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Lance had been a skinny kid when he was first enrolled. It was hard to put on the muscle that training as a WARDEN demanded, but within the last decade he had managed it. Now he is compactly built, hard muscle everywhere with virtually no excess fat. Even with the nicks and scars carved into his body from training and scraps, he takes pride in his physique as the proof of all of his hard work. He keeps as fit as possible, especially because he is prone to illness. It didn't used to be that way - somewhere along the line he got sick and stayed sick, always running some kind of low level fever if his skin was anything to go by. It's both a warm tan complexion and warm to the touch. Nothing serious though, as he'd say.

Because he is rarely out of uniform, he doesn't put much thought into what he wears during his down time. Most of his clothes are gifts or hand-me-downs anyway. It is quite funny to see him mix some garment a more fashion forward friend gave to him with the most worn out piece of clothing the world has ever seen. He basically just wears whatever makes him happy or catches his interest. He is most commonly seen with his trademark scarf, embroidered with the initials Z.B.

Loyalty is the basis of Lance's personality. He was raised believing how important it was to obey one's parents, their superiors, and their God. The thought of betraying someone's trust doesn't even cross his mind, and on the rare chance he does it the guilt eats away at him until he usually ends up confessing. Because of this, Lance makes for a good friend and is very easy to get along with. He's always willing to lend a hand, hear someone out, or join in on a fun time.

He's fine with banter and can take a good ribbing. He tries not to let anything bother him, keeping strong both for himself and others. He doesn't often talk about his family, and though some jabs at his character hurt more than others he is quick to forgive... if not forget. His emotions are easy to read on his face, he definitely wears his heart on his sleeve. When he's in a good mood he loves to share it, but when he's feeling down or conflicted, he deflects.

Lance has come to be known as hard working and reliable. Someone who always puts others before himself. The kind of person you can lean on if you need to, very literally; he's lent his shoulder for people to cry on and bodily dragged fellow drunken WARDENs back to the barracks plenty of times. He isn't touchy per se, but he appreciates a friendly touch and will happily reciprocate whether its a hug or one of his squadmates dragging him to the sparring ring to kick his ass again.

Perhaps not so surprisingly given his upbringing, but he is quite chaste. He travels to one of the Citadel's cathedrals once a week, head down, intense, introspective and quietly talking with himself. This is a routine he takes very seriously. Sometimes he struggles with his own identity, although this is a side of himself he would be mortified to let anyone else in on. He especially doesn't want anyone to find out just how afraid he is of being deployed for real.

The Bennett family have a proud history. Rassvet natives dedicated to service - even before the Rassvet-Vangar Conflict began. Sons and daughters of the lineage had always been devout members of the Order of the Dawn, inquisitors from a long line of inquisitors. The current family patriarch, Jophiel Bennett, had been one of a handful of prolific High Inquisitors in Fazra before being forced to retire due to a leg injury. He and his wife Miranda returned to Rassvet to the Bennett estate, in the pretty fishing village of Sheldock on the coast, where they raised their four sons.

The eldest son Michael was put on a high pedestal, groomed to be the next Bennett inquisitor before he could even talk which kept him from WARDEN life. The second son Lance however was sure to be scooped up by the WARDENs as soon as he was of age to be tested given his innate capabilities. This too was a source of pride for the family. The youngest son Laramie would eventually go on to show a sense for magic unlike any other. The only anomaly was the middle son Zadkiel, who seemed to have inherited none of the prestige of the family name and had little to no aptitude for magic. It was normal for talent to skip a child or two, so while Zak did not receive any of the special training or attention of his father, he was treated with love all the same.

A few weeks after Lance's tenth birthday, he was selected to join WARDEN just as many predicted. The boy was excited, looking forward to it. In celebration, the boy's father let the eldest three brothers take their boat out for some quality time together before they split up - as Michael would soon be leaving as well, traveling to Fazra to complete his initiation into the Order. Lunches and fishing poles packed, the day was a blur of warmth and happiness. It was on their way back that tragedy struck. As dusk was settling over the water, one of the boys rocked the boat a little too hard, or shoved each other just a little too roughly, and Lance was thrown overboard. Given that the family was well accustomed to the water, the remaining brothers waited for Lance to come back up. He never did. Frantically, Michael and Zak dove in to try and find him, but the waters were dark by then. It was late into the night when they gave up, unable to locate their brother. Explaining what happened to their father was most frightening thing the boys had ever done.

Jophiel was a stern, proud man who took his and his family's image very seriously. He was unwilling to admit that Lance, WARDEN hopeful and prodigal son, had died on his watch; not to himself or anyone else. He couldn't face that shame and disappointment.

What followed was a devious scheme un-befitting a Dawn inquisitor. One of his sons had drowned that day, but it wasn't Lance - it was Zadkiel. That's what he convinced the world of. Lance and Zadkiel were close in age, Zak only one year younger, and with the same red hair and tanned skin they were commonly confused with each other. If one hadn't been treated so much more handsomely than the other, they could have been twins. Zadkiel was not on board for this plan, but as a child there was not much he could do. He was pressed into obedience and sworn to silence. The Bennett family mourned "Zadkiel" for a little while, and prepared "Lance" to be sent to the Citadel.

After the WARDENs came to collect him, they were suspicious of "Lance's" sudden drop in aptitude. The lie was maintained with the explanation that his grief over his brother was deeply affecting him. This was true, as the boy barely had time to process everything that had happened to himself and his brother. He never would have made the cut for WARDEN under normal circumstances, so the training was absolutely grueling. Over time it got harder and harder to make up excuses, so the only thing "Lance" could do was train harder and harder. He gained a reputation as a workhorse, and though he was consistently in the lowest percentile of his class, he managed to remain "WARDEN material."

The first few years he hated every minute of it, but the crushing guilt he would feel if he deserted stopped him from doing so. The only people who knew the truth of his situation were himself, his father, and his older brother. Aggressive gaslighting on Jophiel's part managed to convince even his mother that he was, and had always been, Lance. The family never spoke of the incident, so their youngest son grew up never knowing there had been a fourth brother at all. If he left service, it would completely destroy his relationship with his family. If he confessed the truth, it would stain the family's image. More than that though, if he refused to carry this name then Lance would really be gone forever.

So he swallowed his grief, his discomfort, everything that told him this was wrong. He suffered the brutal lifestyle of future WARDENs, endured the ridicule of better trainees, learned to live with the mistburn and tried not to develop an abusive habit with the burn reducing drugs. As a kid he'd hated his old fashioned, traditional name, but while lying awake after training he would give nearly anything to hear someone call him by it.

When graduation came, he'd had to scurry off and find somewhere private to let himself be emotional. The certificate said Lance Bennett, like he knew it would. It had "his" birth date. The real Lance would have been twenty now, while the young man holding the paper was nineteen. Staring at the certificate brought about such a weird, volatile mix of emotions. He was bitter, he was proud. He had nearly burnt a hole through the thing before someone came to find him.

He is glad for the road trip, jumping at the chance to join. He hopes to use it to sort out all his feelings before deployment. If nothing else he is determined to stay alive during the conflict so he can finally come clean after serving his term, put Lance to rest and die as his own man - hopefully far into the future.

Combat Class:
Vanguard, situational Ranger

Combat Style:
It was a common joke around the barracks that there should be a WARDEN 4^th class solely so that Lance could occupy it. That fact is that Lance is never the best person in the squad at any given thing; he is far from a fighting prodigy and could never cut it as a mage. What he does have are his eyes, his body, tenacity, and the drive to protect himself and others.

In melee he relies on his strength more than anything, having honed himself over the last decade into a human-spear to drive wedges between enemy formations. He is usually first into combat for that reason, to create an opening for others to capitalize on. Like every other WARDEN he is proficient with many kinds of weapons, but he prefers pikes and a trusty sword most of all... when he's not using firearms that is, which he quite good with. Though Lance is no slouch with melee weaponry (a decade of training will make sure of that), he is much better with a rifle or handgun - especially high-precision, long-range rifles. Despite that, he is relegated to the front line because his difficulties with sensing and channeling the Mist make it difficult for him to operate as a true independent ranger. Give him a spotter or a partner though, and he makes an efficient and deadly sniper.

Magic was never Lance's strong suit. His affinity with the Mist is very low, and he suffers from mistburn so often it might as well be constant. To both cover up his symptoms and make himself seem at least a little competent, Lance focused on learning a simple kind of magic and learning it well: elemental control over fire. Needless to say using magic is a last resort for him in combat. His "signature" spell is the halo of flames, a ring of fire summoned above or around him that flings embers outward from it.

Finally, over his WARDEN uniform he wears a light armor modeled after the likes of the Order of the Dawn's inquisitors but bearing the Bennett family crest. It's imbued with blessings and isn't hard to move around in at all. At one point he hated the armor, but after several cuts and scratches and a friendly paint job, he came to like it well enough; it does give him a little more protection after all.

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Justice has a great deal of scars on her body, mostly gained from pushing herself even beyond what basic training had to offer. She's also rather muscular for her size as though she's denser than most people.

Justice could best be described as a grim and sardonic delinquent. While she's serious when her superiors are watching, she's a bit of a rabble rouser when left alone. She'll mostly jokingly invite fights and threaten people. Her filter doesn't exist, so long as a CO isn't watching.

She isn't really the type to lie, even if it was a white lie. If someone wounded asks her if it's bad, she'll reply with "no shit" before attempting first aid. If she gets in trouble, she'll state her exact thought process that lead to it.

Surprisingly, Justice has a mind for tactics and is quite a diligent leader. She looks after those around her. Though, she is willing to put them in a headlock if they get on her nerves. Perhaps indomitable is a better word to describe her. Be it out of spite, anger, or some desire to prove something, she's not one to give up or stop moving.

Being the descendant of war heroes, one would expect Justice to be emblematic of a soldier. Perhaps her attitude would be better if any of them had been alive when she was born. Justice's childhood was that of nausea and illness. Ever since she could remember, she felt the Mist. Through it, she felt both the world around her and every movement of her own innards.

When the survey had reached Justice, what they had found was a desperate and sickly child. Someone who felt only anger at the way she was forced to live.

Well, the military could fix her attitude. She'd probably grow out of her weakness. What they wanted was her aptitude.

They were right. The hellish training was kept her mind off of the Mist around her. She climbed ropes until they were dyed red. She ran until she vomited and collapsed. She filled her mind with as many handbooks that she could. It kept her mind off of what she felt from the world around her. Her desperation to dull her senses drove her beyond most.

Or maybe it was the genes passed from war hero to war hero that pushed her ahead of her peers. It would have made sense. She pushed those around her to match her dangerous pace. If someone was lagging behind, she would get behind them and push them forwards. Though, Justice would never acknowledge her familial lineage. She refused the last name of heroes she had never met.

Either way, she graduated as a 2nd class ranger. Her skills suited it, after all. What she had learned was how to control and utilize her perception. Information was key on the battlefield. There was nothing better than someone who could sense the world around them.

Combat Class:
Ranger/Combat Support (Radar)

Combat Style:
Justice's class was decided nearly entirely based on how she perceives the Astral Mist. She feels the mist as an extension of herself: a second skin, so to speak. This skin allows her to have a powerful perception of what's nearby. To detect what's further away, she can manipulate the mist in a simpler way. She can either release meaningless pulses of magic that allow her to feel a wide area or she can release nearly undetectable beams of magic that allow her to, given enough time, detect a large area around her. This perception comes with an important caveat: she can't wear armour or else she can't feel the weave.

This also allows her to be skilled at stealth. Her magic can alter forms of detection. So long as she is aware of it, she can use her magic to counter typical radars, LIDAR, and forms of magical detection. Though, she can't do a thing to security cameras.

Justice is especially adept at CQC and the usage of all sorts of weaponry. Though, she isn't graceful and skilled. She's more of a violent brute willing to shatter her fists on someone's skull while choking another person out with her legs. In fact, the reason why she's skilled in so many weapons is because she kept on breaking them. When she isn't choking someone out, she's usually off to build traps or design ambushes.

To cover for her lack of armour, she's quite adept at using small-scale barrier magic. Her affinity for the Mist allows for small barriers to be formed in response to attacks. However, this does mean that it's an imperfect defence. High-powered shots typical of cracking armour would breach her barriers unless she prepares for them. In addition, she can be overwhelmed by long-fights since her defence is directly linked to her becoming mistburnt. She's much better not being shot at.

Gerard: While their relationship is one of general respect, Justice doesn't exactly get along with Gerard for one reason: their snark comes from completely opposite places. While Gerard is snide and egotistical, Justice is choleric and twisted; she'd sooner put him in in the walls of Jericho than acknowledge remarks that wouls inflate his ego. Her immediate opinion of Gerard has mellowed out now that they've graduated--especially because she can hang her rank above his should the need arise.

Kalina: Justice is acutely aware of Kalina's struggles with normalcy. In that way, Justice is an odd sort of rock for her: she's equally as grim and maladjusted as the mercenaries who raised Kalina. She thinks of Kalina as a good squad member. She does her job. Kalina is one of two people in the squad she won't often rib. Surprisingly, Kalina's bat-out-of-hell flight style doesn't bother Justice. She already lived a life of sensory hell.

Lance: Justice has appreciation for Lance. On the squad member front, he's about everything you want from a man with little talent. He's also the person who she likes the most on the squad solely for the reason that he had a significant amount of ranger training. Lance is the other person on the squad she won't often rib. He just doesn't react in entertaining ways. On the other hand, his chaste nature is an easy target for someone willing to put their squadmates into a headlock.

Tony: If Tony wasn't in her squad, the two of them would probably get along being maladjusted soldiers. Unfortunately, Justice has the wear the role of an authority figure to a man who clearly dislikes authority. She considers him a bit exhausting to deal with and will openly invite him to fight when he gets snippy. Thankfully, Justice's disregard for rules when her superiors aren't watching her has allowed for a mutual peace with Tony.

Silje: Silje makes Tony look like a spa treatment. Having a friend who's saccharine is something that would annoy Justice, but she could handle it. Having a subordinate who can space out during live-fire exercises is significantly worse. Thankfully, routine training has made a soldier out of her. Out of all of her squad members, Silje is the one that requires most of Justice's attention.

6'2 and with an athlete's build, dark-blonde hair and a slight madman's grin, Tony definitely cuts a figure but typically, if given the excuse, will take himself as far out of uniform as possible. In this capacity, anywhere outside of the citadel, he tends to adopt a hick's sensibility in fashion with lots of simple outdoor work clothing.

Tony, always Tony and never Antonio, has always been a troublemaker in the academy -- he was one of those that did not like being ripped away from family and sent to a military school at the tender age of 10. Left alone and bored, he will figure out ways to create a problem and has never been one to take caution into account. Nonetheless, he had a powerful connection with the mist and was being nursed along for his potential with the expectation that he'd 'straighten out.'

That was before a training accident and traumatic brain injury that left him with a physical scar, some psychological ones that have to do with his loss of ability with Mist. Since then, he's spent a lot of time trying to recover his abilities with the Mist and stay in WARDEN training.

Beyond relearning to use Mist, side effects after the injury include the occasional outburst out of nowhere or the occasional need for some sort of anesthetic for a whanging migraine or other neurological effect of the injury. Despite the erratic behavior at times, he's known in the Citadel as a guy to have 'on' the 'team' because he's good in a fight, be it a unit training exercise or brawl. On the other hand, Tony has made a game out of malicious compliance, passive aggressiveness (beats the other kind, but still) and sarcasm, such as when he will assume the role of the World's Worst Manservant on a fieldex where a fool is leading or in a social context when someone obnoxious is talking to him and it's not quite 'hand grenade trick' territory. The term, "Mutinous sheepfucker" has been used in reference to Tony, something that he finds absolutely hilarious when someone actually dares to say it to his face.

Tony's attitude toward authority and authority figures is skeptical, to say the least. Given his druthers, he'd be working in his Uncle Rudy's garage, and if not for the ability to use Mist, that's where he'd be. He doesn't forget it and has a casual disdain for the more rigid types that he runs into -- in Tony's mind, you don't get anywhere playing by the rules, but you can get creative and reinvent the game.

Tony's family have always been hinterland mountain sheep farmers and yeomen in Rassvet, unremarkable except in that they endure, much like the common clay of the land and his father Hugo managed to make a living for himself and his family in cheese production and organizing the local cheese producers into a cooperative that then marketed itself. As a result, Vindish Blue is one of the most sought after cheeses, internationally, with a trademark on the brand and traditional recipes are guarded jealously. Subsequent ventures into cooperative farming yielded success in mushroom farming and even some distilling. Tony's childhood, prior to assessment, was absolutely one of bumming around the countryside, playing in farms, fields and forests. It was a bucolic sort of existence in a prosperous rural hinterland of Rassvet.

Tony, however, was assessed early and bundled into WARDEN training with an eye toward his potential. He had a strong connection with the Mist and was a physical specimen, a combination that was eyed as intriguing and aimed for great things, and was proving to be an intuitive learner.

Regrettably, he suffered a particularly debilitating training injury at about age 15 that resulted in neurological damage. While Tony came back physically, his use of Mist changed entirely and he lost at least a couple of years of knowledge and training. He managed to 'limp' through the rest of WARDEN training where he excelled physically but encountered blocks in his ability to use Mist.

His grades and assessments all suffered in the course of the affair -- he became more erratic though his work was quality, his focus and mood were all over the place. He had a considerable struggle to get himself back into the mental and physical shape to continue and he had to do whatever it took to make the instructors not write him off. Something kept him hanging on grimly -- his family was among those caught in the Vangar occupation that happened at the beginning of the conflict. His disciplinary record also shows some erratic moments; strange moods that are usually co-morbid with a terrible migraine, one of the aftereffects of his neurological damage. Always boisterous and loud, he subsequent obtained a reputation as a bit of a brawler, willing to get into a scrap. What ends with a night in a holding tank in civilization is considered fair dinkum in the field where 'antics' are called 'tactics.'

Tony is a natural at the Vanguard role, but also continued as a 'self-study' during those times when trying to rehab from his injuries which included motor-skill oriented athletic pursuits, like Parkour. Given lots of extra time to convalesce from his injuries, he actually spent time in the books and trying to regain his abilities with Mist, which included all kinds of meditative therapy and participating in scientific experiments with Mist that are routinely conducted at the Citadel anyway. The gain in skills, experience and concentration allowed him to reconnect to the mist, but it's different now. Still, it's there and that what matters is that he managed to squeak by the minimum requirement -- well past, physically, marginally on Mist capabilities.

It's been more than a year since his last brawl with other students and he spent a month in confinement, bread and water while the other guy spent three in a cast for his monteggia fracture -- to be fair, the idiot was trying to choke Tony out to prove some point, and Tony just 'surged,' hard.

While it was understandable that he'd do whatever it took in that situation, the incident hangs over him because that guy, Carl Schneider, was the top vanguard in the senior class and taking him out sort of put the final nail on the coffin in the eyes of the Citadel. It is safe to say that Tony was once a star student and then became essentially a failure of his potential in the eyes of the Citadel.

He's bound for Task Force 254, a unit being formed for the express purpose of moving behind Vangar lines in the long term to provide technical military assistance, leadership, intelligence, organization and direct action capabilities for guerrillas behind the lines...and part of those lines are home territory for him - he knows the people, he knows the terrain. While behind the lines stuff is often class 1 or class 2 work, they're stretched and the idea is to create a force multiplier out of Wardens that don't fit in but can still contribute. He's expected to be good in that sort of role, but that is a future with a very short expiration date if things go wrong.

The thing is, Tony was expected not to survive his injuries, was not expected to recover enough to graduate and not expected to be able to do a number of things, but there's something there that does not quit.

Gerard - Tony is well known for 'not giving a shit' and will happily skewer people trying to ingratiate themselves to Gerard. The game has gotten to the point where Tony's even played games with frag grenades converted into smokers and similar sophomoric pranks. But nothing stops a bro's business guy pitch cold like thinking a grenade just landed on the table. The relationship started with contempt and never really lost that tone, whatever it has since turned into these days.

Kalina - Kalina's always been a cipher to Tony and Tony is not necessarily a deep conversation person. There is perhaps a bit of understanding, because the Citadel has way too many muckety-mucks with names who have less connection. Tony's headed back home to be a guerrilla, Kalina doesn't even get that luxury. He sees her father's people and he sees what can happen to his own people, and they're out there without him. He's trying to decipher that trick with the ammunition, with an eye to eventually understand how to infuse more than one effect.

Lance - Tony's been in some of the same sickbays as Lance, enough to find that the dude's approach to authority and duty is just a tad over the top for him. The joke is, of course, that Tony was, a lot like Lance, the last guy to be picked for a while and he can respect the grit that comes with being that guy if you are going to continue rather than pack up and leave.

Justice - In many ways, Tony feels his experience at the Citadel is an inverse of Justice's but the same trajectory - used up and spit out by the system. But some things are to be shared, but disaffection with national myths and bullshit military bureaucracy isn't one.

Silje - Silje is interesting, she is unusual and she is absolutely going to melt down at some point and probably kill everything around her. Tony knows one thing - he's gonna run when she shows signs of cracking and going critical. Until then, fun times.

Levy - While they are at, first glance, a mismatch, the truth is that Tony is happy enough to work with Levy, who is known for his underhanded ways which are, objectively, very useful in a tight situation and the fact that the man is useful in a number of less than lethal situations, such as the acquisition and concealment of contraband. Balance that with his disdain of aristocracy as an institution, which sometimes competes in his brain against knowing a few of the toff types and generally being alright with them in some sense. In any case, it's a strange sort of relationship, but Tony seems to get good ideas off the guy as well as a taste of the dopamine he often craves. In a sense, the injury saved him from being overly involved in the antics at the Citadel, but not for a lack of desire.

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Average in height, with a trim build, Levy is not striking in appearance, and blends into crowds easily. His most noteworthy features would be his curly, jet-black hair, and his expressive yellow eyes. He has a relaxed, beguiling charm about him, though this is a well-practiced and convincing affectation.

Levy has committed to playing the role of a lighthearted fool, an act that has taken him years and careful refinement to perfect. Externally he is an unpredictable joker with a laid-back, devil-may-care attitude, while internally he is tightly-wound, anxious, and paranoid. Only his comrades have seen both sides of his character, as he allows his mask to slip while in the course of his duties. He finds that his hyper-awareness, intensity, and pragmatism serve him best on the battlefield. This shines through his facade in certain elements of his constructed personality, as he's readily willing to use deception to achieve his goals. If you're fighting clean, you're not fighting to win.

A lesser-born son of a less-important nobleman deep in the wealthiest counties furthest from the front lines, Levy's earliest years were spent in frivolity and mischief. Ever an unusually lucky child, Levy would often escape notice stealing pies and pocket change. Just as frequently his elder, favored brothers suffered unlikely humiliations when Levy's mood turned against them. When he was surveyed for WARDEN candidacy, he passed through the trials with such fluid ease that his observers were charmed, and fortuitously overlooked his lack of traditional magical ability. It was said his lordly father was relieved when Levy was selected to train in the Citadel, only for him to cause him even greater headaches from afar. Though Levy excelled in his studies (save for one subject) his academy years were spent as an incorrigable and pernicious troublemaker. Backroom gambling, petty theft, scams, and smuggling contraband were his usual games, making Levy someone good to know, but bad to get too close to. Despite his gregarious personality, Levy made few real connections at the Academy. It's unconfirmed if he holds the record for most demerits earned by a graduated WARDEN, but it is also rumored that his father had to open his coffers to keep Levy in school.

Combat Class:
RANGER

Combat Style:
Levy's ability to use magic is severely hindered by a sort of affliction; his attempts to use magic bear out severely unpredictable results. Even attempting to cast a simple spell can create a chaotic misfires, or cast a different spell entirely. While this does not affect his ability to reliably use magic items, it effectively nullifies his traditional magic power, and Levy typically eschews personal spellcasting.

In truth, this is a side effect of Levy's true magic power, which allows him to exert control over luck, probability, and random chance. By compressing or expanding the odds of particular events, Levy can give himself the best possible circumstances, nearly eliminating the possibility for random failure, or give his enemies a run of bad luck, weakening their odds of success and inducing unlikely mishaps.

Armed with this ability, Levy actively works to stack the deck in his favor, giving himself the best possible odds, and hitting enemies where it hurts the most. He specializes in infiltration, sabotage, and close-range assassination. His favored weapons are knives, silenced pistols, and pocket-sized explosives, but he also prides himself in his diverse experience with as many weapons systems as he could train with or simulate. This adaptability makes him a superb saboteur, and allows him to enjoy some occasional on-site procurement.

Morden is nothing short of a mountain on legs. Standing taller than armored Vanguards with a flowing mane of hair that stretches down to his chest, and more muscles in one arm than most people can achieve in decades, he is built like a tank even by WARDEN standards. Cracks and burn marks dot his skin from head to toe, as a side effect of an absurd amount of mist burn that came from his training. Morden’s appearance is otherwise relatively plain, since he doesn’t put a lot of work into his look beyond keeping himself maintained. Though, he does always keep a small pocket-sized case with him, separate from whatever he has in his mist pocket, as a precaution due to the nature of his magic.

Composed, but not peaceful. Reserved, but not passive. Morden is the eye of the storm, a raging hurricane that holds up the sky and stands veiled by a passing demeanor of calm. Morden’s personality is a study in extremes, he is either the most unassuming person in a room or a presence you can’t hope to ignore. In times of peace, he is a gentle giant who can be seen with the occasional, weary smile on his face and not a word to say. The very definition of serenity. In times of conflict, he is rage incarnate, fury given shape, and wrath made manifest. When Morden expresses an emotion, he expressed all of it, without a clear concept of a social filter.

Towards his fellow WARDENs, Morden is the brother in arms; Loyal to an indomitable fault and commanding respect with an iron will, and his “get behind me” attitude like a decorated general. In Morden’s mind, protecting Rassfet is everything. He is a true believer in the fight against the empire, and will fight and stay unbroken for as long as it takes to save his homeland. His attitude is never anything less than 100 regarding any subject whatsoever, including his own personal well-being. There is no challenge that Morden can back down from, not because he is egotistical, but because he is Morden fucking Garrus. Surrender is not an option to him, and he will hold up the universe for what he believes to be just and true.

Even if he does not survive.

Morden can barely remember his time before Rassfet took him in, but he was a refugee from a distant kingdom. His family had come seeking safety from the war, but they didn’t survive. Only an older sibling who is now a faceless memory made it to safety with Morden. After being picked out of a crowd of children for his aptitude for taking in the mist, they quickly began to make a soldier out of Morden. He wasn’t particularly strong, not like the Goliath he is today, and all of his training officers noted that his physical stature was something he had to work around. So, his simple 10 year old mind came up with a solution: Just get stronger.

He started down the path of a Battlemage, learning to develop a tolerance for the mist quickly. Only rather than stay in one lane, he branched into armored combat on top of it. He trained relentlessly for the purpose of growing his strength through magic. The people who trained him helped as much as possible, and pushed him to break past limits. But even they had to stop him countless times. Records show that Morden has been hospitalized over 43 times for coming dangerously close to stage 3 mistburn, and even had to be chained to a hospital bed for a week because of how determined he was to become more powerful.

Someone up the chain seemed to approve of his dedication and diligence to the cause. After all, he’s still here.

An intensive psychological evaluation was conducted, and it was determined that Morden is mentally sound. He simply displays an absurd level of passion for his training and the life of a soldier. It was decided that Morden should be allowed to continue his training, albeit under a bit more supervision. Now that he’s an official WARDEN, Morden has been granted the rank of 3rd Class, but this is not good enough for him. Like Icarus chasing the sun, Morden strives to be the best of the best; He wants to receive the rank of 1st Class, and will not let anything stop him from making his goals a reality.

Combat Class:
Vanguard/Battlemage

Combat Style:
Morden channels the mist through his body to boost his physical strength to absurd levels beyond what most people can achieve. His training before now has been impossibly brutal, with the goal of accumulating more physical strength than the average WARDEN of his level, and becoming the resident brick with legs. In regular combat, Morden resorts to melee with his bare hands, or the heaviest infantry weapon that a military budget can buy. Give him the heaviest sword you have and he will put it to good use.

When Morden pulls in the mist, he becomes a monster on the battlefield. Flecks of red energy spark outwards from his body and harden his skin while causing his muscles to grow denser. In simpler terms, he gets even stronger and very, very hard to kill. Bullets from a high caliber rifle will bounce off of Morden like a tin can, and he’ll eat lethal explosions from grenades for breakfast. His enhanced strength matches the best power armor around, allowing Morden to cave a fully armored soldier’s chest in like a battering ram and slam someone through a table in an arm wrestle with it on. Morden has all the benefits of power armor while exploiting the mobility of lightweight infantry.

This also makes Morden even more mobile than some of the quicker scouts in the military, as his strength gives him enough power to run at approximately 40 feet per second. A troop carrier or a tank might outrun him, but enemy soldiers damn sure won’t get away from Morden once he gets going.

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