Avatar of CaptainBritton
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    1. CaptainBritton 7 yrs ago
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5 yrs ago
Current "Out of every hundred men, ten shouldn't even be there, eighty are targets, nine are the real fighters, for they make the battle. But one is a warrior, and he will bring the others back." -Heraclitus
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7 yrs ago
"I have resolved never to start an unjust war, but never to end a legitimate one except by defeating my enemies." -King Charles XII 'Carolus Rex' of Sweden, 1700
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7 yrs ago
“Civilians are like beans; you buy 'em as needed for any job which merely requires skill and savvy. But you can't buy fighting spirit.” -Robert A. Heinlein
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7 yrs ago
"The soldier is also a citizen. In fact, the highest obligation and privilege of citizenship is that of bearing arms for one’s country” -General George S. Patton Jr.
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7 yrs ago
"Wine has drowned more than the sea." -Roman proverb
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Samuel quietly acknowledged Azure's offer of training as he stood there, glazed eyes and a slightly slouched posture. The mention of Ilum incited some interest from him, his gaze darting to Azure. He still seemed too disinterested, too deep in thought to keep pace with the conversation, some gears turning in his mind. And they were. His mind was still rife with thoughts, primarily questions of how or why this happened, how many had died, or why it was the clones, the loyal soldiers that had been under Jedi command since the beginning of the War, that had carried out the massacre.

He had always thought the Jedi to be some guiding force, some element of ethereal action of true good. He realized, he had bore many misconceptions. He thought the Order invincible, but they were not. He thought the clones true and loyal, but they were not. And suddenly, he was pulled from his own mind, his own gaze meeting Kresst's. He strained to come back to conscious thought, but took in the words, and nodded his head in acknowledgement to the Mrlssi, waiting for others to clear out and perhaps speak to him, but once practically everyone had cleared out, he made for the door, banking a left towards his quarters first.
Interested.
As the door opened, Austen prepared himself for the next round of questioning, muttering to himself lowly. The sharp crack of las bolts and the whine of the lasguns which fired them stopped his heart. He wanted to speak, to inquire whether his fellow prisoners had perished, to lash out and face the same fate if only he could find the strength. But not a word left his lips, a deafening silence in his ears as the low rumble of warfare replaced the empty sound. They were being rescued! By the Emperor, the Guard, or even potentially Astartes, had come for them! He idly wriggled his restraints, a newfound vigor giving him hope.

And then the voice spoke. The absence of the rasping from a vox grill ruled out Astartes instantly, and he began to take in the words that were being spoken. He was cut free and sprung out of the stress position, attempting to stand fully but lowering back to his knee, allowing his legs to adjust to being free again. He met the gaze of the Major quickly, but could not for much longer. He felt humbled, his gear and even his jumpsuit stripped from him.

And soon, the corpse appeared before him, and Austen gritted his teeth, grinding them as the lasbolt-ridden stormtrooper was revealed as Inquisitorial. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, as one of the lasguns clattered before him. He gave a few seconds of thought, and scrambled on hands and knees, grasping the lasgun with his cold, numb fingers and making another attempt to stand, his knees nearly giving. But he remained upright, and attempting to meet the gaze of the Major again, he muttered.

"The Emperor protects."
I'm still in.


Still WIP, but it's mostly done.
<Snipped quote by Theodorable>

It’s him.


It's the him who quoted him.

"Trust in the Force." The words mulled in his head. Was it minutes? Hours? It could've been days for all he cared. He sat there on the small mattress, in his drab room which he had moved into only days prior. The room was cramped, a quarters he picked. It was out of the way, had the amenities he needed, and most importantly, it was his. He was allowed to do what he wished with the place, some responsibility which escaped him when constantly on the move, sleeping in huts, barracks- even waterlogged trenches and fighting holes. These comforts were hardly afforded in times of war. It was out of some respect, some condolence for the troops, those clones.

It hurt to think about them. The soldiers who had so vehemently and eagerly fought under the command of the Jedi they had gunned down mercilessly, without so much as a second thought. The thoughts plagued him. Did his master die quickly? Or was he left on the temple grounds to have his life fade slowly. "There is no death, there is the Force." He thought back to his training, the code he was to memorize and understand in full. How could it be true? He'd seen death. They did not become one with the Force. Everyone from clones to even some Jedi died and became little more than corpses burned to ash.

He opened his eyes, and the saber hilt which hovered before him clattered to the ground. The recording cut out, replaced by the sound of a voice. It didn't register right away, the intercom giving no illusion to its state, rasping the sound. He caught "would everyone please come to the main room." Master Azure, commander and director of the vessel. Samuel had his own deep respect for him, the old, wise Jedi who'd perhaps had one of the most difficult ascendancies through the ranks of the Order. He uncrossed his legs and rose, approaching his wardrobe with slow, deliberate movements, prying open the metal doors.

He reached into the dark interior of the wardrobe, the area which hid itself from the dull, dim lamp on the other side of the room, and felt the fabric of the contents, and pulled his cloak from the hook, draping the white and grey cloth around his brown tunic and trousers. He felt some sort of strength, some sort of anonymity under the layers, the pure white. It was these robes that made him disagree with the adage of purple being the noblest shroud. A shroud for the ignorant and pompous, perhaps. But truly, the shroud of the noble was white. Pure. Innocent.

He was caught up in thought again, and forced himself back to reality, closing the doors of the wardrobe with a loud racket. He turned for the door, giving the console a light tap to coax the metal door to spring open. And he shuffled through, banking left down the long, cramped hallway, and continued the straight shot to the fore of the vessel, before banking a right into the common area, where he was called to meet.

He entered the room with an interaction of the door, and greeted those within. "Master Azure, Knight Salavr." He bowed his head in greeting, shuffling off to the side to wait for the remainder of the crew.
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