Sage / Baeslan
Possessed human, created through alchemy
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The Creator was an old man, one of the more desperate. His own health was failing, and he could feel immortality, waiting, just out of his reach. His life would fade away before the year's end if he didn't find a way to sustain it. He sat on a stool, looking at his creation. The young girl wore a simple dress in a dull shade of grey. She was less than an hour old, but held the form of a child, perhaps six years of age. She would wake up any minute now, and he would know if his work had been a success. He prayed it had.
The girl stirred. The man sat up straighter. She pushed herself upright, and her eyes half opened. Slowly, she extended one hand. Stretched out the fingers. Made a fist. Tendons tightened beneath the skin of her hand, and muscles moved in her forearm. A perfect creation. A functioning human. The other hand extended in front of her, and she repeated the process again, grasping invisible objects. A smile spread across the Creator's face. She would live forever.
The young girl's eyes opened wide now, a seafoam green. Her jaw tightened, and she stared at the Creator, sitting up on her knees. She tried to speak, but she knew no words. A quiet keening noise escaped her mouth, and her expression changed just slightly. Fear. Apprehension. The Creator stood up from his bench, placing a hand on the young girl's shoulder. A second later, she began to spasm. Shudders rocked her body in a sudden seizure. Her hands shook. Her shoulders heaved. “No...no...stop, don't do that!” the old Creator muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. He couldn't stand to see his one chance at redemption, at life, malfunctioning in such a way.
The girl was either unwilling or unable to acknowledge him. The shudders that racked her body increased, until she was convulsing uncontrollably. Her arms twisted, her back arched. Quickly, the Creator grabbed her shoulders and head, trying to make the girl hold still. He couldn't have this. Not from her. Not from the one thing that could have gone right. Finally, the shudders and convulsions began to slow, and stopped. The girl went limp, sitting hunched over on her knees. The Creator rubbed her back, in an almost fatherly manner. “Are you all right, my dear?” he asked, with genuine concern.
The only response was a whimper. The frail child spat bile onto the wooden floor, her pale eyes half-closed once more.
The Creator's health continued to decline, but his creation, christened Sage, grew. By the time she was two weeks old, she was saying her first words. She walked, albeit with the aid of crutches. She understood conversation, and responded if she knew the words.
The two of them sat, him behind a desk, her at a small table, in the same room she'd first awoken in. Hardwood floor, plain dark walls, a small chandelier, and a single door. The sight was reminiscent of a teacher and a student. Sage held a pencil, her grip loose enough that the lines barely appeared on the paper. But, ever so faintly, they were there. Letters. Even though she was only just beginning to speak, she could write more words than she could say. “What are you writing, Sage?” the Creator asked, setting his own pen down.
He stood up, making his way over to her table to look at what she'd made. Scrawling letters, wobbly lines, were drawn on the paper. With his failing eyesight, they were too faint for the Creator to see. “May I look closer?” he asked her, holding out his hand.
Sage let the pencil slip from her fingers, and it rolled off of the table. She picked up the paper, handing it to the old man and watching with half-lidded eyes. He peered at it through his glasses, eyes straining to make out the letters. There were a few lines of large text, the letters perhaps a half-inch high. I am Sage. I am power unbelievable. I am live fear pain scared forever. I am not want life. Though it seemed to be gibberish, the old man could understand the underlying meaning. He knew things about Sage that an outsider couldn't. The young girl, who rarely ventured outside of this room, was a complete mystery to the rest of the world. But to her Creator, she was only a slight enigma. He knew what the words meant. Sage was in pain, every second of every day. What he had thought to be a perfect creation was flawed, in so many ways. Her neurons fired without warning, causing sudden flashes of pain when there was nothing wrong with her body. Her brain was chemically imbalanced, causing visual and auditory hallucinations. When she'd first managed to tell him that she heard voices and saw figures invisible to the rest of the world, he'd suspected a demonic possession. The idea had been quickly disregarded. She was too weak, too frail. The possessed humans were nothing like Sage. With medication, her Creator had been able to stop most of these hallucinations, but nothing would ever completely make the nightmares go away.
But the second line...the second line of her writing had made him pause. I am power unbelievable. Was it wishful thinking? The hopes and dreams of a girl too frail to walk without crutches? “Sage, what's this mean?” the man asked, kneeling down beside the table and pointing to the text. “I am power unbelievable?”
Seafoam green eyes stared back at him, half-closed and sleepy looking. Sage's jaw clenched for a few seconds before she spoke. “In...Incom-m-ming,” she forced out, her voice as frail and shaky as the rest of her.
Confusion registered on the Creator's face. Sage's eyes opened wider, and her lips twitched up into a small smile. With no warning, her fist flashed out with blinding speed, connecting with her Creator's forehead. The old man fell back with a loud yelp, landing flat on the ground. Sage stood from her seat. The crutches leaned against the table as she pressed her foot against the old man's neck. The skin across her knuckles had split open from the force of the punch, but she seemed to not notice it. “Sage...wha-what?” he stammered in disbelief.
The tiny girl's foot pushed down on his throat, with more force than she should possess. “Sage?” she asked, and her head twitched, tilting slightly now, “Who's that? There's no Sage here. I'm Baeslan.
Her foot still resting on the Creator's throat, she rolled her shoulders. Cracks resounded along her spine, and the smile on her face grew. The old man stared up, shocked to see the young girl speaking so fluently, moving so efficiently. This wasn't like her...it was impossible. “Sage isn't strong, yet. She can't tell you anything. Can't walk, can't talk, can't communicate at all. But she managed to get her message across pretty well, didn't she? I think so...So, who's Baeslan? Baeslan's the other part of her. Baeslan is me. Your little creation wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for Baeslan. Your clever bit of alchemy needed more power than you possibly could have put into it. I am that power. I'm a demon, and a damn good one. Sage, as you call this...this body, was right there, weak, up for the taking. I snuck in, just as you were forming her. We share a mind.
“Did you know she hurts, all the time? She's not hurting right now. She's floating off in a corner of our mind, completely peaceful. And you know what else? She's enjoying this,” Baeslan continued, leaning forward slightly. “Every...second...of it. She's going to watch as I kill the ungrateful, selfish, human who forced her into this world, and she'll enjoy it wholeheartedly. She wants to see you dead, and I'm here to help her get what she wants.”
The Creator struggled, but it was useless. He struggled against the force of a demon. Baeslan's foot, Sage's foot, pressed hard against his throat, and air stalled in his mouth, unable to reach his lungs. Slowly, his struggles grew weaker, and then ceased. “She'll be strong. I'll take care of her, don't you worry,” Baeslan said with a grin, removing her foot from the old man's throat.
She suddenly twitched, spasming several times before falling to the ground beside her dead Creator. Sage coughed, and vomited up whatever food had been in her stomach. She was breathing heavily, as though she had just ran a marathon. After several long minutes, she pushed herself up onto her knees, and crawled to the table. Grabbing her crutches, she slowly left the room.
I can do it...let me take over.
Baeslan was right there, as always, floating just on the edge of Sage's consciousness. She could feel her, wanting to take control. It was an effort to tell her 'no'. But Sage was sure she could handle the current situation. She may not move as quick as Baeslan could, or be as strong, but she could handle it.
She had grown over the past two years. Sage no longer looked like a frail young child, but a slightly weak young adult. There were definite muscles hidden underneath her skin, but only a keen eye could pick them out. She still walked with crutches, unless she let Baeslan take over. When Baeslan was in control, Sage could sit back and watch. Watch as her body moved and jumped and did things that would otherwise be impossible.
Right now...if she let Baeslan take over, it would be easier. She wouldn't have to try to sneak past the group of Undead up ahead. Though they were usually non-violent...they still unnerved her. There was something so wrong, so unnatural, about decaying humans walking around the streets of Hav'ren. Such a concept dipped straight to the bottom of the uncanny valley. If she let Baeslan take over, there would be bloodshed, and she didn't want that,
You're walking really slow...I could get us around a lot quicker.
Come on, Sage. Please? I'm asking nicely.
Then it came. Sage had been expecting it. An unsuppressable push at her consciousness. Baeslan was frustrated, and was fighting for control. She stopped walking, leaning on her crutches for support. Her half-closed eyes shut tightly, and her jaw clenched. Baeslan cut it out!
The push lessened, finally fading away. Sage gave a slight sigh before continuing to walk. You're still walking too slow...
Apparent Age: 17
Sage was created through alchemy. During the process, Baeslan, a demon, lent her power in order for the experiment to be successful. Until weeks later, Sage's creator had no notion of this.
Sage and Baeslan share the same body. They are in a constant fight for control. Where Sage is calm and submissive, Baeslan is outspoken and has natural violent tendencies. The two are constantly locked in a mental war, each trying to beat the other.
Sage, as Baeslan often points out, is in constant pain due to neuron firings throughout her body. At times, she is forced to relinquish control to Baeslan, retreating into a corner of their consciousness. If not, seizures and immense pain would occur for her. Baeslan has the power to block out the pain, much like an anaesthetic, but only while she is in control.