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[3Xtr3m3]

Please forgive this amatuerish effort.
It is like nothing i have ever tried before.

He had had such high hopes coming into this trial. He had thought to achieve high rank and prove his value as a pilot and officer in the Nova
Cat Touman. He had started the battle a little too overconfidant, and it had cost him. Maybe it would cost him all.The ancient Nova Mech had served him well through training. It bristled with weapons and enough armour to carry him to the last stages of this trial. But the lack of a turret meant he was too slow to meet threats from the sides or rear in this Trial. He was
struggling to counter the attacks from mechs that were newer, faster; even if not as well armed or as well armoured.

The Puma had come at him as if possessed. Its pilot had seen him finish off the Viper. He had cored it with a long blast from his primary weapons. The pilot ejected from his dead mech. The Viper ejection pod carrying him to safety. He saw the Puma closing on his rear left quadrant. The pilot thought to stay out of his forward firing arc. Thought to hit his Nova in its thinner rear armour, or finish the job the Viper started when it ravaged his LT armour. Crack the armour, kill the engine, and emerge as the sole victor.
He would be defeated and discarded to a lower caste as a technician, or if he did not survive at all, perhaps even his genes would be discarded. All this passed through his mind in a flash, as he shoved the throttle forward hard, and worked the pedals to turn the well seasoned Nova towards this last adversary. Hoping to stay out of the Puma's kill zone.

In desperation, He turns to put the fresher armour on his right side towards the faster, lighter, mech. And is rewarded by just barely doing so before the Puma opens fire, raking his mechs badly mauled right arm, and right torso armour. The weapons board in his cockpit showed the lasers in his Nova's right arm now no longer functional. Stravag!

But his RT armor shook off the remains of the assult and half a ton of ablative armour. He now had no choice but to bring his torso Extended Range Medium Pulse Lasers, and the still functional Lasers on his Left arm to bear and end this fight. Instead of accelerating away and swooping back to the Puma, The mechwarrior decelerated and turned his
Nova mech to go head on towards the the rapidly closing enemy combatant. A desperation move, but his only choice. If he waited to fire much longer the Puma would fire on him again, and maybe end the fight. The Puma pilot, a fellow worthy aspirant of Clan Nova Cat,realized what he
was doing and fired his potent SRM-4 pack in an attempt to finish him. A tricky head on cockpit shot. With unguided missiles.

Jon wrenched the joystick harder, trying to turn out of the path of the missiles. Maybe the left torso armour would fail, and the engine would be disabled, but he would survive. Or even better, pass to his left between his torso and leg. He almost made it. A fraction of a second, was all he needed.
But the ancient Nova, for all its Clan Hells Horses designers had done to make it low to the ground and manueverable enough, still lacked the needed torso twist of many newer, better designs. It was a two hundred year old design. Torso twisting would have made what happened next a moot point.

As it was, three of the missiles detonated on the left torso and the left leg. Finishing off the last shred of armour on the torso, but not doing a lot of damage to the delicate internals. It also knocked the left leg hard enough to dislodge it from its grip on the ground. Starting the Nova into an ackward sprawl. A badly timed fall. One that should have been the end this late stage battle.

Jon was unaware of this as the fourth missile impacted at the junction of the Cockpit window, and the Central Torso armour. The cockpit was breached and the blast cuncussed him. He blacked out for a fraction of a second, and came to as the Nova slid to a grinding halt. His ears rang and his vision was blurry. But he scrambled to right the mech, get it on its feet again, and back in the fight. Find the Puma, before it could fire on his decimated Mech.

Sensors showed that the Puma had continued past him as he fell and was now circling around to find the best kill shot. And then he saw it. It was an unfamiliar mech. An unknown mech hard charging towards him from the far
side of the Trial Circle. Normal combat rules would have kept it from interferring until one of the two had fallen. This was not normal combat, A free for all better described the rules of Grand Melee style Trial. The before unseen enemy was allowed to target any still fighting participant at will. How had he missed this participant. Combat awareness bred in him from the creche, he should not have been surprised by this mech.

His training kicked in and he quickly got his mechs feet back on the ground beneath him, and readied himself to meet this new onslaught. But its target was not him, but the Puma. Maybe it saw the Puma as the greater
threat. His instincts said it was a reprieve, a chance to take some breaths to clear his cloud fogged head and get in a position take on whoever was left, either the Puma or the new contender.

He shoved the throttle against the stops to put distance between the approaching Puma, still stalking him, and his dead on its feet Nova.
Strange, it was as if the Puma was discounting the unknown mech, or was , more likely,wanting to finish him, before engaging the threatening mech. He saw the weapons of the fresh(?) painted mech (his mind tried to grasp how this stranger had managed to remain pristine!) open fire on his approaching executioner. Four Streak missiles from the swift mech hit the Pumas
Center torso, followed by an unknown number of medium lasers connected to stop the Puma in its tracks. A clean one-two punch kill shot.

OK, it would be him and this increasingly strange mech. Again, bemoaning his lack of manueverability, he lined up on the now racing straight towards him mech. There was no possibility of it firing on him for precious seconds.
Still it curved towards him and then straight at him. What was this Mechwarrior up to? His head hurt, his ears still rang, and the nauesea in his stomache made it hard to line up on the rapidly closing mech.
He started to squeeze the triggers. Then the mech, barely 150 meters from him, launched on jump jets. He watched it ascend on the brightest flames he had ever seen come from a mech. He watched it go higher quickly.
It was going to leap over him, allowing its weapons to recharge while it got out of the Nova's strike zone. And then cursed the luck as the Gold and White painted Mech passed in front of the sun. A strange choice for colors on a combat mech. But such was the way of his Clans' mystic warriors. He glimpsed the decal on the torso, unable to focus on it, It was one that was unfamiliar to him. Later, it would only be half-remembered. Something birdlike? He was forced to close his eyes against the combined
brightness of the sun and the jets. The breached cockpit window shields not able to do their normal filtering. When he opened them again a second later he realized his mech was again sprawled on the ground.


What had just happened? His mind spun to make sense of it. He had been lining up on the strange mech. He had been in motion, now he was hanging from his straps in his motionless mech.

What in the name of Kerensky?
How had he fallen again, it made no sense.
Panicked, he tried to make sense of his surroundings. Nothing was adding up. Where was the mysterious mech, it should have shown somewhere on his sensors. But it was nowhere on his screens. In fact his failing electronics showed a clean scope, no combatants anywhere. Where had it gone? And why was the Puma's smoking wreckage a mere fifty meters in front of him.

He coughed hard, his ribs alerting him to the abuse they had suffered in the
(second?) fall. His com suite, silent during the trial, was alive and asking him if he was viable.
Very strange, that only happened at the acknowledged end of combat.
He radioed back that he was functional and in need of support. It took him long seconds to bring his mech back on its feet. The left foot was showing damage to the actuator. It balked at his commands, but slowly, eventually obeyed.

Not trusting the mech,or himself, to make it back to the sidelines, in its current state, and having no better options, Jon locked the mech down, powering down the weapons and the surprisingly heated reactor. The cockpit hatch cracked open slowly, letting in
fresh air. He dared not climb down in his current condition. So, he waited there for the techs and medical personnel that his comm suite said were on the way to him.

Edited by 3Xtr3m3, 26 May 2013 - 11:02 PM.

[3Xtr3m3]

Chapter two


In the hospital bed, he lay after the battle. He was hurt as much as some of the unluckier, combatants. In fact, more than most of them. He was dehydrated, concussed, and had two cracked ribs. The Trial of Blooding was more brutal than any in his lifetime. The battle had
lasted for thirteen hours. It had started an hour after the planets yellow star had risen. There had been no less than six who had fought to the death. In any other such trial, there would have been only one or two who would have fought to the fatal end. But these were portentious times.

His ears had suffered a severe blow from the cockpit breach. The med tech told him the ringing would lessen with time, and the nauesea was from the
middle ear abuse that occurred when his cockpit was breached.
A week would see him fit for duty again. In the three hours till the sun had set the day was done he had recieved a slew of visitors. The constant stream included those he called friends, as well as the officials who were there to congratulate him on his win. His friends were brief in their visits, merely assuring themselves that he was in one piece and offering heart-felt congratulations on his win. The officials were there to confirm him as
the winner of the trial. He was now Trinary Commander Paedra Rosse. His friends and mates called him Jon.

That night as he slept, He had a dream. He dreamt of a child. The child was small, no more than five, or six. The face was not one he knew, but it had familiar lines. A member of his sibko? Unlikely, most of his sibko were boys, and this was not one of the girls of his youth.

He smiled at the child in greeting, and the smile he got back in return was of a
child having the time of her life.
He realized he was dreaming when the child morphed as it stepped towards him. A small shortsword appeared in her right hand. And pristine wings showed themself from behind her.
As she lifted her right hand, the sword ignited. Flames from the tip raced down to the pommel.
But the child continued to smile, broadly, as the flames encased her hand. It obviously did not hurt. The flames brightened in an instant, hurting his eyes. His dreaming mind saw again the brightness from the jumping mech from earlier in the day. As if in response to that memory, The child leapt straight up and over him and was gone.

He awoke with a start that reignited aches in his head and ribs. His mind still in the grasp of the dream. His mind recalled what he had only seen in a microsecond flash during the battle. The decal on the torso of the unknown mech. It was the same as the child of his dream. A child with strange wings from the back and he percieved the rightness of the flaming shortsword in its hand. Though he had no direct recall of its being there.

After a few minutes of reflecting on the dream and memory of the battle, he resolved to ask the Loremaster at his first chance.

Edited by 3Xtr3m3, 26 May 2013 - 11:09 PM.

[3Xtr3m3]

chapter three

The next day after his release from the hospital,he went to the Mech hanger bay to check on his battle ravaged Nova. And to try to make sense of what had happened at the end of the Trial. The repairs on his mech were coming along nicely, and he left his able tech crew to continue their task undisturbed. He recovered the Battle rom disk that contained not only the camera footage but copies of the black box data for his Nova.

In the training room the disk confirmed what he had been told. There was no third mech at the end. He had not fallen a second time, only the once.
The memories he had of the battle between the fall and his coming to at the end of the
battle were a delusion?
A vision?

The camera footage showed it was his Extended Range Medium Pulse Lasers that had breached the Puma's center torso, and surprisingly, two lasers from his supposedly nonfunctional right arm that had finished the mech.
But how?


He checked the camera watching the cockpit and the telemetry data detailing every twitch of the massive mechs operations. He had not fired anything. His hands had been knocked clear of the joystick. His fingers nowhere near the triggers. The inside camera clearly showed that much. An hour checking and rechecking the data confirmed it. His lasers had fired and taken out the Puma. But it was not him that had done it.

Redundant systems were built into every mech to prevent what the data tells him had happened. They had fired on their own. The experts around him in the training center could only surmise that maybe the impact on the left torso, so close to the XL engine and control circuits, and the additional abuse suffered as the mech fell, created a one in a million occurance.

A short circuit in his firing interlocks. The ER Medium pulse lasers had fired
first. Just as the Puma had moved into their path. The gun camera footage showed clearly them multi-striking the armour, but the damage looked like four missiles had struck instead. As it had occurred in his delusion. Did the Puma have its ammo stored there? He would look up the technical stats on the Puma later.

The ER medium pulse lasers removed the last shreds of armour from that important location. Followed by a half second later by the number 1 and number 3 ERML on his right arm. Somehow, striking the exact same location on the startled Puma. Penetrating deep and killing the mech.
Was the nonfunctional status of the right arm weapons somehow incorrect?
Later, His techs would tell him the weapons were functional, it was his control of them that had been damaged. Much later, he would suppose that it was this damage that had caused them to not fire at the same time as the pulse lasers in the torso. The circuit to the pulse lasers undamaged.
And not all of the arm lasers fired, only the two of them had, a miraculous half-second later. Finishing the Puma.
Its death throes brought the Puma to a thunderous halt right where both his memories and the data agreed, fifty meters in front of his now still-as-death Nova. Where he was, if the data was to be believed, just coming back to consciousness.

He had no choice, he showed the leaders of his Clan the data, and waited for them to rescind their declaration of his win. They conferred for only minutes before deciding that he was still the victor in the Trial. He was still functional, the Puma was not.

He told the Loremaster of the discrepancy between the data and his memories, expecting the Loremaster to convince the SaKhan that he had not won.The Loremaster eased his mind about the delusion. He was not totally knocked out, he was on the verge of it. His mind was interpretting the actions of the Puma, circling for the kill, and the firing of the Nova's weapons into a third mech, that did not exist.

He hesitated, and then told the Loremaster of the dream that night of the battle.Of the child that morphed, and the flaming sword, and his absolute conviction that it was synonymous with the mech. He described the child with the beautious smile and other details he could remember. How it seemed familiar, but was unknown. His thoughts that it
was a member of his sibko and but yet not a specific sibkin.

He did not tell the Loremaster of the way the memory affected him even now, two days later. The dream memory evoked feelings of loss, and pain. Jon could not understand why the feelings were there. He should have felt gratitude for the save, and he did, and there was also a sharing of joy between himself and the apparition. As if they shared a mutuel love of battle, that was understandable.

It was the feeling of loss that overshadowed everything. He recalled the first
time a member of his sibko had died. A training accident. It was the closest thing he had to compare it with. That was long years ago, and many more had perished in the brutal training that followed, leaving only him to achieve the rank of mechwarrior.

So why, in the name of Kerensky, was he standing here, on the verge of tears at the thought of the child-creature?

The Loremaster was silent for long minutes. Stared him in the face for a long
minute, obviously reading his emotional context. Then turned abruptly and left the meeting, leaving him with instructions to meet him at the Clans Gene Repository, the next day. He obviously knew something, That much was certain. As was his state of disturbance at what he had heard and saw.

Edited by 3Xtr3m3, 27 May 2013 - 12:08 AM.

[3Xtr3m3]

chapter four

Over that 25 hours till the second meeting with the loremaster he trained and healed. The time dragged. He wondered what the Loremaster was to tell him at their next
meeting. Would what the loremaster had to say ease his mind and spirit?

Or would he show him something that would convince the Sakhan to strip him of his win. Declare the Puma mechwarrior the true victor. Something showing him to be, at this late stage of the beginning of his career, to be fatally flawed. He cursed himself for revealing the dream and his thoughts on the connection from it to the Trial. He thought that maybe the loremaster had finally recieved proof of his unworthiness to continue as a mechwarrior of Clan Nova Cat.

A fatal (to his career) emotional, or mental defect that had not emerged during the long training process that took him from his birthing canister to the similiar metal containment of a Mech. From Ristar to surat, from victor to dezgra. That would be almost unbearable.


He approached the Loremaster with his mind set to accept whatever he was told.
What the Loremaster had to show him was nothing less completely and totally impossible.
He took him to an out of the way side niche in the main building. One that had seen better
days. Long neglected, no one came here much, but there on the wall was an artist rendition of the creature/child as he had described it.
From the hair to the mischievious eyes, to the joyous smile. And the right hand held a flaming shortsword. He gaped at it, The flames engulfed the hand that held it. Was that writing on the sword?
Impossible!

"What is this place?", He asked of the mystic behind him.
"What am I looking at?"
The mystic said one word only.

"Seraphim."

Edited by 3Xtr3m3, 26 May 2013 - 11:32 PM.

[3Xtr3m3]

Chapter five



The Loremaster led him from the niche to a terminal and showed him the files
detaiing the history and lore of the image on the wall.He left him there saying he would
return in two hours. According to the files, He was not the only one to suffer this particular vision.


All back through history there were rare instances like the one that had saved him.
One of the more notable of these was during the start of the Exile, Three Hundred years
ago. A member of the SLDF trying to get to the dropships, to join Kerensky in leaving the
Inner Sphere, reported of a doomed effort the reach the port. They were mere miles from the
dropships that would take them off planet. Others sought to keep them from leaving.
They set upon them from behind, to stop them or destroy them. They would have succeeded if
not for a lone mech,

A Jenner that threw itself at them with a righteous fury. Charging them time and
again. Harassing their flanks and striking at their rears. Forcing the pursuers to turn and
deal with it. And delayed them enough to allow the majority to reach the safety of the
weapons shield of the dropship. The pursuers having been delayed, were forced to
discontinue pursuit. Or risk distruction by the massed firepower of the dropship and those
who sought to ecape on it. The description of the mech coincided with the mech of his
delusion. If not for the Jenner, the mechwarrior would have been prevented from joining the
Exodus. But the unknown mech had been left behind, they had waited a little while to see if
it would board, but it was not seen again, and they had to lift-off the planet to make the
rendezvous. According to those who lifted off that day, there were no Jenners on that
planet.


In fact the design itself had only been introduced in the same year as the exodus
had begun.
"I see you have found that file."
The words of the Loremaster caused Jon to turn in his seat at the terminal. The two hours
had passed in what seemed mere minutes. But it was the next words from the Loremaster that
would shock him the most. "If not for the interferrence of that mech, you would not be
here." He said, "The mechwarrior who submitted the report would later become one of the
forty warriors who founded Clan Nova Cat at the behest of Kerensky himself .And is the prime
contributor of genes to your sibko, To you."
He continued, "Either Kerensky was unaware of the report, or dismissed it, or, As I like to
think, knew of it. And decided that Clan Nova Cat was the place best suited for those of
your line. We are the most Mystical of the Clans, quiaff?"


"Aff, Loremaster. But I have yet to decypher the meaning of the word you spoke.
Seraphim. What is that?". Composing his thoughts, the Loremaster continues, "Part Child,
part Guardian, part Spirit, or in the older legends, not spirit but Angel. All Warrior."
Over the course of the day and into evening, the Loremaster told him what he knew of what
it was, what was the history and the signifigance of the legend.

The Legend of Seraphim.


The talk with the Loremaster ended with the Loremaster informing him that it was an
interesting juxtaposition. The report of the Seraphim, that had brought his genetic
ancester to the Pentagon Worlds. And his report of the vision at this crossroads of the
future of the clans.

Within the year would be the trials that would determine which of the clans would
join Clan Wolf in Operation Revival. And his victory earned him the right to fight in those
trials, The loremaster thought it a good portent.

If Jon fought as well as he had during this recent Trial.

Then Clan Nova Cat would surely invade the Inner Sphere.

Edited by 3Xtr3m3, 26 May 2013 - 11:39 PM.

[3Xtr3m3]

The edits are for polish and typos.
Chapter six

The SaKhan of the Nova cats himself greeted Jon as he descended to the hangar
floor. After offering congratulations for his unorthodox win, he got to the point of the
meeting. His Trinary would be given upgrades.Allowing him a moment to grasp the news, He revealed the details of some of the efforts the Clan had been putting forth to upgrade its forces in anticipation of Operation Revival.

From long testing of new designs to trades with friendly Clans, to Trials for Mechs and more with rival Clans. Much of what was said was known to Jon, if not all of the details.

He appreciated the SaKhan reciting the details to allow him time to grasp that he, and his
Trinary, were to be the recipient of those efforts.


Very briefly, The SaKhan detailed the trade between the Nova Cats and their close
trading partner, The Snow Ravens. Each had sufficient supplies of mechs that were produced
on their respective home Pentagon Worlds. What each wanted was some of the best of the
others manufacturing. The Nova Cats had plenty of Locust IIC. The were a mainstay of the
forces fielded by the Nova Cats. But the capture of the facilty that manufactured them by
the bitter rival Clan Smoke Jaguar, meant the Nova Cats needed a replacement mech.

The Snow Ravens, offered the more expensive Jenner, and the newly designed
Conjurer. Not just mechs but the right to PRODUCE Jenners and Conjurers. Standing in the bays around him was a full star of Jenners. Each a different configuration, showing what was possible for the 35 ton mech.
What was standing before him was what brought him to an abrupt standstill. His mind
flashed back to the mystery mech in the Trial. The paint was different, but it was the same
mech.

Where the Locust IIC had a ER Medium Laser in its center Torso, and a SSRM-2 in each
arm with cross feed links, the mech in front of him had a Extended Range Medium Laser, in each arm and the two SSRM-2's were in the center torso behind the unique cockpit. Jump jets and CASE-equipped ammo bins for the missile launchers, and the XL engine left little room in the right and left torso.
His mind reeled at sight, and he had no idea of the words coming from his mouth.
"This one is mine.".


Seraphim, or "Sarah-phim" in some of the files of the Nova Cat mystic, was his.

And if he had anything to say about it, "Sarah-phim" was going home.

[3Xtr3m3]

The story above was inspired by the tragic loss of a Mechwarrior.
The further outpouring of support on the forums fed the idea and grew it in my mind and heart.
There is no way I could not put it on here,
It took on a life of its own.

This story is dedicated to all those who have passed on at such a young age.
And those left behind.

3Xtr3m3

Edited by 3Xtr3m3, 14 July 2013 - 02:14 PM.