Alesh Build

Forged

Flash-frozen for Freshness

Veteran Angler

Casual Angling

Anglers' Intel Network

Promotion I

Outfitting I

Promotion II

Outfitting II

Promotion III

Outfitting III

Promotion IV

Faction

United Workers' Syndicates of Talos II

Race

Anaty

Expertise: 1

Skilled at surviving uncharted waters, no matter how deep or shallow it is.

Expertise: 2

Alesh is always planning something. Sometimes it's angling. Other times it's pulling up the finning nets.

Hobbies: 1

"Mr. Alesh usually naps with a book on his face. And he changes the book once every week."

Hobbies: 2

Fin angling may look like a peaceful sport, but it's actually a wrestling match against monstrous waves.

BASIC INFO

CODENAME: Alesh

GENDER: Male

AUTHENTICATION: United Workers' Syndicates of Talos II

DOB: September 1

RACE: Anaty

[ORIPATHY INFECTION STATUS]

Oripathy positive (infected), based on medical examination reports.

[INTEGRATED PHYSICAL EXAMINATION]

PHYSIOLOGICAL STRENGTH: Standard

COMBAT SKILL: Standard

TACTICAL ACUMEN: Excellent

ORIGINIUM ARTS ASSIMILATION: Excellent

There are plenty of things we can learn by studying Operator Alesh's Originium Arts. He probably used the Arts to create a fin-like construct from memory or a figment of his imagination. The fin is unlikely to be an entity "summoned" from another dangerous or unknown dimension... I guess.

HUMAN RESOURCE SUMMARY

Operator Alesh is currently an angler and fin vendor. He is now working at Endfield Industries following the recommendations of our UWST liaison "Seagull". After evaluations, we believe that the operator is capable of serving as a liaison or covert ops agent in the frontiers.

When Operator Alesh arrived at Endfield, he placed a fresh fin of unknown species on my desk. It smelled of the sea and exhibited a bright sheen. When Alesh realized that I do not require any dietary proteins, he immediately offered to perform taxidermy on the catch and mount it on the wall to commemorate our meeting.

After a moment of silence, I transferred the fin to the Chief Logistics Office, completed his onboarding process, and signed a regional liaison agreement as well as a covert operations agreement. He summarized his understanding of his duties with this line: "Angling, but not for the roast."

Preliminary observations: Alesh exhibits adequate adaptability to our work environment, seems incredibly at ease with himself, and displays no other obvious anomalous quirks. Professional stability and performance will require further observations.

— Martin Marvin Malen, Assistant, HR Division, Endfield Industries

FILE 1

Ahem. Hello people. I'm the new candidate consultant for angling strategies and instructor for hobby angling... Never heard of it? Ah. Yeah, I think some boss man prolly misread my resume and decided to hire me. Maybe he sneezed and got me approved. I'm just an angler and fin seller, you know. It's also possible that your Endfield system got too many loopholes, since a freezer can get treated as frontline combat hardware. Anyway, I got in.

Okay. Since no one is shooing me away, I'll try to share my true knowledge. It's not going to be engineering or tactics. I'm talking about Angling. Don't underestimate Angling. It's outdoor meditation for true anglers. Those who don't know anything call it old boy's excuse to be lazy. I'll tell you about angling with the Endfield lingo. It is a miniaturization of a tactical operation. You got a bait, a hook, deception, and patience. So, who ends up slipping? Who gets hooked? Who becomes bait? And who enjoys deep fried fins on the shore? It's all about luck and vision.

Now let's take a look at two basic terms — float angling and bottom angling.

What is float angling? It's just scattering the bait in the water and looking at your float. You may think you caught something when the float moves a little. But when you lift your rod with excitement, you realize the fin never bit, and is in fact "laughing" and blowing bubbles at you. Some fins just take two bites and swim away. And some don't even like the bait. They just snag the line a bit and take you for a fool. It's like a turf battle. The bandit gives a funny look and you think he's about to make a move... But turns out he only remembered that he forgot about the spices for the fin stew. Angling is not about mysterious techniques. It's all about not snapping your rod after twenty missed pulls.

So what is bottom angling? You dig a hole for yourself and then sink a bait. And then ... nothing else happens. The fins just ignore what you did. Maybe they'll roll their eyes before moving on. I used to know a gang advisor who is an expert in bottom angling. He always says: "Stop moving, son. They fear you more if you stay still." So, Senhor Advisor would spend all day on his second-hand rocking chair while they break our legs out there. And then he would squint his eyes and go: "Look. The enemy has taken the bait." — Take the friggin' bait. I hope the old bastard shits rocks and dies. I was the friggin' bait.

Got a little carried away. Anyway, angling is a great sport. Just start angling if you wanna know how fun it is! In my humble opinion, it is far healthier than sitting here looking into the cold, dark space... So your question is, why am I even here? Decent canteen food and no one's clocking my naps. Pretty nice place, actually.

— Alesh's contribution to the Hobby-Sharing Get Together

FILE 2

DOCUMENT: Alesh's Daily Routine

06:00: Wakes up. Prepares angling gear and bait. Sharpens the hooks while mumbling to himself: "Gotta really hook these fins today."

06:30: Sets off. Throws some fin bones to the cloudbeast strays in the streets.

06:45-09:15: Morning angling time. Finds a place where water flow is slower. Waits patiently for the fins.

09:15-10:00: Wraps up the angling gear. Checks his catch. Inspects the conditions of the caught fins. "Special" catches are set aside for other uses.

10:00-12:00: Fin stall morning shift. Fins are arranged neatly in a specific number of rows and directions. These details matter a lot.

12:00-13:00: Lunch time. Roasted fin over fire. Eats while glancing at his handyterm.

13:00-15:00: Takes a nap or walk. Sometimes goes off to the wharf to review his angling skills, or sits on the bench to talk to strangers on proper angling spots. Jabbers on and on while making the fins restless in the water.

15:00-17:30: Fin stall afternoon shift. Continues selling fins while observing the passers by for any "familiar faces" that shouldn't be showing up.

17:45-19:45: Night angling at deeper waters. Final push during sunset. Specifically targets "great fins" that tend to be cautious and alert. These specimens are most active during sunset. This is also the time when enemies are most likely to make their mistakes.

20:00-21:00: Dinner time. Organizes his catch for the day. Records the angling results and daily "fintel" he gathered from all that talking.

21:00-22:00: Rest time. Relaxes on the balcony and gazes at the stars with his only eye. Occasionally gets reminded of those eventful nights... The turf wars are distant memories, yet they also felt like undercurrents that could suddenly snag him while he angles.

22:00: Prepares the bait. Checks his angling gear. "Who'll be the fin for tomorrow?"

Anecdotes about Alesh

The new liaison arrived at the secret locale at the corner of the wharf for the first time. The owner of the fin stall lied motionless on a bench with a book on his face. The fins being sold had been laid out in a specific arrangement — grayfins faced north; red cupras were paired, and tucked away at the corner was a strangely patterned whitefin. The liaison blinked as he worked his mind to recall the fincode he memorized. Struggle as he could, he failed to read the intel. Just as he was about to call the headquarters, the stall owner tossed him a fin with bits of crushed ice. "No great fins today," he said, "Settle your nutritional needs with this one."

The liaison was stunned for two seconds before he accepted the fin and nodded in gratitude. He walked for around thirty yards before turning around and looked at the stall again — The owner laid on his bench as though the transaction had never taken place.

Report of the day: Situation normal. Intel is accurate and ... pretty reliable.

FILE 3

The Popper Tactic was first proposed by Operator Alesh. Its theoretical basis was based on poppers, a type of lures often used by hobby anglers. According to Alesh's extremely detailed yet unverifiable explanations, the popper is a fake, buoyant fin. Poppers are meant to dance, glimmer, wag their tails, annoy, and finally piss off the foul tempered big fins to the point that they burst out of the deep. Simply put, poppers do this: "Dun wanna move? Whatever. Watch me pollute your turf, play dead, and nab your stuff till you come out and beat me — And then you'll realize that I got a co-star on stage with me."

What? I need to explain what happened recently? Oh, that was just a basic covert ops job. Convoy needed to get through Route 17 but that LBs love the place. The bandits seized cargo, kidnapped people, and even took over radio stations. Late Night Traffic Radio literally became a stinking cesspit of crude breakkae.

I was about to go fix my rod, you know, when I got the mission notification. And when I read the words "basic covert operations", I suddenly got overwhelmed by work procrastination. Anyway, before I left for the job, I took a look at the map and mumbled: "Ugh. Let's try the popper."

Of course, nobody knew what I was talking about. Convoy probably thought it was some new weapon and they agreed without thinking. The naivety is astonishing. I mumble something to myself, and people went along.

Anyway, it was something really simple: We dumped two trucks by the road and dressed them up like they broke down, along with a few crates of "firearms". Eh, don't get too excited. The crates were filled with bricks. We even sprayed "Class I Hazard" on the crates to make it look real, you know. And then we played an "SOS recording" with a trembling voice. Shit is for real, man. More real than that empty rod in my previous angling run. And the first breaker mob came as expected. They paced around the setup like a beast lured in by fresh fins, and got all hungry and excited. Everyone of them wanted a piece of the "free takeaway".

It wasn't even over. I tweaked the SOS radio louder and the second mob arrived. The first group of boys got really pissed. They went from "I wanna bite" to "You're not getting a bite". These blightheads didn't even bother to greet and went straight to all out war at each other. Just like wild, rabid cloudbeasts scrapping for a fin. So the crew hid behind the slopes and enjoyed the breaker show. We even commented on their fighting styles while snacking on dried fin roasts — Man, it was buggly as hell. I remembered hustling as a harbor punk when I was a kid, and I still fight better than these dudes.

When the battle winded down, we swooped in like professional crime scene photo-takers. Take some pictures and clean up the entire place. The dead, the disabled, and the maybe dead or disabled. Anyway, the breaker war didn't leave many who could talk.

So the entire convoy got through. Some trucker even told me: "Bro, that was some masterful covert ops."

I said: "Thank you. My OG plan was to look at the skies all day. Didn't expect an entire school of fins to show up."

The biggest take away from this was me verifying a principle — Everything is like angling. Make things up along the way and finprovise. Way better than making detailed plans, IMO.

FILE 4

Lemme introduce an old friend of mine. Wait... Yeah. I think we're old friends. Anyway, the story begins with my least favorite angling style — Drop-n-Yank.

Drop-n-Yank is just like what it says. No lures, no baits, and no waiting for the fins to bite. Drop the hook, yank with all your might, and hope it stabs into something that you can plop in the bucket. They call it angling, but it feels more like violent muggery to me — Absolutely zero patience or technique. One hundred percent deadly.

I saw the technique for the first time at an abandoned wharf. An old angler with scars all over his face dropped, yanked, and man, it was aquatic murder. Blood everywhere and the poor fin was still flapping. A bunch of kids and I learned how to drop-n-yank by hiding behind the barrels while chewing on tortillas.

That was how I "met" my old friend. It was my first time doing the drop-n-yank and I pulled the thing up from the water. But it fought back and tore itself free. I couldn't forget that bloody wound and the disfigured eye. Ugh. I can still feel that eye staring at me. Of course, I didn't bother with human-fin relations back then. People have to angle when they get hungry, and we can't help it when things get ugly.

When I was a punk kid, we lived like fins stuffed in a can. First thing we do in the morning was a headcount to see who survived and who got "devoured" by the streets. Stealing, mugging, and lying? Those were the survival techniques. We negotiated with fists. When you have to drop-n-yank for fins, you know how rough it was back in those days.

Then some guy showed up. One that didn't treat us like feral wildlings. He taught us how to negotiate properly, how to step back a little, and how to protect those around us. He even handed me La Estrada. Told me that someone has to do something different for the city. I believed him, you know. Maybe I can clean up the biz and make a name for myself.

Nights got real quiet in those days. I would sometimes angle for fins at the wharf. That was when I saw it again. It became a great fin. The monstrous thing always fought back, always broke free, and always swam its victory circle. It was laughing at me with that ring of ripples.

So I fought with people in the day and the fin at night. And it lasted till ... my two most trusted friends gave me "Game of Gangs the Reality Show" plus a ton of backstabbing. They were like two insane raptorfins trying to off each other, and I paid an eye to get them to stop. On the day when the gang broke up, I sat at the wharf to see the waves breaking against the wall. We painted graffiti together as kids. Now there was nothing but froth. Our friendship became a dead fin. Scaled and scraped clean.

That was also the day when I realized it had become an old geezerfin — Old dude also lost a lot of weight and its scales were falling off. The injured eye had already turned entirely white. It leaped out of the water and stared at me coldly. It was laughing at me and telling me how I deserved everything. I thought it was our last meeting.

But just two days ago, I ran into the geezerfin during night angling after I closed shop — It was full moon and I knew old geezerfin bit the hook. Man, I know that deadly strength anywhere. The battle felt like it lasted a hundred years. You should have seen the splashes. Feels like Maymay testing out her explosives underwater. But I was the victor of the struggle. The line did not snap and I hoisted geezerfin out of the water. It looked way bigger than it did during its prime. I was about to lower it in the fin crate when I saw that — there was nothing on the hook. Even the bait was still intact.

Did I actually hook the thing? Did it just come and leave? Or was it just my unresolved angst and dilemmas that used the cover of night to show themselves? I finally understood when the last ripples disappeared. "It" was no longer a simple fin. It had become my lingering disappointments and obsession, an embodiment of "what ifs" left behind whenever I see someone leaving or dying early. I even toyed with the idea using the Originium Arts to "hook" it out in its entirety — I knew its form, its wounds, its actions, and even the way it stares at people. It's living with me, and it's way more alive than it had been in water.

Introduced by a liaison from the UWST Security Bureau, Alesh joined Endfield Industries to take on communications and cover duties in the frontier.

He spends his days as a fin seller, always with a rod in hand. But don't be deceived by his laid-back look — his eyes are as sharp as the tip of a hook, and he has got as many tricks for handling trouble as he does for reeling in a catch. With an effortless cast, he always lands the next big fin.

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