Bretonian Armed Forces Recruitment Centre (iRP)

[Rudo]

Seated in the chair is a space-weathered Bretonian in his thirties, talking with an accent that pins him without a doubt as a Waterloo Station native. While his appearance and clothing pins him as a well-to-do racer, his eyes are those of a man with blood on his hands and tired of it all.

Interview exerpts:

"The name's Fletcher Farthing. Chums call me Fox, I suggest you do too. If you've ever seen me out on the Dublin track you'd know where I got the name."

"...I used to fly as part of the security wing out of Graves. Bretonia Mining paid well enough, especially with hazard benefits and all. I know my way around a fighter because. I'd still be there except the ill-fated treaty with the Mollys allowed some security cutbacks and I ended up on the outside looking in."

"...I'm over my anger now. Honest. Almost joined up with the Mol's, except for their own sudden twist toward the radical recently. There's something to be said for Hell and the roads paved to it. Can't condone what they're doing now, especially with the fighting in the Taus bein' what it is recently."

"...Bretonia needs her best sons to step forward. Wish I could be so blindly moved by those words, but there is indeed a war on and lots of my mates have enlisted. You need me out there so some of 'em make it back."

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