>Be you, Anon.
>Former inductee into the Brotherhood of the Torch, a subset of the Putus Templar
>Emphasis on former, really.
>Incinerating meat-moss, qudzu and the occasional mutant that was too far gone to even speak properly really wore on you.
>Especially after one of them nearly took out a lung with an unfortunately-aimed jab from a stinger.
>Regardless, you've said your goodbyes, packed enough food and water to last you a good few days, and set out for, well...
>Truth be told, you didn't know what you wanted to find when you left. You just needed to leave.
>And you got lucky, too. Normally, you don't just 'leave' the Putus Templar.
>Not without having your implants forcibly stripped from you without anesthetic. Or branded as a heretic, or worse, a mutant.
>But, the chaptermaster was a decent enough fellow. Let you leave under the guise of a 'holy pilgrimage' to the birthplace of the Eaters and whatnot, spreading the purist dogma of the Templar as you went.
>Of course, there wasn't any way for them to know whether or not you were actually doing any of those things. And you certainly didn't intend to, either.
>You're getting distracted now. Have to keep focus.
>Getting lost here would be a death sentence, and you didn't want that, no sir.
>You wanted to live; that was why you left the Templars in the first place, after all.
>Finally, you see IT. Cresting over a salt dune, the faint outline of greenery and houses not too far off into the distance.
>It has to be Joppa. There's no mistaking it; no other settlements lay this close to the dunes.
>You can only hope that they don't recognize the Templar crest on your robes; you aren't naive enough to think that anyone outside your fellow Truekin would take too kindly to your presence otherwise.
>... You didn't think that Joppa would be so... small.
>It's pretty compact for an oasis; six, seven buildings, a few watervine terraces...
>Honestly, if it wasn't for the fact that there was a Warden stationed here, you would've thought that this was another dromad camp.
>Still, though, they haven't shanked you yet, so that's a definite plus.
>Eventually, though, it seems that the Warden has caught on, motioning you over to the side of what you can presume to be the chieftain's home.
>He spits. "Mind telling me what, exactly, a Templar is doing here?" he says, packing enough thinly-veiled threats in that one sentence that it almost distracts you from the faint chill in the air.
>Honestly, you're more than a little impressed. Or, you would be, really, if he didn't spit on the ground before you.
>"I'm not part of the Templars; not anymore, at least."
>The Warden tilts his head in mock curiosity. "Oh? Tell me, then, how does one leave such a group? And in one piece, no less?"
>Okay, that was less obvious. "My chaptermaster was... understanding, about my wanting to leave. Fed the higher-ups some lie about my leaving on a 'spiritual pilgrimage'."
>He takes this in for a moment. "Fair enough."
>You both stand there in silence for what feels like hours before he speaks up.
>"If you want to make yourself useful, then, talk to the elder, Irudad. He'll help you get acquainted with the people around here, make sure you get enough to drink, eat; don't cause any problems or I'll stick you. Do I make myself clear?"
>"Clear as crystal, sir...?"
>"Ualraig. And you?"
>"Anonymous."
>"Live and drink, then, Anonymous."
>"Live and drink."


>You were wrong about these people.
>They're a lot more clever than you gave them credit for in the first place.
>And the elder, Irudad, certainly knew what was up.
>Thankfully, though, he was more than willing to give you a chance. A small one, but a chance nonetheless.
>The town's tinkerer, Argyve, needed a new assistant after his last one was 'abducted' by a particularly randy Breathbeard.
>Who knew those things mated for life? You certainly didn't. Nor did you want to.
>That didn't matter, though. He was all too happy to study what few injectors you had on your person, hemming and hawing over the many, many moving parts.
>Eventually, (By which you mean several hours,) he turns towards you and gives you your first assignment.
>He needs 200' of copper wire. All from the Rust Wells to the east of the village.
>Apparently, he's building some form of wireless communicator from scratch; you're not sure whether to be skeptical or impressed by his efforts, but hey. A job is a job, and hopefully this one will be a lot more peaceful than what you're used to.
>You don't think you could stomach killing something living; not anymore, at least.


>If you thought Joppa looked unkempt, then the Rust Wells were downright chaotic.
>Massive pillars of what you could only assume were sandstone jutted out of the landscape, the air feeling drier than a stiff drink at a canteen.
>And almost immediately you can see the biggest obstacle to your endeavor.
>Qudzu. Lots of it.
>Loathed by almost everything in Qud, these metallic, rust-colored vines were notorious for rusting any sort of metal equipment they could wrap their fronds around.
>You'd heard stories about these things rusting crysteel armor into near-uselessness. Somehow.
>And, secretly, you were glad that you still had your old Templar's robes. Should still keep most of your supplies in your pack, though.
>Don't want to grab a rusted injector, now.

>It turned out to be a lot easier than you'd expected. Not a whole lot of qudzu underground, after all, and the scrap hermits were pleasant enough to work with.
>Still, though, something about the place felt... weird.
>A lot deeper than you really expected.
>And empty. Very, very empty.
>Aside from the aforementioned hermits, there wasn't any trace of these caverns being inhabited.
>You only find out why this is the case on the next layer.
>This place is absolutely infested with young ivory, the silver-colored shoots just barely poking up above the surface of the rock.
>A quick prod at the ground with a sturdy-looking cudgel only reinforces this fact, as the shoots launch themselves out of the ground with enough force to knock the club out of your grasp.
>...Fuck it. Plants didn't really count as 'living', right?
>Either way, you weren't going to feel bad about this.
>Fun fact about Templar-issued thermal grenades. They burn hot enough to melt shale, and they burn FAST.
>One foot on the stairway, you grip the small sphere tightly, finger on the trigger...

>The button clicks as you press it, the incendiary explosive rolling out of your fingers as you book it up the stairwell, and a soft *whump* tells you that it detonated without a problem.
>Very faintly, you can hear the soft squeals of Young Ivory sap evaporating as the thermite-fueled inferno roars on...
>As well as some not-so-faint screaming, one that you have long-since associated with the prospect of burning alive.
>thankKlanqforblazeinjectors.jpeg
>Grunting a bit as you jab the needle into one of your ports, an unnatural heat seems to fill your body, spreading outwards from the injection point as you pocket the now-empty syringe even as you start rushing back down the stairwell, the air thick with the acrid, bitter scent of burning Ivory.
>You can barely make out the source of the screaming through the smoke and flame, but barely is still good enough. It has to be.
>Granted, the distinctive neural haze of psionic interference was more than enough to guide you towards your quarry, and eventually, you found them.
>Or, rather, her. Very much female, and, somehow, still alive. Barely, at that, but again...
>You hoist her up onto your shoulder without a second thought, listening for any other accidental victims of your ill-advised use of munitions.
>The stairway is just barely visible through the conflagration, but you have another problem. Namely, that the Young Ivory has started to burst due to the heat, flinging razor-sharp seeds with each small *pop* that follows.
>Fuck it. You got yourself into this mess, and you're damn well gonna get the both of you out of it.
>A seed whizzing past your robe and digging into your leg almost makes you reconsider. Almost.
>Each step you take is agony, your feet sticking themselves on the splintered husks of the now-dead Young Ivory, the seeds embedding themselves into your skin with each small *pop*.
>Just a few more feet. You got this. Step by step, inching closer and closer to the archway... there.
>You've not even taken a few steps up the stairwell when you feel something violently drive its way into your mind, hijacking your train of thought with a simple, though aggressively pushed, order.
>You've got to keep her safe. No matter what, you've got to make sure she survives this.
>Of course, you were going to do that anyways, but this just serves to drive it in even further.
>...Where would you even go, though? If you got out of the Rust Wells, then what? It'd be a three-day walk back to Joppa, and that's without you having to carry the girl.
>And you couldn't treat her wounds here, either. Going off her biometrics readout, she's suffered severe blood loss, on top of the burns; and that's without considering how malnourished she is, and... ew. Glotrot.
>Well, that would explain the malnourishment. Pretty hard to eat and drink when you don't have a tongue; must've caught it a while ago, though, judging by how thin she is.
>It doesn't matter right now. You have a few Ubernostrum injectors on you; you'd hoped that you wouldn't be using them so soon, if at all, but if someone needs help...
>Besides. You did this. There's no-one else to blame, and nobody else to help you.
>An easily-replacable injector is a low cost to pay to ease your own guilt. Too low, if you had any input on the matter.
>She's stirring, now. It's only now that you're able to get a good look at her, outside of the acrid smoke and roaring flames.
>She's certainly fairly small; you'd chalk that up to the malnutrition, but that wouldn't really be the case if the malnutrition was a relatively recent development. Her skin isn't looking too good, either, already suppurating.
>...You only now realize that she has fur. It's patchy, sure, but it's still there; her head is noticeably canine in appearance, so that would mean...
>Fuck. She's a Snapjaw, and a psion at that.
>Psions had been a well-known source of irritation for your chapter of the Templars; there was nothing quite as unnerving as seeing someone get punched through several meters of solid chrome plating, being sent on fire, and getting shunted 20, 30 strata deep within the span of a minute when there was nobody in sight.
>But...
>Did that mean you could just wash your hands of her? In the condition she's in right now?
>Psion or not, you at least owed her something. You did this to her, after all. Well, the third-and-fourth-degree burns, that is.
>But it's still your fault. And the thought of leaving someone, anyone, to die like this made you sick to your stomach.
>Grabbing an injector from your satchel, you ever-so-gently shift her around for a clear view of the back of her head, where the spine meets the skull.
>Ubernostrum was a potent concoction, capable of regenerating limbs in a matter of hours. Faster if the injection site bore a high concentration of nervous tissue.
>It'd be a quick fix for most of her immediate problems; her skin, tongue, all of that would recover.
>If she had Glotrot, though, it'd only be a temporary fix; her tongue would rot out again, and you couldn't afford to waste your entire stock of Ubernostrum on a temporary solution to a recurring problem.
>Fuck. You were really going to do this, weren't you?
>...Yeah. You were.
>Now, you needed to steady yourself. One wrong move and you'd inject a full dose of Ubernostrum into her spinal column, and that would end up taking too long.
>Gently, gently... there. Sliding the thin glass needle between the base of her skull and spinal cord, the thin hiss of the injector depositing its payload is all you needed to hear to know that you've done what you can. So far, at least.
>She won't be able to walk on her own for a bit, and that's IF she wakes up before you both depart for Joppa. You'll have to carry her, then.
>And look; her skin is already regenerating. See? You did a good job. You hope.