and light.
Most importantly it was Cheps who had seen Pharaoh himself - a god generously incarnated in a human body to lead Egypt to greatness, a man whom it was unthinkable to even touch babbling terrified platitudes face-down on the floor, a boot on his head and his own dinner knife at his untouchable throat.
The gods had informed Pharaoh that theyd be visiting from time to time without notice, and told him to provide all the respites customary to travelling royalty. Pharaoh had turned to Cheps and immediately elevated him to Head Servant of the gods, and that had been that.
Since then the gods had descended upon the palace with regularity. They feasted the kitchens half-empty, frolicked in the baths and stored arcane artifacts in the royal treasury. They swived liberally from the palace harem and stained Pharaohs finest linens in the process. Being gods, they naturally had prodigious appetites for the royal apothecarys stock of spiritual plants. At times like this Pharaoh became a prisoner in his own palace, furious at the indignity but petrified to open his mouth, and Cheps became steward to the most powerful beings in the universe.
He led his servants to the rooftop garden where the gods had asked to take their meal. As his charges swarmed the table diligently laying out fruits and nuts and quietly offering spiced morsels of meat, Cheps took note of the gods that had arrived today.
Dark rider Delancie stood at the edge of the roof taking in the blazing yellow and blue horizon. Baron Vaun Moebius, his long coat shifting and swirling like a living thing, sat at the table preparing some elaborate thing that Cheps had learned was a pipe. The lanky giant Agent Fourteen was absorbed in one of the spirit planes, tapping the air with long fingers and staring intently through bizarre headgear into nothing.
And there was Lord Adam Wakefield, pushing up his shirtsleeves to clear scrolls from the table in a most ungodlike show of helpfulness. As the meal was being laid, Wakefield asked Cheps to look through the gods personal stores in the treasury and retrieve any bag marked with the glyph for Weapons. Cheps marshaled his charges away on their mission while the others looked at Wakefield with suddenly wary eyes.
Whats this, Wakefield? asked Delancie pointedly. I didnt know we were here on business. Tell me were at least spending the night.
Sorry, old man. Ive been working on this one on my own, and I didnt realize how big it was until too late. Sit down, for gods sake. Moebius! Youve got this planets first iteration of beer sitting in front of you, get some down your neck.
The elegantly thin baron took a discriminating draft and gave a belch of consideration. Honestly, Im not impressed. Tell me again why we didnt meet at the German abbey?
For one thing, there are serious currents in that part of this timestream right now. Wed all have arrived years apart from each other. For another, it's awfully cold there.
Agent Fourteen pushed his dataglasses up into a nest of green hair. So, ah, your problem here. Is it the anomaly Im seeing in, ah, by their Gagarin calendar, the twenty-first century, yes?
Gregorian.
Fourteen waved dismissively. Youre the native.
So I am, said Wakefield, and yes, thats the problem Ive found, but it turns out it's in an entirely different timestream.
Delancie spat to the side. I like this universe, he growled. It's easy to travel, and most of our caches are here. Have we even set up shop in this other timestream?
We haven't even been there before.
Moebius whistled. An honest-to-god expedition! No wonder were gearing up.
Agent Fourteen spoke up, and Wakefield caught the worried frown on his face. I hope we're going to war for a good reason, he said.
Well, here's the thing, gentlemen. Earth in this timestream is full of individuals with superpowers. Wakefield paused to let each of them consider the implications. Theres much we could learn from a world like that. The risks are obvious, buy my people in this timestream are in danger of wiping themselves out. If were going to stabilize them we need to get to work yesterday he gave a cheeky smile. Or more precisely, in about five thousand years in another universe, which is where Daim Damage and Anansie went yesterday. Theyve made it through to the right place and theyre maintaining one end of a portal until we arrive.
Cheps and his servants returned bearing heavy bags and long rolls of oiled leather. With practiced ease the travelers began unpacking their gear and unlocking the time-slows that kept their items aging at a snails pace while in storage. In the midst of inspecting weapons and donning armor, their opulent feast was reduced to an absent-minded snack while they worked.
Wakefield found his sniper rifle easily enough, it being nearly as large as he was. Hed put away his machine gun shortly after using it and the heavy weapon came out of time-slow still warm. He spent a while cleaning the machine, marveling yet again at the simplistic technology that nevertheless put an entire rifle companys fusillade in the hands of a single man. He passed his various gadgets to Agent Fourteen to check since the other man was never without a panoply of computers and power sources. Another minute went by as he searched through the spreading piles of gear.
Well this is a touch alarming, Wakefield said eventually. Anyone seen my sword?
Hup, called Delancie from the other side of the table, hoisting Wakefields saber in one hand and his own katana in the other. Refreshing your time-freeze.
Much obliged, D.
Wherever there were tales of Wakefield on the lips of a civilizations people, they spoke of him and his sword in the same breath. Wakefield had once propped open a portcullis with his sword, it was said, long enough for the townspeople to sack a corrupt lords castle. Hed cut his way into a spaceship or was it out of one? It was said that his sword talked to him in rhyme, that it was a dowser's wand or a divining rod, that it was named Sindjahl or possibly Justice. In truth Wakefields sword was simply nameless steel, and its only unusual property was that it had been time-frozen.
Any being that traveled the timestreams regularly learned hidden quirks about time and space. Slowing a local moment or time-slowing an item were tricks that came easily to any of them but Delancie had studied these sorts of abilities extensively until, among other things, he learned how to freeze objects in a single moment of time. This effectively made a thing indestructible and eternal, but it wasnt always useful any object with moving parts wouldnt function, for instance. On the other hand, it turned a freshly sharpened sword into an unstoppable force.
Moebius had no need for armor like Agent Fourteens abbreviated exosuit or Delancies oversized plates of leather his long coat was a living thing, tough as nails and constantly rearranging itself to protect its wearer. Wakefield himself eschewed armor, a habit his companions frequently described as foolish, but in the thick of battle they often chose to stand their ground in real time. Wakefield felt much safer sniping from afar and time-slowing the battle when it came to him, weaving past his enemy's bullets while returning fire with uncanny quickness and lashing his sword like a snake's tongue.
Agent Fourteen passed his gadgets back, and Wakefield shrugged into his coat to pocket them. He hung his machine gun beneath his jacket and his sword at his side. He slung a satchel over one shoulder and his sniper rifle over the other, the straps crisscrossing his chest. As his companions finished their own preparations Wakefield put up his feet and began lacing the boots he normally left open and loose, t******* a few inches from one leather bootlace to tie back his long hair.
Alright gentlemen, Wakefield said to his companions. Ill set the other end of the portal. Opening a doorway in reality was an effort somewhere between concentration and meditation but Wakefield, ever the showman, slashed the air around the blossoming passageway with his sword as if cutting his way through to the next universe. When the howling, scintillating rift was stable, the companions each shook hands to reinforce quantum linkage and narrow their window of arrival, and then one by one slid between the curtains of existence, bound for a new and unexplored reality.
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