Zolton knew his father would never disregard him, but even then there was not a connection more powerful than the kindred spirit of he and his mother, Zaltanya. Before she departed, Zaltanya gained a reputation and nickname from the Auxuthians: Brontopedi - Thunderfoot. One would have more trouble walking than missing sight of this grand woman! A towering five meters she stood!
Zaltanya gained infamy with her enemies, and fame with her companions. Her prowess and merciless rampage on the battlefield has given her a title across the entirety of the War Seas: Zaltanya the Berserker Blood. Due to her achievements and excellence in leadership even during the heat of battle, Zaltanya was looked up to in a golden light, and set on track to be a future commander.
Zaltanya's early war years were not solely rage and the showering of crimson rain, though. Alongside her was one boisterous man, ready to endure it all with her. Two years into her fighting life, the Berserker Blood encountered a man hailing from a desert island within an unseen world. The strapping, mahogany-haired man could use a gun as naturally as a bird flapping its wings. The military commanders always placed strong belief in him, believing failure would simply be a myth when he was sent into battle. In only two years of being enlisted, at the age of nineteen, the excellent gunner received his own unofficial title: Bullet Blitz Balton.
With a long list of grand feats under her belt, Zaltanya had been assigned to the Second Terrestrial Division, one of twelve land-based war units. The division boldly numbered significantly less people than the other eleven. The Second Terrestrial Division, labeled 2TD, consisted of a deceivingly pitiful fifty-two soldiers, contrary to the 22,000 average. The soldiers resided in a small camp on a wilderness island where a sea curse is thought to be.
The island seemed 'unnaturally' flourished. Palm trees could be as large as redwood trees, flowers could grow a dozen feet, and even the sand beneath the ocean had some colorful foliage rising from beneath it - giving more reason to believe that the Life Curse was indeed resting nearby.
A Cursekeeper Frigate pulled near the island, nicknamed Vitality by the War Seas due to the curse's conjectured element. Thirty soldiers were transported to the island, adding to the previous twenty-two, with nothing but what could be carried in a sack, crates of liquor and food stored in the interior.
It was said their first encounter was quite welcoming! They greeted each other with stern faces, spits and insults, and disputes over 'territory'- quite the utopia. All but one of the island inhabitants endured a daily scuffle - the war machine in training herself. Zaltanya was not often bothered by her fellow soldiers. Her titanic body allowed the wielding of two halves of a bull-in each hand, making most think twice about being confrontational with her, but she was seen mostly resting happily lonesome elsewhere. But alas, she could not evade the antics of the Blitz Bullet. Despite her utter disapproval, Balton would, frankly wearily, often attempt to sweet-talk the lady- normally resulting in a fling of the man. “How far will the Bullet shoot?” became a common phrase on Vitality. The lucky guesser would win the privilege of sleeping in the most favorable sleeping quarters for a night - the nicest bed(only slightly less garbage than the others) in a big shabby old shed, nicknamed the Sleep Shack. Those others who were closest would be able to sleep in the Sleep Shack, but on the more battered and torn mattresses. At least they aren’t old, holey tents.
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Unfortunately, for the amusement of the gamblers, the tossing slowed. Instead, battling spurred between the two; muscle versus magic; entertainment over amusement! With almost every passing sun and moon, Zaltanya and Balton would travel to a distant part of the Life Curse island. Dirt, plant and soil spewed into the skies as fist and brawn collided with Wind seasoned with a dash of something more. This did not please Zaltanya, though. In fact, she felt disrespected.
“I find irony in your notoriety," she uttered sternly, "You are known for being an exceptional gunner, yet you have used no such weapon against me all this time. And on top of that, I know that there is something else you are hiding from me."
"Well, I’on really eye a reason to be shootin’," Balton revealed, "As for that second part, I ain’t got a clue what you diggin’ at."
Zaltanya raised her chin and rolled her eyes. And why is that the case, Balton?" Zaltanya said coldly, dropping her tone.
Balton tilted his head away and his lips shyed into shelter, "You just ain't really give me reason to…"
Snickering of shared angst arose from the remaining crowd of twelve from Balton’s words, causing three to take their leave in caution. Zaltanya folded her arms and raised her head, staring down at the significantly smaller Balton. A contained exhale of indignation pushed its way through her nostrils as she stared the man down. Either rightful boldness or diamond stupidity kept Balton standing before this freshly spawned devastation - frankly, he probably did not even know. Before he knew it, a new shine and a bucket of saltwater awoke Balton from a cold concussion. Minimal care found its way to Balton, but he expected such. His aggression towards those who chose to help did not increase his chances of support either.
“Go find ya damn granny if you in dat needa relevance,” Young Balton would spit if anyone dared offered aid to him. But for once, he did not thwart the hand that held reinvigoration. The grand hand of the Berserker Blood opened itself to Balton, awaiting his pride's approval. His pride finally accepted. Zaltanya and Balton's encounters became a lot more common and a lot less violent after she smacked him down. They were often seen together when the sun worked, spotted strolling alongside the shore during the moon's shift, or anytime pirates weren't active. Maybe he just needed to be softened before the final blow could break through his steel wall of stubborness?