DruSM157

NCQ — Polaris

Alan Fouren

“Tons of danger, low odds of mission success, and I’m probably going to lose a limb. Sounds great!”

_{[ ⛨ ] C A L L S I G N}

---

Wild Wolf

_{[ ⛨ ] N C O R I G I N}

---

Fairbanks

_{[ ⛨ ] D - O - B}

---

July 14, 2654 (22)

_{[ ⛨ ] G E N D E R}

---

Male

_{[ ⛨ ] A P P E A R A N C E}

---

Scruffy would be an understatement with Alan: nothing about him screams soldier. Shaggy hair, unkempt facial hair, and roughshod angular features. Alan sports a scar running from his left ear down his neck; a wound he received during his first sortie in the Wild Wolf. He stands roughly around 5'11, just a hair shy of breaking 6 foot. He is lithe and had slight musculature, due to his history as a junker. His casual clothes consist of a faded denim button downed shirt and dark slacks. While still young, Alan sports dark bags under his eyes, and has gained deep creased wrinkles on his forehead. His shaggy mop of hair is a dark brown, with matches the near black spotty beard that runs down his jaw, working its best to cover the scar. He seems spacey, and is more akin to sport a smile when not under combat conditions.

_{[ ⛨ ] P E R S O N A L I T Y}

---

Alan is friendly to everyone he meets. Affable, open handed and humorous, Alan does not seem to really fit the mold of a soldier by any respects—and he owes that to being more or less forcibly pulled into this life rather than simply volunteering or being raised to be a soldier. Alan has an incurable form of gallows humor when preparing for the sortie, and his mix of inexperience on the actual frontlines of combat make him an odd member of the team. It never helped that he was one of the lowest passing score in Graham’s test; a feat that did not endear him to any of his team.
Alan’s lackadaisical personality is the kind that veterans would push around as the man looking to get himself killed on the battlefield; the key difference is Alan’s personality when in the heat of battle. In combat, Alan feeds off of pain: both emotional and physical. Alan’s own personality in dire combat changes from his happy-go-lucky nice guy routine to a ruthless and aggressive psychopath. The further he is pushed mentally in combat; the more bloodlust consumes his personality. It makes him a dangerous wildcard on the field, putting himself at risk as well as his fellow soldiers.

_{[ ⛨ ] S K I L L S E T}

---

Junkyard Mechanic: Unlike his counterparts who had access to proper materials during their combat stays, Alan grew up in the frontier where clean, shiny new supplies were few and far between. This meant that he had to scrounge and repurpose outdated, damaged or scavenged parts to keep his unit in workable condition. While he has to leave it to the professionals for proper upkeep of the WW, Alan can perform emergency repairs in the field if push comes to shove, and that ingenuity comes in handy when things go to shit.

Unshakable Will: In serious situations, the average pilot would lose their cool and give into negative emotions, shaking them and breaking their morale. Alan, due to both his insane drive for destruction when fully “in the zone” as well as his own nature of do-or-die, is not easily shaken in combat. It would take extreme duress to make him break his usual façade; though a break would be disastrous.

Adaptive: Alan’s past has forced him to make due with supplies and weapons he could scrounge either in the junkyard, the frontier or after battle. Alan lacks any sheer expertise with weapons; but he makes up for that in his ability to pick up and use a weapon with gradual skill. If he can find a half-working FMR or a Powered Spike, Alan can find a way to perform maximum damage with it.

Well Read: If Alan has one indulgence it's literature. At a young age, collecting bits of archaic literature became a past time for Alan, especially exploring the databanks of ruined libraries. Alan's datapad has to date over 800 novels, short stories and poetry ranging from the seventeenth century to the twenty-third century. Alan prefers the classics over the later literature, enjoying chivalric romances, gothic horror and transcendental poetry. Alan's favorite stories include Le Morte d'Arthur, The Once and Future King, Frankenstein, T.S. Eliot's The Wasteland, and The Hound of the Baskervilles.

_{[ ⛨ ] B A C K S T O R Y}

---

Before New Anchorage

Alan grew up in Dead Springs, near the Neo-Atlanta Megacity in Fairbanks. Small ruins and tons of junk, it became a frontier trading post between the larger megacities in lower Fairbanks. Still, living in the frontier comes with danger: raiders especially. The test came to Alan’s town later in his life, when he was seventeen. Thinking of a chance to provide for his family and give them a better life than living in a junkyard town, he took his chance with the surgery.

Still, a town needs money to pay their pilots. And Dead Springs was no megacity. But when you’re in a junkyard, you can find many wondrous things: including the frame of the Wild Wolf. Found nestled away in a collapsed compound in the ruins, the frame had been stripped of armor and a core, leaving only the skeleton remaining: a remnant of what it could be. But a frame would work: with money raised for a core, and what armor and armaments the money could afford; the WW was rebuilt piecemeal. But it worked.

Alan took up sorties with local combatants, as well as defense jobs in the area; providing for both his home and his family; allowing them more luxuries than a Junker’s life can provide. But more than that, he fought to bring them some semblance of peace. However, a roughshod mech is only as good as its parts and pilot allow; and it was on these sorties that Alan met real terror. A team of outdated and hand-built mechs don’t usually fare well against well trained and well equipped soldiers; especially deserters from Neo-Atlanta. Outmatched and outgunned, Alan’s compatriots were slaughtered, and he was left broken and left for dead; a heavy grinder blade digging into his cockpit and tearing the metal apart, giving him his facial scar as a reminder.

The deserters didn’t simply wipe out the defense party; they came to Dead Springs. The town and its people burned. That’s when the second personality came to life. A beast, a wild, rabid dog that fed on all of Alan’s negativity towards his weakness came to life. It consumed him and drove him to fight. He survived, and he kept the Wild Wolf alive using the parts he could salvage from his fallen comrades. Metal scavenged from the destroyed ruins of his town strengthened his armor-and he went hunting.

Surprise attacks. Traps. Decoys and delays. Alan learned to fight his new enemies with his mind to make up for his glaring technological weaknesses and his own lack of combat skills. And when it came to combat, the harder he fought, the higher his synchronization grew with the Wild Wolf. The more he fell into his ravenous fury, the harder he fought. In the end, Alan got his revenge at the cost of the Wolf’s left arm and right leg, both which he felt every bit of pain from. A team hired out from Neo-Atlanta’s own division had been dispatched to clean up the deserters, only to find their mission had been completed by a junker from the sticks.

Alan received no payment.

With no family and no prospects left in his home, Alan did what he could. Scavenging materials from the newer model mechs he had destroyed gave him a slightly better edge than a raider now, and with the beast inside of him awakened, he aimed to feed that hunger for carnage. That’s where he met Graham.

He was a disappointing prospect to the Commander from the get-go. No real military combat experience. He was a frontier skirmish fighter. He was unfamiliar with up-to date equipment and weaponry. His physical tests and his skill tests were passable and he barely skirted by with that. Ultimately, he looked like he would be a wash-out until Graham’s…test. Climb an aging, old war combat frame with no grappling hook, no mag gloves and make it run without. If you couldn’t get it scrambled in time, you weren’t worth it.

When it came to Alan’s turn, the instructors gathered already prepared for disappointment. Alan simply smiled.

_{[ ⛨ ] T H E M E C H}

---

The Wild Wolf is simplistic in design, due to the no-frills need of a working combat mech without much to go on in personal armaments and equipment. Still, Alan had scrounged a few newer parts and weapons to keep up with some of the more professional NCs that he has to work with. The basic frame is simplistic, covered in a hodgepodge of mismatched armor; all roughly painted the same color; even if it doesn’t look all that pretty.

Equipment:

-Stock NC Control

-Leg and lower back thrusters to give strong bursts of speed and sustained air boosts for a limited time for extra mobility

-Average generator

-Mix of light and medium armor over the mech; the left arm and right leg have heavier armor due to the armor being taken from a stronger mech, whereas his right arm and left leg have lighter armor.

Armaments:

-Heavily Used LFR (Light Frame Rifle)-30 round magazine, short-to-mid ranger. (Right hand)
-Underbarrel HFG Launcher: A 3 round grenade launcher attached to the LFR. Equipped with standard fragmentary grenades.
-Scavenged light grinder blade: A heavy blade mean to pierce and then tear pieces of a mech apart. (Left hand)
-Electrical Discharge Canon: Emits high powered electrical bursts at close range. Can temporarily disable an unshielded NC or cause damage to the pilot in the cockpit.

_{[ ⛨ ] R E L A T I O N S}

---

Commander Graham: Alan can’t exactly put his finger on where he rubs the commander wrong. Whether it’s his attitude or lack of hardened combat experience, the only thing that Alan has going for him is his impressive display during the test. And even that didn’t endear him too much.

Anastasia Kalfox:Alan knows how the wind blows with this girl. Cool, calm and professional; not the kind you piss with the wrong way. He respects her. She's military and she's well skilled. When the shit hits the fan, Alan trusts Stein to be the girl to follow in combat.

Elizabeth Jackspar: Alan isn't quite sure he's even had eye contact with Jackspar in his entire time in New Anchorage. Honestly, he doesn't think that's too bad of a thing.

Kathryn Dradht: Ryn and Alan have an odd relationship. Ryn insults him, Alan smiles and laughs. Ryn is the only pilot Alan knows personally, as he worked several sorties with her before coming to Anchorage. He respects her skill as a pilot and as a sniper. He can vouch for her skill, but he makes not mention of actually knowing her from before, and Ryn isn't out gossiping about Alan anyway.

Ordent Callaway: Alan honestly likes the guy. Since the day of the test, Alan took to manhandling Callaway and being honestly friendly to the guy. When Callaway actually passed the test, much to the shock of the others, Alan actually cheered the guy on. Still, he doesn't actually talk much to him. Alan is nice, but never opens up to him or anyone.

Percy Moore: Alan respects Percy greatly, due to his morals. He'll just never admit it to the man. Percy's attitude reminds him of his own father, and that's painful enough that Alan keeps his distance from the man, and lays the sarcasm on thick if Percy does talk to him.

Tahlia Styles: If he wasn't so damn intimidated by her indescipherable accent, he might actually want to get a drink with her. She reminds him of his kind of people but with an Aussie flavor. Plus, he's always happy to have some heavy artillery when things get hot and heavy.

Madison Cole: Alan's word to describe her? The hospital chick. He has had nearly zero interaction with her due to the woman being in the infirmary, and honestly, he's happy for that. One less person for him to grow to care about.

Vera Voloshyna: Damnit, of all the cute kids in the world, why did he have to have her in this squad. The baby recruit scares Alan, because he doesn't want to see her get into this world. With Ryn it's different; he and her are from the same world, forced to pilot to survive. If Alan had his way, Vera would never see combat.

"Jingo" Strange: Jingo is Alan's ideal drinking partner. Except Alan would be terrified to see the man actually drink. It's not that Jingo's face grosses Alan out (it does) but it's the fact that Alan sees Jingo as a man he could become if he's not careful. Alan's scar already feels too close to that.

Agatha Smith: While she's old enough to be grandmotherly, Alan secretly views her more as a replacement mother. The fact that he latched onto that so quickly terrifies him, and he tries to keep his distance, even if Agatha is the kind to go after you and talk while you're trying to hide in a NC. Not saying Alan has or anything...

Alexander Sky: Alan kept his distance and won't really talk about the guy. Alan seemed put off by his flirtatious nature. After hearing he tried a possible coup against Graham, Alan is glad he's gone.

Jan Van Gent: Alan had worked with guys like him before. They were always assholes, and they were always looking for a chance to blow you away to take your share of the creds.

Joshua Ray: Alan found a kindred spirit in Ray, and he enjoyed his time with him. Bonding over sarcasm and never opening up to one another. Alan thought of him as an almost friend because of that.

Penelope Maverick: She was cute, in the spunky female reporter kind of way. Alan's happy she's not hear risking her neck in combat now. Better off chasing scoops than getting shot at by ion rifles.

Yeshua Horowitz: 16. The same age Alan was when he got his surgery. Alan kept his distance from the quiet boy, seeing him as something terrifying. A lost childhood, gone in burning smoke and corpses.

NCQ — Polaris

Excellent! I knew slipping Mike a crisp $50 would get me in!

NCQ — Polaris

Hey howdy hey. Sorry about yelling waffle iron at that dude earlier. I'm Drew, and i'm Gowi's best...friend? I'm also shocked and appalled he didn't yell at me earlier to BS a character for the RP today. Because I love me some mechs. God I love mechs.

I made a CS. It's a little bare bones. I'm not as fancy as a lot of folks with coding nice looking posts. But I feel that nepotism from my buddy can make up for that. Maybe.

Alan Fouren

Alan Fouren

“Tons of danger, low odds of mission success, and I’m probably going to lose a limb. Sounds great!”

_{[ ⛨ ] C A L L S I G N}

---

Wild Wolf

_{[ ⛨ ] N C O R I G I N}

---

Fairbanks

_{[ ⛨ ] D - O - B}

---

July 14, 2654 (22)

_{[ ⛨ ] G E N D E R}

---

Male

_{[ ⛨ ] A P P E A R A N C E}

---

Scruffy would be an understatement with Alan: nothing about him screams soldier. Shaggy hair, unkempt facial hair, and roughshod angular features. Alan sports a scar running from his left ear down his neck; a wound he received during his first sortie in the Wild Wolf. His casual clothes consist of a faded denim button downed shirt and dark slacks. While still young, Alan sports dark bags under his eyes, and has gained deep creased wrinkles on his forehead. His shaggy mop of hair is a dark brown, with matches the near black spotty beard that runs down his jaw. He seems spacey, and is more akin to sport a smile when not under combat conditions.

_{[ ⛨ ] P E R S O N A L I T Y}

---

Alan is friendly to everyone he meets. Affable, open handed and humorous, Alan does not seem to really fit the mold of a soldier by any respects—and he owes that to being more or less forcibly pulled into this life rather than simply volunteering or being raised to be a soldier. Alan has an incurable form of gallows humor when preparing for the sortie, and his mix of inexperience on the actual frontlines of combat make him an odd member of the team. It never helped that he was the lowest passing score in Graham’s test; a feat that did not endear him to any of his team.
Alan’s lackadaisical personality is the kind that veterans would push around as the man looking to get himself killed on the battlefield; the key difference is Alan’s personality when in the heat of battle. In combat, Alan feeds off of pain: both emotional and physical. Alan’s own personality in dire combat changes from his happy-go-lucky nice guy routine to a ruthless and aggressive psychopath. The further he is pushed mentally in combat; the more bloodlust consumes his personality. It makes him a dangerous wildcard on the field, putting himself at risk as well as his fellow soldiers.

_{[ ⛨ ] S K I L L S E T}

---

Junkyard Mechanic: Unlike his counterparts who had access to proper materials during their combat stays, Alan grew up in the frontier where clean, shiny new supplies were few and far between. This meant that he had to scrounge and repurpose outdated, damaged or scavenged parts to keep his unit in workable condition. While he has to leave it to the professionals for proper upkeep of the WW, Alan can perform emergency repairs in the field if push comes to shove, and that ingenuity comes in handy when things go to shit.

Unshakable Will: In serious situations, the average pilot would lose their cool and give into negative emotions, shaking them and breaking their morale. Alan, due to both his insane drive for destruction when fully “in the zone” as well as his own nature of do-or-die, is not easily shaken in combat. It would take extreme duress to make him break his usual façade; though a break would be disastrous.

Adaptive: Alan’s past has forced him to make due with supplies and weapons he could scrounge either in the junkyard, the frontier or after battle. Alan lacks any sheer expertise with weapons; but he makes up for that in his ability to pick up and use a weapon with gradual skill. If he can find a half-working FMR or a Powered Spike, Alan can find a way to perform maximum damage with it.

_{[ ⛨ ] B A C K S T O R Y}

---

Alan grew up in Dead Springs, near the Neo-Atlanta Megacity in Fairbanks. Small ruins and tons of junk, it became a frontier trading post between the larger megacities in lower Fairbanks. Still, living in the frontier comes with danger: raiders especially. The test came to Alan’s town later in his life, when he was seventeen. Thinking of a chance to provide for his family and give them a better life than living in a junkyard town, he took his chance with the surgery.

Still, a town needs money to pay their pilots. And Dead Springs was no megacity. But when you’re in a junkyard, you can find many wondrous things: including the frame of the Wild Wolf. Found nestled away in a collapsed compound in the ruins, the frame had been stripped of armor and a core, leaving only the skeleton remaining: a remnant of what it could be. But a frame would work: with money raised for a core, and what armor and armaments the money could afford; the WW was rebuilt piecemeal. But it worked.

Alan took up sorties with local combatants, as well as defense jobs in the area; providing for both his home and his family; allowing them more luxuries than a Junker’s life can provide. But more than that, he fought to bring them some semblance of peace. However, a roughshod mech is only as good as its parts and pilot allow; and it was on these sorties that Alan met real terror. A team of outdated and hand-built mechs don’t usually fare well against well trained and well equipped soldiers; especially deserters from Neo-Atlanta. Outmatched and outgunned, Alan’s compatriots were slaughtered, and he was left broken and left for dead; a heavy grinder blade digging into his cockpit and tearing the metal apart, giving him his facial scar as a reminder.

The deserters didn’t simply wipe out the defense party; they came to Dead Springs. The town and its people burned. That’s when the second personality came to life. A beast, a wild, rabid dog that fed on all of Alan’s negativity towards his weakness came to life. It consumed him and drove him to fight. He survived, and he kept the Wild Wolf alive using the parts he could salvage from his fallen comrades. Metal scavenged from the destroyed ruins of his town strengthened his armor-and he went hunting.

Surprise attacks. Traps. Decoys and delays. Alan learned to fight his new enemies with his mind to make up for his glaring technological weaknesses and his own lack of combat skills. And when it came to combat, the harder he fought, the higher his synchronization grew with the Wild Wolf. The more he fell into his ravenous fury, the harder he fought. In the end, Alan got his revenge at the cost of the Wolf’s left arm and right leg, both which he felt every bit of pain from. A team hired out from Neo-Atlanta’s own division had been dispatched to clean up the deserters, only to find their mission had been completed by a junker from the sticks.

Alan received no payment.

With no family and no prospects left in his home, Alan did what he could. Scavenging materials from the newer model mechs he had destroyed gave him a slightly better edge than a raider now, and with the beast inside of him awakened, he aimed to feed that hunger for carnage. That’s where he met Graham.

He was a disappointing prospect to the Commander from the get-go. No real military combat experience. He was a frontier skirmish fighter. He was unfamiliar with up-to date equipment and weaponry. His physical tests and his skill tests were passable and he barely skirted by with that. Ultimately, he looked like he would be a wash-out until Graham’s…test. Climb an aging, old war combat frame with no grappling hook, no mag gloves and make it run without. If you couldn’t get it scrambled in time, you weren’t worth it.

When it came to Alan’s turn, the instructors gathered already prepared for disappointment. Alan simply smiled.

_{[ ⛨ ] T H E M E C H}

---

The Wild Wolf is simplistic in design, due to the no-frills need of a working combat mech without much to go on in personal armaments and equipment. Still, Alan had scrounged a few newer parts and weapons to keep up with some of the more professional NCs that he has to work with. The basic frame is simplistic, covered in a hodgepodge of mismatched armor; all roughly painted the same color; even if it doesn’t look all that pretty.

Equipment:

-Stock NC Control

-Leg and lower back thrusters to give strong bursts of speed and sustained air boosts for a limited time for extra mobility

-Average generator

-Mix of light and medium armor over the mech; the left arm and right leg have heavier armor due to the armor being taken from a stronger mech, whereas his right arm and left leg have lighter armor.

Armaments:

-Heavily Used LFR (Light Frame Rifle)-30 round magazine, short-to-mid ranger. (Right hand)
-Underbarrel HFG Launcher: A 3 round grenade launcher attached to the LFR. Equipped with standard fragmentary grenades.
-Scavenged light grinder blade: A heavy blade mean to pierce and then tear pieces of a mech apart. (Left hand)
-Electrical Discharge Canon: Emits high powered electrical bursts at close range. Can temporarily disable an unshielded NC or cause damage to the pilot in the cockpit.

_{[ ⛨ ] R E L A T I O N S}

---

Commander Graham: Alan can’t exactly put his finger on where he rubs the commander wrong. Whether it’s his attitude or lack of hardened combat experience, the only thing that Alan has going for him is his impressive display during the test. And even that didn’t endear him too much.

The Order Saga: The Mind's Eye

Marlowe’s face grew red with laughter, as he nearly keeled over, slapping his knee. “No-No!” he said as Viera began to rain down blow after blow aimed at his head. “I promise! This is all Rauz! I’m innocent I swear!” He laughed, wrapping his arm around the small girl to stop her attack. “It’s just a joke.” He smiled into her pursed up, reddened face, a mix of anger and embarrassment at the joke. He turned his head to his old friend, giving him a halfhearted smile. It seemed so strange to see him in such high spirits after their past year. “It’s good to see you again, old friend.”

He released Viera, who crossed her arms in a huff, and bridged the gap between the group. “Miss Azarnite, this is Mathis Rauzil. He’s the most read mind in this side of the world, an expert on both alchemy and magic. He’s also pretty handy with a spear when things get too dangerous.”

“Please. I’m just a scholar. It’s a pleasure to meet you all.” He turned to Marlowe.

“I’m actually surprised to see you’ve stopped by. I would have expected you to be on another foolhardy quest by now.”

“Well, I guess we’ve been roped into a new adventure.” He smirked. “We ran into our old friends, Delios and Lathilos.”

“And-“

“No, he wasn’t there. They have a new friend. She’s got similar skills to Viera and myself.” He frowned. “And she’s pretty damned powerful.”

“It’s The Order. They’re all powerful.”

8 months ago

It had been raining since that day. Marlowe had been recovering; Viera was tending to him. Even though he could heal, it didn’t mean that having every bone in both his arms shattered would magically fix themselves overnight. It had been hell on
Marlowe, but it had been worse on Rauz.

Marlowe could hear the baby crying again. The creaking of wooden floorboards, and the muffled sounds of Rauz’s voice. “Shhh, shhh. It’s okay. Daddy’s here.” His voice was calm, warm—the voice you would expect from a caring father. Marlowe stood at the ceiling, wanting to move, wanting to do something.

He didn’t move.

Hours passed, and the floorboards creaked into another room. It was late; Viera was asleep near him, careful not to move or hurt his bandaged arms. Marlowe hadn’t slept—he couldn’t sleep cooped up in bed all day. He heard the heavy thud of a body fall atop a mattress, and then the muffled sobs of a man.

He didn’t move.

It only took a few days to recover, but it felt like years. Marlowe touched Rauz’s shoulder as he left, giving promises of his return, giving promises things would make things right. “Marlowe. Promise me—promise me you will kill him."

He moved.

The Order Saga: The Mind's Eye

“I think Rauz is the safest choice.” He looked to both women, trying not to think about his upcoming reunion with his friend. “Eereen is hidden away and Rauz uses his own study of magic to keep it safe. If The Order is after you, it’s the best way to hide you away until we can figure out why.”

Will you tell him the truth?

Marlowe began walking, without breaking a single beat. He seemed too focused on his own inner conflicts at the moment. Of course, if your last memory with a guy was him demanding you kill your friend, you might also have some conflicting thoughts about coming to the man for help while you still haven’t killed said friend.

“You’ll love Eereen, Ms. Azarnite.” Marlowe said, his sarcasm difficult to ascertain. “It’s a very historical town. Lots of history. Lots of magic.”

“Are you sure this place is safe?” Marlowe looked around the old town. “I mean, it’s not on any of the maps Kath has.”

“That’s why it is safe, Marlowe.” The man next to him seemed to look at the mansion, running a tapping finger over his chin. “Yes. This will be perfect.”
“Perfect for what? Falling through a rotten floor and breaking your leg?”

“Marlowe,” Rauz said, placing a hand on his companion’s shoulder, “When I’m done with this place, there will be no safer place in Dun.”

The town was empty, dark and lifeless by the time they arrived. Honestly, it looked as if no one had lived there for hundreds of years. The forest seemed to be retaking some of the buildings, and nothing looked habitable, much less safe. Marlowe led the women towards the large manor at the end of town. “See, I told you. Beautiful and historic.”

Marlowe opened the manor doors, revealing dust and a strong reek of decay. “Gorgeous interiors.” He smiled. “Just wait until you see where the magic happens.” Marlowe took a step inside, smiling. “Our wonderful host will be excited to meet you. He always has a nose for people with special talents. And I think being able to pick up trees with your mind is pretty special.”

The Order Saga: The Mind's Eye

“We’re used to nearly being killed on a daily basis. It kind of goes with the territory with those guys. Just next time, please don’t try and crush my girlf-“ he stopped for a second thinking back to Lathilos’ comment earlier. “My partner with a copse of trees.”

“I’m Marlowe.” He turned to his female companion.

“Viera.”

He turned back to the young girl. “And you are?”

“I-My name is Azarnite Weaver.”

“I take it The Order wanted something to do with you?” He stopped her before she could respond. “Actually, hold that thought.” He looked around. “I trust Lathilos, but I’m not a fan of hanging around in open spaces right now. We need to find somewhere a bit safer.”

The girl seemed distant. Of course she would be. She’d just been chased around by three well-armed figures. And then she attempted to bring down the whole forest with whatever powers she held inside of her. It was sensible that she would be afraid. Hell, anyone would be afraid at this point. Of course, when he first met The Order, it wasn’t fear.

It was anger.

The church had been burnt to cinders. The smell of burning wood was mixed with a worse smell: burning flesh. The town was nearly emptied; those who weren’t in the church had hidden away in their homes. Terrified, unable to speak of what happened. Marlowe was still wandering by then, trying to understand exactly where he was. The journey to find home stopped that day. He found a new calling: preventing tragedies like that from ever happening again. That's what began the fire inside of him: the faces of the survivors stricken with terror and the bodies being pulled out of the rubble of the church. It was all too much for him to comprehend. Seven hells, he didn't want to understand why they were killed that way. He only wanted justice for the dead.

Two figures had been investigating as well. It didn’t take long for Marlowe to tag along with them, even if they saw him as nothing more than a civilian with a cracked mind. The two called themselves members of the Vann, a branch of the local government that sent out warriors to protect civilians and investigate crimes. Marlowe had never seen people like that before; crimes were under the branch of the magistrate. If they needed something done, you’d usually see a town guard sniffing around. These people…they traveled all over the swamp.

But that’s how Dun was. It wasn’t a metropolitan area; it was the frontier. It took hardened and brave individuals to go the places the Vann did. Perhaps that’s why Marlowe followed them in the beginning. They were completely alien to him, but their ideals matched with his own. That was enough for him.

Marlowe looked the girl over. Physically she seemed fine. But the physical realm was only part of the body. “Are you from around here? Do you live in a village close by?”

The Order Saga: The Mind's Eye

He’d barely made it out of the forest when he saw the trees running. His chest still ached in pain, but there was no time to cry about a cracked sternum—Marlowe focused his energy into his legs and shot across the treeline, unsheathing his blade at catching the crashing pines with the flat of his blade. The fact that when he called to Viera, Lathilos of all people was there to assist as well? It was damn funny.

Marlowe followed through with Lathilos, pushing the trees back. Together the men showed incredible power. If they were on the same side, they would make a terrifying team. But they fought on opposite sides in this conflict, and their battles were always inevitable.

“Delios is alive,” Marlowe panted, the sword hanging at his side for a moment. “I’m not like you and your friends. I’m no fan of killing. Not when I can help it.”

Lathilos leaned his hammer on his shoulder, taking a light breath. “I’m not like my ‘friends’.”

“I know.” Marlowe frowned, before lifting the blade in front of him. “You’re a man of honor. That’s why it hurts to see you wearing that white cloak.”

“We all have our reasons.” He muttered underneath his breath, before looking to Marlowe. “Now prepare yourself.”

The two men raised their weapons, until Lathilos hesitated for a moment. “Stop.” He lowered his hammer, and Marlowe instinctively lowered his own sword. He looked at the man quizzically, trying to understand the sudden change in character. “We’re done. Your group isn’t prepared to fight.”

“But know that we will be back soon enough. I’ll give you a few days while Delios is recuperating, but I know my orders. The girl is important.”

“Wh-“Marlowe tried to come up with something. But words failed him. “Thank…you?”

“Isoltos! Pull back! We’re regrouping, Delios is injured!”

Marlowe kept his mouth closed, in fear that it would fall agape at the sudden change in plans. The two headed off, probably to collect Delios and to fall back to some safer locale. Marlowe’s sword fell to the ground, and he turned around. “Viera!” he suddenly ran to the woman. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Why did they retreat? They had the upper-hand.”

"Lathilos....wanted to show me that he still had honor."

"I see." She nodded as she picked herself up off the mud-littered marsh.

Marlowe turned towards the new woman, who’d been running from The Order all day. “Miss-“ he called to her. “Are you okay?” He looked around at the destruction that had been caused. Had it all been from her? “I think you’re safe for now. But they will come back.” He sighed. “They always come back.”

The Order Saga: The Mind's Eye

Marlowe had the drop on Delios. He was above him; as the man focused on the vharns. It was honestly unfair and unsporting of him. Right now he could do it; he could end Delios for good. No more sniper. No more removing fragments of metal from his arm or chest after a battle. One less Orderling harming other. He just had to jump to the tree and fall down with his blade: one easy thrust with the blade and Delios would be food for the Vharn.

Kill him.

The voice echoed throughout his head like a cold wind. It wasn’t anything alien; nothing new. The desire, the pleasure that vengeance gave him was an indulgence he discovered in his battles with Rin. To see the fear in a young whitecloak’s eyes; his scream as metal tore flesh apart. The warm blood that came with a fresh kill. He’d given into that base desire to make them pay.

He’d seen his friends’ reactions to himself. Covered in blood. Laughing, almost like a child. He saw the fear in their eyes as he turned from the foolish leader to a complete monster. He didn’t want to see that fear ever again. Not from Viera.

If you don’t kill him now, he’s going to kill countless others.

The voice always reasoned. It wasn’t evil. It was just. They chose their death the moment they donned their white cloaks. The Order had to die. No matter who was in it. They all had to die.

Kill him, or he kills Viera. He kills Mikael. He kills Rin. Rauz. Kath. Deya.

The nightmare of losing everyone was something common to him in recent months. The constant battle took him further and further away from his friends and away from any chance at being normal again.

KILL HIM NOW

Marlowe leapt from his branch in the opposite direction of Delios, taking cover with branches and limbs, making it difficult to be a target. Not that Delios had time to focus on him. The Vharn were trying to climb now; frenzied by fresh blood at the base of the tree—and on the rag that fell in an arc onto Delios shoulder. A torn cloth that Marlowe had soaked more blood in. The scent drove the Vharn into a howling fury.

Marlowe leapt, clung and slid until the Vharn’s howls were distant. The clearing wasn’t too far away now. He could make it. He had to find Viera and the girl. He had to help them.

They’re all going to die. Because you were too weak.

Not today. Not ever.

The Order Saga: The Mind's Eye

The two Orderlings were getting close; and Marlowe realized he’d picked a fight he couldn’t win. His breathing was labored, mixed with the immense pain. Something was definitely broken. He had placed his sword on his back, more focused on staying upright and using the trees as a support as he stumbled his way through the forest. He kept moving into the thicker trees, into the brush; it would be harder to follow him at full speed, and the thick trees gave enough cover from gun or bowfire. He cursed himself, over and over again. Too bullheaded. Too foolish. Always too open in a fight. He had to get away. There was no way he could win right now. But how the hell was he going to get away?

A shrill cry broke his line of thinking. An animalistic cry; something that a normal man would shy away form. But Marlowe was far from normal, and the cry was just what he needed right now. He came upon a small glade; and over the torn corpse of a treestrider were three very large crested vharns. A vharn was something Marlowe had some experience with; they were carnivorous and went wild at the scent of blood. It looked as if the tree strider had fallen from a limb and sadly become a small snack for these beasts. But a strider was small; and there was much larger game coming up.

A vharn didn’t understand fear. They were mindless, violent hunters. It’s why the Hunters Guild made so much money selling their hides, for example. A Bog Golem’s head sold well, yes. But Vharns were plentiful and hated by everyone. And for this moment, Marlowe praised the gods that he ran into a few of them. He heard trees falling closeby; and the Vharns seemed to look up from their meal as well; curious, violent and hungry. And then, the largest of them lifted its thick, carapace shielded head and sniffed.

Marlowe had run his saber over his palm, cutting the flesh and letting loose the soft sent of manblood into the air. He rubbed it over the trunk of the tree closest to him, and then began to climb the next tree up as he heard the creatures crash through the brush towards his location. He was nearly halfway up the tree before he called to the Orderlings. “Hey boys!” He called, coughing heavily from his chest between his next yelp. “I’m over here! Come and get me!”

With any hope, Delios would be too infuriated to think. And Lathilos would be close on his companions tail to react in time. He didn’t need these monsters to kill them. He just needed them to buy him time to make his way out of the forest.