Oath of the Survivor

“Get behind me!” Garth barked, watching as Joseph overextended from his position.  His frustration turned to fear as the pudgy man turned his back on the raider bearing down on him.  Garth swore as he dispatched his opponent, turning to assist Joseph.  I won’t make it in time, he thought, always too damn slow.  He felt the growl building in his chest, when a quick crack of electricity hit the raider, stunning him and knocking him back. 

Mary Ellen screamed, “Hurry Joseph!  What were you thinking?  GET BACK HERE!”  Joseph nearly tripped over himself as he ran towards the frightened young woman.  Garth took a position blocking the entry to the city while the two young people made their way inside. The raider who had been pursuing Joseph took a couple steps back, weapon raised against Garth.

Nierburg was on high alert after the attempted coup last week, and the last thing they expected was for bloody raiders to try and make a run at the city.  Unfortunately, the state of high alert rattled the young people serving under Garth.  Mary Ellen and Johannes stood frozen atop the battlements, paralyzed by their first violent skirmish.  Garth and Terrance were holding their own and had kept the entryway clear, though Terrance had taken some injuries.  Joseph, in his infinite wisdom, had come down to relieve the other man so he could get healing.  Before Garth had an opportunity to tell Terrance to stop, he had already gone to Mary Ellen and Johannes’ location. 

That on its own was still salvageable, but instead of standing back and using his magic Joseph ran in like a drunk in a bar brawl.   It hadn’t taken the pudgy man long to realize the sheer stupidity of his decision, but by that point he had already put himself in danger.  You damn idiot.  Still, Garth breathed a sigh of relief that his squad was safe, even though he knew they’d be in for a major dressing down when this was over. 

A group of seven raiders formed a semicircle around the entrance he was guarding, and a loud voice boomed out behind them.  “You bastards set my brother up and got him killed.”  A man well over two meters tall came walking up behind the group, wearing an ox skull on each hand.  “I’m here to make you pay in –.”

Garth didn’t give the man a chance to continue.  Pushing mana into his arms, Garth snarled as he released a horizontal AIR BLADE, bisecting the men in front of him, including the man he assumed was their leader.  What a letdown.  Part of him hoped that the man had the skills to back up his confidence, though that hope was dashed.  

There was a moment of stillness as the surviving raiders processed the deaths of eight of their number, and Garth raised his battered blade to a shoulder height, holding it parallel to the ground.  “Whoever’s next, come.”  He didn’t shout, he didn’t scream.  His voice carried with it the weariness and steel backed by a lifetime of combat and death.  It broke them, and the surviving raiders ran for the tree cover, pursued by the occasional bolt of electricity or flaming projectile. 

Garth sighed as he made his way back into the safety of the city, his team waiting for him.  Joseph stepped forward; shame written all over his face.  “Sir, I know I…” Before he could finish, Johannes and Mary Ellen stepped up beside him.  “Don’t blame him,” Johannes said, “It’s my fault.  I should have watched closely, but when I saw the blood… I… I couldn’t.  Don’t blame Joseph.”

“No, it was me.”  Mary Ellen said, voice quivering.  “I froze.  If I didn’t you all would have had more support.” 

Garth took all that in, noticing that Terrance hadn’t deigned to step forward with anything.   Hell, he looked to be in perfectly good shape after getting healed up, though he hadn’t bothered to come back to the front to help.  Meeting the man’s eyes for a moment, Garth shifted his gaze to the rest of the team.  “This was a disappointment, but I’m not without some grace – this was the first time fighting other people.”  Garth shot a glare at Terrance.  “For most of you.  In any event, there’s room to work.  For now, go get some rest.  What’s done is done.” 

Garth watched as his team walked away, none of them having anything else to say.  He let out a breath.  What else did I expect?  These aren’t soldiers.  He made a point to check on Gwen from time to time, which had led to him spending more time with her mother, Stephanie.  She was a great listener, and had supported Garth with his transition into the role.  He shared a lot with her, but she hadn’t pulled punches with him when he’d complain about his team, and though he hated to admit it, she was right.  Civilians conscripted into a guard team would never be the same thing as a group of soldiers volunteering for this life.  They’d been assigned because Central Administration found their skills couldn’t be better put to use elsewhere, which wasn’t a great thing at the end of the damn world.  Stop it, you clod, you’re doing it again.  He admonished himself for his internal gripes, and fought to control his emotions as he made his way back to his home.

Letting out a breath as he collapsed into his chair, he felt his shoulders sag.  He was exhausted.

  Fortunately, it hadn’t been his team on duty when the coup happened.  It had been brutal.  Apparently, the director of Central Communications, a man named Addison, had been planning to usurp DeRosa, and the result had been the deaths of a good number of Central Communications staff, as well as a senior member of Central Administration.  Mr. Dross?  Garth shook his head as he poured himself a glass of whisky.  It wasn’t great, it burned all the way down, and proved exactly what he needed.  Garth knew that there was something he still needed to do, and though he was dreading it, he entered meditation.  Soon, he saw his center and focused on it, words appearing in his mind’s eye.

GARTH BOLTSBURY.  HUMAN, WARRIOR.  LEVEL 40

VITALITY: 108

ENDURANCE: 108

STRENGTH: 135

DEXTERITY: 125

WILLPOWER: 40

INTELLIGENCE: 40

PERCEPTION: 80

FREE ATTRIBUTES:

4

With a thought, Garth split the points between Vitality and Endurance, bringing the totals up to 110 for each attribute.  His focus was mainly on the three glowing, ghostly orbs that represented his next skill choice.  Years ago, he would have been thrilled to make it all the way to Level 40, regardless of the choices available to him.  Now, they felt like a weight around his neck.  He knew the protocol; he’d read it over and over again in training and done it himself as an active member of Central Defense.  He was to record the skill options and bring them to his direct supervisor – in this case Commander Reynolds - to determine what was most needed in this moment.  The exhaustion in his mind building, he looked at the first of his choices. 

AIR BULWARK: Garth’s first impression on this skill was that it built on the foundation of AIR BLADE but instead of an attack, it would use the compressed air as a barrier wherever Garth directed it.  Interesting, and a likely candidate for selection based on its high amount of utility and flexibility.  Trying not to put his own thoughts into it too much, he moved on to the second orb.

RALLYING CRY: This time, Garth’s impression was of his mana diffusing into an area all around him.  His impression was that it would provide a modest increase to the Vitality and Endurance of anybody within range that he wanted to target, although it would require a pretty significant amount of mana to keep up.  Another that the Central Authority would be excited to have at their disposal.  He looked at the last grey orb, his heart dreading what he would find there. 

He’d long been told that his skill selection would adapt to what he’d been working on, what he needed.  AIR BULWARK and RALLYING CRY were both examples of this, with Garth’s heavy use of his AIR BLADE skill and the time he’d spent leading others weaker than himself.  Still, there was one thing he had done time and time again, wished so fervently for, and hated himself for lacking.  Looking at the final orb, his heart sank as he saw the skill available to him.

FLEET FOOT:  Garth’s impression was again built on the foundation of AIR BLADE, though in this case focused on his own body.  The idea was simple.  He would be able to use the technique for quick bursts of movement, likely in a straight line towards his target.  It was perfect for what he’d been missing.  If he had this skill, Carlyle would never have escaped him.  He might have made it back to Duilleag in time to help Crystal.  He wouldn’t be too slow to protect the people close to him.  And he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this wasn’t a skill that the Central Authority would select for him.  It was a self-serving skill, one that didn’t gel with the idea of leading a team.  Garth’s role was to lead and hold the line, and he had two fantastic options to help him do exactly that. 

He wasn’t sure how long he sat in meditation, numb to the world around him.  He knew what he should do; he had the form in front of him.  He just couldn’t bring himself to put pen to paper.  For some reason, his mind went back to the young man he’d travelled with.  It had been so long since anybody talked about him, and Garth knew that he was most likely dead. 

He thought about Crystal’s body, dead against that damned tree.  If it was Kyle making the choice in Garth’s shoes, he knew what he’d pick.  He exited meditation as he sat in his chair, pouring himself another finger of whisky.  He’d given everything to work in Central Defense, done everything that had been asked of him.  He'd played his role, the good soldier to the end.  The liquor burned on the way down, his other hand trembling as he still held the pen.  He thought about Gwen and her friend Amalia.  He thought about Stephanie.  He thought about his team, as infuriating as they were.  Damn.  Eyes closed; Garth came to a decision.

 

 

~~~

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