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Ord
is a land known for its long and storied mercenary tradition. Its
people have repelled attacks from the disciplined Khadorans to the
north and the pirate reavers of Cryx off their coast for hundreds of
years, and the hiring of mercenaries and privateers has frequently
been a key part of these successes. It is perhaps somewhat
surprising, then, that the career of Salvador Dumanti began as
inauspiciously as it did.
Salvador
Dumanti - “Sal” to those close to him – was born the fourth son
of struggling peat farmers in central Ord. His family had no military
tradition, but the one thing it did not lack for was children. With
no chance of inheritance and a lifetime of carving peat ahead of him,
Salvador decided to take his future into his own hands and leave his
family at the age of 16. He spent several years working odd jobs at
roadhouses, docks, and anywhere else that would take him in and give
him a few coppers to assist them, but his big break came when he was
working in the kitchen of an alehouse in Berck. The coastal town was
always bustling and Salvador had picked up a number of valuable
skills, including a passable skill with knife and gun. He rarely
needed them, being wise enough to keep a low profile, but when a
recruiter for the Steelhead Mercenary Company came into his tavern
looking for recruits, he saw a chance to really make a name for
himself. At the tender age of 20, head full of dreams of glorious
battles with comrades in arms, Salvador Dumanti signed his mark on a
piece of paper and enlisted with the Company.
His
training went quickly, as his natural aptitude for marksmanship got
him assigned to a rifle corp in short order. He learned to take
orders and concentrate his fire on command with his fellows, then was
assigned to a squad and quickly got hired for patrol duty along the
northern border with a chartered company called Barrik's Raiders, led
by An Ordic mercenary warcaster on permanent retainer with the Ordic
crown named Barrik Pharsalos. Any illusions he had about glorious
battles were quickly dispatched within the first days of this tour.
The rainy season had just started, and his unit was hired to patrol
north of the fortresses, keeping an eye out for Khadoran patrols
venturing too close to Ordic lands. This went on for months. They
would spot a lightly armed patrol of Winterguard and exchange
frivolous volleys before both sides would retreat to their respective
borders. Nights were spent in hastily erected camps on hills just
high enough to not be flooded in leaky tents, or sometimes in muddy
trenches making sure no enemy passed their position. The misery was
constant, the glory never so much as glimpsed, and the two-year
contract Salvador signed with the Company was looking to be a very
long term indeed.
Not
everything was terrible, though. Barrik Pharsalos and Salvador ended
up getting along rather well. Barrik had spent his initial time as a
Steelhead rifleman as well, and the fact that his skills as a
warcaster allowed him to command a very respectable price for his
services was certainly inspiring to Sal. Barrik would often sneak Sal
extra rations from his food, or an extra few rounds of ammunition –
the kid had promise, he would say when questioned about it, and
keeping that rifle of his pointed at the enemy at firing for long
enough might turn him into something great. The middle-aged warcaster
only could afford a refurbished Nomad warjack, but the great machine
was more than enough to keep any opposing armor well away from the
rest of the troops.
The
rainy season was nearing an end when the fateful orders came in. A
sizable Khadoran force was assembling with the intention of attacking
an outer watchtower key to the advance knowledge of Khadoran
movements in the region. Barrik's Raiders were sent to stop this from
happening. The rain was drizzling and visibility was rather poor,
which allowed their force to sneak up on the Khadoran camp relatively
unobserved. They attacked in force, halberdiers charging in with
riflemen supporting them with concentrated volleys and their small
cavalry contingent moving in from a flank. The Khadorans reacted much
better than anticipated, though, and instead of disorganized fighting
they quickly met their attackers and began to turn the battle. Among
the couple dozen Winterguard were a venerable Juggernaut and a
fresh-looking Destroyer, both of which were proving to be formidable
obstacles, and both being led by a large Man-O-War with an axe canon.
Between a cavalry charge and a follow-up from the Nomad the
Juggernaut was reduced to scrap quickly, and rifleman fire and
halberdier charges decimated the ranks of the Winterguard. Before
Barrik could capitalize on this event, however, the Khadorans made a
strong push back. Destroyer shells landed in among the Steelhead
troops, tearing them apart while a veritable hurricane of Winterguard
rifle bullets, blunderbuss slugs, and grape-shot sprays tore through
much of the rest of the Raiders. The final turning point was when Sal
saw Barrik's power field flicker from concentrated rifle fire, then
die just in time for a blunderbuss shell to impact his chest.
The
battle quickly fell apart from there. Barrik's death caused a
feedback in the Nomad's cortex that shut it down, while the remaining
troops panicked at the loss of their leader and the casualties they
had sustained, and began a full rout. The Winterguard pursued them
and the battle quickly became a fight for their lives. Sal lost track
of time as he went from frantically reloading his rifle to firing it
to pulling out his sword to hack at a Winterguard, only to realize it
was already a dead man, then to turn back to fire with his rifle. The
moment of clarity hit when he ducked into cover and realized that he
was behind the Nomad time stood still as in his panic he pleaded with
the venerable warjack to save him, and he saw its heartfire surge
back into its eyes. It stood and brandished its mighty battleblade,
cleaving through a nearby Winterguard while swatting another with its
shield away like a fly.
Sal
stood behind the machine, his mind shared between them both and the
world lost in a haze of reloading and firing his rifle, and swinging
his great battle blade in sweeping arcs to clear away Winterguard. He
was able to rally a handful of other fleeing Steelheads and fight to
the high ground. They had scarcely over a dozen men, armed with
halberds and rifles, no officers, and one battered Nomad. They were
able to find cover behind rocks and logs, the halberdiers set their
pikes in the ground, and the Winterguard looked to break their morale
with a charge. After a volley from the defending riflemen and the
efforts of the halberdiers and Nomad the charge was diverted, and as
the Winterguard fell back Sal ordered a countercharge of his own. The
riflemen reloaded and fired into the retreating red uniforms before
the halberds charged. Sal, ammunition running low, pulled out his
sword, little as it was, and charged down the hill along side the
Nomad, until the remaining Khadorans broke and routed in turn.
As
the company that had once been Barrik's raiders made their way back
to the safety of the Ordic fortresses, they took what they could from
the battlefield. The spoils of war were generous to them, and aside
from an ample supply of ammunition, firearms, and some important
military documents recovered from the body of the Man-O-War Kovnik,
Sal was able to salvage most of Barrik's warcaster armor, though the
older man's mechanikal spear seemed to have been damaged beyond
repair. There was a part of Sal that felt remorse for looting the
body of a recently fallen friend, but mercenary life was tough work,
and he felt justified that Barrik would rather Sal have taken the
armor than it being left to rust in the field.
The
commanders in the Ordic military and their liasons with the Steelhead
Company were ecstatic when the survivors returned. The pay earmarked
to pay Barrik's Raiders was paid to the remainder of the company, as
per the contract, making the survivors wealthy men indeed. The
intelligence gathered from the Khadoran papers ended up being little
of note, but it did state that without the force that the Raiders had
routed the attack on the watchtower would not be able to commence.
Sal was promoted to a Sergeant for his role in turning the battle
around, and since the Nomad and armor were the personal property of
Barrik Pharsalos neither the military nor the Steelheads had any
claim on them. Sal's fledgling talent as a warcaster was noted by the
Steelhead Company, and with a fair portion of his earnings he was
able to re-negotiate his contract. He sold the badly battered Nomad
to an Arcane Mechanik who was able to fix up the armor for him and
make it ready for use, and his new contract allowed him a looser
relationship with the Steelhead Company to “hone his talents”. He
would henceforth work as a free Steelhead Agent.
A
young man with a pocket bursting with crowns and a new lease on life
is not the most responsible individual. True, Sal sought out
arcanists to learn from and honed his arcane talent, which proved to
be formidable for one his age. He also purchased upgraded equipment
for his military rifle, equipping it with a scope and bipod that
would allow it to serve as a stable, long-range firing platform. He
practiced in his warcaster armor, learning to harness its power field
and draw on its power in the field. And he got drunk. A lot. He
visited brothels and inns, traveling from town to roadhouse to city
burning through the sizable earnings he had made in a couple years.
Sal
is now 22. He has exactly two gold crowns to rub against each other,
a suit of expensive warcaster armor, his standard issue Steelhead
military rifle and sword, and a handful of other odds and ends. He is
realizing that he needs to get serious about putting his skills to
the test on the field of battle, to earn some money so that he can
buy ammunition, better weaponry, and re-establish his career as a
Steelhead. With a suite of skills, a pocketful of gold, and
eventually his own stable of warjacks, Sal intends to create his own
mercenary company and lead them into battle for whoever will pay
their price. For now though...a hot meal and stein of ale sound like
a pretty good place to start.
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