Name: Lieutenant Brian Axton Smith, born of Steelwater, raised of the Forge.

Pronouns: He/Him

Age: 23

Profession: Discharged Mechanized Infantry Lieutenant of the Imperial army's 11th Regiment, transferred to the Mixholme Occupation force, and licenced Ranger/Mechanic of the Trapper's Union. He also makes toys as a hobby.

Sexuality: Astutely Asexual with no interest in seeking out any kind of romantic partner. Kinks and sexualized things do not disgust him, he just doesn't quite understand how lust works and is never really in the mood to ask. He appreciates a good friendship though.

Powerset: In terms of his body's own physicality, there is not much to Brian. He has been trained well from his time in the military, but outside of his prosthetic arm possessing a good chunk of strength, he is not exactly different from any other kind of soldier in the region. The real ace in the hole for Brian however is not the body he boasts, but the equipment he adorns it with.
Within the forest nation of Engrievion, you will struggle, and perhaps even fail, to find technological prowess more impressive than that of Imperial design. Not only is the metallic plate armour and chainmail attire he wears made from an Iron and Adamantine alloy, a material so durable that forces equal to gunfire do little beyond shoving him, but the engineer's helmet he wears into battle is also not a normal helm, but instead a collapsible extension of the armour itself, that retracts and folds away into the insides of his gorget and collar when not in use, saving him the trouble of having to take it off and carry it around, though he can neatly detach it as well if he so desired.
Additionally for this helm, its purpose as a helm for military engineers has made it into something of a combat welding mask, as colour shifting tints in the visor's glass make lights bright enough to scorch retinas no more dangerous to Brian, than that of a simple candle fire. On top of that, thanks to his cybernetic implants, Brian's helmet can project a small hud of environmental data that shifts and recalculates through but a single thought, letting him scan and track the details of his surroundings far better than any creature known for having good perception, a great advantage for his Ranger or military duties.
Bear in mind also, a lot of this equipment is either maintained, or even personally designed by Brian himself, as his years of experience in artifice and craftsmanship allow him to work incredibly well with weapons and machinery. Tools in his hands can become weapons, weapons can become tools, give him some sheet metal, some guns, and an hour, and he could turn a small cottage into a miniature fortress. Be it artillery, war machines, automated militia, if it uses clockwork ignition technology, Brian can figure it out, and possibly even make something new from it.
Take for instance his own prosthetic. When he was younger and inexperienced with combat, it was merely just a replacement hand, however years of living with paranoia and perfectionism has spawned within in a desire for a within-reach tool or weapon for whatever occasion, no matter how absurd or unlikely. And eventually this desire grew so potent, that he has went back to how his prosthetic had been built, and personally modified into a brand new modular equipment system. Through this, Brian has since made countless modules for whatever kind of situation he could think of, from various grinding saws built to carve through bark, steel, and bone alike, defensive shields that could collapse or launch when needed, cabled grappling hooks for traversal, piledrivers for puncturing armour, flamethrowers for incinerating mutation, and do I even need to explain just how many guns he's made for some extra firepower? The man has a full arsenal of these modules stored away in his home, and always hides a belt stuffed with them underneath his waist cloak, his extensive practice switching between arms now letting him do so in the blink of an eye.
And yet, those don't even have the honour of being his most beloved weapon. Instead, that goes to his primary choice of equipment: "The Valiance", a long, sleek, and monstrously sharp gunsabre that used to be a prized family heirloom of the Smiths Brian was born from, its blade and bullets alike both able to carve through mutant flesh, like it was mere paper. The Valiance was a weapon previously belonging to Brian's father, and thus is the last piece of his remaining family the lad still has left, making it a very, very precious thing to him. Brian takes a lot of pride in much of the equipment he carries, to almost dork-level of attachment, so disrespect of any of these items will be a fast track to him heavily disliking you. Do not insult an engineer's equipment, unless of course he insults it first.

Magic Speciality: Largely doesn't know much about naturally born or trained spellcraft, but extensive time amongst the tools and machinery of the nation has made him very well acquainted with enchanted technology. From the various pouches of holding strewn across his belts, each able to store an entire crate's worth of supplies, to the Serpent Oil infusions constantly knitting his armour and clothing back into pristine condition, no matter what damage they sustain, Brian has a veritable treasure trove of knowledge and experience with almost any kind of enchanted equipment thrust his way. His repair and crafting experience mostly lies in robotics, mechanisms, and engines, so he's not particularly skilled at doing the infusions himself, however he's quick to ascertain and identify enchantments when he sees them, even in the heat of battle, making him and his partner Duncan ideal advisors for utilizing and countering magic in its entirety.

Furthermore, like any member of the Imperial allegiance, Brian has grown quite accustomed to the functionality of the "Blessed Ignition", the so-called electric spark that ignited civilisation itself, sent down to mankind by the revered Golem, the clockwork god of technology. The Ignition, in the most basic terms, is a magically enchanted electrical plasma siphoned from red lighting storms, manifesting a renewable power source capable of creating artificial life, hence the various automated soldiers and drones that bolster the ranks of many Imperial-controlled territories. However, as Brian is very well aware, it can also animate on a much smaller scale, bringing life back to a lost limb by way of Ignition-powered cybernetics, through a process known as "Soul-Bonding". To make a very long story short, the Ignition is capable of fusing into the very soul of a human host, letting them control a small portion of the Ignition's power through machinery grafted into their body, allowing prosthetic limbs to function just as well, if not better, than the limb they were replacing, greatly advancing medical science and human longevity wiiith a few potential drawbacks such as an incredibly painful bonding process, loss of facial hair growth, sterilization of reproductive organs, madness, degenerating flesh, aaand sometimes death. A good few amount of these symptoms are highly unlikely, roughly 1 to 60 odds give or take, however Brian himself is a bit of an outlier thanks to his frequent uh...."tempting of fate".
Because in Brian's case, his obsession with having his cybernetics operate on a modular system has led him to undergo the soul-bonding process more times than any human realistically should. The modules each require a much less traumatizing process to be fair, yet the sheer amount of them he has bonded to likely adds up to well over a hundred times the amount of Ignition needed for a singular, normal prosthetic. Thus, while he is still somehow alive, many doctors that have spoken with him unanimously agree that:
He never needs to shave again.
He's definitely not having kids.
Whatever flesh is still left on his arm probably looks pretty nasty.
And it miiiight have contributed quite a bit to his uh...."emotional instability."
Yet, even despite the concerning health issues, the excessive amount of Ignition that now flows through Brian's spirit -(and likely everywhere else in him at this point)- has allowed him to understand the unorthodox magic of the Golem better than anyone else in Mixholme, including that other Imperial agents. His mastery over his cybernetics dwarfs that of any other cyborg in the area, standard lightning magic basically does nothing to him, and his bond with arcane technology even lets him....well, as he puts it, "speak" and "listen" to the flow of Ignition circuitry in whatever device he interacts with, be it his helmet's hud, automated militia, the engines of horseless vehicles, even down to the little keypad lock of a door, or an electro lantern on the ceiling, a single look lets him communicate, as if they too were a part of him, as if the Ignition itself was an old friend. Perhaps, even family.
So.... his modular system has probably made him little bonkers, yeah.

Current Intentions: Safeguard the Mixholme province, uphold the Imperial creed, and terminate Dr Minerva Talos and her Emerald Scarves before the Mutation outbreak grows unstable.

Background: It has been a long, long time since Brian Smith had lived without some form of looming turmoil.
Even before the autistic lad reached an age sufficient enough to develop memories, his mother had vanished from his life entirely, and any questions he had about her were sombrely avoided. Since then, for the first few years of Brian's childhood, all he had, and all he understood, was the life he shared with his father, one Declan Smith, a former soldier turned blacksmith, who lived within the quiet city of Steelwater, the shipyard of the Engrievion Empire. Since his father was an old friend to the royal family of the Stallion house, the heart of the Empire's industrial prowess, Declan was eager to share many stories with his son. Stories of his service to the army, of the gargantuan factories that never failed to produce wonders, the brave heroes that marched with those wonders, the colossal capital city that proudly stood beyond the snow, and the ironclad god that made it all a possibility. As a blacksmith, Declan passed much of his talents down to Brian, and Brian was fascinated to learn more about the ways of proper artifice, as his young mind was slowly filled with dreams of one day seeing the royal city in all of its true glory, as his father did before him.
The chances of such things happening were in truth, rather small, as the pair didn't live very exquisite lives, for while Imperial creed kept them fed and off the streets, anything beyond their modest home in Steelwater, and the occasional trading trip to its twin city Silverwater, was far out of the reach of a simple blacksmith and his son. But in further truth, Brian didn't mind. He had a home, a father he dearly loved, and a humble peace within such a mundane life. He and Declan were happy, and that was all that mattered.

But of course, that couldn't be the case forever. For inevitably, like many stories of the Engrievion nation, tragedy found its way to the duo.

When Brian was 7 years old, he and Declan went out on another trip to Silverwater, to peddle some of their stock and perhaps get something nice. The day seemed normal at the start, the pair had nothing to dread, which only made the sudden screams of the evening glow that much more terrifying. On that day, Brian and his father had unknowingly stepped into a monumental blotch of the nation's history, the ground zero for a brand new horror set to plague the people of Engrievion for countless years to come, the first time in decades that the black-hearted poison of nature played its hand.
This day, this conflict, this tragedy, was later coined "The Silverwater Incident", the very first recorded instance, or rather outbreak...
Of the Primal Mutation.

To a young, sensitive mind like Brian's, the sight of huge, hulking monsters lunging out from the evening shadows and ripping so many adults into gory shreds, calling it a "living nightmare" seemed like an understatement.
If erupting fires of buildings and the dozens of grizzly deaths weren't bad enough, whatever slashed or bitten victims that barely managed to stand again, did so with a deep sense of dread in their hearts, as Brian watched in horror as they slowly rose higher, and higher, and higher, their bodies twisting, bulging, exploding out as their screams and cries turned into growls and roars, until they became the very monsters they were fruitlessly trying to escape. Declan launched into a combination of fatherly protectiveness and his old soldier's focus, as he desperately tried to get his son out of such danger. Yet the chaos of it all, the panicking crowds, and the warped tactics of the newly developing mutant species, meant that the pair could not safely stick together, and thus had no other option but to separate, promising to find each other elsewhere in the city.
From then on, for felt like an eternity, the young Brian hurried his best through the city, equipped with nothing but a pathetic shortsword he had found, and whatever basic training his father had taught him, to try and fend off any of the monsters that charged after him. By this point, the sheer amount of horror that shoved itself into Brian's face made his memories blur into black soup, as the line between reality and delusion grew imperceptibly thin. How much of what he saw that day was real? How close did death keep getting to him? How long did this nightmare even take? To this day, Brian doesn't even know. All he could remember was the sight of those monsters, the visages of monsters twisting and warping, crying out in pain and despair as their humanity was wrenched from their bodies, their stretching faces now grinning madly between the gushes of blood in their fangs, as in between the cracks of their shattering sanity, they even seemed to desperately or maliciously call his name, that's all his young mind could process at the time.
Soon enough though, one of those beasts managed to catch him. In spite of his efforts, in spite of his frantic sprinting, in spite of his father's words to stay strong, the jaws of monsters found the right time to strike. In a flash of red and agony, Brian found his left arm crunched and trapped in the fangs of a hulking, black furred wolf, piercing golden eyes staring wide as it shuddered involuntarily at the taste of his blood. The visage would never leave him, the unblinking pinprick pupils amidst the roaring sea of glowing yellow, as the blood-soaked lips slowly curled into a sadistic smile, as if the monster relished his pain. And what pain it was, for as the beast twisted and tugged, far more agony than even a full grown adult should suffer, raced through the young terrified boy, his body starting to crumple from the shear amount of blood he was losing. Losing to such a...monster, such a beast, such a creature that seemed to gleefully soak in every drop of pain it was causing. It was enjoying this, it was smiling, it wanted him to join, or die, the boy could see it in the wolf's madness-stuffed eyes. But Brian, even as weakness began to wash through him, he wanted neither of the options he was being presented. He wanted to go home. He wanted his father. He wanted....this thing to let him go. To back away. To...to feel the same kind of pain it was happily trying to inflict. It was what such a mad thing deserved.
Far above in the night sky, clouds had gathered throughout this atrocity, and as Brian's injured and trapped limb started to throb, started to twist, started to mutate, the growing storm decided otherwise. As Brian's head was tilted back in pain, he saw it. The flash, the crackle of lightning within the billowing clouds.
The lightning, that was bright, crimson red.
Words of his father flashed in Brian's mind, the stories he had heard of Declan's strength and heroics, and the faith the clockwork god that would always be there in humanity's time of need. The wolf simply grinned wider, thinking the boy was dying. Instead, Brian had no intention of succumbing.

For his determination, was Ignited.

With a roaring shriek of fury, Brian swung his sword full force into his trapped limb, and in a stunning act of perseverance, he cleaved and ripped it from his body, severing the mutation from his soul before it could take him. Then, with his humanity rescued, and the wolf flabbergasted, Brian went berserk, slashing and carving into the monstrosity with the fury built from the ruined lives of Silverwater, until the wolf's head eventually sloughed away from its neck, the corpse crumpling to the ground. Soon after, with the limited adrenaline expended, Brian did the same, as gunshots started to obliterate the beasts that dared to move towards him.
Throughout the mania, Declan himself had been trying his utmost to uphold his promises, not just to his son, but to his nation. As he bobbed, and weaved, and fought tooth and nail through the city, he warned the guards of areas in need, commanding them to contact outside help, and his fellow men of the frontlines did not hesitate for a second. However, during the struggle, during his desperate search for his son, many of the mutants struck some very lucky hits with him, piercing vital areas of his body with their swords, as he deftly struck them in retaliation. By the time he had found the mewling Brian, Declan was barely in better shape. But to the old blacksmith, the life of his son mattered far more than his own, and so he spent every last portion of his draining energy to scoop him up and get him to safety, even if it guaranteed his own end.
When next Brian awoke, he found himself cradled in the arms of his wheezing father, as Declan's impact against a building's wall shook the boy into consciousness. The Valiance, the sword that was dutifully aiding in the pair's protection, was emptied of its ammunition, and neither of the Smiths were in any condition to run anymore. Thus, as more of the monstrous wolves traced the sent of fresh blood, Declan knew this was the end for him, and gave one last look to his beloved son. As the wolves drew closer, Declan chose to spend his final moments soothing Brian, singing to him a lullaby and holding him close, as he valiantly stared the wolf's drooling jaws down, not a single twinge of fear remaining in his body....

What occurred next, was a storm of gunfire.
As if it was another one of Declan's fairy-tale stories, the very finest of the Imperial army descended upon the mutant scourge, as the Empire had answered Silverwater's cries for help. Like exterminators sweeping away vermin, the ironclad soldiers expertly pushed back the much less experienced mutants, dwindling their numbers into nothing, with only a chance few escaping into the forests, never to be seen again. It was nothing short of magical, and Brian's weary, tired eyes were filled with hope once more, as the red-cloaked men of steel rushed to his aid. Yet, when Brian excitedly tried to tell his father of this miracle, the fleeting glee vanished in an instant.
For Declan Smith had succumbed to his wounds, and had passed away just before the medics could reach him.
The very last piece of Brian's family had perished right next to him, and the soldiers could do nothing but sombrely hold the weeping child.

A family within the Imperial nobility, the Axtons of the Stallion house, were as mentioned before, old friends of Declan. They had often visited him and the young Brian, enough times to befriend the little boy, and for him to befriend them. So when news of the Silverwater incident reached the papers, and soldiers reported Brian's survival, the Axtons felt themselves responsible for his continued wellbeing, and offered to take him in. Thus, in a dark twist of his childhood dreams, Brian was given a new home within the grand walls of Imperial capital, the Stallion house's home province of "The Forge".

For the remainder of Brian's developmental years, the Axton family quarters was where he resided, adjusting to life within the Imperial industry. Here he received a new replacement arm, an education, and even work experience as well, as the Axtons were happy to help him achieve his goals of becoming a proper Forge-licenced engineer, just like both of his families before him. Yet, as his classmates, co-workers, and even much of his adoptive family will tell you, there was a hollowness to the lad in this life. He was still polite, still happy to talk, and was a diligently hard worker, but there might as well have been nothing beyond that at all. The bright-eyed excitement and wonder he had boasted in Steelwater was gone, replaced by an almost eerie quiet when no-one spoke with him. Most of the time, Brian avoided social contact, preferring instead to just be himself, utterly alone in his quarters, so introverted that many of his adoptive siblings forgot he was even in the same building.
At times though, if they listened very closely, they could hear strange noises. Not weeping strangely, but something else. Grunts, heavy breathing, and what could almost seemed to be the whooshing of some blade. Declan's old sword, the Valiance, had been given to Brian per the post mortem wishes of his father, and Brian held the thing very close to him since it had been recovered.
For in truth the experience in Silverwater had, of course, shaken him far beyond reason. For many, many nights, nightmares of the incident haunted him like unwelcome intruders, to the point where he started to imagine the black-furred wolf was stalking him, lurking in the dark corners of his bedroom, grinning like it always did. But when the Valiance was returned to him, it was as if the blade itself wished to shield its new master. Before, Brian could do nothing but just shut himself tight and wait for the sleepless nightmares to grow bored and leave him be, but with a weapon capable of ending a beast's life in his hands, Brian started to find his courage.
One night, with the blade in hand, he decided to not let the wolf scare him again, and instead he swung it to a space where he believed it to be, imagining that the strike ended its life. The next time it returned, he did so again. And again, and again, until the wolf's visits grew less and less frequent. Instead of letting fear, sorrow, and grief dominate him, Brian used them all to fuel a vengeful anger, an anger sufficient enough to instil more terror into the wolf more that it could ever do so to him. And, bizarrely, it kind of worked. It was nothing close to long term solution to such trauma, but it worked, it soothed Brian and let him find the courage to keep going, and the memories of the horrors soon faded into the back of his mind.
So, as Brian entered his teenage years, life eventually became somewhat normal again, as he eventually found his talents of craftsmanship being put to good work in the forge's factories, taking on the job of a simple vehicle engineer. It wasn't a perfect life, but Brian had found his humble peace once again. He was at least a little happier now, and that was all that mattered.

However, change had found the lad once again. For one day, projects for civilian equipment were prematurely postponed, as orders for war machines, automated militia, and heavy calibre weaponry came flooding in, orders sent by the Emperor himself.
For long ago, an interesting Imperial law had been passed. By order of Emperor Seth I's beloved wife, the eternally kind Empress Vivian I, there was to be a certain path for economical industry going forward. For it was the Golem's will that all humans deserved the shelter they built, the goods they earned, and the lives of civilisation they were blessed with. Thus, the many businesses that mistreated and underpaid their workers, were no longer permitted to do so. All humans, by divinely appointed right, were entitled to food, safety, shelter, and a wage sufficient enough to fund it all. Any attempts to twist this, be it the increase of housing prices, or decrease of wages, without any justifiable motivation outside of selfish greed, was to now go against not only the will of the Empire, not only the Golem, but even humanity itself, and thus would be nothing short of blasphemy. This law had been passed when Emperor Seth I took the throne, and throughout his family's rule the people of the Empire thrived with lives free of homelessness and starvation, a perfectly balanced economical structure that stood the test of time under the Empire's careful planning and diligent watch. It was a wonderful achievement for the new age of mankind...at least to most.

During the lead up to the law's passing, a growing cabal of lords, dukes, counts, and various corporations, were not pleased with how they could no longer manipulate the markets for their own gain, and viciously protested against the revolution every step of the way. And when the word of the Emperor proved itself far more valuable than their screams, the cabal made their grandest protest, and seceded from the Imperial territories, unable to tolerate their loss of control. From there, they rushed to find settlements further into the forests, hastily whistleblowing and deceiving, tricking the unknowing central populace into thinking that the Empire was some massive force intending to strip away independence, and that they were the benevolent saviours, the heroic defiers of Imperial creed, the golden-rimmed..."Rebellion".
Soon enough, once the newly founded "Rebel Coalition" established their own capital and government, and began work to twist settlements into their own personal playgrounds, tensions between them and the Empire continued to rise and rise, as there was now a race to expand and claim territory before the other could do so, a race that decided if mankind could either live in ironclad peace, or rot in golden chains.

And one day, the day that the Forge suddenly attained the influx of military commissions, was the very day that it all boiled over.
The atmosphere of the Imperial territories had grown dark, security was ramped up, and formerly calm and peaceful guards and drones were now hurrying to trains, or establishing greater fortifications. The newspapers that went public a few hours later, added little to what everyone by now, had already knew.

In their desperation, their selfishness, and perhaps even a childish level of pettiness, the coalition's leaders could no longer tolerate the Empire's continued interceptions of their expansion, the looming threat of their true intentions coming to light, and the hope that relentlessly inspired the Imperial people. So they lashed out, striking at what they believed to be the source of everything that had happened, and ordered the assassination of Empress Vivian. They had hoped that the death of such a beloved figurehead would send the Empire into grief, stripping them of their will to maintain the fight, and motivating them enough to abolish the accursed law.
Instead however, the Empire was enraged, stripped only of their tolerance for such scum.

The Rebel coalition had crossed the line.

And war had been declared.

The news caused something to shift in Brian that day. Or rather, reawaken. Memories to be precise, memories of the Silverwater incident, the city in a burning wreck, as innocent lives he knew, he loved, he cherished, were torn to shreds before him, with the younger boy he once was, utterly unable to help. That was the part that always hurt him the most, the fact that he could do nothing but cry and bleed, as his father perished in an effort to save him. He had been utterly helpless-nay, utterly useless, the man he had loved was gone because he could do nothing, and now that many of the Stallion's staff were mobilizing, it was going to happen all over again. Not just to him, but to gods know how many other cities, countless innocent lives either cut short or destroyed in the exact same way his was, and once again, Brian Smith, the one-armed orphan fool, could do nothing, absolutely noth-

Wait.....that wasn't true. He was 17 by this point, his prosthetic worked flawlessly now, and his bizarre method of coping was starting to get him a few relatively decent tricks. Quite a good number of boys and girls his age were heading their way to recruitment offices, all he really had to do was follow them. The Empire had not only saved him, but took him in, raised him like he was their own, and gave him the peace he so desperately craved. His nation was there for him when he needed it, and now his nation needed him instead. He owed them, and it was time for him to give his thanks.
Thus, Brian Smith, once the lone son of a lone blacksmith, explained his intentions to his caretakers, exchanged goodbyes, and marched his way to the enlistment office.

The Rebellion war was a rough thing to endure. Not since the clashes against the Lion and Wolf royal houses almost a hundred years prior, did the Empire struggle so much in active war. For the rebels had found many settlements capable of industrial work, and used their knowledge of Imperial construction and automation to mass produce their own mechanized armadas. It was the first time the Empire had ever faced an enemy capable of the exact same technological prowess they had boasted, and the five entire year lifespan of the conflict was nothing short of hell for all parties involved.
And yet, amidst it all, Brian Smith not only endured, but found his calling.
In the first year, he was a mere infantryman, caught amongst the crowds of his fellows as they stormed fortresses and charged across trenches, silently frustrated that the equipment he was assigned was unable to be quickly fixed in the heat of battle.
In the second, he developed a habit of improvised field repairs or modifications, first on guns, then emplacements, until he was hurrying over to downed walkers or stalled tanks, and helping the crew get them back into action, drawing the eye of curious officers.
In the third, he reached the rank of corporal, and was not only granted a role of a full soldier, but that of a fully permitted military engineer, receiving training for both combat, and machinery, while his experience within the Stallion house allowed him to excel in both.
In the fourth, he achieved sergeant, and found his true footing within the 11th regiment, led by a former law enforcement chief known as Commissioner Mortis, the pair and the other soldiers soon becoming wartime friends.
And finally, in year five, Brian climbed higher, his expert advice and experience granting him access to officer duties, as he gained the rank of Lieutenant, Mortis' second in command and engineering specialist of the 11th regiment, a far cry from the helpless boy he once was.

However, this impressive development did not come freely. For every one friend Brian had made, three more were lost, as each battle diminished the 11th regiment's numbers further and further, until only two battalions remained. Furthermore, this was not just a result of poor luck. Mortis was far more accustomed to his role as a policeman, and the jump from investigating crime scenes to being a far worse culprit was a struggle he often failed to overcome. The regiment's soldiers were often rowdy, cocky, and reckless, constantly overestimating their talents as they foolishly charged to their deaths. And even Brian himself made a lot more mistakes than achievements, as his desire to prevent the same kind of suffering that was inflicted onto him, slowly degraded into an obsession.
Frequently, Brian shirked his duties as field technician in favour of helping in combat, or vice versa, massively hampering his tactical effectiveness to point where he started to butt heads with many of his superiors. On top of that, the numerous atrocities he was forced to witness rarely failed to remind Brian of his own trauma, as the horrors of warfare took their toll on his mental health.
So much so in fact, that more often than not his confident, stoic determination decayed and warped into fanatical bloodthirst. Sometimes, when the fighting grew too intense, when the memories burned like fire, when the stress became unbearably overwhelming, Brian would suddenly snap, switching from cold frustration to roaring fury, a rage that turned him into a mindless killing machine, quelled only by a lucky strike, or his own exhaustion.
Many of the 11th regiment started to believe that Brian was yet another foolhardy youngster slowly going insane from the hysteria of warfare, and what little friendships they held with him eventually frayed away, leaving Brian's own logical humanity as the only thing willing to soothe and delay his descent into madness.

Eventually, with growing losses and ever weakening ranks, the 11th regiment's reputation rotted to such a degree that even one of the primary overseers of the Imperial army, one Lord General Kennedy, the right hand of the Crown Prince David III, took note of how badly preforming the regiment had become. Soon enough, it become annoyingly apparent:
Despite their excellent talents, the 11th regiment was no longer suitable for the frontlines.

Fortunately however, a new development in the conflict arose to peak Kennedy's interest.
Many of the corporations and nobility that had sided with the coalition were stationed in a sort of secondary capital to the Rebellion: a large, conglomerated mass of settlements and cities, known locally as "Mixholme". Near the twilight months of the war, these very overseers had begun to recognize how costly the losses were becoming, because with the increasing number of Imperial victories, and the leaders of the coalition now starting to drop like flies, the Mixholme rulers could see the Rebellion's collapse as an inevitability, and that continuing to defy the Imperial creed was only going to end in their destruction as well. Thus, in a desperate effort to save their own hides, the Mixholme corporates and nobles switched allegiance, and offered the full surrender and conversion of Mixholme, on the condition that they and their territories with it retain full autonomy. The sheer amount of corporate networking, economic wealth, and bountiful trade connections both inside and outside the law, made Mixholme a critically vital asset for whatever entity controlled it, yet because of how desperate the Mixholme rulers were to scuttle onto the winning side, it would take barely any effort to secure the area properly, and the Empire wasn't in any position to divert much of its army towards such an easy capture. Realistically, they would only need a mere battalion just to keep an eye on things. Perhaps even a...regiment ill-suited for the frontlines?

The choice was effortless, and soon enough the 11th regiment received their orders of transfer. They were to become the "Mixholme Occupying Force", a military instillation overseeing the annexation and negotiations of the province, until peace, order, and loyalty was established. The transfer was a notable downgrade from the prior service, and many of the regiment even found Kennedy's decision to be an insult, but Brian personally held confidence that he and his comrades would not stay in this position for very long, there was still ample chance left to prove themselves, even if things looked dire. They'll all be happy and victorious soon enough, that was all that mattered.

And then, a mere week later, the announcement came:
The news of the rebellion's capital falling, and the last of their leaders perishing by the hand of the Crown Prince himself.
The war, was over.
The Empire, had won.
And Brian had spent the final battle staring out into the forest behind a big wall, hundreds of kilometres away, daydreaming about what he might do if a final battle were ever to occur.
It was almost poetic. Brian had spent the entirety of the war desperately trying to contribute to its success, to do his part, to finally be someone who could help his people in their time of need, and right when his last ever chance to do so was on the horizon, this transfer to the occupational force had robbed of him of it entirely. Now with the nation in celebration, with the armies withdrawing, and the rebuilding and negotiation efforts underway, the 11th regiment was effectively discharged, their promised reinforcement called off, and their forward operating base converted into a rudimentary office.

Brian and his comrades were given houses and payment to continue their duties within Mixholme, but Brian didn't enlist for the payment, he joined because he wanted to help, to protect, to just be something, anything close to useful, but now his rank as Lieutenant meant nothing. Mortis returned to law enforcement work, his comrades followed suit, but all Brian was good for now was occasionally fixing the shoddy equipment the Empire had hastily given them, and never thought to replace.
Thus, Brian slowly sunk into despair, as the realisation of the situation became more and more apparent each day.
This was all his fault, wasn't it?
His recklessness, his incompetence, his desperation for glory, all it did was ruin the 11th regiment's reputation, enough to have them reduced to this shell of what they once were. Quite ironic really, that all his efforts to prove himself useful, only shone the spotlight on how worthless he truly was. He would never avenge his father, would he? Never prove his worth to the Empire, never make the Golem proud, never give proper evidence as to why he should've survived the Silverwater incident. Nothing he can do will ever make himself worth the air he breathed. Perhaps, his efforts were all entirely pointless, perhaps he'll never find purpose. Perhaps, it was meant to be this way. Perhaps, it was what he deserved.

And perhaps, it was indeed like that, at least up until a few weeks into his new life.

At first, Brian had assumed Mixholme was just some big merchant city, existing for nothing but peddling wares like fancy rocks, weird books, and whatever kind of wacky trinkets dredged up from the ruins nearby. And while that mostly the case, one particular export caught his eye.
On various occasions, as Brian tried to get accustomed to his surroundings, the lad would stop dead in his tracks, as a convoy hauling what appeared to be the corpse of some gigantic, monstrous animal, would cruise on by further into town, sometimes even giving him a friendly wave. Eventually, around the fourth mega bunny carcass, Brian's curiosity and lack of better things to do got him to follow the transporters to wherever they were heading, and as he did so, he entered a part of town he had yet to see beforehand. An area full of very strange folk, all dressed up in various attires and equipment that made them almost akin to that of countless different variants of military, further peaking Brian's interest. Eventually, the wagons would stop at one of the largest Mixholme buildings Brian had seen so far, a building bedecked with defences, sturdy architecture, and most curiously: Hunting trophies.
For this building served as the headquarters for one of the most successful and powerful corporations within the province, the "Trapper's Union", a former royal house turned mercenary guild. They were essentially Mixholme's military masters, except instead of using an officially funded army, they oversaw a freelance contract system, employing aspirant mercenaries or former soldiers as licenced "Rangers", privately supported adventurers that operated in dozens of different fields simultaneous, be it law enforcement, bounty hunters, private investigators, security, ruin delvers, or most notably: Monster hunters.

Brian was no stranger to the concept of monsters, he rarely came across them due to living either in cities or the battlefield, but he had quickly learned that Mixholme was smack dab in the heartland of monster territory, and outside of some basic automated defences, those who hunted these monsters essentially served as the primary method of keeping them at bay. To further raise Brian's eyebrow, much of a ranger's earnings depended on what they can efficiently gain from whichever contracts they take, and the sheer value of the magic and pieces harvested from monsters to the entire nation's economy skyrocketed the financial appeal of monster hunting, at the cost of it being a considerably dangerous profession.
But Brian was fresh off the heels of war, and was even wallowing in desperate hope to somehow make some use of himself. What was some extra spikey animal to a hulking war mech? Surely he could find a brand new niche in such a life, even if it meant going toe-to-toe with metal-clad bulls with petrifying breath, or poisonous panthers with illusion magic, or even some contagiously mutated huma-

And that's when, whilst studying bestiary records within the Mixholme library, Brian saw it. A page bearing the spitting image of the monsters that ravaged Silverwater and took his arm, took his father, took his life.
The Mutant.
Apparently, since the Silverwater incident, the strange wild magic curse that had first turned those poor souls, had been driven west by Imperial defences, and had been gestating, evolving, and spreading its influence throughout the entirety of the rebellion war, right under Brian's nose.
Nowadays, whilst the new mutant scourge rarely dared to even go near Imperial territories, it had found a much more comfortable home in the central provinces. Or be specific, the sectors of forest that surrounded Mixholme.
The very province Brian now called home.

For the first time in years, the black wolf grinned again. For the "Primal Mutation" had been eagerly hounding the people of Mixholme all this time, countless incidents and tragedies very much like the ones he had suffered relentlessly continuing right within this province, with many more on their merry way. It was as if nature itself was taunting Brian, showing him just how much destruction it had wrought right behind his back, and how smug it was with such success.
But, Brian had stopped fearing the wolf long ago, and slashed that grin right off its face. Because now, he did know. He was here, a well-equipped war veteran, a master engineer, and a man who was not only very capable of helping and guarding in ways his 7 year old self could never dream of, but also had pretty much nothing else to do with his life right now.
So the choice, was effortless.
With a newly reignited determination, Brian fully embraced his Mixholme duties, and applied for a Ranger's licence.

Within but a year, the now 23 year-old Lieutenant Brian Smith found his glory within the ranger profession. His adamant devotion to drive the monsters away from the good people of Mixholme made him a favoured friend of those he saved. His military experience with using, fixing, or even making weaponry, netted him considerable, if rather shallow respect from his fellows. Hell, even his psychotic obsession with destroying the evolution of the Primal Mutation, eventually inspired the Mixholme people to grant him a title:
"The Mutant Slayer".
What was once a quiet, hollow, likely quite unhinged shell of man, was now a highly honoured hero, not quite well known personally, but respected nonetheless.
For his work as a Ranger let him befriend its security chief, Commander Kreckden.
His investment in the Mutation's operation made him a close friend to its expert, Dr Talos.
His talents in prosthetic design made him a valuable acquaintance to Mixholme's medical head, Dr Calliope
Even his continued work in his Imperial duties rekindled the life he shared with the 11th Regiment, whilst his keen eye with investigation repaired the mutual respect with Mortis.

Things were still shakey, but Brian was healing somewhat, even if many of the friendships were really nothing more than simple professional co-operation.
Or at least that was the case, until one more notable night.
An outbreak of mutant raiders had launched against the town of "Stone Step", named for the comically large amount of stairs that stuffed the infrastructure beyond reason. Here, the mutants grew quite lucky, for their leader, a chieftain strain fox mutant, displayed a talent for tactical genius that Brian and the responding rangers greatly underestimated. Blows were struck, and Brian was making too many mistakes. One thing led to another, and the fox had him pinned underfoot, blade raised high as it strained to croak out its cackles. In spite of his impeccable will, Brian's optimism was fading. For a good few moments, he was even convinced that this was the end, having been bested by the very thing he swore to destroy, thankful that he was at least going to die as a human.
However, before the Fox could land the killing blow, an unlikely saviour made his move.

The man was no Engrievion local, instead he was a dark-skinned, heavily well-built outlander, hailing from a far north-eastern nation known as "Scornvolk", and hauling an impressive arsenal perfectly worthy of a warrior such as him. The man had been doing his best to help fight back the mutants, and was growing rather tired from the effort, yet once he came across Brian's dire situation, there was not a nanosecond of hesitation. The warrior understood nothing about mutants, his armour was damaged, and the decision to assist a complete stranger was looking a lot like rushing into his own death. But the outlander simply didn't care, he charged the thing regardless, wrenching the beast from its victory before facing it head-on. Even as the fox managed to shatter the axes he carried, the outlander gave it no moment of reprieve, and began to shatter it back with nothing but his bare hands.
However, the mutant still proved itself superior in 1-on-1 fights, as it eventually pushed the newcomer into another pin. Likely, this would've guaranteed the outlander's death, had his rescue not given Brian the exact kind of opening he needed. The beast was once a highly skilled general, yet it was still no match for two men of such prowess, as together, Brian and his unlikely new ally sliced and pulverized the creature until it could no longer keep its soul within its flesh, crippling the effectiveness of the attacking horde until they had no choice but to retreat back to wherever they'd emerged.

As the Union celebrated another victory, Brian and his rescuer took the opportunity to talk. The outlander introduced himself as "Duncan Armstrong", and explained how he was a simple traveller looking to find work in the nation. Apparently, he was not only just as skilled in medicine as he was in combat, but through the fights against the Chieftain, Brian had quickly learned that Armstrong possessed a latent magical power, manifesting as the ability to manipulate blood in all kinds of ways, including the assistance of healing his and Brian's injuries.
Slowly, as the night continued on, the two talked, and talked some more, sharing stories about who they were, and why they were here in Mixholme. Brian even started to quip about how Duncan was quite a lucky guy to find this part of the province, because his Scornvolkian talents and very impressive combat skills would let him find a lot of good work within the ranger profession.
But as the conversation progressed, it became clear that Duncan knew very little about the forest nation, as many of its quirks left the poor sod utterly flabbergasted. Yet there was not a twinge of judgement in Armstrong's varying and rather exaggerated reactions, because he had soon made it clear that he intended to stay in this nation for a while, and was very eager to learn whatever he needed to know. And Brian...well, Brian always wanted to help whenever he could, and not only did he feel like he owed this outlander greatly, but he was starting quite like talking with him.
Never before had Brian met someone so...insufferably jovial, and it just felt good to have someone so happy to speak with him, it was if he was cheering Brian up from something he didn't even know about. So soon enough, he and Armstrong agreed to share methods of contacts, and eventually Brian was often inviting the outlander to join him in missions.

Before long, the friendly banter grew from a friendship, to a fully established partnership. The pair found that the worked excessively well together, as Brian filled in whatever gaps of Duncan's Engrievion knowledge made themselves known, whilst Duncan was eager to provide the brazen courage in social interactions that Brian so desperately needed. Eventually, it became more common to see the pair as a cohesive unit, rather than either one by their lonesome. Though Brian's roughness with trying to be emotional would prevent him from properly admitting it, life was far brighter than it had been before with a friend like Duncan by his side.
Things, were perfectly chugging along now...whiiich of course could only mean something very concerning was gonna brew up again.

And, to frankly no-one's surprise by this point, something did.

Because a little while after a roughly botched job helping Dr Talos collect some wild magic samples, the people of Mixholme couldn't help but notice that something...strange, was developing. For reports of bizarre things started to flow into Union offices, sightings of strangely behaving mutants, displaying a level of caution and tactical competence only the most intelligent of Chieftains could boast.
Soon enough, these sightings grew so concerning, that whatever limited information was gathered had been made into fully fledged wanted posters.
"The Armoured Mutant", "The Rat Man", "The Clawland shadows", and the most unnerving one of all: "The Harpy Queen", these were just a mere fraction of the numerous rumours and myths starting to circulate around the phenomenon, as some of these mysterious mutants even reached "legendary target" status, simply for how elusive and dangerous they were getting.
Few of the Mixholme could really understand what was developing, fewer still even knew what to do about it. But Brian Smith, and Duncan Armstrong, their blazing desire to uphold mankind's defence against monstrosity let them know exactly what needed to be done, as they made their plans to respond very clear.

For whenever the mutant scourge dared to rear its head,
It was the stoic duty of its slayers,
To carve it back down.

Personality: If Brian's whole deal could be condensed into a single word, it would be "Quiet".
He is a man who's only really had himself for company for most of his life, and you'd immediately notice how badly that's affected his social skills, for while his upbringing in peaceful industry and stern military have made his default state to be rather polite and respectful, anything that goes beyond simple business makes things a little iffy. His autism has hampered his ability to feel empathy, and thus his capability to understand things from other's perspective, leading him to often misjudge how someone might feel about him, often to his fluster and panic. Plus, his general introversion would often make him shy away from most people, making the development of new relationships a bit of uphill battle.
However, this is only when Brian is outside of his comfort zone, because once the atmosphere stays cold, professional, with clear intentions in mind, Brian can let himself settle in. For the man is practically a genius in his craft, as his talents for studying environments, forging tactics, and even his knack creative improvisation, make him an invaluable ally to have within your ranks. He is a proper soldier through and through, an expert engineer who's always keeping his eye out for the best path of victory, and a diligent servant to humanity that will never stop until its safety is guaranteed. Even if it's uh.....costly.

For not even an ironclad will could let someone endure so much trauma and leave unscathed, because with a past as extensively harrowing as Brian's, there is bound to be some baggage. Brian's own just happens to be...volatile.
The "Berserk State", as some of taken to coining it, is essentially a maniac episode Brian slips into when the stress of battle grows too strong. If pushed much too far, Brian's calm, logical sense, shatters temporarily, and in its place arises a blazing, murderous rage, dedicated only to bringing as much pain as possible to whatever unfortunate circumstance had caused it. Calling it a "defensive mechanism" doesn't even sound right, because once he lashes out, it is nothing but offensive measures. Self-preservation, logical reason, anything beyond militaristic brutality, all of it is thrown right out the window, in favour of spilling blood.
Hooowever, because it is a brief personality shift borne from severely mangled emotions, the berserk state can sometimes be-nay, often is, greatly unhelpful.
Not because the mindless bloodlust removes Brian's ability to recognise friend from foe, in fact he's usually able to push through that flaw. But more so because its method of manifestation is wildly inconsistent. Sometimes, it proves itself useful as the exact kind of psychological edge needed to make opponents hesitate and slip from sheer terror. Sometimes, its lack of actually improving Brian's effectiveness means that he's charging headfirst right into the line of fire. Sometimes, even something as miniscule as an insult to his attire, could make him instantly crave violence. And sometimes, it's little more then a quick outburst of loud yelling and swearing, so jarring and exaggerated that it's often difficult to take him seriously.
What also doesn't help is that it has a lot of trigger methods, be it a mutant who grew too cocky, a beloved friend nearly caught in death's clutches, a pipe that blew a lot of hot steam in his face, an expertly flung piece of trash talk, or even something as mundane as really shitty engineering. The man's temper is so explosive, that outside the most extreme cases, it's often comedic rather than threatening. As such, it's led to many of those outside of his personal circle to believe Brian is little more than a slightly dangerous madman, and it is quite hard to argue against such a mindset, especially with how the conflict against the mutants has only been worsening Brian's composure.

However, within Brian's social circle, those who have managed to push through his introversion, gain his trust, and fully befriend the man thought impossible to do so, have seen something beyond the cold logic and mindless temper.

He still treats his work as anything but personal, and tries his best to remain neutral and stoic no matter where he is, yet the few close friends he has managed to make in this life, seem to draw out something even deeper. For in truth, Brian has a wittier, prouder, and brightly optimistic personality buried within what could only be hundreds of mental walls. Deep down, Brian enjoys the work he does, relishing the sight of saved lives, taking pride in the surrender of enemies, and has even started to gush about all of the big and cool robots and weapons he has worked on. The excitable, wonder-filled boy of Steelwater, fascinated by stories and miracles, is indeed still within Brian, it is just too scared to reveal itself.

That is, unless someone he truly trusts, cherishes, and believes in, is there to sooth its terror. There, for Brian needs them, there for when they need him. Though Brian will find it hard to admit, the few friends he has managed to gain in this new life in Mixholme, have been slowly filling that hollow void carved into him by the loss of his father. It feels good, to once again have someone he can trust, someone he can be open with, someone he can truly call his friend. It is quite difficult to become the close friend of the pale-handed slayer of mutants, but once you are, know that he cherishes few things more than you by his side.

For what really is an army, if it's just one man?

---

Ah, finally, he's here, the character I've been eagerly waiting to get created ever since the first few stories I've made in this setting.

Say hello to Brian, the other primary Protagonist of the Engrievion setting, and direct rival to Minerva Talos. Ever see something like Gundam Thunderbolt, or Red Vs Blue, where instead of having a very clear protagonist hero of the story, there's two warring sides each with their own drawbacks and quirks? That's kinda how I want the true plot of this setting to go, with Minerva and her Mutants locked in a sort of cold war against Brian and his own set of upcoming buddies. Originally Brian was meant to be that primary Protag, with Minerva being his first major enemy, but with Minerva's own story being fleshed out further, I thought it'd be a much more appealing idea to have them share the spotlight instead, as a good old fashioned "Choose your side" style of storyline.

I know the majority of you will likely side with the Mutants, but just beware, as this story goes along, don't assume Brian's motives are entirely unjustified.
Morally grey stories less gooo.

Also, I do not quite know how believable Brian's ranking system has gone. It's based off the British army rather than the US, so it's a tad different from how many might now it. I think I got it fairly accurate somewhat, and even then he and his buddies have been mostly discharged, so whatever duties a lieutenant normally has are no longer within Brian's jurisdiction, not that he'd like to admit that of course.


Artwork by:  catmonkshiro