[Assorted] Episodes of War
- Thread starter Karl Jak
- Start date
- Status
Face to Face
Miniskirt Armada Soldiers vs Unmade Carnaval Soldiers
Miniskirt Armada Soldiers vs Unmade Carnaval Soldiers
Riding high on life, the detachment of Miniskirt Armada soldiers had managed to cover a lot of ground, even after the day’s earlier maneuvering and activity. Spread out loosely in a positioned designed to conceal themselves in the event of enemy detection, the group had expected to complete this operation and be back to their home back sometime after dusk.
What that hadn’t expected, though, was the ambush that awaited them as they navigated what seemed to be unused paths and abandoned roads created by long-dead farmers.
The Unmade poured from the trees, with many of them dropping down suddenly among a squad and landing a glut of jagged blows before being slain. Yet, despite the nature of the ambush, it was the army in blue that seemed to hold an advantage, especially as the two wings of the small force were able to fall into position and lay waste to the horde of monsters.
In the end, it was those same monsters who fled, but even as they celebrated the victory, a sergeant in the squad stepped forward and cast a frown at the assorted dead. “What happened to Steve Murkowitz? Or the Sandoval brothers?”
Someone who was already looking through the dead glanced over and shook his head. “They’re not here, Sarge, you don’t think they ran scared, d’ya?”
The sergeant frowned and shook his head. “They was good boys, they were. I fear somethin’ much worse than desertion has taken hold of their asses.”
Face to Face
Withering Fire!
Withering Fire!
Despite their loses, the soldiers had their orders from their strong-willed commanding officer.
They marched throughout the night after their envoy returned from their base of operations.
While they hoped the night and their own tactics would grand them solace from the dangers around them, they were wrong.
The mortar fire rained down on them.
Those who weren’t slaughtered in that volley raced onward, still hoping to complete their task, lest they bring disappointment to their CO. They watched their unconcealed allies perish horribly in the hellfire and could do little but run.
Face to Face
Withering Fire!
Withering Fire!
The Miniskirt Armada soldiers had felt some degree of confidence, having gone without sight of any monsters that lurked in this region. They even had faith they might get all the way to their objective.
Their luck ended when fel mortars rained down onto their heads from the night skies.
- Joined
- Jul 28, 2018
- Messages
- 128
- Awards
- 9
- Essence
- €22,240
- Coin
- ₡23,525
- Tokens
- 45
- World
- Mesa Roja
- Profile
- Click Here
- Faction
- None yet!
Adventurer’s Log, Day 14:
Finally! An assignment!
For almost two weeks now, the youngest and smallest member of the Burning Legion had gone mostly ignored by the top brass. Several times, he’d made plays for General Azula’s attention, trying to sneak into her tent to present her with slideshow after slideshow about how they — or, more accurately, he — could sneak into the unmade territory and take ‘em down from the inside. Of course, he had ulterior motives for wanting to jump in headfirst, but that was beside the point; wasn’t defeating these monsters the point of this whole stupid game, anyway?
He probably shouldn’t have called it stupid, to be realio. He was actually kinda havin’ a blast, even if it was a little brutal out here. Yeah, peeps were dyin’, but most of the contestants who could afford it had probably bought stuff beforehand that could make sure that wasn’t super permanent, so who was he to judge anyone who was having fun walking around getting ganked? Heck, if he hadn’t been here to very specifically try and find something that he hadn’t yet found, he’d probably try harder to jump into the combat bizness.
Of course, the newly-minted Princess-Commander probably wouldn’t have had any of that even if he’d pushed harder. She might’ve been kinda… or, uh, really freakin’ crazy, but it seemed like throwing actual potentially orphaned children into the heat of battle against murderous clown zombies was a line even Azula hesitated to cross.
At least her priorities were mostly in place. She had her sights set on destroying the monsters to the north, which was super important, and the resident adventurous little tyke of the Burning Legion was satisfied with that. After all, as much as he hated to admit it, with those creatures was where he was most likely to find what he’d been lookin’ for — or at least evidence of where he could find it.
So when the opportunity had come to deliver a letter to the leader himself, the little guy had shirked the fear of whatever dangers lied up there and volunteered — no, insisted — that Princess-Commander Azula let him go.
Seeing the wayward unmade soldier hobbling down the dilapidated street towards him almost made him regret it.
He held up his flamethrower, which was bigger than himself, and closed his eyes tight as the creature stalked towards him. “I come on behalf of Princess-Commander Azula of the Miniskirt Armada!” he shouted squeakily. “My mission is to deliver a missive to your leader! I mean you no harm!”
The creature stared for a few seconds, tilting its head like an unintelligent animal. Cautiously, the Miniskirt messenger opened his eyes and took in the monster’s appearance for the first time, searching for familiar features.
No, he decided, not her.
Seconds later, the creature turned and began to hobble away. It looked a little worse for wear, but the little dude still had expected it to try and eat his brains or something. He was almost… disappointed.
Were they just gonna… let him through?
What kind of adventure was that?!
Finally! An assignment!
For almost two weeks now, the youngest and smallest member of the Burning Legion had gone mostly ignored by the top brass. Several times, he’d made plays for General Azula’s attention, trying to sneak into her tent to present her with slideshow after slideshow about how they — or, more accurately, he — could sneak into the unmade territory and take ‘em down from the inside. Of course, he had ulterior motives for wanting to jump in headfirst, but that was beside the point; wasn’t defeating these monsters the point of this whole stupid game, anyway?
He probably shouldn’t have called it stupid, to be realio. He was actually kinda havin’ a blast, even if it was a little brutal out here. Yeah, peeps were dyin’, but most of the contestants who could afford it had probably bought stuff beforehand that could make sure that wasn’t super permanent, so who was he to judge anyone who was having fun walking around getting ganked? Heck, if he hadn’t been here to very specifically try and find something that he hadn’t yet found, he’d probably try harder to jump into the combat bizness.
Of course, the newly-minted Princess-Commander probably wouldn’t have had any of that even if he’d pushed harder. She might’ve been kinda… or, uh, really freakin’ crazy, but it seemed like throwing actual potentially orphaned children into the heat of battle against murderous clown zombies was a line even Azula hesitated to cross.
At least her priorities were mostly in place. She had her sights set on destroying the monsters to the north, which was super important, and the resident adventurous little tyke of the Burning Legion was satisfied with that. After all, as much as he hated to admit it, with those creatures was where he was most likely to find what he’d been lookin’ for — or at least evidence of where he could find it.
So when the opportunity had come to deliver a letter to the leader himself, the little guy had shirked the fear of whatever dangers lied up there and volunteered — no, insisted — that Princess-Commander Azula let him go.
Seeing the wayward unmade soldier hobbling down the dilapidated street towards him almost made him regret it.
He held up his flamethrower, which was bigger than himself, and closed his eyes tight as the creature stalked towards him. “I come on behalf of Princess-Commander Azula of the Miniskirt Armada!” he shouted squeakily. “My mission is to deliver a missive to your leader! I mean you no harm!”
The creature stared for a few seconds, tilting its head like an unintelligent animal. Cautiously, the Miniskirt messenger opened his eyes and took in the monster’s appearance for the first time, searching for familiar features.
No, he decided, not her.
Seconds later, the creature turned and began to hobble away. It looked a little worse for wear, but the little dude still had expected it to try and eat his brains or something. He was almost… disappointed.
Were they just gonna… let him through?
What kind of adventure was that?!
- Joined
- Jul 28, 2018
- Messages
- 128
- Awards
- 9
- Essence
- €22,240
- Coin
- ₡23,525
- Tokens
- 45
- World
- Mesa Roja
- Profile
- Click Here
- Faction
- None yet!
Adventurer’s Log, Day 15:
Gotta find her.
Gosh, this journey was rough.
Unmade territory was no freakin’ joke, all twisty and turny. It didn’t help that everything looked dilapidated and scary, like it had been abandoned for years and left to rot in disrepair. The tiny soldier trudged on through the pale moors, his little heart skipping a beat as the Crimson Tower finally arrived on the horizon.
As its spires came into view, he stopped in his tracks. Was this where he would finally find her? Was this where his long, arduous journey would finally come to an end?
He had been looking for so long, it felt like. His uncle’s resources were massive, but so much was happening in the Crossroads at all times that he couldn’t possibly expect him to be single focused. He had that luxury, since he didn’t have to run a big ol’ company or expend resources, like, constructing weaponry or building things to try and take down the real Darkseid. That’s why he’d had enough time to dive into his research and really try and figure out where she’d gone off to, in all the fuss — and that had led him here.
“Oof,” he sighed, “this is gonna be Dew-ramatic.”
The miniature mallard took a deep breath in through his beak, and reached into the pocket of his blue Miniskirt Armada uniform. He pulled out a photograph he’d swiped from his uncle of his mom standing next to three oversized eggs — his, and his two brothers’.
He exhaled heavily. Undoubtedly, Huey and Louie would be upset with him for coming alone, but he’d had no choice. Opportunity had come a-knockin’, and he’d jumped on it.
He glanced back down at the photograph of Della Duck.
I’m coming, Mom.
And with that, Dewey Duck put on his game face and marched toward the Crimson Tower, and probably, he knew, his inevitable doom.
Gotta find her.
Gosh, this journey was rough.
Unmade territory was no freakin’ joke, all twisty and turny. It didn’t help that everything looked dilapidated and scary, like it had been abandoned for years and left to rot in disrepair. The tiny soldier trudged on through the pale moors, his little heart skipping a beat as the Crimson Tower finally arrived on the horizon.
As its spires came into view, he stopped in his tracks. Was this where he would finally find her? Was this where his long, arduous journey would finally come to an end?
He had been looking for so long, it felt like. His uncle’s resources were massive, but so much was happening in the Crossroads at all times that he couldn’t possibly expect him to be single focused. He had that luxury, since he didn’t have to run a big ol’ company or expend resources, like, constructing weaponry or building things to try and take down the real Darkseid. That’s why he’d had enough time to dive into his research and really try and figure out where she’d gone off to, in all the fuss — and that had led him here.
“Oof,” he sighed, “this is gonna be Dew-ramatic.”
The miniature mallard took a deep breath in through his beak, and reached into the pocket of his blue Miniskirt Armada uniform. He pulled out a photograph he’d swiped from his uncle of his mom standing next to three oversized eggs — his, and his two brothers’.
He exhaled heavily. Undoubtedly, Huey and Louie would be upset with him for coming alone, but he’d had no choice. Opportunity had come a-knockin’, and he’d jumped on it.
He glanced back down at the photograph of Della Duck.
I’m coming, Mom.
And with that, Dewey Duck put on his game face and marched toward the Crimson Tower, and probably, he knew, his inevitable doom.
The refugees had avoided the big armies for what felt like a long time. They knew these rainforests better than anything else could ever hope, and that knowledge allowed them to skirt away from the biggest conflagrations while also knowing exactly what foxholes to dive into when the sound of jackboots grew closer.
Their luck ran out today, as shells tore into the rainforest around them, shattering hundreds of years worth of tree growth in an orgy of steel, chordite, and fire.
Before they knew it, they were surrounded. For some, this was a worst-case scenario, because the majority of the individuals who help power over their homeland were maniacs, but for others, it's possible they may have felt some relief at the idea of not having to sleep outdoors and subside off of bugs and over-ripe fruits.
"Don't worry," a voice assured them as the soldiers materialized from the darkness. "We have gruel!"
Their luck ran out today, as shells tore into the rainforest around them, shattering hundreds of years worth of tree growth in an orgy of steel, chordite, and fire.
Before they knew it, they were surrounded. For some, this was a worst-case scenario, because the majority of the individuals who help power over their homeland were maniacs, but for others, it's possible they may have felt some relief at the idea of not having to sleep outdoors and subside off of bugs and over-ripe fruits.
"Don't worry," a voice assured them as the soldiers materialized from the darkness. "We have gruel!"
- Joined
- Aug 4, 2020
- Messages
- 19
- Awards
- 2
- Essence
- €10,461
- Coin
- ₡20,800
- Tokens
- 0
- World
- Mesa Roja
- Profile
- Click Here
- Faction
- Babylonia
“So,” PJ dropped down onto the log next to Anita, who was staring at the small campfire wearing the same scowl she’d had for the last day or so. “You knew my old general the whole time and didn’t want to mention it?”
Bangalore’s scowl somehow managed to deepen as she kept her eyes on the firepit. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
The older woman rolled her eyes. “You seemed to be especially… irritated by the goofy guy with the hologram tech. You got some past with him, too?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” She repeated as she fished out a knife from her boot and seemed to get lost in the flat of the blade.
“A nice knife.”
“I don’t w—”
“To talk about it,” PJ finished for her as she pushed up off her haunches and gave her a hearty smack on the back. “Thanks for the chat, Bangalore. Real uplifting.”
The redhead didn’t bother to wait for a response. These conversation with Anita always wound up going in increasingly frustrated circles, and PJ really didn’t feel like trying to parse through the younger woman’s poorly conveyed emotions.
Slipping into her tent, the woman made a beeline for the cot in the corner. After popping down into it, she stripped the ivory gloves off her hands and slipped them into an open pocket on her vest. She had hardly had three seconds to think when she heard a soldier sheepishly attempting to knock on the canvas flap of the tent.
“I hear you,” she remarked as she stood up off the cot. “Come on in.”
A young man who seemed to barely fit in the molded breastplate given to all the Legionnaires strode in and snapped off a salute. “Good evening, Ma’am! Sorry to disturb you, Ma’am!”
PJ waved a hand. “Relax, Private. I’m not your mother, so you can stop calling me Ma’am.”
The remark only seemed to have the opposite effect. “I apologize, Sir!”
Sighing softly, the leader of the unit glanced at the rough outline of the surrounding territory. The spies had detailed information, yes, but that didn’t change the fact that village and King-Pants McGee’s tower were now piles of rubble. Both had wound up, in different ways, being denied to the enemy forces, so for that, PJ was content. “What are you here to tell me, Soldier?” PJ inquired as she kept her eyes glued to the ugly fortification that loomed to their north.
“News from Command! The King wants you to return to your original posting as quickly as you can.”
With a nod, the redhead glanced back at her crude little sketch and even cruder props. “Back to babysitting, eh? I guess the ole gilded blowhard knows he can’t trust himself or the mouse to deal with actual human beings who aren’t programmed to march and shoot guns straight from the womb.” Turning around, PJ saw the private still standing in her doorway. “Thank you for the report, you can go get your belongings together.”
“Yes, Sir!”
PJ, rolling her eyes, started the process of rolling up her belongings. ‘We’ll go kill those monsters ASAP, Pajamas!’ The voice in her head captured the perfect essence that was Gilgamesh’s seemingly unending bravado, but the woman, who’d seen plenty of louder and more foolhardy men put themselves in graves, could see right through the act.
“He didn’t calculate that his actions would wind up creatin’ more monsters,” the woman groaned as she cleared away the green bits that had served as Hell Diver troops. Sorry, Wraith. She thought as she brushed the makeshift soldiers into a little pile of assorted ‘office waste’ bound for the burner.
- Joined
- Aug 4, 2020
- Messages
- 19
- Awards
- 2
- Essence
- €10,461
- Coin
- ₡20,800
- Tokens
- 0
- World
- Mesa Roja
- Profile
- Click Here
- Faction
- Babylonia
"This is literally the most kai awful assignment I have ever had," PJ muttered to her aide-de-camp as she stalked the site they'd arrived at just a day before hand. "And I once had to pilot a drop ship into the mouth of a literal living fortress. Do you know how damp that is, Stevens?"
"Yes, Sir. Very damp, Sir."
"And your certain we wouldn't have been spotted? That damn robot mentioned that it was close."
"No signs, Sir. Everything, for better or worse, is on schedule."
PJ shook her head before speaking beneath her breath. "This plan better work, or I'm going to bust some gilded balls back on Mesa."
- Joined
- Jun 8, 2021
- Messages
- 126
- Awards
- 1
- Essence
- €10,286
- Coin
- ₡33,303
- Tokens
- 100
- World
- Erde Nona
- Profile
- Click Here
Once more. Iza was bored. Though now he at least had the option of being SOMEWHAT excited. New locations and all. He had no clue where he was going, nor his position there.
He hasn't seen Mirage... Or Mustang... The two people besides Shiki who he'd felt he'd grown somewhat close to. He felt... Alone.
With a sigh he continued, trudging alongside his fellow soldiers occasionally entertaining himself with illusions, or other such magics.
He hoped the new location was interesting at least... Not that he had entirely high expectations with how the rest of this went.
He hasn't seen Mirage... Or Mustang... The two people besides Shiki who he'd felt he'd grown somewhat close to. He felt... Alone.
With a sigh he continued, trudging alongside his fellow soldiers occasionally entertaining himself with illusions, or other such magics.
He hoped the new location was interesting at least... Not that he had entirely high expectations with how the rest of this went.
- Joined
- Sep 10, 2018
- Messages
- 101
- Awards
- 6
- Essence
- €7,363
- Coin
- ₡39,000
- Tokens
- 88
- World
- Mesa Roja
- Profile
- Click Here
- Faction
- Babylonia
John Connor musings
Connor placed a hand on his chin and ran his hand down the Y-shaped scar on his face. It was clear he was frustrated and now in deep consideration of what he was about to do. Every so often, a soldier knocked on his tent flap with messages of what was happening.
“Private Kurn, what is it?” John looked up, temporarily snapped out of his moment of thinking.
“It’s from Princess Commander Azula herself.” The soldier slapped a salute up and sighed.
“Everything’s… falling apart, sir, all around us. Sure we should be sticking together at a time like this?”
John’s eyes stared back, remembering a time back home. He'd been back home at this moment, leading a command of soldiers against Skynet, a rogue computer bent on destroying humankind for good.
For a second, in his eyes, he could see his own world crumbling apart. If he didn’t make a move here, he’d be forced to take more desperate measures.
He'd seen the best and worst that war could offer.
“Sir?” Private Kurn looked up into Connor’s eyes, who outwardly appeared okay, but inwardly screamed for something else.
Connor placed a hand on his chin and ran his hand down the Y-shaped scar on his face. It was clear he was frustrated and now in deep consideration of what he was about to do. Every so often, a soldier knocked on his tent flap with messages of what was happening.
“Private Kurn, what is it?” John looked up, temporarily snapped out of his moment of thinking.
“It’s from Princess Commander Azula herself.” The soldier slapped a salute up and sighed.
“Everything’s… falling apart, sir, all around us. Sure we should be sticking together at a time like this?”
John’s eyes stared back, remembering a time back home. He'd been back home at this moment, leading a command of soldiers against Skynet, a rogue computer bent on destroying humankind for good.
For a second, in his eyes, he could see his own world crumbling apart. If he didn’t make a move here, he’d be forced to take more desperate measures.
He'd seen the best and worst that war could offer.
“Sir?” Private Kurn looked up into Connor’s eyes, who outwardly appeared okay, but inwardly screamed for something else.
- Joined
- Sep 10, 2018
- Messages
- 101
- Awards
- 6
- Essence
- €7,363
- Coin
- ₡39,000
- Tokens
- 88
- World
- Mesa Roja
- Profile
- Click Here
- Faction
- Babylonia
Connor’s eyes looked for any signs of hope left in the soldiers around him. He walked around the camp, a few soldiers looking quite nervous and whispering behind the General’s back.
“I heard that we are being marched to our death and even the most loyal of troops are falling to withering fire. I mean come on, we lost a few to fire yesterday…”
The same was heard around the camps as the General tried to regain the composure needed to continue said fight.
He looked over at some of the other soldiers that had stayed for a long time. Mirage, Wraith. He’d heard of them only after reports of them doing impressive deeds over and over.
He’d been getting more and more annoyed trying to keep his composure after Wraith let him know fiercely that she didn’t give a shit about the orders she got. It was true and this war was starting to drag on and on and on…
One they willingly volunteered for way different reasons..
John slammed the desk frustrated, holding his forehead with light pain. Every day was the same day, only with different problems.
“Look, Lieutenant. There’s ONLY SO MUCH I CAN DO!”
He bit his tongue, only becoming oddly calm after becoming quiet, looking silently back at his tent.
Everything was breaking down around him and it was only a matter of time before things fell apart at the seams.
Mirage gave a nervous chuckle and muttered under his breath “Uh, Wraith… I’ve never seen Connor get this mad before and then follow it with a more calm tone…”
Wraith frowned “Look, I know you lost your one and only friend in this war but that doesn’t excuse you from the various stunts you had us pull in the name of Azula!”
John frowned, instantly giving off a really nasty frown, one he saved for various enemies only he knew he hated.
“Are you saying the terminator gave himself up in VAIN?! SO WE CAN SIT ON OUR ASSES AND ARGUE…”
“I’m saying the terminator didn’t send us ON A SUICIDE MISSION!”
“I heard that we are being marched to our death and even the most loyal of troops are falling to withering fire. I mean come on, we lost a few to fire yesterday…”
The same was heard around the camps as the General tried to regain the composure needed to continue said fight.
He looked over at some of the other soldiers that had stayed for a long time. Mirage, Wraith. He’d heard of them only after reports of them doing impressive deeds over and over.
He’d been getting more and more annoyed trying to keep his composure after Wraith let him know fiercely that she didn’t give a shit about the orders she got. It was true and this war was starting to drag on and on and on…
One they willingly volunteered for way different reasons..
John slammed the desk frustrated, holding his forehead with light pain. Every day was the same day, only with different problems.
“Look, Lieutenant. There’s ONLY SO MUCH I CAN DO!”
He bit his tongue, only becoming oddly calm after becoming quiet, looking silently back at his tent.
Everything was breaking down around him and it was only a matter of time before things fell apart at the seams.
Mirage gave a nervous chuckle and muttered under his breath “Uh, Wraith… I’ve never seen Connor get this mad before and then follow it with a more calm tone…”
Wraith frowned “Look, I know you lost your one and only friend in this war but that doesn’t excuse you from the various stunts you had us pull in the name of Azula!”
John frowned, instantly giving off a really nasty frown, one he saved for various enemies only he knew he hated.
“Are you saying the terminator gave himself up in VAIN?! SO WE CAN SIT ON OUR ASSES AND ARGUE…”
“I’m saying the terminator didn’t send us ON A SUICIDE MISSION!”
- Joined
- Jul 31, 2020
- Messages
- 43
- Essence
- €8,252
- Coin
- ₡14,300
- Tokens
- 75
- World
- Cevanti
- Profile
- Click Here
Another victory for the Hell Divers to relish but at a hefty cost. Bodies scattered of both armies that fought scattered along the coastline. This gruesome battle made many more unmarked graves today. Toward, end of this fight, the beach finally comes to peace with no violence longer in the making for now. Hell Divers set up their camp to get some rest before they must do more trekking.
Once again, a field hospital is lively with all sorts of wounded lying in beds with medics taking care of them. This time around, the tone of how this camp felt after the battle had less celebrating than the last battle they fought back at the desert. Still, more grieved at their fallen brothers or sisters in this battle, thinking there might have been fewer fatalities. Those that have lost so much today stayed in their quarters to get as much rest if possible so they can gain more energy to rip and tear the enemy. It was best to get the weight of heavy emotions off their shoulders with good sleep.
Somewhere in the camp, Caboose walks past the many tents with a new MA37 assault rifle lowered at ease in his hands. He passes some marines, but both didn't bother saying anything to the passing strangers. The only thing that remains on Caboose's mind is searching for his puffy pink friend, Buu. This battle's outcome didn't hinder his spirit, still ready to be playful and happy. Maybe his commander might know where his big round Majin buddy ran off to, probably in the mess hall willing to share candy with him?
Caboose can't wait to get a playdate ready in motion while they had time that didn't involve marching or fighting. Approaching the commander's tent, he breathes in before entering a superiority's s corridors or what Caboose likes to call "The Principal's Office." The blue and green Mark V Spartan enters the ten with anticipated excitement to find where to find Buu. Doomguy's guards stop Caboose in his tracks before visiting his commander.
"Woah there, Private Caboose, Commander Flynn is not available at this time for talking to visitors." One guardsman speaks up with authority, standing in the spartan's way to show that the area is off-limits to other subordinates.
"But it's most important! I can't find where my friend is, and I have been looking all over for him. Principal Doomguy has to know where my best friend is at because he's our principal!"
The private is eager to enter, but the guardsmen remain at their post in refusal for access. In his private corridor, Doomguy can overhear the talking going on at the entrance of his tent. A table with a map of the island positions sits on the surface and plans of tactics he's thinking about for the Hell Divers' following objectives alongside. His brow raises at the whole commotion that's happening outside his tent. He sighs in response, now knowing the familiar obnoxious voice that speaks out. The commander grabs his helmet off the table and puts it back on, done for now looking over the map but will return soon. Flynn moves a fabric flap that covers his private chambers and stomps toward the exit.
"Enough, Private! This is your final warning before we have to arrest you upon refusing to leave this prohibited area!" The same guardsmen from earlier, raising his voice to give an idea of Caboose what trouble he is about to uncover.
"Enough!"
Doomguy's voice booms out with great power behind his vocal cords to shut up the argument between the guardsman and private. His guards return to their post instantly due to the commander appearing before them. He stares back at Caboose for a split second, seeing him in desperate need to find his ally.
"Caboose, let's go for a walk. I will tell you where Buu is currently." Doomguy speaks flatly to his empty-headed spartan soldier.
The two walk away from the camp, hiking down to the beach while Caboose is talking aloud.
"Yeah, I was trying to get with Buu because before the battle started, we were planning to build an ultra-mega cool sandcastle for all of us to live in so we can show that our buddy club is the best on this island. Also, I planned to make many muffins for us in the castle to add the icing on the cake about how awesome we are. Mmmm, cake. Now I want cake."
His commander remains quiet, letting Caboose go on about the positive things he wants to do for the Hell Divers alongside Buu. They finally made it to the sandy beach, a part that's not severely bloodied. The waves crashing onto the sand were relaxing to hear rather than constant dying screams, gunfire, and explosions. There was a wooden dead log lying in the sand to seat the two together. Doomguy leads the Private to their seating and sits upon the deadwood, gazing out in the endless ocean of dark blue.
He sighs before gathering words to break it to the chipper soldier that looks back at him. Their weapons remain strapped on their backs for any surprise attacks to happen while out in the peaceful wilderness.
"Buu did a noble cause to make sure that your commander can live and breathe another day on this war-driven island, just like you did many days ago. He deserved to earn that same medal I made for you." Doomguy speaks gently, pointing toward the makeshift medal that's still pinned to Caboose's chest.
Caboose gasps, realizing what this meant. Sitting next to the spartan, Flynn prepares for a magnitude of emotions to wash over Caboose.
"Does that mean Buu gets a medal just like me! That means we can be medal buddies, fighting crime and teaching everyone the power of friendship!" Flynn's spartan soldier was speaking, excited about the crazy thoughts he has in his mind about more grand adventures he and Buu will partake. Doomguy is shocked, not fully expecting Caboose to think that way about how Buu can still be alive.
"Yeah, but about the state Buu is in…."
Another gasp lets out of Caboose's mouth before speaking.
"You're telling me Buu is now somehow in Delaware!"
"Caboose!" Doomguy shouts out to break Caboose's improper thinking. This moment has been one of the most challenging things to do on this island, breaking terrible news to a child-minded power armored soldier with similar strength to a baron of hell.
"Buu disintegrated during the battle. That fucking dragon won't get away with what he did to your friend and Zenitsu."
"Disintegrady?"
"He's dead, Caboose! Buu is dead."
A long moment of silence remains between both armored soldiers, looking out at the vast ocean surrounding this island. A melancholy minute sets forth in the motion, Caboose having a tough time coping with the fact that his cheerful pink friend is gone. No long existing to march alongside him and make genuine moments together. Flynn couldn't tell if his soldier was streaming with tears, experiencing the sadness that a lot have shared in this twisted game. Quietness remains in the air between the two, sounds of ocean waves steadily crashing against the shoreline.
"Hey, principal Doomguy."
The spartan breaks the silence between them, making his commander look back at him, who remained staring out toward the endless ocean.
"Y-you ever…"
Caboose takes a deep breath to gather enough strength so he can speak with sadness engulfing him.
"You ever wonder why we're here?"
Once again, a field hospital is lively with all sorts of wounded lying in beds with medics taking care of them. This time around, the tone of how this camp felt after the battle had less celebrating than the last battle they fought back at the desert. Still, more grieved at their fallen brothers or sisters in this battle, thinking there might have been fewer fatalities. Those that have lost so much today stayed in their quarters to get as much rest if possible so they can gain more energy to rip and tear the enemy. It was best to get the weight of heavy emotions off their shoulders with good sleep.
Somewhere in the camp, Caboose walks past the many tents with a new MA37 assault rifle lowered at ease in his hands. He passes some marines, but both didn't bother saying anything to the passing strangers. The only thing that remains on Caboose's mind is searching for his puffy pink friend, Buu. This battle's outcome didn't hinder his spirit, still ready to be playful and happy. Maybe his commander might know where his big round Majin buddy ran off to, probably in the mess hall willing to share candy with him?
Caboose can't wait to get a playdate ready in motion while they had time that didn't involve marching or fighting. Approaching the commander's tent, he breathes in before entering a superiority's s corridors or what Caboose likes to call "The Principal's Office." The blue and green Mark V Spartan enters the ten with anticipated excitement to find where to find Buu. Doomguy's guards stop Caboose in his tracks before visiting his commander.
"Woah there, Private Caboose, Commander Flynn is not available at this time for talking to visitors." One guardsman speaks up with authority, standing in the spartan's way to show that the area is off-limits to other subordinates.
"But it's most important! I can't find where my friend is, and I have been looking all over for him. Principal Doomguy has to know where my best friend is at because he's our principal!"
The private is eager to enter, but the guardsmen remain at their post in refusal for access. In his private corridor, Doomguy can overhear the talking going on at the entrance of his tent. A table with a map of the island positions sits on the surface and plans of tactics he's thinking about for the Hell Divers' following objectives alongside. His brow raises at the whole commotion that's happening outside his tent. He sighs in response, now knowing the familiar obnoxious voice that speaks out. The commander grabs his helmet off the table and puts it back on, done for now looking over the map but will return soon. Flynn moves a fabric flap that covers his private chambers and stomps toward the exit.
"Enough, Private! This is your final warning before we have to arrest you upon refusing to leave this prohibited area!" The same guardsmen from earlier, raising his voice to give an idea of Caboose what trouble he is about to uncover.
"Enough!"
Doomguy's voice booms out with great power behind his vocal cords to shut up the argument between the guardsman and private. His guards return to their post instantly due to the commander appearing before them. He stares back at Caboose for a split second, seeing him in desperate need to find his ally.
"Caboose, let's go for a walk. I will tell you where Buu is currently." Doomguy speaks flatly to his empty-headed spartan soldier.
The two walk away from the camp, hiking down to the beach while Caboose is talking aloud.
"Yeah, I was trying to get with Buu because before the battle started, we were planning to build an ultra-mega cool sandcastle for all of us to live in so we can show that our buddy club is the best on this island. Also, I planned to make many muffins for us in the castle to add the icing on the cake about how awesome we are. Mmmm, cake. Now I want cake."
His commander remains quiet, letting Caboose go on about the positive things he wants to do for the Hell Divers alongside Buu. They finally made it to the sandy beach, a part that's not severely bloodied. The waves crashing onto the sand were relaxing to hear rather than constant dying screams, gunfire, and explosions. There was a wooden dead log lying in the sand to seat the two together. Doomguy leads the Private to their seating and sits upon the deadwood, gazing out in the endless ocean of dark blue.
He sighs before gathering words to break it to the chipper soldier that looks back at him. Their weapons remain strapped on their backs for any surprise attacks to happen while out in the peaceful wilderness.
"Buu did a noble cause to make sure that your commander can live and breathe another day on this war-driven island, just like you did many days ago. He deserved to earn that same medal I made for you." Doomguy speaks gently, pointing toward the makeshift medal that's still pinned to Caboose's chest.
Caboose gasps, realizing what this meant. Sitting next to the spartan, Flynn prepares for a magnitude of emotions to wash over Caboose.
"Does that mean Buu gets a medal just like me! That means we can be medal buddies, fighting crime and teaching everyone the power of friendship!" Flynn's spartan soldier was speaking, excited about the crazy thoughts he has in his mind about more grand adventures he and Buu will partake. Doomguy is shocked, not fully expecting Caboose to think that way about how Buu can still be alive.
"Yeah, but about the state Buu is in…."
Another gasp lets out of Caboose's mouth before speaking.
"You're telling me Buu is now somehow in Delaware!"
"Caboose!" Doomguy shouts out to break Caboose's improper thinking. This moment has been one of the most challenging things to do on this island, breaking terrible news to a child-minded power armored soldier with similar strength to a baron of hell.
"Buu disintegrated during the battle. That fucking dragon won't get away with what he did to your friend and Zenitsu."
"Disintegrady?"
"He's dead, Caboose! Buu is dead."
A long moment of silence remains between both armored soldiers, looking out at the vast ocean surrounding this island. A melancholy minute sets forth in the motion, Caboose having a tough time coping with the fact that his cheerful pink friend is gone. No long existing to march alongside him and make genuine moments together. Flynn couldn't tell if his soldier was streaming with tears, experiencing the sadness that a lot have shared in this twisted game. Quietness remains in the air between the two, sounds of ocean waves steadily crashing against the shoreline.
"Hey, principal Doomguy."
The spartan breaks the silence between them, making his commander look back at him, who remained staring out toward the endless ocean.
"Y-you ever…"
Caboose takes a deep breath to gather enough strength so he can speak with sadness engulfing him.
"You ever wonder why we're here?"
- Joined
- Sep 10, 2018
- Messages
- 46
- Awards
- 1
- Essence
- €6,027
- Coin
- ₡22,000
- Tokens
- 70
- World
- Erde Nona
- Profile
- Click Here
The silence of the night gnawed on me as I saw Caboose in silent thought as we sat on that worn old seawood, the fake horizon the focus of our sight as we found ourselves unable to see each other vizor to vizor. I had torn a titan’s skull from it’s torso as it was attempting to smash me to a stain, and this still felt like a more harrowing trial. My mind wandered back to that moment, when the mechanical dragon attempted to reduce me to my base atoms, the wounds I had accrued made dodging the hellfire assault impossible. My eyes were wide, desperately looking for any means of escape. So I saw with full clarity as I watched Buu jump in front of me and take the full blast in my stead. I was stunned, left on my back as the world slowed down, and when I blinked Buu was no more and the scaly cyborg was limping away with what remained of his forces.
I hadn’t put much thought into Buu before now. I thought the pink tub of lard was going to be a hindrance at best when I had read the profile, a thought softened as we fought together over the last week over the monstrous dragon. Calling me a friend seemed naive, a childish quirk like Caboose’s own. He had proven my skepticism wrong when he had taken that attack aimed at me, and I was left to explain to the wad of bubblegum’s best friend that he was gone.
This was a kind of pain I hadn’t felt since… since Daisy.
Two heavily armed and armored men, practical about to cry on a serene moon lit beach.
I was thrown off when the question struck, and I looked up to the sky in contemplation.
“A lot, Caboose. A whole lot.” I answered, my fist clutching around a rabbit’s foot hidden deep inside one of my pouches.
“Did you ever find the answer?” He finally looked to me. In that moment I felt a sudden need to answer, but I’d never found solace in platitudes. Even if the uranium dense Caboose would have accepted anything I said, I had to answer something that felt true.
“We’re here to make sure others are not forgotten.” I finally answered, as so many names came to mind. I looked over to the spartan, wondering even if he understood, but the boy in blue and green slowly nodded. We were quiet a while longer, before he slowly leaned against my own arm for support. Time stretched on for a little while,before I reached into a pocket to fish out a go bar. A quick strip of the foil a little snap I had two halves of a chocolate protein bar. “If you need to sit out on the drills the next few days, feel free. And If anyone gives you crap, tell me.”
“Thank you, Principle Doomguy.” the soldier responded, though the heavy sigh that followed meant there was still a lot of grief for him to get through.
“Have a good night, Caboose.” I nod, as after a few seconds of the two of us sitting there we finally shuffled our sorry asses back to camp.
Making sure the trooper got back to his tend, I returned to mine to find my guards a little nervous. I found my hand resting on my pistol, a healthy paranoid over assassins grilled into me.
“General Altanis is waiting for you inside, sir.” The guard told me, leaning back and forth on his feet.
I didn’t remember making the
“General, huh? I think I got some colorful words with the general.” and I pushed through the flap of the tend to confront the demon centaur.
She dominated the room she was in, her appearance impossible to miss even if she wasn’t bright red and half horse. We looked at each other with a furious intent, our glares would probably kill the other if we waited long enough. But after that rather draining moment with caboose earlier, I decided to just relent here and take a seat. When did I start getting comfortable enough around demons to not kill them on sight?
“Commander Flynn.” She greets, a bit of spite in that tone. I just leaned back in my chair.
General Altanis.” I replied back, giving her a look up and down. She seemed stern, refusing to show weakness in front of me despite the both of us being beaten and bruised. But I’ve looked at enough tired soldiers to see someone holding themselves up by sheer will. “Who promoted you to general?”
“I did.” The smile on her face was wide and toothy, it seemed like she was waiting a good bit to answer that, before going back to her scowl. “Necessity required it, I was in no position to wait for orders to filter down.”
“Where’s General Strazio?” I asked, keeping my own temper down.
“Captured.” She answered bluntly, and I wished for a sudden beer.
“So you’ve lost your superior officer, played puppets with the bodies of our men-”
“If my methods are so appalling to you, then I must question if you are able to-” her seething started to rise, before I held my hand up.
“And you saved all our lives when there was a good chance we would have died. We’ve been fighting our asses off for a very long time, and I’m too tired to judge. And I think you are too.” The breath Altanis was holding slowly seeped out, revealing I may have had a point. “Just tell me what’s happened, and we’ll come up with a game plan.”
I hadn’t put much thought into Buu before now. I thought the pink tub of lard was going to be a hindrance at best when I had read the profile, a thought softened as we fought together over the last week over the monstrous dragon. Calling me a friend seemed naive, a childish quirk like Caboose’s own. He had proven my skepticism wrong when he had taken that attack aimed at me, and I was left to explain to the wad of bubblegum’s best friend that he was gone.
This was a kind of pain I hadn’t felt since… since Daisy.
Two heavily armed and armored men, practical about to cry on a serene moon lit beach.
I was thrown off when the question struck, and I looked up to the sky in contemplation.
“A lot, Caboose. A whole lot.” I answered, my fist clutching around a rabbit’s foot hidden deep inside one of my pouches.
“Did you ever find the answer?” He finally looked to me. In that moment I felt a sudden need to answer, but I’d never found solace in platitudes. Even if the uranium dense Caboose would have accepted anything I said, I had to answer something that felt true.
“We’re here to make sure others are not forgotten.” I finally answered, as so many names came to mind. I looked over to the spartan, wondering even if he understood, but the boy in blue and green slowly nodded. We were quiet a while longer, before he slowly leaned against my own arm for support. Time stretched on for a little while,before I reached into a pocket to fish out a go bar. A quick strip of the foil a little snap I had two halves of a chocolate protein bar. “If you need to sit out on the drills the next few days, feel free. And If anyone gives you crap, tell me.”
“Thank you, Principle Doomguy.” the soldier responded, though the heavy sigh that followed meant there was still a lot of grief for him to get through.
“Have a good night, Caboose.” I nod, as after a few seconds of the two of us sitting there we finally shuffled our sorry asses back to camp.
Making sure the trooper got back to his tend, I returned to mine to find my guards a little nervous. I found my hand resting on my pistol, a healthy paranoid over assassins grilled into me.
“General Altanis is waiting for you inside, sir.” The guard told me, leaning back and forth on his feet.
I didn’t remember making the
“General, huh? I think I got some colorful words with the general.” and I pushed through the flap of the tend to confront the demon centaur.
She dominated the room she was in, her appearance impossible to miss even if she wasn’t bright red and half horse. We looked at each other with a furious intent, our glares would probably kill the other if we waited long enough. But after that rather draining moment with caboose earlier, I decided to just relent here and take a seat. When did I start getting comfortable enough around demons to not kill them on sight?
“Commander Flynn.” She greets, a bit of spite in that tone. I just leaned back in my chair.
General Altanis.” I replied back, giving her a look up and down. She seemed stern, refusing to show weakness in front of me despite the both of us being beaten and bruised. But I’ve looked at enough tired soldiers to see someone holding themselves up by sheer will. “Who promoted you to general?”
“I did.” The smile on her face was wide and toothy, it seemed like she was waiting a good bit to answer that, before going back to her scowl. “Necessity required it, I was in no position to wait for orders to filter down.”
“Where’s General Strazio?” I asked, keeping my own temper down.
“Captured.” She answered bluntly, and I wished for a sudden beer.
“So you’ve lost your superior officer, played puppets with the bodies of our men-”
“If my methods are so appalling to you, then I must question if you are able to-” her seething started to rise, before I held my hand up.
“And you saved all our lives when there was a good chance we would have died. We’ve been fighting our asses off for a very long time, and I’m too tired to judge. And I think you are too.” The breath Altanis was holding slowly seeped out, revealing I may have had a point. “Just tell me what’s happened, and we’ll come up with a game plan.”
- Joined
- Oct 3, 2018
- Messages
- 80
- Awards
- 4
- Essence
- €11,059
- Coin
- ₡8,100
- Tokens
- 160
- World
- Erde Nona
- Profile
- Click Here
“You’re okay. I’ve go-”
The swordsman jolted forward, snapping into consciousness as Zenitsu’s battle-heated blood splattered across her visage.
“Zenits--!” she called out, arm still reaching forward as the vision faded from before her eyes. Yet, even if the vision faded, she knew what would’ve happened next. The boy’s lower half left to stand before it fell to the ground as would’ve beast reared its head.
And so, after weeks. Weeks of looking out for his troops, his people, the boy was dead. In one fell snap of a dragon’s jaws, he was gone. Robbed.
Not from just their army, but from her.
How DARE they steal him from her?
Like a strike of thunder, his bravery had only just begun to shine. His true character to finally reveal its natural born luster. Yet, much like lightning, it had faded as soon as it had come. In a flash of lightning.
And she? Here she sat in a goddamn fucking tent again, alive.
Alone.
Alive and alone. Every time.
She didn’t get any heroic last words from him. No consolation nor goodbye.
Nothing.
She didn’t even get to see the spark of life leave his eyes. How could she have? His head would’ve been in the…
“FUCK!” she cursed, her fist striking the sorry attempt of a nightstand beside her, sending pearly white porcelain bottles scattering onto the ground as some of them rolled along and others shattered.
Like their soldiers had before the dragon's wrath.
“Shut up,” the battleworn soldier whispered in a vain attempt to silence her own mind from replaying those events again… And again… And again.
From the first bottle, to the second and the third. All the way to those final moments before temporary death finally lay claim upon her. Only there had she found solace. Clambering out of her bed, the woman began to pace back and forth within the confines of her tent, the previous tracks still perfectly visible from when she’d previously descended to this madness.
Why? It was always supposed to be her who’d jump to his rescue! Why?! How the hell was this right? It was all backwards, a torn and disheveled mess. Nothing made sense. Nothing could make sense.
Because if she admitted that this made sense, then what the hell would that make her?! Inadequate at keeping herself safe so he’d grown distracted and paid the price?
Yet Musashi knew that there wasn’t any way to bring him back. Nor did she want to let him go. The frustration, the anger that seethed within her had buried itself deep. And even if she wanted to, there was no simple escape from it for her.
And so, her pacing came to a halt as she once more sat upon her jumbled bed and stared at the self-same nightstand that she’d nearly just demolished moments earlier. The small drawer upon its side hung slightly ajar, as the ronin slowly reached forward with shaking hands and pulled it open.
From within it, the grieving woman procured a scroll of parchment, an inkwell and a brush. Setting the inkwell onto the rickety piece of furniture, she rolled open the blank scroll and dipped her brush in ink.
Knuckles whitened as her grip tightened and the girl stabilized her hand through sheer strength, even as the poor brush creaked, threatening to snap on her.
And so, with sharp, furious strokes betraying her mental state, the anguished wrote.
Two Souls Together,
Lovestruck Lightning.
I will avenge you!
-Shinmen Musashi-no-Kami Fujiwara no Harunobu
Barely a minute was spent writing it before she set the brush aside and tore the now inked piece of parchment free and set it aside to dry. Her teeth slowly sank into her lower lip as she soon drew blood and could taste the metallic sensation.
Staring down at the finished haiku, the girl sighed, shoulders slumping as she reached for the brush once more. She knew that her work was barely done. Her own feelings were...her own. They were easy to feel today and forget tomorrow. Much like she had always done.
Yet Musashi knew that Zenitsu had not been cut down. He’d been consumed. Digested. Laid claim to. His soul stolen by that hideous monstrosity that could’ve only been said to resemble a dragon.
And so, it fell upon her to free it.
The brush glid along the parchment once more as the survivor wrote with blurred eyes, teardrops escaping despite her best attempts in their prevention, leaving soon-dry stains upon the dry surface.
Cowardly but strong,
Strength and Courage within you.
You shone bright and true.
-Miyamoto Musashi
Once more, the piece was torn free and set aside to dry. After both of them had dried, she rolled them up and tied them shut with pieces of string. One red, one yellow.
Setting her swords onto her hips, the ronin took both of the scrolls into her hands. She had taken long enough - a disservice to him, in her mind.
And so, she set out from her tent into the temporary camp they had made, her direction toward the center. The camp was quiet, aside from the distant groans of the wounded. People were mourning their fallen comrades. Paying their respects to those lost, or simply drowning themselves in what little ale they had left.
Soon enough, the aggravated ronin found herself standing before the central campfire of their campfire, empty at this late hour. The two scrolls held in her hands, she stared into the depths of the fire.
“Be free now, Lieutenant Cute-man. Zenitsu,” she whispered as she cast forth the gold-strung scroll to be consumed by the fire, as it vanished into the inferno and escaped into the freedom of the dark skies above.
Her hatred?
Shinmen Musashi would hold onto that as she shoved the red-strung scroll into a small pouch.
The swordsman jolted forward, snapping into consciousness as Zenitsu’s battle-heated blood splattered across her visage.
“Zenits--!” she called out, arm still reaching forward as the vision faded from before her eyes. Yet, even if the vision faded, she knew what would’ve happened next. The boy’s lower half left to stand before it fell to the ground as would’ve beast reared its head.
And so, after weeks. Weeks of looking out for his troops, his people, the boy was dead. In one fell snap of a dragon’s jaws, he was gone. Robbed.
Not from just their army, but from her.
How DARE they steal him from her?
Like a strike of thunder, his bravery had only just begun to shine. His true character to finally reveal its natural born luster. Yet, much like lightning, it had faded as soon as it had come. In a flash of lightning.
And she? Here she sat in a goddamn fucking tent again, alive.
Alone.
Alive and alone. Every time.
She didn’t get any heroic last words from him. No consolation nor goodbye.
Nothing.
She didn’t even get to see the spark of life leave his eyes. How could she have? His head would’ve been in the…
“FUCK!” she cursed, her fist striking the sorry attempt of a nightstand beside her, sending pearly white porcelain bottles scattering onto the ground as some of them rolled along and others shattered.
Like their soldiers had before the dragon's wrath.
“Shut up,” the battleworn soldier whispered in a vain attempt to silence her own mind from replaying those events again… And again… And again.
From the first bottle, to the second and the third. All the way to those final moments before temporary death finally lay claim upon her. Only there had she found solace. Clambering out of her bed, the woman began to pace back and forth within the confines of her tent, the previous tracks still perfectly visible from when she’d previously descended to this madness.
Why? It was always supposed to be her who’d jump to his rescue! Why?! How the hell was this right? It was all backwards, a torn and disheveled mess. Nothing made sense. Nothing could make sense.
Because if she admitted that this made sense, then what the hell would that make her?! Inadequate at keeping herself safe so he’d grown distracted and paid the price?
Yet Musashi knew that there wasn’t any way to bring him back. Nor did she want to let him go. The frustration, the anger that seethed within her had buried itself deep. And even if she wanted to, there was no simple escape from it for her.
And so, her pacing came to a halt as she once more sat upon her jumbled bed and stared at the self-same nightstand that she’d nearly just demolished moments earlier. The small drawer upon its side hung slightly ajar, as the ronin slowly reached forward with shaking hands and pulled it open.
From within it, the grieving woman procured a scroll of parchment, an inkwell and a brush. Setting the inkwell onto the rickety piece of furniture, she rolled open the blank scroll and dipped her brush in ink.
Knuckles whitened as her grip tightened and the girl stabilized her hand through sheer strength, even as the poor brush creaked, threatening to snap on her.
And so, with sharp, furious strokes betraying her mental state, the anguished wrote.
Two Souls Together,
Lovestruck Lightning.
I will avenge you!
-Shinmen Musashi-no-Kami Fujiwara no Harunobu
Barely a minute was spent writing it before she set the brush aside and tore the now inked piece of parchment free and set it aside to dry. Her teeth slowly sank into her lower lip as she soon drew blood and could taste the metallic sensation.
Staring down at the finished haiku, the girl sighed, shoulders slumping as she reached for the brush once more. She knew that her work was barely done. Her own feelings were...her own. They were easy to feel today and forget tomorrow. Much like she had always done.
Yet Musashi knew that Zenitsu had not been cut down. He’d been consumed. Digested. Laid claim to. His soul stolen by that hideous monstrosity that could’ve only been said to resemble a dragon.
And so, it fell upon her to free it.
The brush glid along the parchment once more as the survivor wrote with blurred eyes, teardrops escaping despite her best attempts in their prevention, leaving soon-dry stains upon the dry surface.
Cowardly but strong,
Strength and Courage within you.
You shone bright and true.
-Miyamoto Musashi
Once more, the piece was torn free and set aside to dry. After both of them had dried, she rolled them up and tied them shut with pieces of string. One red, one yellow.
Setting her swords onto her hips, the ronin took both of the scrolls into her hands. She had taken long enough - a disservice to him, in her mind.
And so, she set out from her tent into the temporary camp they had made, her direction toward the center. The camp was quiet, aside from the distant groans of the wounded. People were mourning their fallen comrades. Paying their respects to those lost, or simply drowning themselves in what little ale they had left.
Soon enough, the aggravated ronin found herself standing before the central campfire of their campfire, empty at this late hour. The two scrolls held in her hands, she stared into the depths of the fire.
“Be free now, Lieutenant Cute-man. Zenitsu,” she whispered as she cast forth the gold-strung scroll to be consumed by the fire, as it vanished into the inferno and escaped into the freedom of the dark skies above.
Her hatred?
Shinmen Musashi would hold onto that as she shoved the red-strung scroll into a small pouch.
- Joined
- Oct 3, 2018
- Messages
- 80
- Awards
- 4
- Essence
- €11,059
- Coin
- ₡8,100
- Tokens
- 160
- World
- Erde Nona
- Profile
- Click Here
Shoving the temporary quartermaster aside, the swordsman stumbled into the mobile armory of the Helldivers. A strong scent of alcohol wafted off of her as her eyes adjusted to the tent-light.
Racks and racks of different kinds of weapons, ammunition and armour surrounded her as her eyes darted from one rack to another. Even if her vision was a tad blurry, it should’ve been easy enough to find.
It had to be here. They kept everything here.
And so, the woman paced around with all the patience of a thunderstorm, throwing aside rifle and sword alike. One weapon after another clattered onto the ground as she raged, searching for something that remained hidden.
“The hell do you think you’re doing?!” rang from behind the swordsman, sending the ravenous woman to spin around as her sword drew in one smooth motion. It was aimed directly at the quartermaster as her shoulders heaved and arms trembled. The blade jittered in the air, lacking all of its usual stability, much like its wielder.
“Whheere ish ith?!” she demanded, voice trembling as the sword continued to sway in the air, threatening any sudden movements with a response.
“Where’s what?! I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he retorted, a step taken backwards cautiously as the man kept his hands visible. He wasn’t paid enough for this shit, nor was he particularly fond of dying in the hands of a rambling madwoman.
“Enough, soldier,” called a deep voice from behind her. His voice remained steady and calm, with just the slightest tinge of pity to it. “Stand down.”
The swordsman spun once more, her blade seeking to meet this new challenger. But much to her chagrin, the green-armoured marine caught the shaking steel with ease, disarming the disheveled swordsman with unsuspected ease, casting the sword aside as it clattered onto the ground.
Miyamoto Musashi was holding tight onto many things tonight. But her sword wasn’t one of them.
“That’s enough,” the Commander repeated, a hand lowering itself onto her shoulder. “The item that you’re looking for; I have it in my tent,” curt and to the point, he was. As always. And that was something Musashi had come to appreciate both when he’d had his gun pointed at her for the first time, and now.
In truth, the marine had been expecting something akin to this for a few days now. He kept tabs on his men and their relationships. Love and war, they didn’t mix. Someone or another was always left behind. And those left behind? They always ran rampant, sooner or later.
And it fell to him to keep this shitheap of a mess together, by force if need be. Luckily enough, Flynn thought he understood the woman. If only a little, they were the same after all. So, he knew what she wanted. What she needed.
A piece of the boy to carry with her, something to look at in the end and say, that she’d brought him where he’d intended to go.
And for that? The Commander had confiscated Zenitsu’s sword.
“Ghive ith to mhe then!” she snapped, a strengthless fist pounding into his chestplate, strike after another achieving little more than wiping stains of dirt off the green-hued steel.
The swordsman reeked of alcohol - sake in particular, the slayer noted as he simply tugged the woman by the arm. Drunk and despair riddled as she was, he found little resistance from her.
“Return that to her tent,” he barked to the quartermaster, pointing at the discarded sword as he dragged the drunken, despairing lush out of the tent and towards his own.
“Y-yes sir!” he snapped to attention, quickly lumbering to action as ordered.
The journey to the commander’s tent was a silent one, only broken by their footfalls and the quiet thud’s of the drunkard’s fist pounding his backplate. There was nothing he could say to help her. Nor was she coherent enough to hold a conversation.
Pushing through the tent flaps, Flynn sat the walking manifestation of despair on one of the few chairs within the tent. “Stay there,” he noted. Not that she was honestly in a shape to go anywhere, with a total blackout clearly creeping upon her with each passing moment. His words carried none of the harshness he usually delivered his commands with, not that Musashi was in any shape to register that.
Pulling open a cabinet, the Commander pulled forth a sword, pearl white and gold in design. The bygone Lieutenant’s katana. The item that Musashi was so desperately trying to obtain for herself.
As the marine turned around, the drunken lush gained surprising amounts of life as her arms shot forward, in an attempt to reach for the sword that he held in his hand still.
“Ghim...ghiv….m...hi!” the lush slurred, threatening to wobble off of the poor chair and crash into the ground as he stepped forward and set the sword into her outstretched arms. Musashi on the other hand, immediately grasped onto the katana sheathed blade with dear life, clinging onto it as if it was the sole board floating in a stormy ocean.
Turning around, the man walked behind his desk as he sat down and poured himself a drink.
Taking a sip of the whiskey, Commander Flynn Taggart watched over the swordsman who’d gone out like a light in the mere moments in between, now hugging the gilded katana for what little comfort she could find. And from what he could gather from her expression?
At least something had settled within her today.
War was definitely hell, but it was his job as Commander, to see to it that his men would hold it together. Be it through granting medals of honour, or setting aside possessions of the fallen for those who needed them the most.
From what he’d seen?
She fought as well as she drank. He just needed to give her a piece of the reason.
Racks and racks of different kinds of weapons, ammunition and armour surrounded her as her eyes darted from one rack to another. Even if her vision was a tad blurry, it should’ve been easy enough to find.
It had to be here. They kept everything here.
And so, the woman paced around with all the patience of a thunderstorm, throwing aside rifle and sword alike. One weapon after another clattered onto the ground as she raged, searching for something that remained hidden.
“The hell do you think you’re doing?!” rang from behind the swordsman, sending the ravenous woman to spin around as her sword drew in one smooth motion. It was aimed directly at the quartermaster as her shoulders heaved and arms trembled. The blade jittered in the air, lacking all of its usual stability, much like its wielder.
“Whheere ish ith?!” she demanded, voice trembling as the sword continued to sway in the air, threatening any sudden movements with a response.
“Where’s what?! I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he retorted, a step taken backwards cautiously as the man kept his hands visible. He wasn’t paid enough for this shit, nor was he particularly fond of dying in the hands of a rambling madwoman.
“Enough, soldier,” called a deep voice from behind her. His voice remained steady and calm, with just the slightest tinge of pity to it. “Stand down.”
The swordsman spun once more, her blade seeking to meet this new challenger. But much to her chagrin, the green-armoured marine caught the shaking steel with ease, disarming the disheveled swordsman with unsuspected ease, casting the sword aside as it clattered onto the ground.
Miyamoto Musashi was holding tight onto many things tonight. But her sword wasn’t one of them.
“That’s enough,” the Commander repeated, a hand lowering itself onto her shoulder. “The item that you’re looking for; I have it in my tent,” curt and to the point, he was. As always. And that was something Musashi had come to appreciate both when he’d had his gun pointed at her for the first time, and now.
In truth, the marine had been expecting something akin to this for a few days now. He kept tabs on his men and their relationships. Love and war, they didn’t mix. Someone or another was always left behind. And those left behind? They always ran rampant, sooner or later.
And it fell to him to keep this shitheap of a mess together, by force if need be. Luckily enough, Flynn thought he understood the woman. If only a little, they were the same after all. So, he knew what she wanted. What she needed.
A piece of the boy to carry with her, something to look at in the end and say, that she’d brought him where he’d intended to go.
And for that? The Commander had confiscated Zenitsu’s sword.
“Ghive ith to mhe then!” she snapped, a strengthless fist pounding into his chestplate, strike after another achieving little more than wiping stains of dirt off the green-hued steel.
The swordsman reeked of alcohol - sake in particular, the slayer noted as he simply tugged the woman by the arm. Drunk and despair riddled as she was, he found little resistance from her.
“Return that to her tent,” he barked to the quartermaster, pointing at the discarded sword as he dragged the drunken, despairing lush out of the tent and towards his own.
“Y-yes sir!” he snapped to attention, quickly lumbering to action as ordered.
The journey to the commander’s tent was a silent one, only broken by their footfalls and the quiet thud’s of the drunkard’s fist pounding his backplate. There was nothing he could say to help her. Nor was she coherent enough to hold a conversation.
Pushing through the tent flaps, Flynn sat the walking manifestation of despair on one of the few chairs within the tent. “Stay there,” he noted. Not that she was honestly in a shape to go anywhere, with a total blackout clearly creeping upon her with each passing moment. His words carried none of the harshness he usually delivered his commands with, not that Musashi was in any shape to register that.
Pulling open a cabinet, the Commander pulled forth a sword, pearl white and gold in design. The bygone Lieutenant’s katana. The item that Musashi was so desperately trying to obtain for herself.
As the marine turned around, the drunken lush gained surprising amounts of life as her arms shot forward, in an attempt to reach for the sword that he held in his hand still.
“Ghim...ghiv….m...hi!” the lush slurred, threatening to wobble off of the poor chair and crash into the ground as he stepped forward and set the sword into her outstretched arms. Musashi on the other hand, immediately grasped onto the katana sheathed blade with dear life, clinging onto it as if it was the sole board floating in a stormy ocean.
Turning around, the man walked behind his desk as he sat down and poured himself a drink.
Taking a sip of the whiskey, Commander Flynn Taggart watched over the swordsman who’d gone out like a light in the mere moments in between, now hugging the gilded katana for what little comfort she could find. And from what he could gather from her expression?
At least something had settled within her today.
War was definitely hell, but it was his job as Commander, to see to it that his men would hold it together. Be it through granting medals of honour, or setting aside possessions of the fallen for those who needed them the most.
From what he’d seen?
She fought as well as she drank. He just needed to give her a piece of the reason.
- Status