Subject: Dr. Conrad, Whitlock
Dr. Conrad is a scientist that works for an organization called the Foundation. He works to help facilitate the safety, containment and protection of curious mutations in things, animals, people and phenomenon. He hails from a long line of scientists and researchers and was guided from a young age to push the boundaries of the known and unknown.
He stepped outside his father’s field, a mastery of rocket design and development to pursue his own goals. Originally starting at a research site elsewhere when he was given an opportunity by his parents to start a new path working with the anomalous.
While he is passionate about his work, he has a great love for people and does his best to treat people with the best intentions. He isn’t afraid of letting his hair down and despite his intellectual career he enjoys creative games. He derives a great deal of pleasure getting different perspectives working with SCPS offers him.
He recommended I check out the ‘snowy mountain’ for the gorgeous view and grab a steak from the nearby diner in town. However he prefers to cook for himself.
There are a few friends he has made within the branch he functions in. It’s called ‘NTF’ or Nine-tailed Fox.
After speaking for a while he regaled me with a tale of a time the facility was beset by hostile forces. While seeking shelter, he ran into the midst of the enemy forces and he was forced to retreat to a second shelter, but ran into a second group. This time they fired at him and he was forced to flee to a third shelter.. Ultimately he was required to hide amongst the combat forces. The attacking forces were an overzealous cult bent on the destruction of .. well.. Everything. Yet he survived and was not discouraged.
“Having fear hinders you, it will only throw off the perspective of what is in front of you.” -Ryan Conrad, father of Whitlock Conrad.
The Cult was called ‘Sarkics’ and their leader is a man known as ‘Archon’ the vernacular is either a title, position of power, or even a name. However they are very mysterious, Dr. Conrad doesn't even know what gender they are.
He suggested I speak to: Aurora, Carlos, Suture, Desperado, Aya, and Metzili
Working Title “The Hypothesis of Bravery”
“Doctor Whitlock, you have received a missive from the Founder.”
A young man by the name of Conrad Whitlock, raised an aristocrat, well learned and scholarly was not a man absent social grace as most would think. Garrulous and well intentioned he made quite a favorable impression on many of the Founder’s elite soldiers. One such soldier spoke to him now, interrupting him as he pursued the many tomes of his Father’s library. It wasn’t anything new so he wasn’t too bothered and he turned, trying to remember the soldier's name.
“Hmmh? Thank you, David. Do you know what it’s about?”
David was no simple elite soldier. The Founder’s crest emblazoned on his lustrous armor detailed in the motif of a regal Nine-tailed Fox. The great spirit beast sat on its haunches, looking off into the distance, a sly smile on its maw and if one had an eye for detail, despite the fox facing to the side, the eye was turned outward, watching, while the tails splayed out as if it were none the wiser.
He dimly tried to recall the origin of that fox, why it was so important to the Founder’s elite soldiers. However he had a letter in front of him and he had to focus.
“You’ll have to read it yourself. Doctor Whitlock.” David replied curtly.
“Well, make yourself comfortable. Feel free to have some snacks and coffee, the maids brought it in but I prefer to cook myself. I find it much more satisfying.”
As he took the missive, he looked down at the seal. Anomalous Wax, it glittered as if to prove it had not been tampered with. The seal stamped into it was not the Founder’s seal, but the Seal of the Coven of Light. It was.. Bright.. The Coven of Light was.. An organization that safely transported mail. So much was known of the Founder’s Kingdom, yet the Coven was a mystery.. Much like the curious wax and Anomalous Technology they manufactured.
Conrad watched David help himself to the food and smiled. David was second in command, and while terse and business-like, Conrad had quickly assessed he had a bit of a sweet tooth. Turning his attention to the letter, he cracked the seal and began to read.
By Order of the Foundation. I, Director of the Realm, hereby conscript the services of the Aristocratic family of Whitlock. The oldest heir to the Whitlock name shall immediately proceed to the border of the Sarkic Kingdom and reign in the Cultist Threat. On reading this letter, they will proceed immediately and without delay. Any required furnishings or supplies may be sent after.
The ink on the page bubbled and the scroll began to fester and rot. The canvas of words falling to pieces in Conrad’s hand. A portion of ink remains, forming an alchemical seal on the back of his hand. If he doesn’t comply with the order, he knew he would suffer a terrible transformation.
The rotting of the paper drew the attention of David once again. A grave expression as the man’s eyes lingered on the mark. Everyone knew what the mark meant, it was all but a call for sacrifice. The Cultist lands of the Sarkic nations knew only destruction, led by their mysterious leader known only as ‘Archon’. A figure wrapped in enigma, was unknown to everyone. They knew not the Archon’s name, their gender or even their goal aside from destruction.
Conrad’s father was a Historian. An educated man who educated others and Conrad was expected to take his place. To many, this would be devastating news. Not to Conrad though.. If anything he considered it a liberation, torn from the chains of familial duty and Noblesse Oblige. Now there was but one goal, make for the border. At least he would not be on the frontlines.
Nobility such as himself had a different purpose. They were to care and tend to the anomalous entities. Many were violent and had specific needs, while others were new and had yet to be ascertained how to be handled. It would be his job to sort it out.
The safety of within the Founder Empire was not illusory, but it certainly wasn’t as impenetrable as propaganda would suggest. In fact, there was often inner turmoil amongst the populace. Kept in the dark and only fed information they needed, the very education used to keep them safe was also what weaponized them when a convincing lie or a strong enough vision was placed in front of them.
The truth was a beautiful ideal, often impossible to achieve without a great, and terrible price. This was evidenced as Conrad traveled from the Whitlock estate towards the border. Passing through quaint little towns and bustling trade centers. It didn’t seem to matter which, both were rife with people who could not see beyond their line of sight nor think beyond the day or week.
Twice Conrad was robbed along the way to the border, thankfully, he had the support of his Father’s favor within the Founder’s Empire and was permitted an escort of the Nine-Tailed Fox soldiers. These were none he knew, rather, they were transfers to swap out for the ones manned at the border.
Preoccupied by the assignment, poor Conrad failed to see the forest for the trees. Twice he was accosted, yet never deigned once to wonder why. Even the most common of man could see the Founder’s Elite atop the carriage, yet still they attacked. Well educated, certainly, but wise.. The lessons of Wisdom could be passed but it took time to understand. Had he known better, he would have paid closer attention.
Instead he arrived to the border, the last leg of the journey was so uneventful he almost forgot about the previous two attacks. Until the gate within the garrison closed behind him and he looked out to see the curious eyes and.. Strange smiles.
A chill ran up his back, the smile on all of their faces, it was the same. If witnessed one at a time, or maybe even in smaller groups but no.. Dr. Conrad understood with a certain and sudden clarity that something was deeply wrong. As he exited the carriage, he turned to make his suspicion known to his escorts and paled at what he saw.
The eyes of his escorts atop the carriage and even the ones hopping down from the second carriage behind all held the same smile. His open mouth quickly closed and he pressed his lips together. His little brain whirring for some small glimmer of light, a seed of hope that perhaps he had not wandered into the lion’s den.
“Conrad Whitlock, your arrival was expected. You’ve made good time, we weren’t expecting you for another two days. No wonder our scouts missed you.”
A broad-shouldered woman, clad in a cloak that masked all of her face minus her mouth smiled down at him from atop the ramparts. Her voice was loud, demanding attention, yet he heard it as more of a whisper as his attention was caught by that terrible smile.
The whispered voice, however, was further drowned out as another voice boomed in his head. It was a voice he grew up listening to, a phrase he had heard his father, Ryan Whitlock say many times. For some reason it grounded him.
“Having fear hinders you, it will only throw off the perspective of what is in front of you.”
He felt his own lips move, they didn’t form the entire sentence but he blinked. It was all he needed to turn his head slightly and pull his gaze away from the speaker’s mouth. Then he had to swallow the knot in his throat and with great trepidation, he smiled.
The moment he did, the woman lost interest and turned away. So too did the man guards manning the garrison. Was he alone, amongst them all? Were there others, with trembling cheeks, forcing a smile? Would he be able to figure out what was happening before he succumbed to the cultists' strange methods?
He had wanted to come here.. Now it was time to figure out whether it was a brave decision or a foolish one.
