Eirrún Amyntor (Spud)

/Insert not so rough background

Eirrún lazily glided over the bright golden-white sands beneath her, the constant updrafts from the hot ground below allowing her to almost effortlessly soar over the dunes. The sky was a cloudless soft blue, and the swift wind blowing over her kept the heat of the desert sun to a reasonable warmth. Eirrún smiled to herself as she banked swiftly down and then caught another hot thermal, pushing her just as quickly back up in altitude. She had told her superiors she was simply going out to practice aerial combat maneuvers, but freedom she felt when flying also just as good of a reason for her presence here over the desert sand. Besides, she mused to herself, she deserved a short break after a successful mission, as her next would no doubt come far too swiftly.

The Angelic Protectorate had stepped back in their guardianship of this primitive world and allowed the world’s overzealous majority to begin genocide against the minority races. Eirrún had been dispatched to convince the Angelic Protectorate overseers here to forego the expedience of blood, and instead look for other solutions, ones that she had to quickly broker. All in all, it had turned out rather well, the minority races would be unobtrusively shuffled off-world to a new “Eden” and the overzealous majority thought they were fleeing back into the depths of whatever hell they thought the others had come from in the first place. She was surprised mostly that she had to work so hard against one stubborn Throne, a fine thing for him to argue that it was simply faster and more natural for one faction to eliminate the others, and that it was a waste of time and resources to move one group to new suitable world. He was not the one who had to see the costs of standing on the sidelines doing nothing, she had. It had been his vomiting that decided the deal, when she threw one of the mangled, bloodied remains of his “wastes of time” that had been “purified” by the xenophobes at his feet.

Trying to clear her mind of such discordant thoughts of the past, Eirrún shifts her attention back to flying, and occasionally glancing down at the waves of dunes passing quickly beneath her. After a few moments of flight, a small cloud of sandy dust catches her wandering eyes, and she spots a group of the world’s majority race, speeding along on local mounts. A brief pause high overhead gives her little idea of their exact purpose, other than apparently trying to tire out their mounts in the hot desert heat. “Perhaps they are racing?” she mutters to the wind before speeding further on, putting their odd behavior out of her mind.

Chasing a few dust devils provides her a short more amount of enjoyment, but she can start to feel the slight ache in her flying muscles that tell her she should begin to wind up her enjoyment of flying and start heading back towards her transport. With a few twitches in her wings, she banks slowly and starts heading back towards her rendezvous point when she notices the circling of scavengers in the air, looking beneath them she spots a small group huddled in the dunes below and veers slightly to investigate. Joining the gyre of buzzards, she takes a few moments to examine the scene below her, and comes to realize that it appears to be a small family, a child and two adults of the planet’s minority, and they seem to have been overcome by the heat.

Swooping low and landing nearby Eirrún walks slowly up to the group, and is somewhat surprised with the child springs up and grabs its father’s sword, leveling the oversized weapon bravely at her. Realizing that her armor and weapons, let alone her form must be making the young child frightened, she takes a moment to drive her spear’s butt into the ground, and rest her shield against it, and then turns back towards the child with an expectant expression on her face. The child bravely waited for a moment, keeping the sword pointed still at Eirrún, before finally lowering the tip to the ground and dropping the hilt. Breathing a soft sigh of relief, Eirrún slowly and carefully reached around on her belt and pulled out her canteen. Muttering a soft prayer of abundance upon it she carefully tossed it to the child’s feet. Still wary, the child slowly bent down to retrieve the canteen, all the while keeping his eyes on Eirrún, like she was a snake that would strike at any moment. Opening the canteen, the child first sniffed, and then tasted the cold water, swishing it around in his mouth either to dislodge the sandy particles that hand no doubt accumulated there, or to check for some kind of nefarious poison. Seemingly satisfied with the results one way or the other, the child finally turned and quickly ran back to his parents, offering them both the water as quickly as possible. Seeing the opening, Eirrún slowly walked over to the family, and took stock of the situation. An empty waterskin near where the child had been laying explained the basics of the events. The parents had obviously given the last of the water to the child, and judging by the marks in the sand had evidently collapsed sometime around that same event. The water was going to help both parents, but the sun and heat had already collected its due upon them, and more would be needed. Kneeling down between the two parents, with the child looking on still somewhat warily, Eirrún began a prayer of healing, and let it start to wash over the two unconscious forms. Seeing the exposure and extreme sunburn fading from his parent’s skin caused the young child’s eyes to grow wide as he stared at Eirrún. She slumped a bit, tired from the magical exertion, once her magics were completed, she took a deep breath, they would take a few more minutes to fully take effect, but the two were out of danger for the time, and would recover well.

Taking a few moments to help recover before standing, Eirrún thought over the situation at hand. Calling up a map from her personal data assistant, she realized that the small group was not far from one of the so-called “gateways” the Protectorate had set up for the minorities. This small family was undoubtedly trying to make their way there, but judging from their clothes and gear they were from either this region or one of the ones close nearby, they must have known the dangers of the deep desert, only incompetence or some worse danger would have made them veer through this merciless heat.

The source of the danger quickly made itself known, as the deep thudding of large feet could be almost be felt through the sand. Glancing up the nearby dune, Eirrún immediately sees that the small group of riders she had seen before has caught up with their prey. They pause for a second, obviously taken aback by her presence, before the leader shouts something harsh in the local language and charges down the dune towards the family. Realizing that she foolishly failed to recover her spear and shield, Eirrún recognizes that she will not be able to recover them and get back to the family before the group of riders is upon them. Drawing her sword, and chanting a warrior’s prayer under her breath, she takes a stand between the family and the riders, hoping to just drive them off.

The first clash of blade against blade dissuaded Eirrún of the hope that she could just drive them off. The riders, instead of using weapons that were locally made, were using obviously high grade enhanced and enchanted items, items that could have only come from an off-world source. Realizing this would be no easy battle; Eirrún followed the practice of the warriors of her kind and fell into the hamask, the berserk blood-rage.

The sound of wailing broke her free from the rage, glancing around, she realized that the enemy was defeated, those that could were riding away, and the rest lie dead or dying on the ground. The wailing came from the mother of the family; her son had tried to defend the still recovering parents, and had been struck with an arrow for his devotion. Eirrún took a step towards them, and nearly collapsed to her knees, dropping her sword in the process. Freed from the magics of the berserk, her wounds and the pain that went with them piled upon her. Struggling, she crawls her way over to the family and sees the child panting with pain, drawing in his final breaths. Drawing again upon her inner spark of magic, a realization comes over her, she has enough magical energy left to heal herself or the child. One look at in the child’s eyes seals her fate.

“Valhalla does not call for you yet” she says as she places her bloodied hands upon the child and pours out the last bit of herself into the healing magics without regret.

Awakening, Eirrún realizes she is lying on an odd bed, in a small room somewhat different from any she has seen before. A small pamphlet proudly welcoming her to MSFH lies on top of the sheet on her lap. “Where in the name of the Vanair am I?”

/end background story

Notes:

Was a Valk before MSFH

Well-traveled (galactically) - always fixing AP problems, or trying to help where she felt she was needed.

Was a fairly high ranking magic user amongst Valks/AP?

Was afraid of failure, not personally but for what it cost others... ?

Emo damage is all of the people she has failed to save before... ?

Dealt with it by devoting herself more to her goals of helping others ... ?

Eirrún is a very strict person, to herself more than anyone else. She likes rules, particularly her person code of honor, but at the same time realizes that not everyone else feels the same way.

Eirrún has a great sense of pride in her actions and work

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