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Post by NPC Controller 3 on Jun 12, 2010 23:07:02 GMT 8
Sergeant Bonnie Clyde, Borderlands Outpost[/u]
"Alright, men! Clear the landing pad, we've got some VIPs coming in!"
The thick, foggy air was sent into a whirl as the large aircraft touched down, and the doors slid open. The first to emerge was a young man in a quite-clearly-magical robe, and one of his eyes was brighter than the other.
Meh, no armor? I guess heroes don't need armor.
The next to step off was encased from the neck down in golden armor that irradiated a nearly white glow from symbols engraved on it, and was also fiddling with a radio headset.
Ok, maybe I was wrong.
More stepped off, including the contact she was ordered to get some details from.
"Hi, you're Jessica, right? The base commander needs some details, how well can we entrust your members to defend the border? How much manpower can we free up?"
"Oh, I'm quite sure you can leave most of the defence to them, some of them have experienced combat in the past war, and those who didn't, well, they're still skillful people, trust me on that one. I have to go pick up more people now, good luck, Sergeant."
"Alright, thank you ma'am, good bye and good luck to you too."
She turned to go back to the bunker to inform the Commander that reinforcements had arrived, but he was addressing the new arrivals already.
Watch Commander Ebon Lodder, Borderlands Outpost[/u]
He stood before the assembled reinforcements, they were, of course, quite obviously, not ordinary soldiers.
"Greetings, friends. I am glad you have come to lend your aid, our forces are stretched thin trying to contain the threat, your expertise and prowess will prove invaluable in the coming battle."
Waving them to come along with him as he turned around, he walked back towards the bunker, where a guard promptly saluted him.
"At ease."
Once inside, he ushered the group to a large meeting room, where a map of New Orlania was spread out in the middle. Little props adorned the map, showing positions of units, their strengths, makeup, and whatnot. He pointed to the jagged line seperating New Orlania from Glissan Capella, and indicated their current position.
"As you can see, we have several outposts spread out along the border, but they are too few and too far between to stop any force from sneaking between them, and this is where you come in."
Pointing at a particularly large gap between two bases, he continued.
"We need you to defend this section from enemy offensives. We must not let them penetrate the border and spread further, I will send any forces I can spare to help you out, but well, honestly, they're very much more needed for other areas, too, I hope all of you will understand."
He glanced at each of their faces, hoping they would catch his eye and understand the spot he was in. The one with the runed robe looked like he was quite ready for action, and the Commander was relieved to see that. The female in heavily adorned armor was still fiddling with a radio headset, she'd been doing that since he saw her. The others looked quite dreamy, which worried him.
"Ah, I'm sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I am Watch Commander Ebon Lodder, overall in-charge of the defense of the border."
He shook each of their hands. A solid, determined shake from the man with the glowing eye, a strong and firm shake from the armored woman, and average handshakes from the rest.
"Very well, I have nothing more to brief you on. Speak to Sergeant Clyde who is waiting outside, she will bring you to your transports. Dismissed."
They filed out of the room and onto the large, open courtyard.
I hope they will be able to hold their own. Reports and first hand accounts have described the enemy as anything but human. But, can any of them be described as ordinary humans, either? I don't think so.
Michael Mannure, Borderlands[/u]
Michael grumbled as he walked slowly in line towards the refuge camp in Glissan Capella.
Right before he had been told to evacuate and leave for Glissan Capella, someone had broken into his pub and stolen almost an entire keg of beer. None of the soldiers who frequented his pub had the strength, nor the stomach, nor the wherewithal to do that.
Nevertheless, the pub was useless to him now, anyway. He would have gladly given the beer to boost the morale of the defenders, but to think that probably some crazy, crazy hobo had probably broken in and stolen that beer, it made him really mad.
The long line, the choking fog, and overall shit-hit-the-fan situation wasn't helping, either.
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Post by BALLS-IS-TICK on Jun 12, 2010 23:14:56 GMT 8
Perhaps it had been a mistake to indulge in his passions, or at least, that would be the lecture his mind would be giving him if it were not in a fogged state. At his feet lay a helmet, one whose owner was being treated to a flurry of punches from the drunken male. As the head of the assaulted struck the earth, so did the keg of beer the aggressor was carrying, splitting into pieces upon impact.
A male of fourty-eight years with a face adorned with scars, in another plane he would perhaps be considered dashing. No such luck in this world though. The monstrosity was attired in a once elegant business suit, now ruined by the stench of alcohol and blood. His appearance matched the degrading term, ‘hobo’ in every sense of the word, even the swagger which accompanied his steps rang true to his unofficial profession.
He went by the alias, ‘The Truth’. The scent on his body made it clear he was a foreigner of this world, and not a new one to top it off. He had traversed the land aimlessly, stumbling into various restricted areas along the way.
But this was perhaps his gravest offence yet. He could feel the alcohol flowing through his veins and the warm old tavern, a gathering place for all kinds of bastards, was probably an illusion cast by the beverage. Yet, why take heed of logic’s call? There must be some reason why a tavern would call a wasteland its home. Even if he were to be proven wrong, it would be a simple mistake. So many he had made in his life that just one more to add to his generous collection would be of little significance.
What could be worse, one would ask. This.
Admittedly, The Truth was not famed for his silence, even at the most inappropriate moments his incessant ravings would engulf the atmosphere. This was no exception. The befuddled fool lumbered through the encampment crowing with such vigor that he was rewarded with equally audible wailing sirens. Men abandoned their passive positions and rushed to the scene to welcome the guzzler. It seemed like a party was about to be set in motion.
“HEY BARTENDER, GIVE ME SOME OF THE OLD GOOD STUFF TO CHUG DOWN, EH?”
Such a cry was responded with a fist from one of the armoured males, a punch which did the ruffian did not take lightly. He was starved for a cooling bitter drink and this fool had the audacity to feed his fury instead.
His senseless howls heightened the tension and were followed with disorientated, yet eerily effective punches. Such was the prowess of a body which had weathered many a battle, capable of subduing a single trained sentry within a few swift strikes. Still, he had not evaded the recoil from striking solid steel with bare fists and visible bruises were already forming on his knuckles. Yet, being swept away by the ecstasy of combat, the truth took another swing the fallen male’s comrade, creating a dent in what seemed to be a rather pricy shoulder guard. A brief moment of carelessness allowed a series of blade strikes to greet his undefended back, sending surges of pain through the brute’s body. Blood oozed from the fresh wounds, trickling down his clothes, stains which would add to the array of dried red patterns on the fabric. Despite all the punishment, the promise of quenching his thirst superseded the temptation to nurse his wounds. He took a clumsy step, careful to prevent himself from tipping over.
“To think, you younglings believe you can simply demoralize me by grazing my physical body. Your training remains incomplete, the mind is capable of overwriting all sensations of labour, fatigue or pain if you’ve tamed it! However, can we truly detach ourselves from the material world completely? Are our minds able to transcend the boundaries which our husks have defined? Perhaps, it is my mind which has mustered me, convincing me that I have triumphed over it when such is only a delusion. No matter, this is enough for me to claim my prize!”
The bravodo in his speech was, unfortunately unwarranted. As the seconds passed, his body became increasingly reluctant to answer the call from his mind. Regardless of the toil, the Truth readjusted his stance to maintain balance while ensuring he remained in an offensive position. With the roar of a berserker, he leapt. Strike after strike, pounding away at the polished armour, what a waste of time and resources to beautify what would soon be a bettered heap of thrash. He did not remain unharmed however, for his reactions were far too slow to completely protect all sides of his body, forcing him to grudgingly accept the fangs of the weapons which licked his large frame.
[modification for paragraph spacing]
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Post by NPC Controller 3 on Jun 13, 2010 17:19:24 GMT 8
Sergeant Bonnie Clyde, Borderlands Outpost[/u]
Squinting her eyes, Sergeant Clyde could just make out a scuffle occurring in the distance.
What the fuck do the men think they're doing? We're in the middle of a war, here!
"Please wait here, I will be back shortly."
She proceeded to stomp towards the fight, though she was a good head shorter than the men, the stripes on her shoulder and the look on her face was enough to make the crowd part for her.
"Now, which one of you tinheads has an explanation for this?"
Private Tim Chuckers, Borderlands Outpost[/u]
"Blr-gle, ghuck!"
His dislocated jaw wasn't in any way helping him form articulate speech, and the crazy hobo's flurry of punches threatened to crack more than just his jaw.
As he impacted the ground with a thud, his comrades came to his aid, slashing at the intruder with bayonets, but to their wonder, the man did not seem affected by it at all.
Shouting all sorts of gibberish and indiscernible nonsense, one might have imagined the man being possessed by some sort of spirit. Bleeding from every exposed part of his body, the man continued his mad advance, seemingly crying out for some beer that wasn't there at all.
"Now, which one of you tinheads has an explanation for this?" Came the voice of Sergeant Clyde.
Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck!
He could just make out the blurry outline of the Sergeant above him, pulling him away from the fray to relative safety.
"Enough! All of you! Give the man space to wear himself out, and for fuck's sake, somebody call a medic!"
As the crowd withdrew, the addled man in the middle took a few swings at the air before stopping, panting and bleeding.
Tim took a few more ragged breaths before succumbing to the throbbing in his head, slipping into unconsciousness.
Corporal Vicky Ponders, Borderlands Outpost[/u]
"Excuse me, excuse me, medic incoming, excuse me. Thanks."
Shouldering his way through the crowd of onlookers, the medic got to work on Tim.
"Damn, best I can do is give you a bandage before we medevac you, buddy."
It was then he realised that the Private was out cold.
Damnit, if our forces are so easily knocked out by some rabid hobo, how're we gonna fight off that invasion?
The crowd gradually dispersed as the action died down, and the wounded were carried away on stretchers to waiting chinooks, leaving only Sergeant Clyde with the intruder.
She wouldn't be alone, though. Out of the corner of his eye, Vicky saw the Watch Commander striding toward the pair as well.
Oooh boy. Glad I won't be there if he starts swinging again.
Watch Commander Ebon Lodder, Borderlands Outpost[/u]
"What's the holdup, Sergeant?"
"Sir. An intruder looking for beer, sir."
The Watch Commander considered it for a moment. He pulled out a canister of whiskey from his coat pocket, and approached the intruder.
"Sir! Watch out! He might still be dangerous!"
He ignored her as he stopped in front of him.
"You want some alcohol, do you? Well, I have here a canister of one of the best brands of whiskey in town, and I'd to share it with you, but on one condition. You fight for me, we get out of this war alive, and I'll give more to you, here, have a sip, you'll like it."
Ebon gently held up the canister above the man's mouth and poured in a small amount, then made his way back to the Sergeant, leaving the man with his thoughts.
"With all due respect, sir. I don't think that's a good idea."
"We hardly have any good ideas around now, Sergeant, as you saw, his prowess can be helpful if converted to our side. If he agrees, put him onboard with the other reinforcements."
The Sergeant moved to help the man to his feet as Watch Commander Ebon Lodder went back into the bunker.
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Post by Carillus on Jun 13, 2010 18:31:43 GMT 8
Kamin had watched with mild curiosity as the Sergeant they had been assigned had inadvertently stormed off, leaving them standing in the middle of a large open space with nothing better to do.
The violent scuffle with the hobo had ended with nary but a whimper; she had had no intention to do anything about it in the first place. Pride was very important for soldiers, and when their lives weren't at stake it was best to let them handle their own matters. Her brief stint at a military-for-hire firm had taught her that.
Wait, military-for-hire firm...?
The memory had suddenly surfaced in her mind, but when she tried to grasp at it, like a brief gasp of wind, her past had evaded her again.
All that lingered was the knowledge that she had once worked in a military-for-hire firm, and nothing else.
Kicking up a gentle pace, Kamin strode over to where the Sergeant was, having witnessed the discourse from a distance. The hobo's appearance was nothing but distasteful, and the stench from his soiled clothing went beyond merely to pungent to a complete assault on the sanctity of smell. The foggy air dulled the smell - the Sergeant, however, was wrinkling her nose somewhat. Perhaps getting used to heavy air wasn't all good, all the time.
"Ms Clyde, I'm a certified medic. I'll take care of his injuries and prep him up for you. We are, however, waiting for your instructions on further movement." Kamin gestured slightly over to the group still standing around furtively in the middle of the courtyard. In the meanwhile, she put an arm around the man who smelt like anything but roses, raising him to his feet.
I'm a certified medic, huh...
The foggy air was really doing a wonderful job stimulating her brain - such details, surfacing in her formerly inebriated memory...
"...Azulea ou Rivaldis, Damoschel ou Gavanis."
A clear column of faint yellow light went up around her, a warming effect enveloping all those who found themselves within the circle that moved with Kamin's gentle step. Wounds closed themselves up, gashes disappeared, broken bones mended themselves in seconds.
She looked up at his face - or what was left of it, anyway - and rang a friendly greeting.
"Good day, sir. I'm Nakara."
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Post by Phagetthree on Jun 13, 2010 23:00:50 GMT 8
"... How do I use this thing?"
Faranella had been fiddling with the radio headset for the better part of the journey, and all the time after the ride, too.
Hear voices in my head...? If this thing instigates possession by demons I'm not going to wear it.
The horseshoe shaped object in her hand gave her hardly a clue on the way to use it, she'd tried putting it on like a halo, balancing the tip on her head, and a thousand and one other ways, but all that she'd achieved was eliciting a round of laughter, and nobody came forth to help her.
She had felt a kind of itch in her left gauntlet, but ignored it, such occurrences were common in armor.
Just then, their guide had stopped and went to break up a scuffle that had broken out. After all the action had died down, a single man dressed in a muddied, bloodied, and tattered clothing stood hunched over in the middle. A member of the group had already detached herself and went over to help with the injured.
Wow, an angel? I didn't notice that before, for some reason. Could it be possible that all realms have angels? Therefore... Is the Goddess not the only celestial, then...? This is disturbing, how can there be more than one, or is she a representative of the Goddess, sent to tame this realm? No matter, an angel must be treated with all the reverence that one deserves, and I will not break that tradition!
Just then, a sharp pang in her left gauntlet prompted her to pull it off, and what emerged reminded her of the all too true reality of her left hand's corruption, for in it's corrupted state, it could not fit in the gauntlet properly.
As much as I'd like to pay my respects to the angel right now, I am in no shape to do it!
Realising the extent of the corruption, Faranella was almost at tears, she had devoted her life, her entire being, her soul, to the cause. Her cause was just, it was pure, why, then, would she be rewarded so, with not a blessing but a curse?
Could it have been because of the orb...? That's quite probable.
Though she felt some strange, unfamiliar power coursing within the black flesh, her faith still held strong, and she resisted the temptation to explore those powers.
This corruption, this cancer on my body, must be removed!
Removing a long, jagged dagger from the side of her thigh plate armor, she set the mercygiver upon the skin closest to where the corrupted appendage connected to healthy flesh.
She recalled Mother Purea's words, 'Do what's right, even at great personal price.'
Looking around to make sure nobody was looking, she pressed down and the jagged edge bit into her flesh, Faranella bit her lip in pain, readying herself, she then proceeded to saw through her arm, and the black, veined hand and half her forearm fell onto the ground, leaving her with a bloody stump.
The feeling of relief did not come, however. Within seconds, tendrils of yet more corrupt flesh erupted from the wound, reforming her hand as the one on the ground disintegrated.
Dumbfounded, she cut it off again, only for it to regrow in a moment.
Oh, Goddess, this can't be happening!
She briefly contemplated suicide, as a means to remove her taint from the world, but the call of duty held her back.
These people helped me, even when I was a stranger, and actually still am. I have a debt to repay, and I won't leave them in their hour of greatest need!
After some "configurations" to her left gauntlet glove, Faranella found that she could fit the hand somewhat comfortably inside, leaving only the tips of the claws poking out from the holes she had made in the tips of the fingers.
I must be a walking piece of irony now... She mused to herself.
Turning back to the commotion, she saw that the angel was addressing the lone fighter, and walked up behind her to get a better look, though at a polite distance, of course.
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Post by schrodinger on Jun 15, 2010 2:12:53 GMT 8
Having greeted the commander in charge of the outpost that they'd been dropped into, Venser was resolved to face anything the invasion could throw at him. In some ways, he needed this - it was an opportunity to actually help people, to prove that he still knew how to use his powers for good. But prove to whom? He was the only witness to his crime, and the only one who could have held him responsible was none other than himself. There was nothing to stop him from walking away from this world and taking his chances with the endless multiverse, and yet here he remained.
It wasn't an act of flagellation, he wasn't suffering for it (at the moment, anyway) - if anything, he was actually anticipating the upcoming fight. Since his last foray into battle had been prematurely concluded, and he'd had no idea what he'd been fighting for at the time, he wasn't entirely satisfied with the way things had turned out, to say the least. This time around, he knew what he was in for, and he knew why he was in it.
...For I was in pain to consider the miserable condition of the old man and now my alms, giving him relief, doth also ease me.
My alms indeed. Though these victims are poor in more than one sense of the word.
You're not going to deny your own stake in this, are you?
To be sure, I owe them nothing. And yet this is by no means charity. I fight for myself, because I can, and because I want to. No cause could be higher.
So said, so done, was well. But clearly there was something rotten in the state of Orlania, because a disruption broke out nearby at that moment, interrupting his inward discourse. Moving over to get a clearer view of the situation, he quickly discerned a few important details.
A wild man had appeared. A wild man had attacked a number of soldiers for alcohol. A commander was currently giving the wild man alcohol.
He'd thought it was important to punish abusive behavior rather than reward it, but apparently the military had very different ideas about how the carrot and stick dynamic ought to work. Who knew that obtaining resources from an army could best be accomplished by attacking it indiscriminately? For all they knew, the man could have been an invader dropping by for a drink with a little murder on the side, and the decision to elicit his cooperation could therefore have been described as batshit bonkers.
But for all Venser knew, and he knew a great deal more, the wild man certainly wasn't what he seemed to be. Beneath the inebriation, beneath the stupor, there was something else. Something that interested him.
Though that didn't imply that he felt the need to get closer and investigate. Dragons interested him, but he believed that they were best observed from a healthy distance, as was the case with the self-professed hobo who'd stumbled into their midst. Perhaps, if they managed to cooperate with him successfully, he might discover more about exactly who and what the odd fellow was. Perhaps not, if they kept feeding him alcohol whenever he wanted.
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Post by RaineScarlet on Jun 15, 2010 11:49:27 GMT 8
((OoC: I'll just pretend that I was here~ Also, I guess this would be an ok time to update my profile with a spell that I had been working on before the RP death. It'll help with the dragons anyway.)) [[NPC3 OOC: yea you are here, the aircraft brought the whole team along, though those who aren't around when the action starts will probably be dumped at the outpost.]] Sierra... help...She was crying inside. The pain of hundreds of spirits was stabbing at her body like rotted stakes. Their home was gone, and their power source was being drained by a foreign magic. How dare they, she thought, barely concealing her tears. She could feel it all around her. Davos and Luke must also be suffering. It's not supposed to be like this. I have to stop this. She flicked away the tears that had been forming around her eyes with her magic and finally focused on her immediate surroundings. There had been a slight scuffle involving an intoxicated individual, but thankfully, Kamin had taken care of that... Sierra wasn't sure if she could even move at this point. The spirits were still wailing. She was temporarily grateful for her new body, which separated her somewhat from nature. She knew that if she released her natural undine form, there was no way she could take the pain. No--surely, she would be driven to madness and charge in without a second thought. She took a shaky breath and held a hand to her chest, feeling the foreign warmth that pulsated--warmth that Lu and Davos had given her. She had the ability to stop them. At the very least, the dragons, which the enemy had foolishly used nature to create. Earth, Wind, Water. Davos, Luke, Sierra. She had the advantage, because the invaders didn't belong in this world. They had no right to steal this world's magic. As a resident of this world, she would take it from them. Memoria Lacrimae - Song of memories and tears.
listen.grooveshark.com/#/s/VII/2ucmnl Shikata-sama no uta~ The quarters *kind of* follow the song.
~First Quarter~ Sierra - 5 post
- Start up. A barrier rises around her that takes significant damage before collapsing. Damage does not spill over until barrier is gone.
- If song is stopped here, Sierra loses some energy, but gets a Water manipulation buff.
~Second Quarter~ Mana - 5 post
- Summons a vessel in the likeness of Mana who acts as a guardian while Sierra sings. Uses long swords and broadswords.
- Abilities: Superagility, Magic Negation (can and will destroy all magic if she can cut the stream/joints with her sword)
- If the song is stopped here, Sierra is stunned for the remainder of posts needed to complete the quarter, but Mana's vessel stays until all energy is lost.
~Third Quarter~ Luke - 10 post
- Summons a vessel in the likeness of Luke. His body is made of pure mana and cannot be affected by physical attacks. Floats in the air / hard to see.
- Abilities: Wind Manipulation
- If the song is stopped here, Sierra is stunned, and also loses energy. Luke stays in battle.
~Final Quarter~ Davos - 10 post
-Summons a vessel in the likeness of Davos. His body is made of pure mana and cannot be affected by physical attacks. Stays underground / hard to see.
- Abilities: Earth Manipulation
- If the song stops here, Sierra loses a significant amount of energy and is stunned. Davos' summoning ends and he disappears.
- If the song is completed, Sierra turns into her magic form and can act for 10 posts before she dissolves, leaving only her soul behind (magic-oriented characters can touch/carry/attract/heal this). Afterwards, the summons stay until they run out of energy, but Sierra is unable to act unless healed.
Memoria Lacrimae <Extension=Thalia/.>
- Only able to activate if the magical forms of earth, wind, and water are present.
- The image of a young woman appears in the sky for a second before beams of light shoot down from the heavens. Has slight homing capabilities. Fire elemental. Very powerful. Don't try to god-mod your way out of this one. |
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Post by NPC Controller 3 on Jun 15, 2010 15:59:23 GMT 8
Kei'Pjrioden, the Core of Elements[/u]
The voice made itself known within Sierra's mind, the voice infused with the wisdom of earth, the purity of air, the rage of fire, and the coolness of water.
Greetings, child. I am the father of all, for I am Elements.
Although no being arose to make itself known, wherever there was something, he would be there.
I am in understanding of your pain, but you must know that I will not intervene. For I am they, and they are I, so as I am you, and you are I. Unless it threatens to imbalance the balance of all, then I will act to restore it.
Truth be told, with his massive conscience spread out throughout all of the cosmos, the Core of Elements was everywhere at once, observing the happenings in everyway, through the eyes of others, or even only by the reverberations of the molecules within the earth and air, all was known to him.
But he would not act. Not for the time being, at least, not when the basic balance of the cosmos still held.
But be comforted, for you and your kind are of a special connection to me, far more than the ordinary beings of the Cosmos, you may ask me for help, and I will answer if I deem it fit.
As abruptly as it had come, the voice vanished from within Sierra's consciousness, an insignificant notion, coming and leaving as briefly as the turn of the seasons to the agelessness of Time.
Sergeant Bonnie Clyde, Borderlands Outpost[/u]
A girl with wings had stepped out from the group to speak with the intruder, and Bonnie let her past.
Perhaps she can relate better with him...? But then again I've never seen a drunk angel, or even an angel before this point, anyway.
Stepping back, she continued to ponder the Commander's strange decision, and wondered if his way of buying over the wayward fighter would improve their chances in the long run.
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Post by Mathus on Jun 15, 2010 23:09:34 GMT 8
"Ugh.."
Sol woke up to find himself inside a tent, on a makeshift bed of some sort.
'Where am I? How long was I out? And how I did get here anyways? Everything is a blur.'
Placing his left hand on his forehead, Sol noticed something and turned his hand over.
'!? What's this? I don't remember having them before, but it all seems so, familiar.'
He then tried to transform into his demon form but failed.
'Guess I can't do that anymore, this glove and ring might be the reason.'
Putting the questions aside, he made his way out of the tent and asked a nearby soldier.
"Where am I?"
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Post by schrodinger on Jun 16, 2010 2:20:26 GMT 8
Almost as soon as Venser had mentally verbalised his desire to keep a healthy distance from creatures of the dangerous persuasion, a pulse of magic from the 'palace' that the invaders were apparently operating from caught his attention. Someone was summoning something. Lots of somethings. He immediately grabbed onto the spell signature, analyzing it in the hopes of identifying exactly what this 'something' was, but that turned out to be entirely unnecessary, as a shadow passing overhead clued him in.
Dragons. Dragons with a paintjob so weird they could only have been designed by a colorblind creator. Or they were elemental constructs, lacking a fleshy form. He could only surmise that their overall attitude towards the defenders of the port was less than cordial from the way they were ripping apart planes with aplomb.
Looks like I picked the wrong week to stop shooting synth.
The dragons were hostile, which meant that their summoners were hostile, which meant that he'd been sensing the enemies' spellcasters at work. With this deduction, he hurriedly focused on tracing the summoning ritual back to its origins, pinpointing its casters' positions.
I see you, scoundrels.
He certainly couldn't let them keep up their little production line - the dragons would tip the scales (har har) of the battle too far in the invaders' favor, but to take them on by himself would be a touch too foolhardy for his liking. He was confident in his abilities, but he wasn't suicidal.
Fortunately, Sierra also seemed to bear significant umbrage against them, apparently because they were abusing the world's natural resources. He couldn't entirely sympathise with her on that count, but he did feel a bit more of an affinity with this world now. Now that he'd taken part of it into himself.
"Sierra, what are you planning to do to them?"
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Post by RaineScarlet on Jun 16, 2010 14:57:41 GMT 8
((OoC: I don't get why the Elements dude popped up. I have no business with them, and maybe you are misunderstanding what Sierra, Lu, and Davos are. If we think of hierarchies in terms of mana control, it'd be Sierra > Magic user/summoner > the spirits. She's just saying that by using her enhanced manipulation, she'll be able to deconstruct the elements that hold the dragons together. The summon magic will still be present, but not the elements. It's not anything complicated, just some dragon dissection.))
((Oh, I don't know about anyone else, but I make a distinction between magic that controls the elements, and magic in general (like Venser's mind games vs. Sierra chucking ice at people).))
Venser's question shook her out of her reverie. He asks as if it's something menacing... Although she realized, after a moment, that she must have been emitting an malicious aura without noticing.
"The dragons are made of this world's elements. I will simply free the elements from the magic that binds them.." She replied with conviction.
But she didn't feel as confident as she sounded. She realized that if the summoning magic was too powerful, she risked sacrificing herself in order to break the elements away from the foreign magic. Especially of the unknown mana contaminated her vessel in the process.
And then there's the time and energy I'll need to call Lu and Davos for help... Even if it wasn't really them. Lu and Davos had given her some of their power, but it was imperfect. She could, at best, call beings in their likeness for a short period of time, but during that time, if she could destroy all the dragons, then maybe... and opening...
"Frankly, I'm rather tired of being shipped around from place to place. I may just be a civilian, but I feel just as strongly about this as the rest of them." She said, waving casually towards all the armed troops in the area.
"This is my home now."
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Post by schrodinger on Jun 16, 2010 16:24:02 GMT 8
"...Ah. I commiserate with you completely. May I offer my assistance in this area, then? If you can deal with those dragons, I think I'll have a word with their summoners about their unruly behavior - it simply cannot be allowed to go on."
He understood why Sierra was angry with the invaders, even if he himself had indulged in more than one exploit involving bending a world's elements to his will. He counted himself fortunate that he'd never encountered a defender of the elements as ardent as she was.
It was a little awkward pretending to be as fervent as she was about the sanctity of the elements, though, so he just smiled and nodded to her as he left her to it. He had no doubt that she would make good on her promise to liberate the elements from the magic binding them through her own means, but when it came to his own part in the plan, he had to pause to consider exactly what it was he meant to do.
A psychic probe relayed across the residual energy left by the invaders' summoning ritual would give him access to their minds (he'd preserved the spell signature almost perfectly), and from there...
Well, it wasn't going to be pretty.
Gazing in the direction of the invaders' palace, he calmed himself, preparing to enter a state of meditation that would allow him to use his consciousness as an avatar in his targets' mindscapes.
Alright. Clear the mind...
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Post by Phagetthree on Jun 16, 2010 16:46:53 GMT 8
Stupid. Thing.
With the issue of her left hand temporarily resolved, she had turned her attention back towards the headset.
God of Wisdom, Tharros, please teach me how to use this foreign object!
Still left with absolutely no idea how to use the item, she approached Venser, who seemed to be staring at the sky.
"Hi, excuse me, I haven't asked for your name, nor the others in our group. I'm Faranella, and by the way, do you know how to properly use this thing?"
She held out her right hand for a handshake, holding the radio headset up with her other hand.
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Post by schrodinger on Jun 16, 2010 22:07:20 GMT 8
D'oh!
His attempt at meditation disrupted, Venser opened his eyes to face the interloper, Faranella.He noted that her left hand was somewhat off-color, or at least its fingertips were. The work of a very inept manicurist, or perhaps something more serious? Shaking her proffered hand, he felt the trace of something insidious at work within her, indicating that it was probably the latter, but he didn't think too much of it at the moment. There were more pressing matters to take care of.
"Yes, hello to you too. My name's Venser. I believe you're supposed to put that on your head like so..."
He demonstrated, then passed the headset back to her. Perhaps it had been rude of him to leave her with such a perfunctory and bizarre explanation of how headsets were supposed to work earlier. Oh well.
"By the by, that hand of yours... what's happened to it? Don't worry, you're not the only one with a foreign power sealed into a body part."
Pointing to his own eye, he smiled wryly and raised an eyebrow, hoping that she wouldn't find the question offensive.
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Post by Phagetthree on Jun 16, 2010 23:18:25 GMT 8
The man had a steadfast and determined handshake, though Faranella noted that his eyes flickered towards her left gauntlet.
Please don't ask...
Having learned that his name was Venser, she then watched with curiosity as he demonstrated the proper usage of the headset, then received it back with her right hand, careful not to expose her left hand to more prying eyes.
It was then that he asked.
"By the by, that hand of yours... what's happened to it? Don't worry, you're not the only one with a foreign power sealed into a body part."
He then indicated one of his eyes, which Faranella saw was brighter than the other.
I see, but that does not change the fact that I am tainted.
"Well..." She glanced down, as the surge of memories his question triggered barraged her mind. "I believe it was caused by an item that I tampered with, which I also think was the one which sent me to this realm."
With the last seconds of the event fuzzy, she dared not theorize further, for all she knew, the demon lord passing through the portal might have simply picked her up by her left arm and tossed her into the portal behind him, hence also corrupting her in the process.
Wiping the ideas from her head, she put the headset on, correctly, this time, and thanked him.
"Thank you for your help, Venser. You are kind to help me when nobody else has come forth."
With that, she ambled off, this time trying to fit both her helmet AND the headset onto her head together.
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Post by BALLS-IS-TICK on Jun 16, 2010 23:51:24 GMT 8
Crimson dew was now flowing from the man’s mouth. Compared to the rest of his body, the injuries to his facial features were negligible. Those other drinkers had played dirty. Right from the beginning they had resorted to using their petty toys against him. Strange, it was rare that a bunch of semi-conscious drunkards would be able to put up a decent fight to entertain him, let alone to be completely in synch with one another.
Heck, how big was this bar anyway? Challenger after challenger streamed from the doorways to take the place of the fallen, steadily backing him into a corner. His attempts to fracture their formation proved to be futile at best. A refined sense of judgment was not required to illustrate how bleak the situation had become, Even the rage induced by the alcohol cowered in the face of an unyielding collective force before him.
The blood loss had placed a hefty tax on his body’s strength, each moment the unforgiving minister of pain demanding its payment in full. He was superhuman, no doubt, but human nevertheless, and was not immune to the intuitive call for retreat.
But to where? Lamentable, utterly lamentable. To be cornered by filthy hoodlums in a bar and unable to escape, this day would definitely not make it to be his top five favourites. If he did not play his current hand wisely, it would definitely become his first death day.
"You want some alcohol, do you? Well, I have here a canister of one of the best brands of whiskey in town, and I'd to share it with you, but on one condition. You fight for me, we get out of this war alive, and I'll give more to you, here, have a sip, you'll like it."
Let it be the bartender, let it be an angel, let it be the devil, the voice chimed like bells of heaven, if such a sanctuary ever existed. The thugs encircling him broke their ranks, making no attempt to disguise their disappointment. No doubt, these men were starved for the taste of a fresh kill, what a bloody thirsty bar he had chanced upon this time.
The male who had interrupted the feasting of the hawks carried a less vulgar scent, one who seemed far less brutish and to The Truth, much inexperienced than his men. To be ‘saved’ by an imp who was unlikely to have danced with death under the malice of combat was degrading, but who was he to be picky? After all, he was one who led a dog’s life, passing the days carefree yet dangerously hanging onto the thread of life. All sense of pride and shame should have left him decades ago when he chose such a life.
“Hah, impulsive aren’t you, pup. Yer little friends here had the right idea, it’s much better to kill of those damned strays before they get a chance to nip yer in the ass nice and clean.”
As the words left his mouth, he could sense the tension in the area rising. The thugs were fiercely biting back their rage, the sweet, sweet grinding of teeth filled the air granting him immense pleasure. Perhaps if he were in a better state of mind he would know better than to indulge in the animosity of others but for now, this mental satisfaction seemed to take his mind away from the pain in his body.
“But hey, who am I to complain? Yer saved me nonetheless, and for that, I thank you, whoever you are, bartender sir, god sir, or devil sir. As for your offer…”
It was all too hilarious, being offered the chance to be a mercenary, for some kind of war. War, an all too familiar term, a plague he had grown all too fond of. He was no stranger to this calamity Ares wrought. The word induced nostalgia, memories with vague details surging through his mind as he pondered upon the offer. The alcohol meant nothing to him, it was merely a habit he could kick off at anytime, or so he thought. But the proposal of joining a war excited him in ways he was unable to understand in his mystified state. When clarity came to him perhaps he would regret the decision or perhaps he would be able to better comprehend the pleas in his mind to set foot onto the battle field.
“Maybe it’s the beer talking or maybe I’m just bored. I’ll have a go at your war business, but yer beer better be of the finest quality. Damn man, how many times I’ve been promised a good old drink but been tricked into accepting some cheapo substitute instead.”
Typical of him, to make everything seem so lighthearted and insignificant. Despite his hazy vision, he could make out a new figure joining the scene, what seemed to be a female of some sort. Sight was a terrible guide at times while intuition proved to be a superior advisor. He could detect a difference in the lass’s presence as compared to the thugs. However, it was not unusual to detect individuals who were slightly less ordinary therefore it warranted no special attention.
“And by the way, pup, lighten up a little. It’s just a war, means nothing when the survivors look back at history. No one’s going to be bothered about a page or two in the archives, not even you. By then you and I will be so far away from the plane of existence we can’t even care.”
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Post by NPC Controller 3 on Jun 17, 2010 23:14:42 GMT 8
Watch Commander Ebon Lodder, Borderlands Outpost[/u]
"Yes, ma'am. Understood."
Putting down the phone, he watched as the nearby printer finished spewing its load of faxes.
Handing them to his lieutenant, he told her to brief the newcomers.
"Thanks, Nila. I'm getting way too old to be walking about so much."
"No problem, sir. It is an honor to be serving beneath you on the frontlines."
Ebon really admired her tenacity, almost fresh out of the academy, his personal advisor and secretary Lieutenant Nila Torrein seemed not to be fazed by the prospect of war and impending doom. Which although worried him about her mental state, also guaranteed that her work was always crisp, neat, and punctual.
Leaning back in his chair, he surveyed the tiny office within the bunker. Just ten minutes ago, half a dozen of the most powerful people he'd ever met had strode in and taken orders from him.
Grinning, he leaned forward and casually tipped one of the tiny figurines representing dragons on the tactical map over on its side.
We'll win this, and send them back to whatever hell spawned them.
Lieutenant Nila Torrein, Borderlands Outpost[/u]
Scanning the printouts as she walked out of the Commander's office, she made mental notes about the advantages that the completion of each mission would offer, and had them organised into a presentable format when she had exited the blast doors and into the open.
Attempting to round them up, she waved over those who were looking in her direction, and tapped the shoulders of others who weren't.
"Gather around, please. Thank you."
Once confident that she had gathered most of them, she started the mission briefings.
"We have two missions of critical importance, one of them is artifact retrieval, and the other is search and rescue."
Passing the papers to the nearest person, Venser, she continued.
"As you can see, mission one, artifact retrieval, requires a dangerous air insertion into the far end of the port. You will be dropped off a few blocks away from the target due to the presence of too many large buildings which the Blitz Regia will be unable to land on, your target destination is Machigai Tea House."
Taking a breath, and being sure to establish eye contact with every member of her audience, she continued.
"Inside, you must search for the artifact which, once activated, will result in the summoning of 'The Four Great Dragons', and they will assist greatly in the destruction of the enemy airforces. However, they will take several hours to be summoned, and in that timeframe, you will have to fend for yourselves."
Giving a slight pause to allow them to absorb the information, she launched into her second briefing.
"As for the second mission, the target destination is also on the far side of the port, close to the harbor. One of New Technia's most important UAV project leaders is marooned within and is in need of extraction. My take is that with her rescue, the top brass in New Technia will be more inclined to send us more reinforcements, including UAV drones to help in combat."
Pushing her fringe behind her hair, she finished off.
"You may complete these missions in any order, for instance, completing the second first will allow for UAV support while you search for the artifact. However, of course, these orders are not compulsory for you to follow as you are technically civilians, but, on a personal level, I plead for your help. You are the only ones strong enough here to actually have a chance of carrying them out successfully. The Blitz Regia will be here to pick you up shortly, please make your choice by then."
Leaving the mission details in Venser's hands, she returned to the bunker without another word.
Private First Class Bennie Lavier, Borderlands Outpost[/u]
"Where am I?" Came a voice from behind him.
Turning about, he watched as Sol exited the medical tent.
"Ah, you were unconscious when they brought you in on the Blitz Regia, hence we placed you in the medical tent for recuperation. Are you alright? If you're feeling better already, you may rejoin your comrades over there."
He indicated their position with his index finger, pointing at the little group clustered together after a briefing from the Commander's lieutenant.
Watching her disappear into the bunker, he sighed.
She's so beautiful... He mused, completely forgetting that Sol was still standing beside him.
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Post by schrodinger on Jun 18, 2010 1:54:15 GMT 8
It's just one distraction after another around these parts, isn't it?
Venser received the papers from Nila silently, only bowing to her slightly as way of greeting. He didn't know exactly how important these missives were, or how embarking upon them would affect the conflict unfolding around him, but he did know that they would have to wait for a moment.
A moment would do.
He resumed his distant gaze at the invaders' palace, breathing slowly. Impassively. From somewhere far off a burst of gunfire sent coruscations of noise ricocheting towards him. A scream, an ululating sound of agony, or despair, or perhaps both or neither, added an underlying tune to the staccato of slugs fired from soulless metal tubes. He paid them no heed. It was all far away now. All far away.
In his vision, the inscrutable sky gave way to a backdrop of pitch darkness, the velvet oblivion of realms beyond the night sky shrouding everything, obscuring, cloaking the world in deep shadow. Standing in the midst of impenetrable blackness, he closed his eyes, letting the nothingness within his eyelids merge with its twin without.
For a silent eternity there was only blankness for him, a blanket of stillness thrown over all, devoid of any sign of the world beyond him. Then he opened his eyes, and there was light.
And he looked at the light and saw that the light was good. An intricate filigree of shining filaments wove themselves into a pattern around him, a pattern that he'd seen countless times before, and was glad to look upon once again. Go, he thought, and the pattern shifted into a scrim of coiling threads, spreading out from him, wending their way across the landscape, until they converged at one point.
My path is clear.
Racing across the tendrils of light, he arrived in less time than it would have taken to imagine his destination, breaking into their mental inner sanctums with the ease of scattering ashes on the wind.
Gentlemen. Good day and good day and good day to you all! I haven't had the chance to meet you in person, but rest assured that your reputation precedes you, as do your dragons. You've really outdone yourselves on them, and I'm here today to give you my honest feedback.
Cease and desist.
Cue the fireworks. He could have broken the rest of their minds and lashed the remnants together into something obedient only to him, bringing them under his heel. He could have brought dementia upon them, cursing them to forget themselves and fall into the prisons of their own minds. Ripped apart their self-control mechanisms, one by one, until they collapsed, spasming, soiling themselves, gnashing at their own tongues.
So many elaborate means of punishment. So much to punish. But he was here for justice, not cruelty, even if it was well-earned, and he took pride in his work. Elegance in simplicity.
And so it was that they bore the brunt of his fury in the form of a surgically-aimed, relentless masterstroke, with massive internal bleeding in their cerebral cavities. He wasn't leaving any room for error. They would be his examples to the rest of the invaders, his message to them that they were nowhere near as mighty as they thought.
To ensure that they wouldn't mistake it for a random act of God (as opposed to a deliberate act of a vengeful god), he left his calling card, his personal signature, shining out at the world through the irises of his victims. They'd struck hard with those dragons. He was going to strike harder.
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Post by RaineScarlet on Jun 18, 2010 12:20:46 GMT 8
There was a sigh of relief from the spirits. Sierra breathed with them, and saw, through their collective consciousness, that the summoners had been disabled--violently. She shot a glance at Venser, who had been sending out lines of his own mana towards the Port.
Not doubt it was him. She smiled inwardly. It made her feel more confident to have someone who would help, no matter how great the effort.
My mission is, of course, to liberate Port Orlania. The water there is where I was sealed for hundreds of years. There is no better place for me to fight. The battlefield is mine.
There was an age-old tactical rule stating that defenders of their homeland were particularly difficult to defeat, and she would prove that true. Their ride would be here soon. She knew where she wanted to go.
Taking a slow breath, she felt the magic of the world bubbling inside her chest. Of course, there was much more water, but pools of Earth, Wind, and Fire swirled vigilantly.
Luke... Davos... you feel it, don't you? I will protect this place, and you guys too.
Her memories stirred and flashed like bolt shaped movie reels. But no, it wasn't time yet. The summoning had come to a temporary halt, so it was now possible to break through without it. She would not sing yet.
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Post by Phagetthree on Jun 19, 2010 22:58:28 GMT 8
Those are our courses of action, then.
Considering these options, she turned towards Venser for a discussion about their options, but saw that he seemed to be deep in thought again.
Better not disturb him, then.
Thinking, she considered what the acronym 'UAV' meant, the woman who had briefed them didn't elaborate on them. But whatever they were, they seemed to be of great strategic importance. Although she hadn't faced the enemy combatants yet, she knew she would fight to her last breath.
Nobody will take my newfound home from me, these invaders are no different from those demons in my realm. They deserve no pity, no remorse, nothing more than death.
Just then, a wet, sickly splash on her left pauldron made her flinch, and turned her head to look. Some blood had splattered onto it and onto the ground. Looking up, Faranella expected to see perhaps the remains of some airborne creature bearing down on them, but what she saw was almost beyond belief.
"Watch out!" She cried.
Raising her right hand, which grasped the Soul Keeper firmly, the thoughts for the spell occurred naturally within her mind, and a golden dome stretching from all around her was just about enough to encompass the group and several other infantrymen, including the Sergeant, but it was not enough to protect the rest of the soldiers who were caught outside.
Calling out to those who were seconds away from their doom, she yelled, "TAKE COVER!"
A protection spell of this magnitude took more than her usual energy, requiring the sacrifice of a Soul Essence on her blade, which she noticed as she looked upward at the sky, and hence the sword, as well.
I send thanks to the Forefathers, who fought and died to preserve the world from utter annihilation.
Only a few seconds remained before the main body of macabre rain descended upon them.
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Post by RaineScarlet on Jun 20, 2010 6:59:36 GMT 8
No! Something stopping us already?! Sierra itched to get over to the port, but if the group was routed here even before they could get moving, it would be a big problem. The newcomer, Faranella, had raised a barrier over a small portion of the troops, but the remaining men were caught as the clouds converged, and sharp points of blood began to rain down. Despicable. Spirits, come! These people are underestimating us."Faranella, thank you very much for your efforts!" She took a deep breath and started to sing, running out of the barrier to where most of the men were, and gathering orbs of water with her in the process. Panic was already arising amongst the men as the blood nicked at them. Rain Song - Summons a strong rainstorm & clouds. Rain lasts anywhere from 10-50 posts, with dry areas lasting the shortest. Covers a VERY VERY large area. Real rainwater.
listen.grooveshark.com/#/s/Expressive+Hill+Harmonics+FRELIA+/2UpGk0 I like the *boom* lightning part. :3 It was simple -- to contaminate the blood by mixing in rain water. Ideally, the clouds gathering for the natural rain water would also scatter the ones currently in place for the blood, and if that didn't work, then Sierra could easily divert the blood-and-water mixture away from their side. A win win situation either way.
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Post by NPC Controller on Jun 20, 2010 18:09:51 GMT 8
Jennifer Dagwood - 122th Air Hawks, VTT-01 T-122F "Blitz Regia"
The shrill whine of the eight jet engines slowly died as Jennifer cut the throttle, slowly easing the currently supersonic aircraft into a speed more conducive to landing.
As she descended past the large clouds that had mysteriously and suddenly appeared below her (no doubt some form of device of the enemy), a hollow sound started to echo off various parts of her craft, and the windscreen was quickly coated with a thick, red substance that threatened to impair her field of vision entirely.
This is... blood.
She turned on the wiper.
"T-122F Blitz Regia to 51 Control, requesting landing clearance, sequence 3-0-3."
"Confirmed. Blitz Regia, you are clear to land at pad 02, sequence 3-0-3. Confirm report, precious cargo to zone A4D, over."
"Roger, precious cargo to zone A4D. How's visibility down there?"
"Zero-zero-five, like peering down an open a-hole. Keep your wipers on."
Jennifer snickered. "Roger. Request BVR guide, over."
"BVR guide up and running. India band frequency, passcode 14406."
Keying in the relevant data, the radar landing guide glimmered into view, indicating she was still over thirty kilometres from her destination. Just about right.
"Landfall in thirty secs."
She could just about make out some sort of outline on the ground through the massive spray of life support fluids coming down from the heavens above. Or maybe it was just her imagination.
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Post by schrodinger on Jun 21, 2010 1:53:45 GMT 8
Ah... that was quite a ride.
Barely five seconds had passed between him entering and exiting the Grid, and he hadn't moved an inch, but Venser felt as though he'd physically been there, next to his victims, tearing into their neural pathways with his own two hands, choking off their tenuous grips on life. There had been no death throes. It had all been over quickly. He didn't know if that pleased him or not.
Releasing a breath he didn't know he'd been holding in, he stretched, trying to relieve some of the stiffness that he'd built up from concentration. A few errant strands of hair from his fringe swung into his eyes as he twisted his neck, prompting him to brush them away.
...Black. The tips of his hair had darkened to the point of turning completely black, a striking contrast to the rest of it, which was silver-grey. Rubbing a strand between his fingers, he stared at it with no small amount of consternation. He wasn't aware that his hair was capable of impromptu dyejobs, and he certainly hadn't been thinking of going for a makeover any time soon. True enough, his hair hadn't always been silver, but at least he knew why it had changed color. He didn't know why it was turning black. No idea at all. It scared him.
Something scratched his cheek, distracting him from his worries. The metallic tang of blood filled his senses, telling him that whatever it was, it had cut him fairly deep. Strange, it didn't feel very painful. He thought that his shock of hair had numbed him to it at first, but upon raising his hand to the wound apparent... nothing.
Huh?
And then he saw it. Tiny, crimson pinpoints falling from on high, heading towards his upturned face like a hail of vicious needles. He couldn't stop it - they were going to hit him -
He'd almost recoiled from the pain he'd expected to be forthcoming, but again... nothing. A golden sphere, shimmering in the faint light, had erected itself around the area, preventing the rain of gore from touching him. His mysterious benefactor this time around was... Faranella, it seemed. With her sword raised (to create a shield, how apropos), she faced the sky as though performing a sun salutation. Only there was no sun.
Only blood.
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Post by Carillus on Jun 22, 2010 18:31:09 GMT 8
"It may not mean anything in the future, but it sure means a lot to me now. I've got a life to live, and though it be one fraught with many troubles, it's my life, and mine alone. And I'd like to keep it mine for as long as I can."
The warm field around the two of them slowly dissipated, leaving a hollow afterglow much like the feeling one gets when moving from a warm summer's day into the shade. It was only then that Kamin noticed the little drops of liquid that came down from the sky.
She eased herself from under the much-mutilated man's arm, leaving him in the shelter of the awning of the main office. Walking out into the morbid rain of blood, she looked up to the sky, standing defiantly against the assault, her white tunic a dirty mix of white and crimson.
The others were trying, attempting to stem, block, defend against the scarlet downpour.
She... she revelled in it.
The scarlet rain... it brought back memories. Memories of a time before she had come to this land of supposed hope and fantasy.
Memories of a time she had forgotten.
Memories of a time she had killed.
...Such grave memories. And what a time to remember them.
With a single deft movement, she pulled the S2-AM from its position on her back, experienced fingers that had relearned their craft pulling, turning, snapping - preparing for battle.
Her shoes squelched in the mud. Her hair was a muddy red-brown. The shirt she was wearing had turned a diluted pink, stained by the watered-down blood coming down on them.
Toward her comrades she moved - comrades she had met with, eaten with, chatted with.
Fought with. And they had supported her.
"Come on!"
Now it was her turn to support them. This was no prissy friendly match; this was a battle of life and death.
"Forget about the stuff coming from the sky. You're going to wade in it, knee-deep, waist-deep, when it comes down to the grind."
Kamin raised her rifle to the sky. The blood ran down the sheer metal barrel, outside, around, inside it. She didn't care.
"This is a war for us to live life as we want to. And by God will I fight for it."
A roar from behind - Blitz Regia had arrived. She lowered her weapon, and with a single bound, leapt into the hold.
She turned back and smiled.
"Anyone coming?"
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Post by Phagetthree on Jun 24, 2010 0:06:58 GMT 8
Through the rain of pointy blood, Faranella could just make out the fuzzy outline of the transport 'kite' again. The angel in their team had also leapt aboard, indicating the rest of them should, too.
Moving carefully, she headed into the belly of the transport while maintaining the shield over as many people as she could until they also followed her into the ship.
"Greetings, angel and comrade in arms. It is my honor to serve beside you, may order prevail and our enemies be vanquished. My name is Faranella Tyron, at your service."
These despicable beings who would rather send forth golems and ranged attacks rather than fight us face to face are no different from the liches and necromancers who infest my realm, I will destroy all of them.
Just then, a bit of memory returned to her, some of her last words before she departed her home realm.
At all costs.
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