IC: I wake up.
Examine my surroundings. Spartan ceramic. One lightstone. My armor. No furniture. No presence but me. No Him in my hand, the mountain of light and steel only in the distance. No fight to draw it out.
(Home. 530 hours.)
I stand up. Stretch.
Time to train.
I create blades. I box shadows. Each time I change something in my movements, in my powers. Each time I experiment.
My movements are not perfect. From their imperfection, they will become perfect. That is why I experiment--for Prosperity. Prosperity is achieved by becoming cognizant of reality and acting within it. So I act to make the reality of my violent world not absent or expanded, but redirected. Training is a method towards that end.
Breakfast. I walk from the room.
I enter my other and sit before the dining table and its sole lightstone, cross-legged. My servant kneels and places the plate before me without a word. I look into his eyes.
He is young, indigent, and shy. His armor is shining. He bought a new suit, I see, his old scarred by a life on the streets. He likes to cook. He loves solitude. He believes in our kind, in sapience and the enlightenment it brings. He didn't get here because I sympathized with his case due to my own upbringing. He got here because he worked for this job.
He is like Sulov Koskium.
I let his gaze depart. He kneels. I nod back and consume. Five omelets, filled with vegetables, meats, cheeses, and starches. Not a touch different from the usual. He is a good employee.
I am finished. At this moment, my stockbroker enters. He, too, is not wealthy, but he is persistent and perceptive. He kneels before sitting across from me with portfolio in hand. I nod.
The permission to begin speech has been granted.
"Onu Ore is a bad dog," He starts the debate. "Its EPS has dropped throughout the week. I think we should re-examine our stock in the firm."
"ROA?," I query. "EPS alone does not make a firm."
I ask him questions. He answers. Eventually, we begin to argue in earnest, and hearing the debate, I soon conclude it. We will hold.
In the future of our koro, we hold always.
He leaves and I rise. I trust both of my employees to retrieve a day's pay from my account in the Bank of Onu. I need not speak with either further. On the calendar of my home I have instructed each that today I will be going on a business trip. They have doubtlessly prepared.
I walk to the door and to another of the objects in the house, the coathook, and accompanying lightstone. My servant is there, cloak in hand, and robes me. I trust him to not have inspected the contents of my cloak. A check with my powers further rewards that trust; not a thing is out of place. I flip my visor down as I study the nature of us.
Truly, my workers and I are Prosperous.
I examine my appearance in the black ceramic of the wall. Dressed for business.
Time to go. I open the door and walk out.
The people are there.
They greet me, always, in silence. They know I do not waste time. They know I mean business. They know my symbol and my house. They know my servant.
They know this Sulov. And I know them.
They kneel. Ussals drop to four legs. Children fall to both knees. Ussalmatoran bend on one and bow their heads, saluting.
I walk purposely on. I am now acting on my Duty, to fulfill my Destiny, in recognition of Unity. My walk shows that purpose. I stand straight and avoid my natural hunch. My eyes, hidden beneath both visors, focus on the path ahead. I walk past the guardians of the village without a thought for what lies behind. I've given them the respect of leaving them to guard the land while I'm at work.
I am not respected. I am feared. I am not a person. I am a soldier. I am not a hero. I am an exile.
But for Onu-Koro, I will be respected. For my island, I will be a person. For my people, I will be a hero.
I will be Guardian of Onu-Koro, Sulov Uhunga.
It's dirty business. But it's got to be done.
I walk into the tunnel to Ko-Wahi. Sulov Uhunga's got business with some old friends. He's going to attend their funerals.
OOC: Sulov Uhunga to Ko-Wahi.