Name: Ryteb Ignatius Pyarros
Age: 45
Gender Fluid, though tends to respond best to male pronouns.
Race: Yokai Kitsune

Culture: The Yokai are a nomadic people, each clan, or Hakki Yagyõ, having their own rules and traditions. Ryteb's birth clan were influenced heavily by the fae, possessing a druidic mindset and culture. The elders of the clan were very closed minded about technology, regarding civillisation as against the will of the world. Due to his exile from the clan, he tends to deliberately contradict this mindset out of petty vengeance.

Racial Features: Akagami Kitsune posses a limited ability to shapeshift, namely between the form of a fox and humanoid as well as being able to shift genders on the fly. In tbeir humanoid form they posses fox ears and a tail. Their animal form has multiple tails for each decade of their life. Akagami have a natural magic linked to the clan, a bond that nurtures their growth and promotes their clan abilities.

Appearance Short and lithe in his humanoid form, Ryteb is constantly mistaken for a child, not helped with his androgynous features. His red hair comes down to just below his shoulders, kept behind him in a ponytail by a hairband with a tiny silver gravestone with his initals engraved. In his fox form the hairband transforms into a collar. His eyes are red-orange, like a warmly flickering flame, and possess the same intellect in both forms.
He wears a Chinese kempo outfit, with the top having a silver tiger on the back. His back has a tattoo of a fox wreathed in fire and lightning. His hands are blackened by old burns.

Occupation/Concept Navigation Officer and Co-Pilot

Training:

• Apprenticed to the clan navigator from eight years old, terminated at the age of fourteen.
• Trained in interstellar navigation and combat by the Steel Tiger mercenary company.
• Self taught in manipulating essence, mostly fire and electricity manipulation.

Powers:

• Trained in hand-to-hand combat, knife combat, and handguns.
• A natural navigator, with well honed skill in astral and terrestrial cartography.
• Capable pilot, if slightly insane
• Able to channel essence into red fire and purple lightning. The red flames are far more destructive than regular fire, even burning the wielder if being handled without a focus. The lightning is strange, acting like normal electricity whilst possessing the power to multiply his innate abilities or create temporary copies of objects. Food and living things don't tend to play well with copying...
• Decent at tinkering, though relies on magic to make up for his lack of proper training. To amusing results.

Equipment:

• A steel knife kept in a wrist holster.
• Foxfire mk3, a pistol built to channel his fire into attacks without the risk of self injury.
• Portable Shield Generator, a stolen prototype of a bullet deflector. Inefficient for anyone unused to turning essence into electricity. Looks like an overteched bracer.

Airship: Less of an airship, more of a heavily modified glider designed to reach stupidly high speeds with little in the way of safety or comfort. Think the aerial equivalent of the Ariel Atom.

Motivation: Staving off boredom.

Personality: An adrenaline junkie masquerading as a serene martial artist. Generally easygoing unless you screw with his precious things. This is A) his office, B) his fellow crew, and C) his sweets. Doesn't respond well to authority, but is cordiel with those who have earned his trust. His morals are skewed, barely batting an eye at illegal activities.

Flaws:

• A ridiculously bad cook.
• Reacts violently to being confined or caged.
• Has an addiction to sherbert lemons. Gets pretty cranky without them.

Bio: An inquisitive mind born into a backwards clan, the young Kitsune chaffed against his compatriots who were happy to live in ignorance. So the youth planned his escape. Showing aptitude for navigation he was taken as an apprentice by the clan's wayfinder. He was fourteen when he finally was confident enough in his skills to self-exile himself from his clan.
For Yokai, exile is considered a punishment worse than death. Those who survive the inital pain of losing the clan magics generally go insane from the loss. But unlike other exiles, the kit didn't want the magics, his soul burning the bonds away with his desire for independence. He would not be chained by anyone, especially the elders. This desire manifested itself as red flames and purple lightning curling around him. Passing out from exhaustion is considerably better than the alternitive.
Making his way to the nearest spaceport, he never did find out the name of his home planet, he worked as an assistant mechanic while he tried to find a group to become apprenticed to. During the search, he created the first version of his glider. Of course, he promptly crashed it into a building. By some stupid luck, this crash would put him in the fastlane.
The Steel Tigers are a mercenary group leaning towards the criminal side of things. When the youth crashed in they were fully prepared to waste the little shit, and did in fact give it a damn good try. Unfortunately for them this kit had his destructive flames. When the reinforcements arrived they found the kid with burnt arms in the midst of charred corpses. A mage falling right into their laps was a blessing from the gods. They offered him a place in their organisation, which he agreed to so long as they respected his freedom. A deal only made sweeter when the realized he had talent as a navigator.
His tenure with the Steel Tigers lasted fifteen years, parting ways only because he wanted to explore the universe without being stuck in their territory. For the next decade, he was a freelance hitman, avoiding getting tied down to the boring groups that tried to recruit him. This ended when he heard the stories about a powerful group of Mercs. The Marauders.

Well, maybe they could curb his boredom.

Extra Info: While technically a member of the Steel Tigers, acts more as a freelancer due to his wandering nature.

Name: Malkan “Mal” Malenfant

Age: 64

Gender: Female

Race: Tekhsmi





Appearance


Occupation/Ship Position: Engineer/Computer

Training:

• Electrical and Computer Engineering
• Computer Programmer/Hacking
• Very basic hand to hand combat

Powers:

• Technomancy: In a way, Malkan can commune with technology via touch. She can also infuse her essence into said items to control them though the bigger the tech the harder it is for her.
• Electromagnetic manipulation: Malkan can see different objects and beings in the world as electric fields. Because of this, she is able to manipulate these fields to form an attack such as an EM blast or a defensive shield. In addition, by putting herself in a trancelike state, she can extend her conscious into these fields and wreak havoc without leaving a trace.

Equipment:

• Goggles/Glasses – Although she has perfect vision, Mal uses her goggles or glasses when the electric fields around her are too distracting or she wants to focus on the task at hand.
• Cybernetic right arm – After the incident, Mal lost her right arm. Thus, she built herself a new one that helps her out. Like a swiss army knife, the arm houses many tools that Mal uses to build her tech.
• Left gauntlet – Like her right arm, Mal’s left gauntlet also helps her build. It’s most notable purpose is to help her infuse essence into her tech.
• Boots – Mal’s boots ground her when she’s working to help her avoid electric shocks.

Airship: N/A

Motivation: She’ll tell you it’s for the money, but it’s to survive, find a purpose in life.

Personality: Malkan’s general demeanor is sarcastic and indifferent though she can get tetchy when people touch her tech or ask about her past.

Flaws:

• Electricity – The circuitry in Mal’s own body can’t take high volumes of electricity or it’ll short out rendering herself simply human. She circumvents most shocks by modifying her boots to act as a ground.
• Doesn’t understand worlds without tech.
• Deathly terrified of Demons

Bio:
Because intelligence is valued so much, young Tekhsmis are monitored very closely from the day they were born. The Tekhsmis have a centralized schooling system that all their children attend where the focus is engineering and math but also history and law. Upon completion, students take an aptitude test where they are placed in a caste. Then they are paired up with a mentor with the intent that they’ll replace said mentor upon their age of retirement.

Upon taking her aptitude test and scoring a decently high mark, Malkan was placed in the third caste of invents where she was paired with her mentor Tibor. Tibor was a renowned innovator. Star-struck, Malkan sought to learn as much as she could from Tibor, and Tibor, seeing the potential in his young student, took her under his wing. However, Tibor also had other plans. For years, Tibor wanted to see if he could capture a demon and harness its powers. Without telling her his true motivations, Tibor tasked Malkan to help him build a machine for the sake of “harnessing powers not familiar to the Tekhsmis”.

If asked, Malkan will make up a story but the truth is that she doesn’t even know herself. She assumes Tibor lost control of the demon but all she remembers is finishing the machine and had moved on to another project when a loud explosion rocked the building. Sensing that it was it was towards her mentor’s lab, Malkan ran over to check to find him battling a demon. She joined in, only to be quickly knocked out.

When she came to, it was a week later. She was missing an arm and according to the doctors, the only reason why she survived was because she had exalted. Apparently, the demon had leveled a whole city before it could be disposed. It killed thousands of Tekhsmis, including Tibor. Enraged by the tragedy, the senators put her on trial as soon as she could walk again. Despite valuing the exalted for their rarity, the senators did not want to chance another fiasco like this. For her part in this event, Malkan was banished and erased from Tekhsmis history.

For a time, Malkan roamed Elysia, lost. She discovered she had new powers that she didn’t understand or could control properly. Malkan did a few odd jobs here and there to survive before falling in with the Marauders.

Name: Zephyr Aludash
Age: 25
Gender Male
Race: Saurian
Culture: Even when his parents were still around Zephyr had always lived in a place where he was constantly encouraged to better himself. Strength is a very important attribute, but not necessarily physical strength, just strength in the most general sense of always getting better.
Racial Features:
Appearance

Stands at about 6'6"
Occupation/Concept/Ship Position Marauder/Artifact Hunter/Analyst and Comms
Training:

• Trained in various forms of martial arts by an ascetic of monks he met and was partially raised by
• Not formally trained by practice and his technomamcy powers make Zephyr quite adept at hacking systems

Powers:

• Technomancy, specifically being able to gather information on any tech item just by touching it
• Detect Magic, the ability to sense if an area is being affected by magic and possibly specific causes/effects
• Firebolt, about as effective as a gun but it’s a gun that people don’t see coming. Can also be toned down so it’s less able to kill

Equipment:

Airship: As much as Zephyr wanted to keep the ship he lived on with his parents it was too badly damaged. He left it with the monks, they said they might be able to fix it. He’s yet to go back and check
Motivation: Trying to find something to fill the void in his life left by his parents’ death
Personality: Zephyr always tries to keep a cheerful demeanour and tries to not take himself too seriously. Being dark and moody never helped anyone
Flaws:

• Has rather low self esteem and often looks for validation from others
• Has abandonment issues and does not do well on his own

Bio: Thought his parents were just normal people but they were really smugglers, just hid it very well

The signs were there about his parents. They had resources far above what anyone would expect of common folk

His dad was messing with trying to equip their ship with transport capabilities when they were raided

His parents tried to protect him but the raiders made quick work of them, slaughtering them right in front of him

Dazed and confused, Zephyr screamed, and it was as though the ship came to life to aid him

The transporter system was good enough for one use and transported the raiders off the ship in to the cold void of space before breaking

The ship floated along in space for several days, seemingly with some destination in mind. Zephyr was alone, and any time he tried anything with the ship it would short circuit, so he spent most of his time away from ship systems

Eventually the ship reached a small planet and Zephyr was hailed by an ascetic of monks who lived there

Since Zephyr didn’t know how to land the ship some of the monks came up to get him down. Zephyr saw them and was surprised they were Delzhan, he’d never met their kind before

They took him in and taught him their ways. They also found Zephyrs magical powers had been awakened based on what he told them and the strange behaviour of the animals at the temple

Zephyr lived with them for many years, learning martial arts and learning to use his magic

Eventually though he felt he had to leave the monks so he could grow as a person

He bounced around between a few things before finding the Marauders

He’s been with the Marauders for a few years now, with a group of people he generally likes, always ready for the next job to start

Extra Info:Honour code: Don’t shoot first. Don’t kill anyone who’s just doing their job (cops et al.)
He also enjoys a morning coffee

Name: Skyldig Ritaynursbaarn

Age: 2A (34 Base-10)

Gender: She's got Female Bits.

Race: Hominus Margo Sigasmarandum (Sigasmarandi Rim Dweller); colloquially: "Sig-Mar(s)"

Racial Features:

Culture:

Appearance:

Skyldig's hard life is reflected on her face, not a picture of beauty by any stretch of the imagination. She stands at 4 Qbits tall, and is enmeshed in dense, lean muscles, though not enough as to be grotesquely muscular. The telling feature of her femininity are her hips, which rise away from her body slightly before rolling back in, though only slightly visible through her layers of clothes. Her chest is flat, not in the sense that she was unendowed, but due to a voluntary double mastectomy she underwent; to detract herself from easy identification, and to give her more manoeuvrability.

Her round face also tells of a life "well" lived life, originally her nose' tip extended a few inches past her face, and her ears pricked upwards just the same. The tip of her nose she lost in a fight, where her opponent held on to it and refused to let go; suffice to say they did not survive that encounter, and Skyldig had her nose treated by a surgeon, hence the lack of apparent damage. Though her nature was that of constant action, and she broke the bridge of her nose a few weeks later, and healed crooked. She lost her ears when she was captured by a rival group of marauders, cut down to human size by her captors, leaving the edges angry, red and poorly rounded. Her full lips are smudged a sooty black, positing that it's due to stains from her Bako (a roughly chopped, dried root, from the nightshade family of plants) chewing. And the scar on the left side of her face? The deep, angry channels of flesh, and the missing lower eyelid? The result of her time as a slave, fighting in the pits of Pargalon-3, wherein during a duel with a pyromaniac she got a large portion of her face, neck and chest burned.

As far as apparel goes, on ship when not on duty Skyldig gravitates towards a white tank top and olive cargo-shirts, tucked into a pair of well work combat boots. The pair she goes out on duty in, resulting in a trail of dusty footprints behind her, unless she keeps them clean which she almost always done. On her hip she wears a dense, fibre belt, a sidearm dangling in its holster on her hip. During operations and combat, Skyldig wears a rather medieval set of segmented plate, though it's made of a Magnesium and allot and is highly durable, it speaks of the type of combat she initiates in, head on and without uncertainty.

Occupation/Concept: Formerly Captain of the Battery of Slaig/Currently Shipside Weapons Expert

Training:
- Heavy & Medium Weapons Proficiency: Trained and specialized in the use of heavy weapons such as artillery, cannons and rocket systems, as well as in lighter auto-cannons, medium and heavy machine guns, and man-portable explosive projection systems.
- Ordnance Expert: Familiar with explosives and explosive devices, Skyldig has trained and used many of them throughout her work, from hand grenades and dynamite to warheads and C4. Such training was necessary to disable rival weapons platforms, as well as for tactical or engineering reasons.
- Military Tactics and Planning: Part of her training with the guild involved strategy and coordination, having studied the classical arts of war and practising modern techniques of defence and offence. She is adept at many doctrines.
- Field Medicine: Though she may not be able to perform neural surgery or understand stem-cell boosts, she is well equipped to at least stabilize most combat injuries, as well as treat various kinds of poisoning and infections. Assuming she has all of the relevant materials, as she is not skilled enough to fabricate medicines at chemistry stations. More so the mixing table.

Powers/Abilities:

- Terrifying Presence: Skyldig watched from the other side of the one-way mirror, as a pair of interrogators tried to threaten, coerce and cajole information out of a black market dealer, who captured and sold Sigasmarandi mutated wildlife to buyers in the inner worlds. They were deep in the bowels of a Clan Castle, much deeper than where the actual interrogation cells were. The Dealer, a stiff-lipped, Dapreedian, wasn't budging. The interrogation dragged on for hours, and Skyldig's limited patience began to wear thin. Finally she snapped, groaning out loudly in frustration, catching the attention of those on the other side of the glass. The door to the little cell was thrown open, and she stormed in like a freight train, rushing the man in the chair and picking it up. She raised the man and chair almost above her head, before throwing it back down against the floor. The wooden chair shattered under his weight and the force of their throw, shocking him against the ground. Skyldig almost dropped herself against him, straddling his torso and grabbing the tentacles on his face in her fists, slamming him once more against the floor. "Tell us what we want to know!" She barked, her scarf slipping off her face, spittle splattering the Dapreedian's face.

- Wrought Physique: Pargalon-3 was a slave world, existing as part of a network of slaving guilds that dotted the borders of Sigasmaranda, which itself was a major supplier and purchaser of slaves. When the exodus occurred, after the onslaught of the undead, many refugees were taken as slaves of which military personnel were highly prized, as slave-soldiers or long-lasting-labour. As the slaves marched back to their barracks, their shackles clacking against one another as they shuffled towards the gaping tunnels out of the steel mills. The Slavewarden stopped Skyldig in her tracks, stopping the whole line behind her before taking her aside. "Go bring another pack." The Zandani growled, pushing the sack against her chest, and pointing back towards the steel mill. He stood a two heads taller than she did, and was armed and armored unlike she was. She gripped on to the bag and trudged back. This happened for days, weeks, the week's turned into months and toilers came and went but she maintained, carrying bundles of iron rods back and forth. Every time the expectations growing higher, until the brass decided her strength was wasted hauling iron and instead put her into the fight-pits.

- Wuld: The mining schooner, a JcZ-09 of an older make, bounced and shuddered against the ground as it began to slowly lift off of the Lithium flats of Pargalon-3, kicking up lilac clouds and sparks behind it. Wind rushed into the open, rear bay door, as it slowly and rustily brought its maw shut. Behind a crate of packaged alkali metals, oil filled ampules tinkling against one another, Skyldig cradled a scrawny Weedonian, pink blood oozing out of massive gashes where he took an excavator's drone blades to the gut. He shook, as the schooner rocked side to side, drawing too close to anti-ship mines. "Sing to me again?" He croaked, his arms coiled in her's, his hands pressed against the wounds. Skyldig gulped, patting her cracked lips before humming a note and lulling to him. Her Wuld was like fluorescent light, clunky, mechanical, but fit for purpose and ever reliable. She sang to him until he stopped shaking, causing her voice to break, looking off at the ceiling, she brought the back of her hand to her eye and wiped away a stray tear. "Skyldig!" A voice called from down the hall, "They're boarding we need you here!" She gulped, relieving bee dry throat, before picking up her auto-hammer and leaving the Weedonian in the cargo hold.

Equipment:

- Massen Company Automatisk Slåssgevær (Automatic Fighting Rifle): Similar to the one she was issued when she underwent her training with the Clan, this kinetic weapon fires .32 caliber rounds at high speed, with enough power to punch through walls and most conventional armors. Though with proper shot placement it could disable a personal shield. Fit with a 25 round detachable box magazine, and a Kutts Compensator, this rifle is fit to lay down loud and overwhelming bursts of fire.

- AquaSeltzer Dispenser: The metal caged, Quartzglass dispenser acts as a quick deploy administration device for a cocktail of drugs that Skyldig uses during combat. Or occasionally for recreation. The ingredients consist of the following, among other things she doesn't take kindly to exposing. Beta-Nico'ffine (Stimulating Agent); Epinephrine (Adrenaline Booster); Benzedrine (Anti-Sleep Agent); Cocaine (Awareness Enhancer); Dextroamphetamine (Calming Agent); Morphine (Pain Killer); Palcohol (Calming Agent); Citric Acid (Buffering Agent Component); Sodium Citrate (Buffering Agent Component); Ascorbic Acid (Preservative); Octyl-Methanoate (Grape Fruit Flavoring); Lemonine (Lemon Flavoring); Sorbitol (Sweetener); Aspartame (Sweetener); Seltzer Water (Medium); Vitamin B and C (Health Benefits). She calls it SitronKruse.

- E-1 "Sitrongranater": Containing a 60g charge of dynamite, this fragmentation Grenade has a cookable 5 second cookable fuze, and a striated bi-metal case that fragments into deadly shrapnel upon explosion. This type of grenade is devastating against unarmored targets, and less effective against fully armored ones at more than close range. The shrapnel has a deadly range of 80 cubits on unarmored opponents, and a 300 cubit harming capacity. On armored targets it can wound within the 80 cubits, and on metallically encased targets it would require effectively a point blank detonation to cause damage.

- Bako Tin: Bako is the dried and finely milled root of the Arbako plant, native to inner-Sigasmaranda. It is not suitable for smoking, and so is usually administered nasally or rubbed into gums and areas under the tongue. Afrikander, the specific brand she chews, comes with grains of fiberglass or asbestos, to cut up the gums and tongue and aid in the absorption of the Nico'ffine from them. Skyldig usually takes it between shots of SitroKruse, or when not in active combat recreationally. The container is a small, thin, sheet bi-metal box, hinged on one side and covered with an embossed lid.

Airship: N/A

Motivation: More Money for More SitronKruse, the thrill of combat, the nihilistic pursuit of pleasure (despite her believing in the faith of the Sigasmarandis) and less overtly, a way around the undead to see what is become of her homeland.

Personality: Perhaps the most startling of her qualities is that she never used to always be like this. Not at first, but those times are long past, except for the little bits of them that yet survive within her somewhere. Her face is locked in a perpetual expression of anger or disapproval, an angry scowl or an annoyed, pursed lip, matching how she always feels. She sways from neutral to wrathful, an exhibit of rage in combat or more frighteningly; complete calm, where she feels most at home. This is reflected in her charted hours on the simulator, and her high scores and times on the scenarios. Ever the disapprover, she holds contempt for those who are not up to scratch in her eyes, especially when it comes to her own performance, in her judgments she never neglects to cast shame on herself. Maybe an outcome of her training, or a life of soldiering for fortune, she has become highly competitive and usually prioritizes numero uno. Despite her tendencies towards violence, Skyldig puts significant effort into suppressing it while shipside, the last needed is a whole crew she's antagonized. Get a beer in her hand though, the story is prone to changing.

Flaws:
- Suspicious/Suspicious:
- Drug Addict:
- Fixing for a Fight:

Bio: "My father was a regrettable creature, but I suppose that means I didn't fall too far from the stalk." From her place in the common room, Skyldig commanded the attention of the assembled Marauders. "I killed my mother upon decanting, so he stuck me with 'It's your fault' as a name, and proceeded to remarried. He was the kind of man who thought his spermatozoa to valuable to waste in handkerchief." Pulling her scarf open from the bottom, she spat out a black melange of fibre and saliva, a chewed up lump of Bako. "Oh and he spread that spermatozoa around, I probably have brothers and sisters that I don not know about. Nor do I care to know about them, I couldn't even get to know my step-siblings. Father was too busy making my life miserable." From a very young age, Skyldig was put through the ringer of preparation for courtly life, and her Father made sure to find her the most cruel of teachers. Her elocution teacher would beat her for every stutter, her literature teacher would tear her books apart and reassemble them in the wrong order, her gymnastics teacher, looking back at it now, had done many an obscene thing to her.

Suffice to say, when the Hunter Guilds came to the family to demand their rightful conscript, she was delighted when her Father forced her to go, instead of one of his many sons. "At least in the Guilds they beat everyone." She said, thinking back to when her father savaged her for having a lover. Despite he himself, and his offspring from the other woman, having mistresses in copious amounts. "I would say I wasn't prepared for it, but looking back now I don't think they were prepared for me." Skyldig attacked every challenge and expectation handed to her with vigor, whether it meant sleepless nights in the Scrollatorium or beating the largest cadet to within an inch of his life in training. "When I graduated, I was the only one to get an officer post, because the others 'paled in comparison'." She said, imitating the strong accent of her division's Drill Sergeant. "It was a shitty post, I mean, I didn't know Slaig was a place before they put me on the first Eel there." Sometimes she thought they put her there because they were scared of her.

The day she assumed her command, she threw a private off a barracks roof to show her superiority. It was safe to say that she would not be a popular commander, but that was none of her concern. Slaig was a hamlet-town, that held the distinction of being one of the farthest inhabited rocks of Elysia, it was also home to the College of Karadzic, a convent/monastery where Aeterwuldors practiced their dark arts, far from the civilized inner world's of Sigasmaranda. As such, the concentration of void fog in the area was high, and life there was grim and medieval, and the mutants and creatures that crawled out of the Void were likewise terrifying and gargantuan compared to what would normally emerge. Hence the requirement of such a large military installation nearby, not only did it serve to stop these creatures rampaging deeper into Sigasmaranda, it allowed the guilds to keep a watchful eye on the College and its mystic inhabitants.

The first few months of Skyldig's deployment were uneventful, no more than a few dozen Sultedyr, their man-sized talons and giant leathery wings were no match for the barrage of rockets, shells and 13.2mm rounds from the battery. Despite that, had they gotten through the chaos would have been unfathomable. Uneventful. Until that is the night of the 9th month of her deployment. Zapatov Zapatinski was a private, the twin brother of the girl Slyldig had thrown off the roof all those days ago, a scrawny man with rat like features, but with a mettle to him that betrayed his looks. It was he who was assigned, though he infact volunteered, to do the supply runs between the village and the College. As part of the arrangements, the College would provide technical assistance to the people of Slaig in exchange for rations and supplies. So it was Zapatov's responsibility to drive into the College every other day in the truck to do the deliveries. It seemed, however, that the extended exposure to the even more intense Vapour on the inside had severely effected him. As on the night of the ninth month, without warning, he sat bolt upright in barracks J and began to scream uncontrollably. Zapatov pointed around, jerking his body about as he fingered people across the room and nearby, telling them in a horrified voice that they were going to do. Suffice to say, before anyone could hold him down and administer a sedative, he stuffed the muzzle of his service pistol into his mouth and emptied the chamber.

And as if by some divine decree, the siren went off hours later, sounding the alarm and rousing the troops that hadn't been woken up by Zapatov's suicide. They manned their stations, waited, the radar operators peering into their green displays as oscilloscope swung a wave of electrons around the circular monitor. For a moment there was nothing. Then suddenly the screens went bright and the batteries opened fire. The first shell to sail through the darkness impacted something, seeming to explode in midair, the rockets that followed illuminated the darkness around it, exposing the assailants. Giant beasts of other dimensional frightfulness, surrounded by flocks of rotting, ragged creatures. The entire battery opened fire, as the sea of evil approached them like a tidal wave, every gun firing as fast as possible, rockets like burning lances across the darkness. Ears and fingers bled from the frantic fire. Skyldig alone manned a heavy machine gun, standing at the head of a buttress that extended out into the void, wielding it from the hip, one hand holding the belt while the other pushed on the paddle, and aimed the thundering machine gun around.

Around her she watched as people fell, the plague descending on them despite the full power of the battery bearing down against it. Perhaps one of the most dense collections of conventional firepower in Sigasmaranda, if not Elysia, could not stop the tide. For the split second she glanced to the side, she watched the Black Wall spill into the country side all around. They were going to be encircled. She dashed back, behind the thunderous canons that blasted at the ever approaching wall, behind the rocket batteries, launching incendiary missiles into the mass of rotting reek, behind the heavy machine guns chugging lead into the invading force. Zapatov was right, and perhaps wiser than the rest of them. From the College she heard a resounding shriek, followed by many more, as the front tower that faced into the void exploded, shadowy bolts and giant trailing beasts bursting towards the oncoming invasion. The Aeterwuldors honoring their end of the deal, cartwheeling into almost certain devastation. The truck door slammed shut, as some of the troops who decided to run clambered into the canvas covered bed behind the cab, stamping her foot on the accelerator, the automobile rushed forwards and away from the tidal wave of doom.

"And that's how I got out." She said, looking down into a tin of crushed up Bako root, before taking a pinch of the fibrous material and putting those fingers into the folds of her scarf. "Call it cowardly.. I lived." She spoke around the slowly reconstituting plant matter, before leaning back to silently ruminate, the assembled crowd looking about at each other before slowly dispersing.