OD-1 Field Records

I'm back.

No problems, I take it?

Nothing of particular note within a thirty kilometer range. The area is safe for now.

Very good. Let me take a look at the map.

Hmm...

We're on the right track. Keep north, and we should see a waypoint the locals called Trumhill before long.

We'll have an opportunity to rest at its base. From there, we can start moving west, and we'll be at Phecon within two days.

Is Phecon our destination?

Of course not, but it's the most suitable transfer station. Phecon sees a lot of Columbian caravans, which we can follow one to reach Twinriver. There, we have a Rhodes Island branch office.

If we can get to the branch office, we'll be able to secure ourselves some transportation. From there, the rest will be much easier.

Music to my ears! Can't wait to wrap up this on-foot odyssey. My shoe soles are worn straight flat.

You ought to walk outside more. It's good for your health, and you won't need to keep worrying so much about your weight.

Hey!

What about the communicator? Any linkable signal nodes?

Still no good. The way I see it, we're not going to get any direct contact with the Rhodes Island landship until we reach Phecon.

Not unless we can get our hands on a more powerful transmitter...

You can forget about that. There's no other nomadic city to be found around here.

Quite. That's why I made sure to ask you to bring more than enough food and water. It's a tall order to find any supplies on the way to Phecon.

I do remember little settlements dotted around here and there, but after all these years, I could hardly say whether any of them are still where they used to be.

So you're pretty familiar with this area, Mr. Rangers.

Hah-hah-hah... I might've been a tad more familiar in my sprightlier days. Truth is, I haven't been around these wastelands in a long, long time.

You drew that map yourself, Mr. Rangers?

Indeed. Any good ranger can draw their own maps, though I never would've guessed this one would still be useful even now. The topography around here hasn't been marred by Catastrophes too badly, so we might count ourselves lucky.

I'm sorry for all the bother we've made for you.

Don't you worry about it. It's this old man's duty to look out for you young'uns.

I share the responsibility for this mess, anyway. We wouldn't be in such a tight spot now if I had made the proper preparations beforehand.

What, the band of mysterious mercenaries that raided the warehouse and by rotten luck just happened to make off with our car?

Who's going to believe a story like that? ?

I think it was the trader, actually. Pulled our car apart to sell off the parts, then fed us some random explanation to cover up after the fact.

I actually agree with you, for once.

You didn't need the 'for once'.

The old me wouldn't have let him off as kindly as that, if we were going by our old Blacksteel mercenary customs.

But you are Rhodes Island operators now. I'd much rather not see you get into fights with the locals.

The medical supplies made it safely, and the trader didn't try to cook the books when paying us. We can't really ask for too much more.

Carrying a sack of refined Originium Ingots across the barrenlands by foot is incredibly dangerous.

I won't deny how... perforated their explanations were. We can't count on the local Vouivre mercenaries to be totally honest with us, so I'll keep an eye out for that next time.

But in the meantime, once we get back, you do have to report the property loss to Logistics.

*Sigh*... Yeah, this is just how Vouivre is.

That said...

I could likely find our way there even without any maps or Arts, but we'd be taking time we don't have. I worry we're too many for that, and our water and food wouldn't last us.

You can navigate the Sargon barrens without any tools? May I ask how?

If we ever have the time in future, I can teach you a thing or two. It's all nothing more than my experience.

How do I put it...

You're very worthy of the 'Ranger of the Red Valley' title, if I do say so.

Hah-hah-hah-hah. So you youngsters know how to tell an old tale or two as well, then.

That's just an exaggerated title.

Aren't those tales all true, though? Like how you rounded up and brought all of the Jenkins Seven to justice in a single day, or how you held off an entire column of Rusthammer Bandits all by yourself...

How you struck ten targets with just a single arrow, or how you shot down a Lateranan's bullets while high up in the sky...

My word. So this is what the stories are like now.

My Sargon colleagues at Blacksteel spoke of your tales from time to time, Mr. Rangers. They're all like this, pretty much. Stories not out of place in a theater.

They wouldn't be out of place in a novel either.

You've heard them too, right, Miss Schwarz?

...Mm...

There was a mercenary traveling the breadth of Columbia who told me about one or two of them.

I believe they were 'The Scimitar of the Bloody Valley' and 'Tragedy of the Lord Ameer'.

......

Mm... A little exaggerated indeed.

Rangers aren't as all-powerful as they've been portrayed.

I can't suppose to know what you've all heard, but I can say that the most widespread stories are largely untrue.

Rangers were not a fighting force. If you want my description, they were more akin to survivors banded together out in the wild.

They started as just a couple of ordinary folk fallen into times of pain and strife. They stepped forth against the odds, against it all. They protected villages against the scourges that would pillage them.

They weren't trained warriors, any of them. They were a resistance, born in a time of war that knew no other way, of devastation that took and took and took.

They brimmed with anger under it. They refused to keel to cruel destiny through the months and years of the war.

Afterwards, as more and more joined them, they slowly grew from a lone autonomous militia of sorts to a collective of regional organizations, and so they resided across the wastelands, defending settlements while offering medical aid.

I've read of that from my time at Blacksteel. From reports of the Sargon region, it wasn't just officials, but the rangers as well who'd pursue wasteland hooligans and mercenary looters to exhaustion, out across the wastelands.

What those reports refer to is truth, I can say that.

Back then, a group of rangers certainly... had its heroes, and they certainly caught themselves a fair share of villains. The events you describe happened, but I stress that that wasn't standard fare.

The vast majority of the time, we rangers simply helped towns fix their wells, fend off wild beasts, gather medicine, that kind of stuff. Just the little things.

Moreover, this area wasn't even Sargon territory back then...

So, Mr. Rangers, back then, you must've been part of that group of 'heroes,' right?

Hah-hah-hah. This old man is hardly so prestigious. I was but a normal scout and nothing more.

...Normal...?

In the end, this organization of rangers ended up disbanding, didn't it?

That certainly is a long story...

Many things happened afterwards, to say the least. And once the war concluded, the Lord Ameers were settled, each with all the land they wanted.

Those Lord Ameers of Sargon would not tolerate an organization that bowed to no-one, and the rangers were one such organization.

Of course, opinion from the Lord Ameers aside, there were many reasons why the rangers disbanded. But these are past events, and it's been a very, very long time since. The nitty-gritty of it all has fallen out of this old man's head.

So all those wild stories never actually happened?

The truth is often mundane. So you remedy it by exaggerating how things happened, and you make the story dramatic.

And only when it's dramatic enough do people pass it down.

Your stories all picked up layers upon layers of artistry before they reached you.

Alright, this old man's told plenty enough himself. Let's get ourselves ready to leave.

By the sound of things, we've already reached Sargon territory?

We were already in Sargon as of last night. Can you please pay a little attention? When suddenly you're in trouble, I'll be the last one to help you.

I love how much you suck.

The land we step on now is the jurisdiction of the Lord Ameer of Bayalir, though his provisional capital is still a ways away.

After that...

Hold! Stop moving!

...You heard that too.

All of you, stay still. Something's approaching.

! !

...It's close...

It's underneath us! Scatter!

Franka! Move!

(Roars)

!

What... what are these?

Are these... sand beasts?

Since when do sand beasts grow like this?

One, two... no, there's just too many.

Move into formation! Be ready for battle!

Last one here!

Everyone else!? Any wounded?

No worries here.

None here, either.

Communications equipment?

Unharmed.

Is this its burrow? ...Strange.

They seemed like sand beasts, at least?

Sand beasts, of this size? Over two meters long?

...I've spent the better part of my life in these wastelands, but never have I seen a sand beast capable of digging holes.

...These creatures have Originium crystals on their bodies.

...Mm...

Possibly biological mutations caused by Originium pollution, then?

There's no nomadic cities, no factories and no mines. How does Originium pollution even happen here?

Could it have been a Catastrophe's fault?

You'd be underestimating nature. Wildlife knows Catastrophes far better than we do. These creatures would've been the first to avoid Originium pollution.

Cities can be torn apart by Catastrophes while the wildlife emerges untouched

—Nature in this world is ruthless when it wants to eliminate you. If you don't have some way of dealing with Originium, your time as a living species won't be long.

I think... I have a hypothesis. Like ordinary Originium Slugs, the body's outer shell could have absorbed Originium into its makeup, while its innards remain clean and uncorrupted.

On that note, has P.R.T.S ever recorded any similar cases?

None. Not even for the Ironforge City leakage incident in Columbia, and that's the first thing you'd think of.

Sand beasts are docile creatures by nature. Originium shouldn't change them so drastically, and I can't imagine anything short of Arts would make them outright aggressive.

Stay vigilant. Don't let your guard down.

...Arts? A Caster? I just hope this doesn't complicate things for us.

Don't let it worry you too much. We'll continue on as we were, anyhow.

Understood.

Is this... a Rhodes Island emergency rescue signal?

Is it another Rhodes Island field team, maybe?

...oh, thank hea......meone finally answered!

...pl......help us......equesting support...

This is a Rhodes Island Field Personnel Team. If you receive this, please reply.

This is......Long Spring......Watchtower 33...

...mob......currently...

...they've come in!

Calm down! Operator, tell us what's happened!

The signal's very poor. They're coming through intermittent.

...help us......plea......ing you—

......

Well, that's not good.

What does Watchtower 33 refer to?

From the sound of it, it seemed like a Rhodes Island safehouse's code name.

A safehouse? The mission brief didn't mention any safehouses around here.

...Mm...

Truthfully, in a few areas, Rhodes Island will make a habit of hiding some safehouses, out of the way. For use in very particular field missions.

But we ourselves don't know where Watchtower 33 is.

Long Spring... Long Spring...

That name rings a faint bell. If you could let me see the map for a second.

Hmm...

Here, if I'm not mistaken. Following about twenty kilometers north from Trumhill, you should find another canyon. That canyon had a little village near it, I'm sure of it.

That village, years ago, had a well. One of the very few reliable water sources for miles around.

So that's why it's Long Spring?

So. What do we do next? Change of plans?

Or we can try and make for Phecon overnight, get in touch with the branch office and see what assistance we can procure from them.

...I worry the operator in the safehouse may not last long enough for that.

All of you, keep going until you reach Phecon, and find some support or other there if you can.

I'll head for Long Spring and see what the situation is. Don't you worry, I know this land very, very well. Indeed, I can afford to be more flexible on my lonesome.

If things get out of hand there, I'll head back for Phecon promptly and join up with you all.

That...

I object.

Oh?

I'm aware how wary it is of me to say our sand-burrowing mutants and the safehouse's distress call might not just be coincidence, but the Sargon barrens demand we must maintain vigilance.

We are not clear about the area surrounding Long Spring. Given we are not, you would gamble more alone than you can afford, Rangers, sir.

I'd also like to recommend we move for Long Spring as one. If things aren't friendly for us, we can still cover for each other, especially during a retreat.

...Mm...

That does make sense.

Yes, you're right. The old man will listen. I ought to at my age, anyhow. Can't be as spry and reckless as I was in my younger years.

This thing is ugly as sin.

Ugliness is a personal thing subject to the eye of each beholder. You ought to be seeing through to what this creature embodies, signifies. See through to the myriad array of evolutionary possibilities that it testifies to.

Order is but our own arbitrarily imposed concept which nature suffers. All the world and its beings were, in their primordiality, chaos seized by impermanence.

(Russian) Of course, I don't expect any of your sort to understand that in the first place. It's only natural your soft, ignorant little brains can't grasp the grand strokes of the evolutionary scheme.

A language I know, please!

Of course, dear sir, setting apart the matter of whether or not it is ugly to you. I must say you are not seeming wholly satisfied with it.

Else you would not be looking for me in the first place.

It still isn't strong enough, schoolboy! Your little beastie couldn't even make the lord's escort blink!

Surely you do not suppose it was down to the sheer incompetence of your ignorant little mercenaries?

These mutant creatures are weapons, just weapons. If they knew tactics for themselves, you could throw every mercenary of yours into the garbage heap the next day.

Bite it, old coot! I'm going to twist your goddamn head off.

Hold it!

*Sigh* (facepalm).

Listen, schoolboy.

I'm not backing your research so you can talk my ear off about a bunch of high crap. You're here, for me, to solve practical problems.

I acknowledge it, no mistake. Your research is something else.

But! If you can't help me depose of my father with it, then you and your little shop of horrors can walk yourselves into the goddamn garbage heap.

My patience is limited.

As is mine. I have explained this to you over and over already, and I do not wish to do it again, because I do not wish to waste my time.

You think you can fool me!

I've poured money into your little 'experiments' for half a year, the likes of which you'll never see in your entire goddamn life. And I don't think I've seen an equal return on it!

Where's that 'cruel and frightening army' you promised me?

Where's that 'might to make the heart know fear', huh?

You think all it takes to keep me happy is a bunch of ugly, swollen, light-up sand beasts?

What does it take for you to understand? The fruits of scientific research need time to grow swollen.

If money was all it took to accelerate the march of science, to ripen the fruit, I would have long since flown away to the moon by now.

Enough of that. I'll give you two more days. And I want to like what I see.

(Russian) Imbecile.

You speak in a language I don't understand one more time, and I'll throw you and all your little creations into the barrenlands to make merry until the sun goes down.

Go on, try me.

*Sigh*.

Fetch me some corpses.

Come again?

Bring me corpses! People's corpses, corpses like the ones you leave behind! Any will do.

Of course, ones blighted by the Originium infection will do even better.

What the hell do you need those for?

You bastard old coot. Now you want to insult the dead, huh!

Did you not want the 'might to make the heart know fear'?

Then do not hang yourself up on all that pernicious, useless witter you might otherwise call 'ethics'.

The corpses, bring them to me. I would like to have you see something interesting.

......

Chief, this goes completely against the Lord Ameer of Bayalir's great commandments. The old coot is trying to dupe you.

You want to take the dead and raise me some Zhayedans?

I do not know whatever this ghoulish thing you call a Zhayedan is, but rest assured you will find confidence in the fruits of my scientific research.

Chief, I don't think...

Shut up!

Old boy, I want you to listen carefully.

You might think you're the peak of intelligence. You might think you've seen every move on the board. You might think there's nothing you don't know.

But don't think about playing a fast one on me. I've gotten to know your kind all too well.

Everyone like you dies because they think they're too goddamn smart to die.

The only reason I still put up with you is because you're still useful.

I can get you what you need.

But don't disappoint me. Because you will not like what comes after.

Well, then, what else can I possibly say?

Good luck to you.

You're still alive. Don't forget who you have to thank for it.

Without me, your research would amount to a pat of bullshit.

If not for me, you'd be six months dead, rotting in this ore mine.

(Sargonian) Head in your ass.

I'm leaving you two here. Watch him.

Got it, boss.

(Russian) Gaggle of imbeciles. Every second I spend talking to you is spent killing off my precious braincells.

(Russian) Originium...

(Russian) It boggles my mind that this world has such an extraordinary existence gracing it.

(Russian) Yet somehow, these locals fear it in their ignorance. Fear what evolution this great power brings with it.

(Russian) But no, oh, of course, they should be afraid.

(Russian) For the fool fears the unknown. The fool fears might. The fool fears progress...

(Russian) Ignorants, oh, you ignorants.