First Play of the Character.

I'd decided, at some point, that I must illustrate some early depth to Pastian if I was to truly attach myself to him as a person, rather than just as a character. The initial attempt was to widow him, but he didn't love her, so it didn't work. Then I attempted to play upon his lack of incredible woe, and another failure followed. These trials went on only in my head of course, where all sorts of interesting plotlines reside, and at last I tapped upon one road thus far untravelled, and decided to addict him to an herbal, medicinal substance. None of modern reputation interested me, so I invented one. It's called Alieghe, a hallucinogenic drug designed also to relieve pain through numbing of both the nerves and the mind, so shut up those voices in your head and deaden your responses to trouble, all the while painting glorious imagery over life's landscapes. This served both as a means to transfer Pastian from my mind to roleplay with a friend, and to connect his story with that of Paige's new darling, who he'll be taking as a lover.


Beneath a quiet span of sky, Pastian Atello kicked his feet along, restless and reluctant to direction though they were. Every opportunity to enclose a pleasant night lay along in many-leaved patches nearby, but he'd no use for them, and no interest besides that. What interested him tumbled past simple pleasantry; he'd been addicted to nothing prior and had no frame of reference. In honesty's tradition it must be admitted that he barely knew addiction as a word, much less a state of his own oblivious being. How sweet that we might paint his picture in sentimentality and loss - a lover laid down for eternal rest and now, relief sought strong through substance, through avoidance. However, Pastian tosses his aging head at that notion and any similar. He's not so cold hearted as to suggest a total want for sadness on the part of his taken's passing, yet neither is he so frivolous as to fancy an emotion where one never grew. They'd wed for convenience and although she made great show of loving him, effort to reciprocate fell short, and a bare fondness reigned where adoration should surely have been born. Thus, we'll require deeper insight if we are to analyze what's driven Sir Atello toward dens of disrepute. Perhaps a taste from offered hand sans necessary warning shoulders every blame, perhaps the desire grew on him like moss whilst he suffered o'er poison's pleasures, unbeknownst. The symphony of complaint in his toes halted, at last, when destination shone clear; tonight wouldn't be wasted!In mild term, the dens were not a place for Pastian's kind - the clean-cut, the driven, the ambitious and intellectual. He'd taken his schooling from the shoulders of geniuses, traveled as a lion leading herdmembers struggling with lesser strength, yearned for nothing he could not lay hold of before long had passed to change said yearning, and ever did the blue-eyed Adonis value hard work and determination over ease and luxury (though he'd found himself in decent supply of the latter since business ventures turned their ironic turns.) Therefore, to make a study of those who swam in their degeneration about him was to sadden Pastian, weaken what spirit he'd decided to bring along tonight, and nearly undo the expedition before its climax. Nervousness, of course, never won. Vaguely questionin the location of a man whose name saw fit to be dropped by Mr. Atello's ear and recieveing similarly vague gestures backward, he located and approached the enigma of a man who took bags of indulgence as his company. If prior clients hadn't looked Jeremiah in the eye, Pastian made up for it. "I've a question of merchandise for you, my friend."