Eisenhorn

Mass Effect: The Ephyra Incursion

@Leos Klien Excellent, though to save time and awkward conversation, do not check the dumpsters out back. Or the alleyway itself. Or the hallway leading out there. Should be fine then.

Mass Effect: The Ephyra Incursion

@Andromedai Whatever antics are going on thanks to the rest of the crew. Or our glorious Spectre Leader. Or both.

Mass Effect: The Ephyra Incursion

@rivaan Good times, am I right?

Mass Effect: The Ephyra Incursion

Well, finally got this fellow cranked out, Themes are currently HEAVY WIP. God awful at finding music that fits what I want, I swear.

CS

Name:

Jal'Werral vas Vestal

Race:

Quarian

Class:

Infiltrator

Age:

44

Sex:

Male

Appearance:

Backstory:

Jal'Werral vas Vestal, to use an entire formal name, was part of a family that lived an died among the stars despite the reclamation of Rannoch and cessation of hostilities between the Quarians and Geth. Unsurprisingly, the Migrant Fleet was not disbanded after the homeworld was reclaimed, despite the fact it wasn't, by all intent and purpose, necessary any more. However, some Quarians had grown so used to never having a permanent home, to living and exploring, that they either couldn't or wouldn't abandon the wanderer's life. This was hardly a bad thing, as maintaining the fleet readiness of the Quarian people was a good thing, but it would create a schism in some. While Jal'Werral was not born upon the Vestal, as was customary for Quarians after pilgrimage to return to another ship, was born onto a ship that had originally chosen to not return to Rannoch and give up space faring life.

Jal'Werral was raised like the Quarians before the reclamation had occurred, and while the environmentally sealed suits were not as necessary as they once were, they still were necessary for both practical and cultural reasons. As such, suit ruptures were not death sentences, though they were treated as very grave situations indeed still, as the immune systems of the Quarians were not as strong as they should be for long term exposure outside the suits. As such, living in an enviro suit, working aboard his birth ship, something yearned for young Jal'Werral, desperate to explore and see the outside galaxy as best he could. Sure enough, the time for his pilgrimage came, and the customary gifts and training was given. Jal was given an old M-11 Suppressor pistol for self defense, fitting considering his inclinations towards stealth, before setting out, and set out he would.

The purpose of each Pilgrimage was to find something useful to the fleet, whether it be information, supplies, or credits, before returning. Jal'Werral found employ as a thief and conman, doing quick and dirty work that involved breaking and entering, robbery, and other things that his family back home would be appaled to find him doing. Yet he did gather quite the small fortune, for a Quarian at least, engaging in such acts. Good information, and a discreet source, were hard to come by together, and Jal would provide both. For a fee of course, and it let him fill that explorer's drive that had made him so eager for his Pilgrimage. It meant exploring and learning, even outside of where he was legally allowed to be or to know. As such, he brought back a handsome sum of credits, and wisely chose a captain who did not pry too deeply into how the credits were attained. This was good, since there was a rule against harming others to gain the Pilgrimage Gift.

As such, Jal'Werral found himself among the crew of the Vestel, a ship that operated almost exclusively as a Migrant Marine vessel, and enlisted in their ranks as an Infiltrator straight away. His knack for stealth was offset by a brutal ability in hand to hand combat, having picked up some rather nasty tricks while on Pilgrimage, though the Marines also overlooked this since having able bodied Quarians that were also capable was a rare boon. Despite having spent several years on Pilgrimage, Jal'Werral often lacked any interest in staying with the Vestel for the rest of his life, always keeping his eyes open for opportunities while on shore actions and out on missions with his team. Eventually a rather obvious answer came up, and Jal'Werral managed to leave the Marines to go into mercenary work, despite the pressure against such a thing.

Once free of the Marines, Jal'Werral went straight into his newfound work eagerly, hired on by a group of rather cutthroat Batarians and Humans that ran a piracy and smuggling outfit. While his initial tech experience and subtle nature were welcome, it was here he picked up and refined his knack for asymmetric and brutal warfare, often times fighting against numbers well and truly greater, whether it be rival pirates and mercenaries, or if it was local authorities trying to bring them in, or bring them down. Ignoring the less pragmatic tools, he stuck to mines and grenades outside of what he could accomplish with gun or tech, his tech skills mostly focused on deploying adopted Batarian tools, or scanning and deceiving enemies with decoys to put them in a position that would give him the advantage, or whomever had employed him said advantage.

Jal'Werral would eventually part ways with the group, by virtue of their capture and his narrow escape. Having never given a name, not a proper one at least, to anyone who would be able to get him flagged in the databases, he went freelance. He would never stick to a given group or outfit for long, a couple missions at most, before moving on. The idea of a Quarian merc was strange to anyone who encountered him, yet he would prove himself worth the credits time and time again. Other Quarians would question why he, one who had completed his Pilgrimage, was not with the fleet or back on Rannoch. He'd usually shrug such things off, having never been enamored with how the Quarians acted, but more importantly, he distrusted the Geth immensely. He knew their history, and he expected to hear of one turning on the other every day the relationship came up in conversation. They were machines and programs, and eventually it would be inefficient or wasteful to keep working with the Quarians, then the Morning War would happen all over again.

It wasn't a true xenophobia, merely an expectation and distaste in them, and he kept working despite these questions and doubts levelled at him by both Pilgrimage bound Quarians and those that had returned successful. He wasn't the only wandering Quarian, and took solace in that. As a mercenary, he traded killing skill for money, a far cry from the thefts and information brokering of his youth. However, he was very careful not to get noticed by the law within Citadel Space, not acting in manners that would get him flagged should he ever have to do work within their jurisdiction, eventually the idea of the 150th anniversary of the Reaper War came around, a drawing being done to pick the lucky guests. He cannot say what prompted him to enter, perhaps a curiosity over what things would be done at said event, or perhaps it would be the closest he could come to a vacation. Either way, much to his surprise, he won the drawing, and had to arrange to make his way to the Citadel itself. The ban on overt weapons was irritating, doubly so since his chosen sidearm was considered illegal for most sectors by civilian ownership, but he could use his background as a Migrant Marine to cover himself in that regard.

Psyche Profile:

Jal'Werral is a fairly skeptical, sarcastic, pragmatic to a fault and lacking any sort of faith in anything outside of concrete results. Just as ready to comment on how a plan might fail as he is to point out how it could have gone wrong makes him a less than popular sort of person, however, he sees it as realism. Not acknowledging the flaws and problems in anything, no matter how fool proof or ideal, only invites trouble as far as he is concerned. Reliability is an important thing, even for cases where someone fails, and finds someone who is unreliable, or a traitor for that matter, as not worth being called scum, considering how the scum might find that offensive. He does favor a dry, gallows sort of humor, making out situations that are, in no way, shape, or form, funny to be just that. Doesn't make him a lot of friends, but he ain't in it for friends, at the end of the day. Someone earns the trust, he will go out of their way for them, though usually threatening an extracted recompense later, but he will stick his neck out, good luck earning that privilege though.

Specialty:

Jal'Werral is an experienced, practiced soldier that prefers to be quiet, right up until the moment where its time to strike. He is an expert in guerrilla warfare, fighting against things that are better armed, armored, and even trained, all for a good paycheck. Application of mines, traps, explosives and physcological warfare all are second nature things for Jal'Werral. Part of his background with the Migrant Fleet Marines, retained for the space born forces after the Reaper War was concluded, includes vehicle operation and heavy weapons. After leaving the Marines, he picked up interrogation techniques running with pirates, as they had picked up his contract for a spell, giving him a rather unsavory, yet useful, toolset. When it comes to a fight, he will as often wound and cripple as he will straight up kill, using the wounded as bait or otherwise whenever suitable.

Skills:

1. CQB Training
2. Explosives Training
3. Asymmetric Warfare Tactics
4. Small Arms Training
5. Interrogation Methods
6. Migrant Marines Training

Equipment:

1. Kishock Harpoon Gun (Sniper Rifle)
2. Graal Spike Thrower (Shotgun)
3. M-11 Suppressor (Heavy Pistol)
4. Trip Mines
5. Recon Mines
6. Inferno Grenades
7. Omni-Tool
8. Mono-molecular Combat Knife

Powers:

1. Tactical Cloak
2. Tactical Scan
3. Decoy
4. Ballistic Blades
5. Shadow Strike
6. Submission Net

Sample Post

"Credits just cleared boys and girls, let's get in there and kill us some slavers."

The motley crew of Batarians, Humans, even a Krogan or two started chattering, grabbing their weapons and arms. Everything from Pistol carrying Engineers, reliant on their tech and tricks instead of weapons, to that one Krogan grabbing a M-79 Revenant, they knew his type. Under armor, Krogan regeneration and battle frenzy, that bastard tended to plow through doors and barricades as readily as a breaching charge might. The one that stood out though, was the Quarian. compared to the barbed armor of the Batarians and size of the Krogan, one might be forgiven for thinking him a human with oddly designed armor at a glance. But no, it was a Quarian with some very, very unusual gear for anyone.

One of the rookies of the band was staring as the Quarian loaded up his rifle, the Human Engineer he was hounding for details about the Quarian pointed out it was a Kishock, and he was always told it stayed holstered on capture jobs. His backup was a Graal, getting another double take from the Rookie. Every Quarian the kid had seen, was always these tech heavy engineers or used a lightweight, efficient sniper rifle, not Batarian and Krogan designed gear, asking the Engineer why he had that kind of kit. "Like hell if I know where he got it from, or a taste for that kind of gear. All that I, and that you should, care about is the job gets done. Might be messy, but it gets the job done."

"Besides that, kid, you're too chatty to not drop in one shot. You wouldn't know if I tagged you." Said rookie practically spun and fell off the crate, aforementioned Quarian standing there, rifle resting in his arms, cradled while the Engineer started laughing his ass off, rapidly showing the stunt had been planned between the two. The rookie shook his head, muttering something as he stood up and stalked off, while Jal'Werral shook his head before making his way to the shuttle bay. Everyone already knew the details, slavers of all sorts holed up in a station out in an asteroid field, finally ticked off the powers that be on Omega enough times to warrant sending the mercenaries in. They didn't work with any of the major three names, freelance group, made them cheaper and quieter than the other three. Job was simple, broadcast they were looking to buy, disembark, and kill every last son of a bitch on the station.

Jal'Werral was part of the infiltration team, the ones going in first to open up the rest of the ship to the main forces. Well, not first as far as the slavers were concerned, the other team loading up were the ones broadcasting. Jal, dropping the second half of his name like most did, would be cloaked before the shuttle opened up, slipping in and disabling automated security before the primary team were discovered or opened fire. They would act even if the defenses were up, but the plan would go smoother without them. Sure enough, the slavers bought the ruse, giving the shuttle docking instructions and the flight in was quiet, if a bit tense for the mercs. The most charismatic of the group, also the one in charge of the band, was an Asari, and she would be doing the talking. The rest were bodyguards and for coralling and controlling the 'merchandise'.

Doors opened, and the two Krogans and Batarian 'bodyguards' escorted the boss out, and at a glance that was it. In practice, the Quarian was out first, ducking past the slavers empty greetings and such while the main group worked forward. The rest of the merc war band was lurking in waiting on the cruiser they were using as a base of operations, when the automated systems dropped, that would be the time to strike. Quietly moving through the halls, it didn't take the experienced Quarian long to reach the control center of the slaver station, a handful of workers and bean counters there with the two extremely bored looking human guards. Well, they looked bored, so Jal decided to liven the place up, by killing every last one of them. Checking his M-11, including its integral suppressor, he rose and shot the one guard right between the eyes, cloak turning off from the weapons fire, but not before shooting the other guard. Neither of em had shields, how conveniant, muttering out loud as he turned towards the remaining four. "One, two..."

..."Three, Four, Five, Six. Each number had him killing one of the slavers in the room, watching the light on his M-11 go red, indicating its need for a new thermal clip, as the last man in the room slumped against the console. Shaking his head, he reloaded and pulled the corpse off the console, sitting down and, after wiping the blood off, checked the systems. All running, reliant on the continued operation of the control center to run. Fascinating, the Engineer would love to dissect this, no time though, work was work. Standing back up, he looked back at the central processing unit for the ship, hefting a Recon Mine and planted several of them on the processing tower, before heading for the exit, pausing and tossing an Inferno grenade behind him and sealing the doors. Sure as anything, the lights flickered and all the fancy turrets and mechs he had passed on the way here shut down, and quite a few alarms sounded.

Add in the weapons fire he heard, sounded like the boss had engaged with the slavers. Unslinging his shotgun, he charged up a shot from it as he advanced down the corridor, cloak re-engaging once again. Common mistake people made, charging up a shot registered as a weapon shot while cloaked, yet it wasn't programmed to take that into account if cloaking after charging a shot. Rather bizzare, but Jal didn't question it too much, giving the first slaver to turn the corner, a Batarian looking very well armed, a rather shocking taste of his own medicine. The red hot flechettes, overcharged as they were, tore through his armor and sent him reeling to the ground, and Jal paused, listening. No one yelling, besides the pained noises the Batarian was making, clutching at the flechettes in his chest, before drawing his M-11 and putting the man out of his misery. Shame, good bait was hard to come by, and the noises that fool was making would have been great.

Moving down the corridors, he ducked back, shots ringing out against the bulkhead. Seems he had found a manned hardpoint, turret firing another way as his boss came over his earpiece. "Jal, ran into that hardpoint too? Got us pinned, and they are guarding a manual override that's keeping the rest of this miserable band from earning their pay. Turret is hard mounted, but can't swivel beyond this hallway. Clear it out, yeah?"

"Sure boss, but this means hazard pay. Charging a hardpoint with quite a few bastards in it, and heavy ordinance, counts as hazard duty. Money back guarantee if I bite the bullet doing it though." Smirking, he poked his head out long enough to drop a tactical scan, sweeping the nest and picking out how many of them there was. Seven, five of them facing the main threat, the other two trying to keep the 'light armed quarian bastard' from getting close. Seems they caught wind of him causing trouble, but were not aware of his last trick. Pulling out his Kishock from its back holster, he started charging a round from it, the weapon shuddering as it primed one if its harpoon like spikes. Cloak engaging again, he poked his head and weapon out long enough to tag the one slaver, Human this time, in the gut, the high powered spike punching through the armor just beneath his heart and sending him reeling back, blood spurting and him screaming bloody murder, as the humans would say.

His partner glanced back, shocked, giving the Quarian a few seconds, all he would need. Cloak intact, he ducked forward, sprinting and vaulting the barricade, combat knife slamming into the gawking slaver's throat. He kept moving, dropping an inferno grenade as one of the slavers on the wall turned on him, unleashing point blank hell from his assault rifle. A few rounds slammed into his shields, but Jal was over the barricade again, hugging the ground as the grenade went off and incinerated the remaining slavers, frying the turret, and clearing out the problem. Picking himself up, he glanced at his boss as she vaulted the front of the barricade, undoing the manual override after the fire and smoke cleared. "Earned that hazard pay, Jal. Shame your not sticking around after this, but we ain't done yet. Rest of em are holed up in the cargo bay, with their cargo."

"Why not void the lot of them, be done with it?" The Asari looked at him, one of the Krogans snorting as he had suggested the same damn thing. Digging people with nothing left to lose out of a hard point was the kind of job that got a lot of people killed. But, as the Asari was about to mention, there was a very good reason beyond being nice and altruistic for not spacing the remaining slavers. "Simple, getting paid an extra bounty for keeping their cargo alive. Apparently Omega wants them after this. Besides that, we have the manpower to dig them out without killing the bonus."

Turning, Jal rolled his eyes, even if he could accept the reasoning. Extra pay was all fine and well, but it was about to get split between a lot less people after this was said and done. Ah well, a job was a job, and if Boss wanted to do the extra work, then he would have to pick up the slack. Moving out, he started making his way towards the cargo bay, passing a lot of corpses, both slaver and mercenary. Jal paused, finding the rookie's corpse from before, clutching an overheated rifle, but very much dead. Damn shame, that, seemed he had some potential, and that was it. All the consideration Jal gave the dead human rookie as he made it to the cargo bay, ducking a missile that hurtled into the open cargo doors, taking cover alongside several other mercenaries. "Well, if it isn't the Quarian? Mind spooking that heavy weapon nest? Been keeping us pinned down this whole damn time."

"Sure, I'll charge into another deathtrap just to spare you some effort. Just be ready to act when the nest is down, I'm only doing this once. Because it looks like you took enough missiles to the head already, mate." With that, he cloaked and, rather than go across the cargo bay as they began laying down covering fire, he went up into the walkways and automated crane rigs that were, thankfully, shut down right now. Crawling across, he got above the nest and dropped a grenade down, watching them go up in flames screaming. Swinging down, he threw trip mines towards each of the ways up into the nest, ignoring the smell that did make it through his helmet's filtration system. Setting in, he began picking off the slavers from behind, using his Kishock at this range. Of course, the shock of suddenly having a hollow spike in your back wasn't quite surpassed by the charging Batarian and Human mercenaries, and just like that, the last of the slavers were dealt with.

Well, all but two, and then they ran right into Jal's trip mines, and that was the last of the slavers. Smirking to himself, and surveying the damage, he observed the mercenaries cutting the slaves loose and informing them that they were being returned to Omega, with mixed response. Some happy to be out of slaver hands, others worried at what awaited them on that asteroid station. Jal'Werrall vas Vestal ignored them, approaching his boss as she walked in to survey the results, noting the slaves were indeed still alive and intact. "That's that, boss. I'll take my share when we reach Omega, and go my way from there. I'll stay in touch, if something juicy comes up. Old times sake."

Notes:

Long story short, Jal'Werral is a rather cut throat (no pun intended) merc with background in intelligence and Migrant Marines. Straight fella, though that is hardly at the top of his concerns, and has a black/gallows sense of humor when the situation calls for it. Has a distinct and pointed loathing for traitors and betrayal in general, pretty quick way to see him angry. Fun fact, sounds a lot like Mal Reynolds taking into account the envirosuit mask. Levo-protein based foods will make him extremely sick, though not to a lethal extreme, unlike some, so he has to be extraordinarily careful in regards to food that he himself doesn't prepare.

Theme Song #1

Theme Song #2

Theme Song #3

Mass Effect: The Ephyra Incursion

@Andromedai Once I find some theme songs, I shall have my guy posted. Which means, finding the theme songs might take as long as the rest of the CS itself >_>

WARHAMMER 40K: THE TARSON INCURSION

Three hours at the controls of a quad heavy bolter turret, with auxiliary launcher systems, tends to give man perspective. Not the right one, mind you, considering he knew how proper dangerous an Ork horde could be. Then again, sitting perched up on a wall, well and truly out of reach of all but their longest reaching weapons, tends to put just about anyone to the size of an ant, another very dangerous way to see thins. He had been sweeping along the center to left, leaving the right and that half of center to the other manned turret and other member of the retinue. He had enough to worry about, as he checked the links of the ammo crates leading into the heavy bolters themselves, considering it seemed the greenskins intended to push towards his side, again. Particurally ragtag group, this one, if the optics could be trusted, seemed they were running out of shit to throw at the walls for now. They'd regroup, of course, but this was a stalling tactic, minimize the amount of attrition suffered in exchange for maximum damage towards the Ork ranks.

"Probing force, far left. Another test of weapon traverse, engaging." As if punctuating his sentence, the heavy bolters opened up, roaring out a torrent of .998 caliber high explosive bolts right into the ranks of Orks charging and moving with the rag tag looking vehicle. He knew better at this point, despite appearances, the things could weather a rather impressive volume of fire at the worst of times. Keying the launchers, the staccato thuds, near lost in the chattering heavy bolters, sent a screen of krak grenades out as well. Quite a few missed their marks, due to the nature of firing precision weapons in such a manner like this, and as far as the Krieger was concerned? Ordnance as as much precision as it was raw power. Volume of fire had its place though, and considering the rapidly shredded ranks of Orks and the countless vehicles and corpses strewn about the area before the wall? It had been used to a very effective sense.

His methodology and focus had done precisely what was ordered, coupled with the methods of the Arbites watching the other half, the Orks retreating en mass. Normally, this would be the time for a breakout assault and continue the momentum against the breaking forces, but considering what was seen thus far? There were not enough forces here to maintain such a breakout action, so the respite would have to do before the Orks rallied and came again. Emperor willing, that would be enough time to be ready for the next attack. However, with that done, he heard a rather disconcerting clunk as one of the heavy bolters stopped firing. Glancing at the weapon, sure enough, it was jammed, but spotting several tech priests as he stopped manning the heavy weapon position, waving them over. "Jammed heavy weapon position, maintenance required. I am required elsewhere." With that, he unslung his Type XIV (Heavy) before marching his way back towards the command post, leaving the heavy weapon position for the techpriests and other guardsmen to do with as they saw fit.

Arriving back at the command post, Ansgar noted the fact that the psyker was coated in blood. Apparently moving debris resulted in copious amounts of blood, raising an eyebrow beneath his rebreather and helmet, briefly before returning back to his normal expression, not that any of this was apparent beneath the rebreather. "Ma'am, you might want to at least rinse the blood out of the clothes, or at least your hair at the next opportunity. Getting caked blood out of both is not a pleasant experience." How he knew both of these things, well, story time for another day, as he turned to the Celestian and offered a curt salute before reporting. "Orks repelled and suppressed for now, ma'am, Arbitrator should be along presently. Ready for next assignment." The sight of the Angel of Death was getting an abnormally low amount of attention from the Krieger, but considering his past experiences, it was hardly surprising.

WARHAMMER 40K: THE TARSON INCURSION

@Rithy Truer words were never written, the two least chatty folks assigned to the same job.

@Andromedai Let me find an image I've been looking for and I'll crank something out.

Mass Effect: The Ephyra Incursion

It is time. Time to make my fluorescent pink Quarian once again!

Torchlight (high casual, based off of Darkest Dungeons)

It had been many a moon's passing since he had seen such a place in such poor, fallen state. Not quite true to its namesake, Father Cross considered, as there was far too much left to be considered the Ash of a village long past its time. No one could argue it was a place anyone would wish to go, without good reason, but then again, they were here for a very good reason. Even if the other two cared for little beyond coin, there was work to be done here. Of course, just as he was about to more closely analyze his peers here, a knight approached them. Considering how little was left here? This man was likely the Sir Arthur Chastibul, and the man's rather disappointed reaction towards the group spoke volumes about the kind of man they were dealing with here.

Firstly, he seemed to have not expected a Templar, holy warrior of a given god, but had nothing to say. Curious, though given the fact that he had yet to ever know the existence of Templars that swore to any God but Borealis and Ragnarok, another lady that would not take kindly to his existence. Nothing new there, he considered with a silent, mental laugh. The disgusted response to the half-breed was, while not surprising, disappointing. Some argued that those of vampiric nature were the daughters of Shee'l Tor, given his common association with the dead and the fact such beings were undead. In fact, undead were mockeries of life, and perversions of death, so most followers of his own God viewed them poorly, more so than the uninitiated outsiders. Yet he could ill afford enemies when so many were ready to take up the mantle, and beings of death and undeath did fall within the realms of Shee'l Tor, distaste aside.

Lastly, the unbridled and unrestrained hate, coupled with a remark on Necromancy, announced the man had finally deigned to notice him. Rather, it solidified such a thing, the quick backstep and grasping of blade announced it first. Rather than make some cheeky remark towards the 'King's Squire', he merely glanced as the orders were given to 'Run him through' should he try anything, and settled on sarcasm instead. "Would that include following you to your office, then?" The sarcastic remark towards such a hateful figure was a common response for him, they hated what they didn't understand, so he would treat them like the children they were. Children hated the unknown, adults found a more reasonable reason than 'I don't know what it is, hate it!' sort of approach. The one man, face twisting into a death's head grin, got a feint smile in return from the priest. Death haunted them all here, and even if he had not arrived to seek out the core problem, a Priest of Shee'l Tor was desperately needed here regardless. The other? God fearing man, fearing any but his own, stepped away from him. Classic response, fear of the unknown, another child in a man's trappings. He found himself speaking to no one in particular, though not muttering since that would earn him a running through. "Death haunts this place, like a living soul haunts a favored tavern, or perhaps a beloved brothel is more apt. It is a fondness, a loving routine of visitation and satisfaction, which is rather clear in your faces."

"Though I must disappoint, despite the trappings, I am no necromancer. While Necromancers carry the name of Shee'l Tor upon their lips, not all of Shee'l Tor's Priests are Necromancers. Just like a Templar and a Warrior. Templars are warriors, though not all warriors are templar." If nothing else, this Priest of Shee'l Tor was a talkative soul, sometimes plain in speech, other times not so much. His tone was calm and intentionally soothing, inviting trust and relaxation despite all received hostility and distrust thus far. His kind were hated and reviled, that was nothing new, but they filled a role most vital, and took solace and pride in such things. Turning his gaze away from the town guard, devastated as it was, he considered this Sir Chastibul and his mannerisms thus far before speaking his next piece, having assumed the man was indeed this 'King's Squire'. "It would be safe to presume this beset village has a problem with the unquiet dead, or, 'King's Squire', is such a thing unfair to presume so soon?"

Torchlight (high casual, based off of Darkest Dungeons)

@Paradoxial Oh no, its perfectly fine. Me thinks that he's used to being seen as a less than stellar omen, so it fits just fine, far as I'm concerned.