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 Martin's Past [Backstory of Martin the Hunter]

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Lana Wake
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Posts : 71
Join date : 2014-12-25
Age : 19
Location : Swindon, Wiltshire, England

PostSubject: Martin's Past [Backstory of Martin the Hunter]   Mon Dec 29, 2014 7:22 pm

"My hands the means. My heart the will."

"Blonde hair, blue eyes, tall, weak, pathetic and a lying worm!"
The headmaster slammed a very large wooden stick down onto his dark desk, narrowly missing much paperwork and a potted cactus. His voice deep, his dark coat reaching down to his knees and large boots much too fearsome then they should be. The office was, in fact, quite neat and pleasant; much unlike the headmaster. Nice art of nature on the wall, plant pots in the corner...a large leather chair.
But the headmaster was a sod. And so was Martin.
Martin, at his youth age, was a tall weak child...always getting in trouble. Even back then, his blonde hair would cover one of his blue eyes. "You are always getting sent here" the steaming headmaster yelled. "What in the gods names are you here for this time?!"
Lowering his head, the fragile child sat in a small uncomfortable wooden chair. "I was robbed, sir."
"Of what?! Your bloody virginity?!"
A roaring laughter would be heard from even outside the office, though Martin wasn't amused. He kept a blank face. Annoyed, but not letting out any expression of any emotion.
"My family necklace" he said slowly. "It's a heirloom; the only thing I can remember my family by. It has a rose made of rubies on it."
"And what, you think I should care? ..After all the trouble you cause in this school, you are shocked that you are being robbed?"
"I am never the one to start it, sir."
"Of course not....Of course not...."
The headmaster begun lighting a pipe he picked up randomly off the desk, giving them a moment of silence as a match could be heard sparking a light.
"With all due respect, lad" the headmaster said more slowly. "If you want something, you got to fight for it. You own something and someone took it? You've got to be strong to take it back."
"..."
"In fact, I'll help you out...I'll put you on the school rugby team."
For the first time in forever, the headmaster was being kind to Martin. It was odd. Not something that has ever happened before.
"You'll learn to be fast. Quick. Strong...
...Someone I can respect."

A couple of weeks passed. People mocked Martin at first. They always did. But the headmaster was right, and Martin knew it. All his time in the school was a waste; learning things he never needed to know before things began to disappear around him. It started with the loss of friends, then slowly, property.
Losing his necklace was the last straw.
He trained in rugby, his body grew stronger, being able to take down others, barge others, run faster then many and land scores for the team...he was a quick learner.
But all good things come to an end.

The whistle blew. Rain poured down onto the grass, mud spurring all over the place while vibrations ran through the crust of the earth. The game had begun, two sides charging at one another, a single ball in the center, shouting, roaring, war cries.
Two people either side of him, they knew the plan; they trained for it. They tackled incoming foes, battling them away while Martin narrowly avoided an attack on him. He took the ball, charging at the line. People would attempt to catch him up. They would fail.
Panting. Breathing out heavily. He reached the line and landed flat on his face, the ball down. They got a point. A crowd cheered.
People raised their arms. A throw left. Martin took the honors.
Raising his arm, he threw....

The commander yelled. Rain poured down onto the dirt, mud spurring all over the place while vibrations ran through the crust of the new earth. The battle had begun, two sides charging at one another, a single shot was heard, shouting, roaring, war cries.
Squads either side of him, they knew the plan; they trained for it. They fired at the incoming foes, killing them, while Martin prepared his aim. He took the cannon in one paw, aimed at the enemy line. People would attempt to shoot him from afar. They would fail. Panting, breathing out heavily. He fired the cannon at the line and it landed directly on target, enemies landing in pools of blood and mixed body pieces. They had the upperhand. An army cheered. People raised over the lines, charging. A throw left. Martin took the honors. Raising him arms, a bomb in hand, he threw...


"You beat them~" the headmaster chuckled. Once again, Martin was sat in the wooden chair in the office. Uncomfortable, but just this once, meaningful. He wasn't in trouble.
He was being praised.
"Th-Thank you sir..."
Sighing, he opened the desk and held out a necklace, silver chain and a rose made of rubies.
"I was the one who took it."
"Wha-..?"
"It was the only way I was ever able to unlock what was truly inside of you; that courage, the will to believe. You had the will, you just needed the boost. You now have it. It is up to you now what to do with it."
"Tha...Thank you."

"You ask me...Why I joined the English Loyalist Army?" Martin asks deeply. His body is three times taller and stronger then the commander sat before him.
He is sat inside a tent on a wooden chair, the desk before him is makeshift, covered in files and reports: the commander himself in the red coat is recollected, calm and has no expression but a frown. "Because it's all I know. Fighting is all I have ever done. You ask me why I joined the English army? To kill those whom oppose our authority."
"..That doesn't explain your behavior."
Martin growled.
"My squad was MURDERED!"
"War casualties."
"We were attacked with knives!"
"Foreigners."
"In a British Fort, in America?!"
Martin stood up and flipped over the table. The commander calmly sat in perfect still motion, not saying a word. Swiftly, the brute of a man pointed at a white patch over his eye.
"This!" he yelled. "This is all I get for my work?! The things I've done for this army! I make up ten men in one! And you refuse to look into the matter?!"
Standing up, the command put his hands behind his back.
"...From this day forth, you are court marshaled for misbehavior and failure to obliged by orders. Remove yourself from this tent or I will have you moved."

Fort George was a rather quiet place. New York was not a place for Fort life. Americans revolted; but they would never dare to attack Fort George directly. You'd have to be mad to attack such a place.
Or just willing.
"Your hair is growing white, Martin" a member of his beloved squad chuckled. Almost right away, Martin looked into a carriable mirror. Indeed, a streak of blonde hair had turn white...not only that, his beard was getting bigger everyday.
Two bright blue eyes stared right back at him in the reflection.
"It's the war....I don't care how I look anyway."
The others around him chuckled. "Awh, come on Martin...You need to look your best when your covered in the blood of your enemies!"
This crude joke somehow made them all laugh.
They were a squad of brutes; loving barbarians that always got the job done. An army in one squad.
But in this was a secret that would ruin Martin's life from here on.
In the shadows, a cloaked figure lurked. Martin saw it. In the mirror. He turned and stood up, grabbing a large axe in one hand.
Too late.
A smoke bomb was let off, the sound of metal unsheathing was heard, the sound of blood splatter, then red; pain in his eye.
Martin fell to the ground groaning.
He heard one phrase before passing out from being unable to breathe.
"May the father of understanding take you."
When he woke up...his entire squad was dead.

Martin did plenty of study.
In time, he would learn about the Assassin's and the Templars and their eternal war.
From that day forth. He swore to take down both the Assassin's and Templars for killing his squad; taking him away from the British Army and all he loved.
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