[b]On the road again.[/b] -- Arcus' focus was on the page before him, the dry paper being held down by his thick fingers so it wouldn't flap in the wind. The truck hit another bump in the road and Arcus- in the passenger seat- scrambled to keep his journal from being sent out the open window. [i]A warrior is not a man who does not fear death. A warrior is someone who accepts death, for such is their duty. A warrior is not simply a man who fights; could a child merely pick up a sword and rightfully be called a warrior? Is a warrior made only through his armor or weapons? No- a warrior is one who sacrifices himself for the good of others.[/i] Arcus was reading what he had written earlier, trying to forget the events that had transpired that had led him to his current position. Why had [i]he[/i] shown up in Faribury? That was no small trek, even for the conditioned athleticism for Forsaken goons. His teal eyes left the page and glanced out the open window as the terrain flew by- the truck hit yet another bump and Arcus' journal was sent sprawling on the floorboard under his feet. He left it- it did not concern him right now. He couldn't reach his back in the backseat to lock it away, anyway. The driver glanced over and tapped on a perplexed Arcus' shoulder. Either this man had a good sense of empathy or Arcus wore an obvious mask of discomfort. "You alright?" he probed. Arcus nodded but did not turn from his window. -- [i]That morning-[/i] The center of Fairbury was bustling and Arcus had begun to lose track of time when he finally opened his eyes. Spending too much time in deep thought did that to you, it was almost like sleeping. His journal lay open in his lap and his pen was to the page, ready to write, but no more words came to his old mind. With a sigh the old warrior deposited his journal and pen back into his satchel in exchange for a strip of jerky. In towns Arcus usually offered physical labor in exchange for a meal, so as not to diminish his "backup" supply of dried jerky, but the factors of soreness and non-familiarity with the town led him think otherwise. Around here it seemed mental strength was more prized than physical, unless you were one devoted to guarding the city, in which case people seemed to [i]only[/i] judge you on physical strength. Arcus would treasure a job such as that, but after what he had witnessed on his way in he wasn't so sure. He was too old, at least for anything [i]that[/i] tough to fight. Perhaps he could settle here, then, and offer his services as a trainer of sorts? With his experience and prowess he could at least offer himself as a mentor for young talent looking to guard the city.. These thoughts streamed through Arcus' mind as he chewed on the tough ration and wandered back towards his apartment. Well, it wasn't [i]his[/i] apartment, per se, but as far as he knew the merchant who had offered to him had either died or left for Arcus hadn't heard or seen of him since he woke him up. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure where one who actually [i]do[/i] business here is Fairbury. It felt like every building contained the white-coated thinkers pertinent of the city. He pushed open the heavy door and and dropped his satchel on the floor, sending a few empty canteens clattering. A figure stood before him, one who looked as old as Arcus but in much healthier shape. Though he faced away looking out the window, Arcus could recognize the scarred face and bald head anywhere. "Ursa," grunted Arcus. The scarred and hulking mass of muscle turned to him and smiled, folding his hands behind his back. "Arcus. Was beginning to think that infection finally got to ya'." He chuckled to himself- with his raspy voice, it sounded like to sheets of paper rubbing against each other. "What are you doing here?" Ursa's step forward was met with a step backward from Arcus. "Was in town; chatted with one of the local businessmen. Had a nasty scar but said he had been saved by a big fella' with a rather..[i]unique[/i] set of weaponry." Ursa glanced at Brute who was still propped up in the corner. "Figured two deserters like us could do some..catching up." "[i]You[/i], a deserter? Go fuck yourself, Ursa, you take me for a fool." The bald man's face contorted in his attempt to hold back a scowl. His arms tightened and veins visibly shown across his bulging muscles and head. "Arcus, or should I call you [i]Evans[/i]? How about Warlord- You among anyone should know well that my loyalties lie where I choose to place them. Your..disappearance simply spurred me to make a similar choice. The life of a Forsaken no longer suited me." "You followed me here, you-" "Mere coincidence," Ursa rose a hand, "that our paths have crossed." "Right," Arcus quickly reached and grabbed Brute, holding it out, positioning himself to strike. "Get out of here, Ursa, else Brute starts negotiating." Ursa looked flabbergasted and stood motionless and silent for several moments. With a sigh, he finally replied: "So be it, Arcus. But you would do well to find a new purpose." Arcus didn't loosen his grip on Brute until Ursa's heavy footsteps could no longer be heard. --- [i]the Present-[/i] Ursa and Arcus had quite a history together- they had both served a substantial amount of years in the Legion together, and were a lethal pairing on the battlefield. Ursa had always been a better fighter, but Arcus had the quick wits to keep them alive. He'd never known a more devoted man to the Legion's cause; it was as if the man existed to kill others for some vague "cause" he had little understanding of. He was the type of man to take and execute orders without further thought or questions- a good soldier, perhaps, but a bad human being. Arcus wasn't about to believe his story of desertion, or that their meeting in Fairbury was chance. He was of the notion he was [i]sent[/i] there, but by who or for why, he wasn't sure. It wasn't like the Forsaken to send assassins, they very much had a "kill on sight" dogma that was more dependent on raw gruntwork and fear than anything as precise and fine as assassinations. After their meeting Arcus was quick to find a way out of town, a task that wasn't easy for Fairbury residents. Luckily, Arcus caught another caravan on its departure- different from the one he helped escort in- that seemed to have a few other additions to their crew as well. This caravan seemed much more prepared and well equipped than the previous, they must've made this trip several times and had an idea of what to expect. Luckily, the trip out went much more smoothly than the trip in. Afterwards, the other man that wasn't part of the caravan went separate ways, and Arcus, not wanting to be slowed by a large caravan, politely asked if he could join him on his ride to Russel City. Being only a moderately short ride away, the man had accepted. And now here Arcus was- his mind swimming and questions constantly gnawing at the outskirts of his mind as he tried to keep his queasy insides from being sludgy outsides as the bumpy road to Russel City nearly took another victim. He would probably need a new cover identity here, in Motum Diversum territory. At least, last he [i]checked[/i], it was Motum Diversum. He shook the worries and thoughts from his head- he'd wing it. Right now he had too much on his mind to add to the pile, and all he wanted to do was rest a moment and sort it all out. -- [i]About 4:00 p.m.-[/i] Next thing Arcus knew, he was being shook awake from the kind traveler in the driver's seat. "Hey. Hey! We're here. You don't look so good, bud. Take a lil' somethin' and get a room or get looked at. It's rainin', bud!" In his grogginess he felt the man shove something into his hand- a bit of money, no doubt. This man he traveled with was surely an angel, even though he half-shoved Arcus out of his truck before leaping out, himself. His grogginess was quickly subdued when he felt droplets of water hit his head. He stared up at the dark clouds, occasionally blinking to get a rogue droplet out of his eyes. So this was rain. He apparently had experienced it before- based on stories his mother had told him- but he was very young. All said and done, it was a bit of an underwhelming experience, in Arcus' mind. Water falling from the sky- sure, it could be collected, but then again the same could be said about [i]most[/i] discovered sources of drink. If anything, this inconvenience Arcus more, as he knew well the effect of water and cold on infections. He did his best to cover himself by holding his large satchel over his head with both hands as he stumbled through the muddy streets of Russel City. The amount of people in his line of sight was almost mesmerizing. He had gotten used to large crowds having practically grown up in the arena, but to have so many people walking [i]around[/i] you or [i]towards[/i] you? It was easy to get lost and mind numbed. Arcus dove into the first place that served alcohol he saw- he had no plans to stay here, and the money the traveler had given him wouldn't be enough for a night's stay, anyway. The drink he ordered was cheap and tasted awful, but at the very least it put his mind at ease. He took a few moments to force himself to relax and not think about [i]anything[/i]. Perhaps the meeting with Ursa [i]was[/i] coincidence and the man simply wished to reestablish contact with an old friend. But [i]what a place[/i] to simply happen upon, Fairbury. True, Arcus sort of [i]happened[/i] upon it, but he had been drawn to it initially by the caravan that needed another escort. Arcus realized he never even asked just [i]how[/i] Ursa had even made it into the city. Regardless, he had surely lost him now. If Ursa really was spying on him for the Forsaken he wouldn't dare follow him into Russel City- it was risky, even for Arcus. He pondered the thought that if it hadn't been raining he wouldn't have seamlessly made it in, himself. Another drink was enough to shove these thoughts away for the time being. "'Parently thems Immortals is meetin' in Isolone." A straggled sentence caught Arcus' attention. "Who told ya' that?" "Heard it 'round town. Guess that pretty lil' Missand's been spewin' the rumor all over." The conversation between the two men quickly progressed to a different topic and Arcus stopped listening after a while. [i]Immortals[/i] were gathering? From all over? And in Isolone, no less, the Big Empty? Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe Arcus subconsciously felt he [i]needed[/i] to believe in something, but he felt the rumor held some weight. He didn't know who this Missand was nor her credibility with such information, but the fact it was specifically [i]Immortals[/i] gathering as well as his feelings of needing to stay on the move thanks to Ursa, Arcus decided it was a worthy goal to at least look into. If they turned out to be false, then perhaps Arcus could offer some sort of helpful service in a smaller town- here in Russel City, the trade capital of Dust, he felt overwhelmed just sitting in a bar drinking. [i]Isolone. What a place to stage a meeting,[/i] Arcus thought as he slumped out of the bar, shifting the weight of Brute on his back. Quite a walk, too. But perhaps Arcus could find more roadside angels.