Ambrose Devin

Ambrose Devin
1. Marksman/Rider/Provocateur/Speed Ace
A loud, obnoxious asshole that spends his time hurling boasts and bullets from the backs of majestic beasts. Despite seemingly being a massive glory hog, he worships the idea of team spirit and strives to help give his allies any advantage he can. Especially when it leads to an amazing story to share in the taverns afterwards.

2. For those that have not heard of the Devins, we're an affluent family originally from Saxton that immigrated to Holtanam. My grandparents were quick to establish themselves early on in the frontier rush, laying claim to some important air travel trade routes with some well-placed zeppelin ports throughout the west. Though the trains are used primarily now for shipments, zeppelins had significant advantages at the start. Ferocious wildlife impeded the setup of tracks considerably, and the lack of sufficient law enforcement left them open to being raided. With the zeppelins, there's no way to hide in the sky and few men or aerial beasts were brave enough to test their guns. Speaking of the guns, they were another secret to my family's success, which my father focused on. Early life for me involved a great deal of travel and I enjoyed every trip. Though we did not seek to expand the trade routes beyond their original sphere, our ballistic and aeronautic goods can be found the world over. I began assisting my family by testing both industries simultaneously: traveling to remote areas by strange means to test even stranger guns.

Homesick? Why if there's one thing Ambrose Devin III is it's sick of home! Too many hunts are spent in relative comfort without even a shred of danger. If deliberately informing an over-prepared hunting party of the incorrect coordinates of an enraged mammoth i- oh, ahem, let me just tell the whole bloody story. At least, I assume this was the one that caught the eye of Mother Goose.

I was vacationing in Ursalia* with some old friends from school. Now, you may think "Ursalia*? What daft fool would intentionally go there for a vacation?" Some of us find relaxation...boring, and we'd heard they were actively searching for assistance in culling all manner of predators, which had grown quite bold and were causing a great bit of trouble for the locals. It sounded like a jolly ol' time, engaging ferocious beasts in a test of skill. Well, it was several days into the hunt when we'd caught word of a particular specimen that had already taken the lives of several lone hunters. It was fast, desperate, and by this point must have been getting hungry, seeing as how it was constantly on the move. Well my companions had planned to simply roll over the damn things as a group. That's perfectly safe and fine strategy, but it left a bad taste in my mouth for being...boring. You don't win a duel by outnumbering your opponent, do you? As the fastest in the group, I volunteered to scout ahead with my trusty companion Roy. It was an easy matter to feign a nasty run-in with our mark and point my compatriots in the wrong direction. After assuring them I'd be fine as they went after it, Roy and I continued on the path I'd obscured and found the hairy elephant in a wooded thicket. Well, ha, to be fair, in truth, he found me. Almost got gored in the shoulder from his initial attack, but Roy was able to evade the behemoth's tusks swiftly. To keep things fair, since of course we outnumbered it, I only had Roy attacking at first, wearing it down. Eventually, the exhaustion from the preceding few days caught up with Roy and I permitted to him a respite as I engaged the mammoth solo. Though I'd lost my ride, Roy succeeded in exhausting the blasted thing enough to keep us on even ground. And continuing to keep things fair, though I fight with ballistics, I kept close enough to my foe to give him a chance. So there we are, both of us on the verge of passing out, but neither willing to submit. As it charged me, I knew it was our last clash. I managed to wedge myself between its tusks, but it was intent on charging me into a tree, using its bulk to crush me. I pulled the trigger and prepared for a rather uncivilized death by crushing. Turns out fortune was on my side, and the beast was done, leaving me with naught but an ass full of splinters. Several hunters had arrived in time to watch the end of the battle, and word of mouth handled the rest.

3. I have an older brother...or perhaps had. He was never one for the hunt, but the stories that man could weave were what inspired me in the first place. I always struggled with history. Sure, it's conceptually easy enough, but it was just so dull most of the time. Well he took to tutoring me, and while I can't speak to the veracity of his lessons, he was able to make them engaging enough that I could actually focus on the facts. I later resolved that should I ever be a part of history, I'd be damn sure the stories were crazy and true. He joined up with one of the earlier EGG groups, to chronicle their stories as I recall. In fact, at first, he would frequently return with many grand tales and trophies. But the time between his visits gradually lengthened until we stopped seeing him completely. We never learned of the circumstances; though he took fantastic notes, he must have had his journal with him when he disappeared. I'd no real interest in being an Egghead myself, but when they asked it seemed a fine opportunity to look into the matter.

4. Legendary Flying/Ground Rhyhorn: Courage
Ah, by now that is perhaps my most legendary tale. I say perhaps because all-in-all some of my earliest ventures were...so ill-conceived that their success was considerably more impressive, even if the tales are mistaken for comedies. But the Beast of Courage, yes. You're familiar with the old tales of hunters and their most elusive prey? Those stories akin to Ahab and the white Wailord? My story begins as many others: I was in way over my head on an expedition in the plains of Maasailand*, out of supplies, several days from civilization, all based on some ridiculous notion of performing heroic feats...that sort of thing. The whole expedition was a literal guilt trip: Roy was recovering from a previous hunt in which my mistakes cost him one of his eyes. Even then, I hear he whined the whole time I was gone.

Two days out from the village of welcoming locals I started in, I was quite sure I'd accidentally traipsed into an alternate dimension devoid of life. The area was strangely lacking in bounty for the season. No trace of any wildlife. As I surveyed the land, I began to notice clusters of feathers in areas I would normally expect to find...well...anything else. Feathers in burrows, feathers at watering holes, feathers in dens. I followed these trails and soon came to a great canyon. Of course, any prepared man would easily be able to navigate the canyon with a vehicle or a pact beast of his own, but I had come alone with naught but what I could find in the wild. With makeshift rope formed of foliage, I rappelled my way down the side of the canyon. Along the way, I stopped at an outcropping with a sizable cave. And what should I see but...a trail of feathers.

Curiosity got the better of me and I crept in to see what manner of competition I had...and was nearly trampled flat by the strangest beast I've ever encountered! It was like one of those horned rhyolite Pact Beasts that roams the plains, but rather than rock-hard skin, the damned thing had feathers and wings! Well by this point I was dehydrated enough to let irritability get the best of me, so as the creature charged off the side of the ledge and took to the air...I leaped after it. Of course, I immediately realized my mistake and clung to the beast for dear life as it attempted to smash me to bits against the canyon wall. But I couldn't let it end there, could I? That's a terrible ending. So I managed to ride the wind on that beast, and after hours of continuous near death experiences, it came crashing down. I drew my gun, preparing to end the hunt, and peered into its expectant eyes.

But as I readied to seize victory from the panting creature, I...faltered. I had not heard of such a beast terrorizing locals. Hell, I may have even spooked the poor creature by jumping into its nest and then tackled it out of the air! With guilt tangible in my face, I lowered the gun and gave its great rump a pat. The kill would have been unworthy, I had basically jumped the thing like a hoodlum. Suddenly, without warning, the horned beast heaves its body up to bear down upon me. Sure that I'd committed some sort of rhinoceros social faux pas, I awaited its next move. Yet as we locked eyes, I found a recap of sorts of the day playing through my mind as though I were watching a play, with the actors exaggerating some parts, and it felt as though there was an audience clapping at certain times. It began to dawn on me that I had the damn thing's approval! It lauded every courageous feat in my pursuit, with a damn near standing ovation at the moment I put the gun away.

I prepared to part ways with the thing and cease my foolishness, heading back toward the small village I'd visited last. And for some reason it...followed me. Together, we made the trek back to the village, and I regaled it with stories to pass the time. When we stopped at watering holes, beasts I had heard to be territorial and hostile let us drink by their side without fear. By my natural brilliance and philosophical nature, by which of course I mean after personal blundering for an explanation and asking the villagers about the creature, I learned the beast was mentioned in a minor myth. Supposedly, it would appear before accomplished hunters and heroes in a duel of sorts. In most accounts, the hunter slays the beast, only for it to disappear. But there are some in which the hunter spares the beast, though what follows seems to be in dispute.

With expert foresight, I had the fantastic idea to ask some of the more learned Eggheads about what in the hell had happened. They figure I got myself one of those Concept Beasts, which I reckoned made a great deal of sense. My daring feats, which honestly are often fueled more by foolishness than courage, had apparently caught the thing's eye, and even I could figure out that the courage of not killing it was what sealed the deal. Unlike what I've heard of the other Concepts, Bucky doesn't really speak. I figure he's just one of those types that think actions are louder than words, though he seems to enjoy stories. Oh, and you would not believe the looks I get when I say his name.

5. Cowardice, the death of man. Of course, I understand the difference between that and caution. Caution is deliberate, live to fight another day. But cowardice? It is fear of the unknown, and that I can't abide by. To dispel the unknown, that is one of the greatest joys in life. And in a similar vein, deceit. There is no honor or heroism in stabbing a man in the back. Hell, have you ever heard of great empires founded on lies and deception that aren't just overtly evil or in a fairy tale?

Hobbies? Well I do bake a mean loaf of bread. That's a joke. Why, if you haven't heard tales of my exploits by now, I'm not doing a very good job. Aside from the hunting, I'm a fairly accomplished gunsmith. Considering my father makes a business out of it, it was almost inevitable. And before any cries of "warmonger," we primarily focus on custom works that serve either as eyepieces or to revolutionize ballistics, not mass-produced munitions to fuel wars. Though to be fair, he's the one revolutionizing things, I mostly make them for personal use. Come to think of it, maybe I should get into baking...

6. (Arcanine)
Ah, Roy was actually a gift from my brother. On one of his earlier visits, he returned with an egg. The hatching kind, not the...well actually, also the other kind, I understand he was quite smitten with her, but back to the beast. I cared for that egg, curious to see what kind of creature would hatch! At first, I was reasonably disappointed when the only thing to emerge was a simple canine. Dogs are fantastic hunting companions, but not much in terms of exotic and strange creatures. Or so I thought until the damn thing sneezed and incinerated my shirt. I formed the pact then and there, agreeing to experience the joys of the world with him. We've both grown a lot since then, and there are few, man or beast, I'd want at my side in Hell more than my very own hellhound.

7. I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a lot of aimless wandering. Well that's not completely accurate, it's not AIMLESS, it's simply not...organized. I strive for...high society. I don't mean sipping tea with a lass on either arm, but technological advances for the good of man and beautiful structures. You know, anything for future generations to look back on with excitement. Now, I understand I'm not the sort to CREATE any of that, but if those Archives are any indication, there is plenty of room for people like me to help find the tools to build it. And if, in the process, I can find word of my brother, that would be nice too.

Do I believe in destiny...the predetermined sort? That's hogwash. Every man makes his own destiny. Like a chef. Sure, some get access to better ingredients, but a good chef can do amazing things with scraps. Why the hell did I end up talking about cooking again...

8. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O3rpmctmC_M

9. Cash4gold