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Tharun Foundson

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Warrant of Lawful Detainment/Execution:

Office Issue: ABSALOM#415

Subject Details{

Name: Foundson, Tharun

Age: 24 Standard

Species/Subspecies: Human (Genealogy confirmation)

Contract holder/Place of Residence: GolTEK/Golem Manufacturing Complex #3

Known NoK: None (Foundling)

Previous known addresses: 'Lady Mara-Childrens' home', External hab zone 43-77 (Slums)

}

Physical descriptors {

Height: 6'2”/1m88cm

Weight: 82Kg

Build: Strong

Hair: 'Ginger'/short

Eye colour: Blue

Additional: Prominent birthmark on left side of nose, resembling oil/grease smear.

Class/Subclass: 'Mender'/Brawler

}

[[Known Magical/Technical skills: Innate restorative and protective Magical skills, demonstrated understanding of Security combat equipment function and use. Registered medical alchemist (License revoked following warrant).

Reason for Warrant: Dereliction of Contract (Multiple), Theft of Company Property (Multiple), Assault, Murder, Attempted Murder, Incitement to riot, Conspiracy to harm, Vandalism, Industrial Sabotage, Membership of anti-government anarchist cell.

Subject escaped custody following Security forces action against elements hostile to the Peace of the City. Subject absconded with anti-riot equipment and unknown amount of potentially harmful magitechnology. To be treated as armed and extremely dangerous. ]]

{{End File}}

 

This wasn't how it was supposed to have gone down, not by a long shot. A few noisemakers to get the attention of the Uppers in their spires, some crashers to make them take notice of the little guys they normally treated as part of the machinery. They'd bring their requests (Nothing as grand as 'demands') and get some halfway decent treatment at last... after all, the Uppers needed them in their factories and workshops to keep the products moving on down the line. Right?

Tharun had been a late-comer to the plans, and only ever on the outskirts of the meetings even then. As a licensed Med-Alchemist he could move more freely than the rest of the floor workers and in so doing see the horrors the machinery of the great Arcology inflicted on its labor force. He hadn't yet built up the emotional callouses the older Medics had, which was probably why he'd been so easily roped into 'The Core' as they called themselves. Just running messages at first, helping people organize, but later more directly with distributing flyers and tending to the injuries the Core protesters picked up from their dangerous dance with the patience of the Uppers.

It changed, though, rapidly, dramatically, when 'They' arrived. They were charismatic, energetic speakers who started showing up at ralleys and meetings. They pulled at peoples heartstrings and riled the Core up into mobs. When pressed, They claimed to be from other sectors of the Arcology who'd managed to win rights and protections for the workers there with their messages, and so convincing were They, that few, even Tharun, questioned Them twice. It seemed the natural order of things when They started bringing in boxes of weapons and armour, older models but still servicable, and started having the Core train with them. Tharun had always been strong and agile, and combined with his magic and medical training he was relied on more and more by this more militant Core. Where others picked out hand-blasters and Firecore staves, however, Tharun practiced with Barrier bracers, the kind riot troops used to shield themselves and their comrades. They scoffed at his seeming pacifism, but it was his decision to make.

Finally, They said the Core was ready to move to the next stage.

The Core had come together for a mass protest, on Their guidance the Core would seize control of the local factory spire and demand sweeping change, at the end of a weapon if need be. Cells were organized and dispatched, the City authroities had no idea what was about to happen... so They said, at least.

Looking back even to just a few days ago, it looked so obvious a trap. Heindsight's a bitch.

At the allotted hour, Core mobilized. And City Security was waiting for them. Each cell, cut off and mercilessly cut down when they fought back. Of course they'd fought back, just as They had trained them. They themselves had vanished, slinking back to Their masters above.

It had been a disaster. A well publicized and broadcast one, it seemed. Every one of the city's news feeds was covering the 'riot' of Spire 3, the ringleaders names and faces splashed in red warning logos proclaiming them enemies of the City, anarchists. Murderers. Tharan's name and face among them.

He wasn't sure who had drawn first blood, the City or Core, but it quickly turned into a bloodbath with neither side backing down. But Core were outplayed and outmatched, hunted into their boltholes and safehouses and brought to 'justice'. He wasn't proud that he'd fled the fight but it had kept him alive so far, where other Medic-Alchemists and healers, wearing the badge of their calling for all to see had been cut down even as they tried to tend to the wounded. The city was making a statement, it seemed.

For hours he'd been dodging security packs and other Core groups caught in running battles, though they seemed to be fewer now. In the industrial guts of the Arcology that had been his home for all his adult life he felt lost even in the places he recognized. How the hell was he going to get out of this mess? The furthest he'd been was the edge of the slums, he didn't even know the name of any towns or cities outside of Absalom, let alone where to start. But he couldn't stay here, not anymore.

He froze at a noise from nearby. A scuffle and shout, followed quickly by a wet -thud-. He waited and listened, not daring to breathe in case whoever the victor of that short fight had reason to come to him. He shouldn't get involved, it would only end badly for everyone at this point. The Core was over, surely if they ever saw one another it would only spell their mutual doom.

A wet, hacking cough from the fight. Someone at least was still alive in there, though not for long by the sound of it. He should go... for once in his life, he should put himself first and leave...

The noise from the next room became a heaving, weighty sob. The sound of someone who thinks they're at the end.

Damn his bleeding heart.

Tharun edged cautiously around the corner to the source of the noise. Two figures lay at a small, otherwise unimportant junction between maintanance hallways, the signs of their fight and the blood they'd spilled from each other painting a grisly tale. Unmoving on the ground a man who could have been anyone, perhaps another from Core, perhaps just an unlucky worker. Given the fight they'd put up, he doubted the later.

The other in the room was dressed in the bloody ruin of a City Security uniform, a man probably the same age as Tharun himself if not younger. He clutched at a gut wound futilely, a deathblow from his already fallen foe. What was he doing down here alone? Were there others nearby? Self preservation and the still-fresh image of Security forces raining fire on his friends and allies in Core told Tharun to leave. Leave and not look back.

He stepped into the room. Already gathering his magic to hand, he knelt beside the wounded man.

“It's alright, I'm a medic. I'm here to help.”

-=-

Minutes passed, or maybe hours. Tharun's gut ached like he had been the one to take the wounds of the man, and the edges of his mind fogged from the exertion, but the man would live. He probably wouldn't even remember what had happened, given how close to death he'd come, but he had been stable at least.

Tharun's situation remained unchanged, though, and worse now it was hard for him to think ahead, to plan how he was going to get out of the city. Even his mind was starting to play tricks on him. He should still be within the confines of the Spire, and yet he was sure that wall over there looked like... a tree?

He looked up. When had he gotten outside? There shouldn't be this many trees in the wastes, and he didn't even remember passing through the slums. Ahead a group of squat, out-of-place homes. Little more than shacks really and yet, something felt so very wrong about them. Pulled as though by some invisible cord he stumbled on. One building out of the group drew him in. Was that... music? And people laughing? He pushed open the door and stumbled through, nearly falling.

A firm pair of hands caught him and hauled him to his feet. From somewhere nearby a warm, jovial voice called out over the din of people. Why were there so many people? HOW were there so many?

“Ah! Another weary traveler come calling in the dead of night! Come, come!”

Tharun's vision swam. The hands holding him up guided him to a place by a fire and another figure swept over, inspecting him.

“My my, quite the sorry mess you are." The voice continued "Well, not to worry, we've got plenty to set you right, young man.”

“W-where..?” Tharun managed to stammer, his eyes finally managing to focus o the wonderous, impossible sight around him.

“Ah lad, you've stumbled into the finest establishment this side of anywhere!”

“Welcome to the Tavern of Legends!”

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