Nomad

The Nomad Markus, an ancient heavy Warjack in service of the Bold Lions mercenary company, was lying flat on its back in the middle of a dark forest. Its Warcaster and companions had been engaging a reinforced Khadoran battlegroup near Elsinberg, within the ruined courtyard of some ancient Orgoth obelisk, there had been a bright green flash and Markus found itself suddenly prone in an unfamiliar forest. It immediately noticed the absence of its Warcaster’s guiding influence. It would be mildly upset if the young man had been slain under its watch, and its venerable cortex processed something a human might call shame or sorrow at the possibility.

It had little time to think further on the matter, however. It heard the sounds of a heavy steam engine to its right and saw the Khadoran Destroyer it had been fighting moments earlier staring back at it, laying face-down in the mud.

Markus, with a level of deductive reasoning that was quite uncommon for a Warjack, surmised the Khadoran ‘jack was likely still disoriented from the loss of its Warcaster. Markus quickly used its oversized Caspian battle blade as a crutch to get itself back on its feet, the steel plating of its chassis groaning in protest at the effort. The Destroyer seemed to realize it would not be able to stand before the other ‘jack reached it, and supported itself on one hand to level its bombard from its prone position. Markus raised its shield just before the booming report of the bombard cut through the silence of the forest. The blast tore great rending gashes in Markus’ shield and chassis, especially on its arm, but none of its important systems had been damaged and it wasn’t leaking steam. Markus lumbered toward the other ‘jack, its pace slowed considerably by its Warcaster’s absence, and leveled the short-ranged cannon embedded in its shield.

Markus returned fire, the heavy slug from its cannon blasting through chassis of its still-prone opponent before Markus closed the distance and finished the other ‘jack of with a series of merciless blows from its heavy sword. Steam vented explosively from the great wounds in the other Warjack, and its arcane turbine quickly stuttered and died from a lack of steam pressure. Standing over the wreck of the Khadoran ‘jack, Markus considered its next action.

The dark forest it found itself in was quite different from the Llaelese foothills near the obelisk, but, drawing on the last imprints it had received from its Warcaster, it had to assume it was still somewhere in Khadoran occupied Llael.  It was likely still about fifty miles behind enemy lines and it doubted its current load of fuel would last it that long, and it had not means of determining its direction regardless.

Markus turned to glance at the sun. It had been early morning when they met with the Khadoran battlegroup, and the sun looked to be in about the same position. Markus tried to access the hazy imprints he had gleaned from centuries of having his cortex linked to the minds of Warcasters. East… the sun always rose in the east, right? The boarder with Free Llael was to the east, so all it had to do was head in this direction, and hopefully stumble across some abandoned barn or workshop along the way to take shelter from the elements. Markus was a valuable piece of equipment, and it knew several of its human owners were quite fond of it besides. Once it found shelter, they’d surely come looking for it.

Markus felt something akin to pride at its well-constructed plan welling up in its cortex. It vented some steam in a satisfied huff and began marching due east and, hopefully, toward its Warcaster.