An Old Man's Quest: Part 1

[Marcus Biscay]

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According to the story arc I've devised (I know, I'm evil), this thread should be post dated to the 29th. That alright with you? Also, don't mind the titles I put... I've always been one for sequence and order in storytelling.

"Savina Marino." Those were Anu's final words to Marcus before she departed. Savina Marino. Marcus had heard so little about this Italian Alphess, and yet he was so very intrigued with the idea of her. Firstly, she was a fellow European. Not only that, but she was Italian. Marcus had only known Italy to be beautiful beyond belief, and if Savina was only half as wonderful as her home, the old traveller would be quite content with their acquaintance. Secondly, she was the Alphess. Anu had not made any reference to an Alpha by her side, logically making her a very strong woman to imagine. The very thought of a third generation pack without an Alpha male caused Marcus' mind to shift. In the Middle East, he had encountered hundreds, if not thousands of packs. First Generations, always mobile, never stopping. Second Gens, hunting in small areas for months, moving, and settling again. Third Gens, with fixed locations, forming tribal attributes, and often utilizing human structures as bases. And Fourth Generation packs, with the full capacity to support large populations, utilize agricultural mediums, and create infrastructure. Never, however, had he seen a pack without an alpha male.

Though the intrigue of someone as interesting as Savina was more than enough to make Marcus' trip to the manor inevitable, his motives were not so transparent. By the time Savina should have caught wind of Marcus' arrival, the lonely wanderer had already started work on his newest project. He looked at it with tremendous promise. But soon, the look of promise morphed to a glare of doubt. If Savina were to take this gift the wrong way, trouble would be spelt for Marcus, and he may even be exiled from yet another home. Once finished, he packed his present into a small leather satchel, and retired to his quarters for the night.

The next morning, Marcus awoke at the ripe hour of 8:00am. He rose from his bed, wound his one functional fob watch, and suited up for his oncoming meeting. He hobbled to the galley, making note of the particularly odd way in which his right ankle was behaving. He made up his last batch of larded beans, enjoyed his last preserved feast, then collected his possessions, and cracked open the main hatch, opening his eyes to a bright new world. Marcus looked down at the fob watch he had taken out from his right waistcoat pocket, smiled, and began on his way, tucking the watch back into his vest, and leading with his left foot.

Marcus gaped at the sight of the large mountains before him. They reminded him of the Scottish Highlands, and made him crave the comfort of his old home. His next encounter, however, made him forget his melancholy thoughts. He stared at the remnants of what looked to him like a human made military establishment. Sites like these were common in Europe. Especially near Berlin. Mostly, they were used as prison camps, but occasionally, the Congregatio would seize control of one, and use it to extract information from unwilling participants. The images in Marcus' head sent chills down his spine. His cane picked up speed, and he declared that site to be a story for another day.

Moving onwards, Marcus began to hear the crash of water against stone. He assumed that rapids must be near, but was pleasantly surprised at the sight of waterfalls. The sound carried on in his ears as he continued North, checking his compass for accuracy every now and again. Eventually, Marcus became tired, and decided to rest at the next available opportunity. He also thought it a good idea to scavenge some food from the countryside. But where could he find such a relaxing and providing place? Just as the question crossed his mind, a massive windmill came into view from behind a small hill. Marcus thought this as good a place as any to take his break. He made his way up to the base of the mammoth structure, found a soft patch of grass, and sat on a rock, spreading his paws out into the grass, feeling the tickle of every luxurious blade, as they worked their way between his toes. Relaxed, the old man leaned back, removed his spectacles, and scanned the horizon, attempting to zero in on some sort of food.

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