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Description
Marshal

What's that I see?
I think it's the wild
Puts the fear of God in me
― Mumford and Sons
Astral Tracker
  General
  Name:  Marshal
  Other Names:  Mars, Old Guy, Wobble Walk
  Gender:  Stallion
  Age:  54
  Breed:  Mustang Influence
  Height:  15.2hh
  Orientation: We Just Don't Know
  Phenotype:  Steel Grey (Will not fully grey out)
  Voice Actor: Mandy Patinkin
  Religious View:  Kaia
  Herd: War Forged
  Rank: Stone Circle
  Mother:  ----
  Father:  ----
  Siblings:  ----

Items: Firearm, Crossbow, grizzly bear pelt, harness, tools, books, bag  SA | Marshal Outfit

  Personality: | Coarse | | Bold | | Nurturing | | Independent | | Fearless | | Uninhibited | | Reckless | | Selfless |

Coarse:  Marshal isn’t the most family friendly guy to have around. While he isn’t vulgar or rude in a malicious way, he just says things often without considering his audience. It may not happen often, but it is still one of his least appreciated qualities.

Bold:  Even from a young age Marshal was ready to step up and do whatever was asked of him. Be it a good idea or not.   Stepping up to a challenge has never been hard to ask of him.

Nurturing:  His least noticeable trait is that he is truly caring toward young horses. The younger generations are the hope for the herd. He takes it in his job to make them feel welcome no matter their upbringing.

Independent:  For someone who is quick to bring a partner along on a raid, he is just as fast to go at it alone. Quick on his hooves and strong for his size, a single horse has no chance against this trained fighter.

Fearless:  Apart from his recent fear of cultists, Marshal is largely unafraid of most things. Wisely wary about bears but still ready to challenge a chase and is not intimidated by the giants that reside in the herd,

Uninhibited:  Just like the other raiders, there is little that can stop him once a battle has begun. Marshal may not be the only raider to ask questions first, but if answers don’t come soon enough, it’s a fair game.

Reckless:  Marshal’s occasional lone wolf style can get him into trouble. Perhaps the threat is much larger than he anticipated. He’s already there.  What’s the harm in staying in the fight?

Selfless:  Marshal can be a self sacrificing fool at times. Taking a few extra hits so his companions have a moment to breath or playing bait for a wild predator. He does all of this out of the goodness in his heart. No matter how dangerous.

  History
Marshal’s story begins in much the same way as most War Forged youngsters. Born on the edge of Skelder Town to a raider father and herder mother, he grew up in sort of extended family of friends and neighbors. As soon as Marshal found his knack for getting into trouble, he was labeled a hellion child and anyone had permission to lay punishment. Despite his parents putting family law in the hands of others, he thoroughly enjoyed the game of cops and robbers. However if caught, it was normal to see him sulk around behind buildings, nursing a sore behind.

When Marshal’s games became too much the town, let alone his family, he was sent off to train under a raider. The hopes that he would channel his endless energy into something useful were fulfilled. Very quickly he climbed the ladder and reached the rank of raider at the age of 18 although, he would never be invited out to work until his twenties.   Life as a raider was largely uneventful for his early life. It was something to keep him busy and that’s all that really mattered.

Marshal earned his first battle scar at the age of 27 in a scuffle with some vagabonds. Despite being quick on his hooves, Marshal had found his rump in the jaws of the enemy. Even as an adult the blue toned stallion was having trouble keeping his hind end in time with the front.
While working a job higher in the mountains Marshal was caught in a minor rock slide, leaving two distinct scars, one just behind the withers and the other over his loins. A few scratches on the shoulders were also sustained.
Due to the frequency of deep wounds, Marshal found himself visiting the medics on a regular basis as to keep infection away. It was almost a new cut everyday. Often being struck with comments, “You’re always hurt someway.” and “You might as well live with me.” he saw them as the stronger horses. After all, having to deal with the same pain-in-the-ass every week must be a real pain in the ass that not many can endure.

Marshal’s previously boundless energy started running out in his forties. He grew tired of chasing harmless, lone vagabonds away from their camps. He had seen one too many young raiders fall victim to opponents out of their league and falling in behind to pick up the pieces. It wasn’t his job to save their lives, but he took it upon himself as an extra duty. His energy ran thin as he attempted in helping the youngest raiders in their first fights, worried they may not come out the victor.

Marshal’s horrors were realized in a way he never expected. For all too long Marshal was watching out for new fighters, making sure they received the best training and returning to their families in one piece. He had forgotten all about what made him a fantastic raider in the first place. Getting into trouble and getting out.
It was late in the night when Marshal was ordered to go out and investigate a large vagabond camp site. A large camp usually meant at least three horses, so taking a partner or two wouldn’t hurt. His chosen companions were young, both still in their first year of being a raider. Upon reaching the camp a feeling of unease struck him. It was empty. Bare of any life. On the ground near a small fire pit he found a small wooden trinket, carved on it was an image of a deity, but not of the five he knew.   This was a cultist camp. Marshal spun back to send off his young charges, send them back to town for aid. They weren’t there. The then 52 year old stallion had turned to meet the gaze of not three, but five cultists. His companions had already run off, to get help, he knew not. Lacking the strength he held in youth, Marshal still fought like a cornered bear. Even through his best efforts, Marshal was eventually subdued to a panting heap. In his exhausted stupor, he couldn’t make out what the horses were saying. He could just barely make out the stinging sensation of cuts being drawn across his abdomen, threatening to disembowel him, but never deep enough to do so. Pressure on the tendons above his left hock brought him back to reality. He made one attempt to rise, but was struck hard across the flat of his face. Darkness followed.
Marshal awoke with the next sunrise. There was no sign the cultist camp had ever been there except for one small trinket. The sight of it made a new feeling run down his spine, one he had never felt before. He was afraid. With the remainders of his strength and energy Marshal slowly limped his way back into town. He was first met with awestruck eyes watching the once proud raider trudge through the street, head low with a fearful glaze over his eyes. He looked up but once and saw the two young raiders he had originally gone out with. He spoke no words, but stared through them as if to ignore their existence. Passing through to the medic’s hutch, he entered without a word. The face that once poked fun at seeing the bruised veteran stared as if he were already cold in the ground.
“Been awhile…” he managed to croak.
Marshal had barely broke a smile before collapsing. He remained unconscious for the remainder of the day and many assumed he had died.

A year has passed since his ambush and life rolled on just as it had before. Marshal wasn’t left entirely unchanged by the events. Scars, both visible and invisible changed some aspect about him. The scars on his face left him uneasy. He very much disliked others getting close to or touching his face. The cut above his hock had not ruptured the tendons, but left a hindering scar and a a gait more uneven than before. The changes to his personality were almost invisible. At the mention of cultists that dreaded feeling of ice water shooting down his spine arrived almost on cue. He also became more strict toward young trainees. Not just in the ways of safety, but making it known to never leave a fellow horse behind. Marshal has become more of a teacher than an active raider. He hasn’t found a problem with going on fewer raid events though.

  Relationship Status: sad

Spouse: SA | Yuna | NPC

Children: SA | Mai | Valkyrie

  Familiar:

Val - Arctic Wolf: Received as a battle companion as a Raider, but never trained for combat. Instead, Val provides comfort in moments of high stress and calms the old horse after night terrors.

Falke - Pygmy Gryphon: (gyrfalcon/large domestic cat) A very talkative pygmy gryphon that Marshal has only recently tamed. Falke is more intelligent than she lets on and is a highly reliable hunting companion. Rather in tune with Marshal's emotions, seems to have picked this up from Val.

Telluris - Nisse: (paraceratherium) An ancient Nisse awoken by Marshal during recent turmoil of Hira being overthrown. Found out beyond Skeldr Town while Marshal was walking alone. The only exchange that was had was the Nisse rising from the field with a rumble and a long, shared glance. Telluris typically wanders the outskirts of towns, only occasionally following close behind Marshal. Leaves a trail of fine dirt. Very slow walker. (plant manipulation)

  Skills:  Dogs

Blessing: Tremor Sense
  Notes:
Mild Wobbler Syndrome
PTSD
Wants to train dogs
Vision is failing
Hard of hearing
self sacrificing dumbass
Against the practice of "culling" WF members to Aodh
Quietly against the overthrowing of Hira
Having a tough time adjusting
Has a giant Nisse friend now

Description
Marshal

What's that I see?
I think it's the wild
Puts the fear of God in me
― Mumford and Sons
Astral Tracker
  General
  Name:  Marshal
  Other Names:  Mars, Old Guy, Wobble Walk
  Gender:  Stallion
  Age:  54
  Breed:  Mustang Influence
  Height:  15.2hh
  Orientation: We Just Don't Know
  Phenotype:  Steel Grey (Will not fully grey out)
  Voice Actor: Mandy Patinkin
  Religious View:  Kaia
  Herd: War Forged
  Rank: Stone Circle
  Mother:  ----
  Father:  ----
  Siblings:  ----

Items: Firearm, Crossbow, grizzly bear pelt, harness, tools, books, bag  SA | Marshal Outfit

  Personality: | Coarse | | Bold | | Nurturing | | Independent | | Fearless | | Uninhibited | | Reckless | | Selfless |

Coarse:  Marshal isn’t the most family friendly guy to have around. While he isn’t vulgar or rude in a malicious way, he just says things often without considering his audience. It may not happen often, but it is still one of his least appreciated qualities.

Bold:  Even from a young age Marshal was ready to step up and do whatever was asked of him. Be it a good idea or not.   Stepping up to a challenge has never been hard to ask of him.

Nurturing:  His least noticeable trait is that he is truly caring toward young horses. The younger generations are the hope for the herd. He takes it in his job to make them feel welcome no matter their upbringing.

Independent:  For someone who is quick to bring a partner along on a raid, he is just as fast to go at it alone. Quick on his hooves and strong for his size, a single horse has no chance against this trained fighter.

Fearless:  Apart from his recent fear of cultists, Marshal is largely unafraid of most things. Wisely wary about bears but still ready to challenge a chase and is not intimidated by the giants that reside in the herd,

Uninhibited:  Just like the other raiders, there is little that can stop him once a battle has begun. Marshal may not be the only raider to ask questions first, but if answers don’t come soon enough, it’s a fair game.

Reckless:  Marshal’s occasional lone wolf style can get him into trouble. Perhaps the threat is much larger than he anticipated. He’s already there.  What’s the harm in staying in the fight?

Selfless:  Marshal can be a self sacrificing fool at times. Taking a few extra hits so his companions have a moment to breath or playing bait for a wild predator. He does all of this out of the goodness in his heart. No matter how dangerous.

  History
Marshal’s story begins in much the same way as most War Forged youngsters. Born on the edge of Skelder Town to a raider father and herder mother, he grew up in sort of extended family of friends and neighbors. As soon as Marshal found his knack for getting into trouble, he was labeled a hellion child and anyone had permission to lay punishment. Despite his parents putting family law in the hands of others, he thoroughly enjoyed the game of cops and robbers. However if caught, it was normal to see him sulk around behind buildings, nursing a sore behind.

When Marshal’s games became too much the town, let alone his family, he was sent off to train under a raider. The hopes that he would channel his endless energy into something useful were fulfilled. Very quickly he climbed the ladder and reached the rank of raider at the age of 18 although, he would never be invited out to work until his twenties.   Life as a raider was largely uneventful for his early life. It was something to keep him busy and that’s all that really mattered.

Marshal earned his first battle scar at the age of 27 in a scuffle with some vagabonds. Despite being quick on his hooves, Marshal had found his rump in the jaws of the enemy. Even as an adult the blue toned stallion was having trouble keeping his hind end in time with the front.
While working a job higher in the mountains Marshal was caught in a minor rock slide, leaving two distinct scars, one just behind the withers and the other over his loins. A few scratches on the shoulders were also sustained.
Due to the frequency of deep wounds, Marshal found himself visiting the medics on a regular basis as to keep infection away. It was almost a new cut everyday. Often being struck with comments, “You’re always hurt someway.” and “You might as well live with me.” he saw them as the stronger horses. After all, having to deal with the same pain-in-the-ass every week must be a real pain in the ass that not many can endure.

Marshal’s previously boundless energy started running out in his forties. He grew tired of chasing harmless, lone vagabonds away from their camps. He had seen one too many young raiders fall victim to opponents out of their league and falling in behind to pick up the pieces. It wasn’t his job to save their lives, but he took it upon himself as an extra duty. His energy ran thin as he attempted in helping the youngest raiders in their first fights, worried they may not come out the victor.

Marshal’s horrors were realized in a way he never expected. For all too long Marshal was watching out for new fighters, making sure they received the best training and returning to their families in one piece. He had forgotten all about what made him a fantastic raider in the first place. Getting into trouble and getting out.
It was late in the night when Marshal was ordered to go out and investigate a large vagabond camp site. A large camp usually meant at least three horses, so taking a partner or two wouldn’t hurt. His chosen companions were young, both still in their first year of being a raider. Upon reaching the camp a feeling of unease struck him. It was empty. Bare of any life. On the ground near a small fire pit he found a small wooden trinket, carved on it was an image of a deity, but not of the five he knew.   This was a cultist camp. Marshal spun back to send off his young charges, send them back to town for aid. They weren’t there. The then 52 year old stallion had turned to meet the gaze of not three, but five cultists. His companions had already run off, to get help, he knew not. Lacking the strength he held in youth, Marshal still fought like a cornered bear. Even through his best efforts, Marshal was eventually subdued to a panting heap. In his exhausted stupor, he couldn’t make out what the horses were saying. He could just barely make out the stinging sensation of cuts being drawn across his abdomen, threatening to disembowel him, but never deep enough to do so. Pressure on the tendons above his left hock brought him back to reality. He made one attempt to rise, but was struck hard across the flat of his face. Darkness followed.
Marshal awoke with the next sunrise. There was no sign the cultist camp had ever been there except for one small trinket. The sight of it made a new feeling run down his spine, one he had never felt before. He was afraid. With the remainders of his strength and energy Marshal slowly limped his way back into town. He was first met with awestruck eyes watching the once proud raider trudge through the street, head low with a fearful glaze over his eyes. He looked up but once and saw the two young raiders he had originally gone out with. He spoke no words, but stared through them as if to ignore their existence. Passing through to the medic’s hutch, he entered without a word. The face that once poked fun at seeing the bruised veteran stared as if he were already cold in the ground.
“Been awhile…” he managed to croak.
Marshal had barely broke a smile before collapsing. He remained unconscious for the remainder of the day and many assumed he had died.

A year has passed since his ambush and life rolled on just as it had before. Marshal wasn’t left entirely unchanged by the events. Scars, both visible and invisible changed some aspect about him. The scars on his face left him uneasy. He very much disliked others getting close to or touching his face. The cut above his hock had not ruptured the tendons, but left a hindering scar and a a gait more uneven than before. The changes to his personality were almost invisible. At the mention of cultists that dreaded feeling of ice water shooting down his spine arrived almost on cue. He also became more strict toward young trainees. Not just in the ways of safety, but making it known to never leave a fellow horse behind. Marshal has become more of a teacher than an active raider. He hasn’t found a problem with going on fewer raid events though.

  Relationship Status: sad

Spouse: SA | Yuna | NPC

Children: SA | Mai | Valkyrie

  Familiar:

Val - Arctic Wolf: Received as a battle companion as a Raider, but never trained for combat. Instead, Val provides comfort in moments of high stress and calms the old horse after night terrors.

Falke - Pygmy Gryphon: (gyrfalcon/large domestic cat) A very talkative pygmy gryphon that Marshal has only recently tamed. Falke is more intelligent than she lets on and is a highly reliable hunting companion. Rather in tune with Marshal's emotions, seems to have picked this up from Val.

Telluris - Nisse: (paraceratherium) An ancient Nisse awoken by Marshal during recent turmoil of Hira being overthrown. Found out beyond Skeldr Town while Marshal was walking alone. The only exchange that was had was the Nisse rising from the field with a rumble and a long, shared glance. Telluris typically wanders the outskirts of towns, only occasionally following close behind Marshal. Leaves a trail of fine dirt. Very slow walker. (plant manipulation)

  Skills:  Dogs

Blessing: Tremor Sense
  Notes:
Mild Wobbler Syndrome
PTSD
Wants to train dogs
Vision is failing
Hard of hearing
self sacrificing dumbass
Against the practice of "culling" WF members to Aodh
Quietly against the overthrowing of Hira
Having a tough time adjusting
Has a giant Nisse friend now