Marines
Boots on deck. On the ground. Really, wherever one needs boots. And guns. Lots of guns.
To be a Tordassian marine is a difficult lot. Not so difficult as the life of the serf, true. But it will see you embark, travel for months across open seas to far flung destinations you know little to nothing about, disembark, march, fight, dig ditches (provided there isn't a contingent of serfs to do it for you), and then, often with little warning, be packed up into a ship to do it all again in a completely different climate.
Still, the pay isn't bad - especially if you make it to the rank of officer (that, and joining the officer class is one of the few ways one can realistically hope to raise one's social class in Tordassia's highly stratified society). And for those of the right disposition - the kind that seeks adventure, doesn't mind taking orders, and isn't easily seasick - the life of the marine might even be a desirable one. There is a grandeur to it, when viewed in the right light. A nobility, even. Honour.
That doesn't stop most marines from grumbling, however; especially those of Korash's Iron Sun colony. For deployment on foreign soil (or sand) is usually a prospect made tolerable by the promise of going home afterwards. Even when deployed away for years at a time, the promise of home can bouy the heart like little else. It is the coke of the engine of courage.
That is not the situation of the Iron Sun colonial marines. With no word from the homeland, and no recent shipments of familiar comforts (and those that are present this side of the sea kept under close guard, rationed ever more sparingly to the soldiery and serfdom), memories of home are slowly, surely, beginning to fade. There is still hope - enforced, when not found freely - but quietly, away from the ears of officers, it is whispered that, perhaps, things are not looking so good.
Original lineart by Dattan Porto, background composited by Eskalat
Iron Sun
To be a Tordassian marine is a difficult lot. Not so difficult as the life of the serf, true. But it will see you embark, travel for months across open seas to far flung destinations you know little to nothing about, disembark, march, fight, dig ditches (provided there isn't a contingent of serfs to do it for you), and then, often with little warning, be packed up into a ship to do it all again in a completely different climate.
Still, the pay isn't bad - especially if you make it to the rank of officer (that, and joining the officer class is one of the few ways one can realistically hope to raise one's social class in Tordassia's highly stratified society). And for those of the right disposition - the kind that seeks adventure, doesn't mind taking orders, and isn't easily seasick - the life of the marine might even be a desirable one. There is a grandeur to it, when viewed in the right light. A nobility, even. Honour.
That doesn't stop most marines from grumbling, however; especially those of Korash's Iron Sun colony. For deployment on foreign soil (or sand) is usually a prospect made tolerable by the promise of going home afterwards. Even when deployed away for years at a time, the promise of home can bouy the heart like little else. It is the coke of the engine of courage.
That is not the situation of the Iron Sun colonial marines. With no word from the homeland, and no recent shipments of familiar comforts (and those that are present this side of the sea kept under close guard, rationed ever more sparingly to the soldiery and serfdom), memories of home are slowly, surely, beginning to fade. There is still hope - enforced, when not found freely - but quietly, away from the ears of officers, it is whispered that, perhaps, things are not looking so good.
Iron Sun
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