I think someone bowed out, so I can't see any reason why not. Better wait on Stuff to tell for certain, though.
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The zombie things were not powerful. They were slow and fairly weak alone, or even in a small group. It was perhaps only with greater numbers that they would become a great problem. Well...there was ONE other issue. Every time one of them blasted a zombie, you'd see a blob of X flying away, abandoning ship, as it were. This was happening every time they were blasted, burnt, or splattered as such. Now then, the X did this, but some of them came back to re-inhabit the splorchy messes that had been plastered over walls and floors, reforming the zombie creature. This was, sad to say, the result of every kill scored by Cass. In this case, he blew them back and turned them to mush, but the protoplasm was able to be reformed by the next X-Parasite to inhabit it. This was still helping, but it was the extreme heat damage of Kaze and David. Where the flamethrower had failed to avail them outside, it was permanently rendering parasites 'bodyless', and Kaze's own special weapon was just too strong for the stuff to hold out against him.
Zen pulled in nearby, observing all this and taking the occasional pot-shot, speaking up after Amber had declared that the stairs down were several rooms away. He assessed the situation, considered the likely variables in which the zombie monsters could attack them, and spoke.
"Current X-forms are weak, but numerous. They are also able to reform if significant heat damage is not inflicted. It is suggested that Cassius and this unit take point to reduce all X in our path to protoplasm, followed directly after by David and Kaze to finish off disabled units in passing. Calculations indicate this strategy will double progress to the stairs, due to the slow-moving nature of these enemies."
In this situation, it was better to move forward instead of waiting for the enemy to exhaust itself. They did not have the means to destroy the X, only impede them. A spearhead attack that guarentees penetration to the lower floors was the best move to make...provided that something worse was not nestled within the base. Zen moved forwards in order to blast apart the protoplasmic zombie and make the job of burning them to death much easier. On the way, he would observe a large hole...leading up. It was just ripped through the ceiling! It looked like it may lead to the upper control room... whatever came here ruined the functions and the observation equipment itself, and knew to do so. There was no such hole in the floors, though, and there was no activity detected up there now. And incidentally, the stairs? Dark. Just dark. Not even emergency lighting was present.
Zen pulled in nearby, observing all this and taking the occasional pot-shot, speaking up after Amber had declared that the stairs down were several rooms away. He assessed the situation, considered the likely variables in which the zombie monsters could attack them, and spoke.
"Current X-forms are weak, but numerous. They are also able to reform if significant heat damage is not inflicted. It is suggested that Cassius and this unit take point to reduce all X in our path to protoplasm, followed directly after by David and Kaze to finish off disabled units in passing. Calculations indicate this strategy will double progress to the stairs, due to the slow-moving nature of these enemies."
In this situation, it was better to move forward instead of waiting for the enemy to exhaust itself. They did not have the means to destroy the X, only impede them. A spearhead attack that guarentees penetration to the lower floors was the best move to make...provided that something worse was not nestled within the base. Zen moved forwards in order to blast apart the protoplasmic zombie and make the job of burning them to death much easier. On the way, he would observe a large hole...leading up. It was just ripped through the ceiling! It looked like it may lead to the upper control room... whatever came here ruined the functions and the observation equipment itself, and knew to do so. There was no such hole in the floors, though, and there was no activity detected up there now. And incidentally, the stairs? Dark. Just dark. Not even emergency lighting was present.
Totes fine.
No, it's @SimpleWriter, but I'm gonna post soon anyway.
This one might take a while to figure out.
Charpentier had a much different approach to things, he could tell. While Isaac was fairly straightforward, it seemed like the other Lance was a bit more of the soft touch. Pride in his rank? Okay, it was an accomplishment to start a rung up the ladder instead of down on the ground, but it wasn't that much higher than everybody else, so he wasn't gonna brag about it, either. Isaac guessed he could feel good that his skills had taken him this far and that they would keep on doing so, but he wasn't going to climb that ladder without making sure that those around him were following. It seemed to him like the Lance-Corporal was also something of the philosopher type. 'Because we're here' wasn't so much a reason as a...state of being. Not sure if it was some kind of pre-destiny kind of thing or... Wait, no. Manifest destiny. His father always said ancient conquerors had this feeling of destiny about them like they were too important to fail, like the weight of history itself would carry them to victory.
That didn't sound like what Charpentier was talking about. Maybe he was just accepting reality. At any rate, Isaac noticed he hadn't really taken to shaking his hand. Must not have felt comfortable. Were all Darcsens nervous now about opening up with people because of how they were generally treated? Well, he'd get the guy to feeling normal, sometime. Can't have anxieties on the battlefield. Problems like that had to be solved in quick order, before they led to real trouble. They were all probably a little antsy, what with the distant booms and blasts going on. Hell, one of the other soldiers came to them in full salute and official introduction. He had to be anxious in some way. Let's hope it was good old-fashioned fear that he could overcome and settle into normally. Over-confidence was not something that would serve them that well. Right now, Private Katz was being put pretty much into his care. Okay, he was alright with that, but...
Charpentier, you're not gonna keep everyone at arm's length, are you?
It seemed like after being cordial-but-distant with him that he was doing almost the same with Katz. It wasn't immediately obvious, but it did seem like the Private had just been displaced to him because the Darcsen didn't feel up to handling him personally. Boy, that racial divide sure was a strong one. Oh well, something to overcome. Better just deal with what was in front of him, for now. Like the man said, he should be helping out Katz now, not worrying about this. Priorities and all that. He smiled at the dark-skinned boy and spoke up.
"What he said. The Lieutenant may be one for formality, but we just want to keep the squad working together as best we can. So, what can I do for you, Katz? Any comments, questions, curiosities? Any idea what the Lieutenant's favorite color is?"
He wasn't going to throw their strict Lieutenant into the mud, so to speak, but letting the guy know in a sort of light-hearted commentary that he could just relax for now was probably for best. Asking a funny question like that wasn't gonna harm the Lieutenant, but he had to admit that the guy himself could probably use some calming tea himself, or maybe a full rum. Maybe he'd offer him one if he got his hands on some, just to get him to ease off the throttle of his command a bit. During this time, another soldier approached, a woman who looked like, ah yes, she had a machine gun hanging from her back, like he did. He could see the barrel and the 'legs' folded in. The lady introduced herself as Britta Hagan after a kindly greeting to them both. And it was here that the other Lance demonstrated what we will call 'proper informality'. He told them all his first name. Isaac nodded in approval of this.
"As would I be fine with Isaac. It's alot less of a mouthful than Lance-Corporal."
He looked again at the machine gun Britta had. She must've had a steady hand and iron constitution in training. They would need that here.
"I see you're a Gunner, as well. Guess that means the two of us will be looking after our squad the most."
Apart from just shooting at people in particular, their job would be to deter the movement and any funny ideas from the Imperial Soldiers. If the squad was advancing, they had to suppress the notion that the enemy could get an easy bead on their people. If they were withdrawing, the enemy must be informed that this was not an open invitation to follow. If they were holding in the trenches, the enemy was to be told that they cannot just waltz right in here. A Gunner must do all these things, and they must understand that their weapon can reduce a human being to giblets in seconds. That much had been demonstrated for Isaac in training when they destroyed a pig carcass on a rope. Blood and sinew all over the place. Britta must have done very well to become the same class of soldier as him.
@Rigmarole[@Symphoni]@LetMeDoStuff
Charpentier had a much different approach to things, he could tell. While Isaac was fairly straightforward, it seemed like the other Lance was a bit more of the soft touch. Pride in his rank? Okay, it was an accomplishment to start a rung up the ladder instead of down on the ground, but it wasn't that much higher than everybody else, so he wasn't gonna brag about it, either. Isaac guessed he could feel good that his skills had taken him this far and that they would keep on doing so, but he wasn't going to climb that ladder without making sure that those around him were following. It seemed to him like the Lance-Corporal was also something of the philosopher type. 'Because we're here' wasn't so much a reason as a...state of being. Not sure if it was some kind of pre-destiny kind of thing or... Wait, no. Manifest destiny. His father always said ancient conquerors had this feeling of destiny about them like they were too important to fail, like the weight of history itself would carry them to victory.
That didn't sound like what Charpentier was talking about. Maybe he was just accepting reality. At any rate, Isaac noticed he hadn't really taken to shaking his hand. Must not have felt comfortable. Were all Darcsens nervous now about opening up with people because of how they were generally treated? Well, he'd get the guy to feeling normal, sometime. Can't have anxieties on the battlefield. Problems like that had to be solved in quick order, before they led to real trouble. They were all probably a little antsy, what with the distant booms and blasts going on. Hell, one of the other soldiers came to them in full salute and official introduction. He had to be anxious in some way. Let's hope it was good old-fashioned fear that he could overcome and settle into normally. Over-confidence was not something that would serve them that well. Right now, Private Katz was being put pretty much into his care. Okay, he was alright with that, but...
Charpentier, you're not gonna keep everyone at arm's length, are you?
It seemed like after being cordial-but-distant with him that he was doing almost the same with Katz. It wasn't immediately obvious, but it did seem like the Private had just been displaced to him because the Darcsen didn't feel up to handling him personally. Boy, that racial divide sure was a strong one. Oh well, something to overcome. Better just deal with what was in front of him, for now. Like the man said, he should be helping out Katz now, not worrying about this. Priorities and all that. He smiled at the dark-skinned boy and spoke up.
"What he said. The Lieutenant may be one for formality, but we just want to keep the squad working together as best we can. So, what can I do for you, Katz? Any comments, questions, curiosities? Any idea what the Lieutenant's favorite color is?"
He wasn't going to throw their strict Lieutenant into the mud, so to speak, but letting the guy know in a sort of light-hearted commentary that he could just relax for now was probably for best. Asking a funny question like that wasn't gonna harm the Lieutenant, but he had to admit that the guy himself could probably use some calming tea himself, or maybe a full rum. Maybe he'd offer him one if he got his hands on some, just to get him to ease off the throttle of his command a bit. During this time, another soldier approached, a woman who looked like, ah yes, she had a machine gun hanging from her back, like he did. He could see the barrel and the 'legs' folded in. The lady introduced herself as Britta Hagan after a kindly greeting to them both. And it was here that the other Lance demonstrated what we will call 'proper informality'. He told them all his first name. Isaac nodded in approval of this.
"As would I be fine with Isaac. It's alot less of a mouthful than Lance-Corporal."
He looked again at the machine gun Britta had. She must've had a steady hand and iron constitution in training. They would need that here.
"I see you're a Gunner, as well. Guess that means the two of us will be looking after our squad the most."
Apart from just shooting at people in particular, their job would be to deter the movement and any funny ideas from the Imperial Soldiers. If the squad was advancing, they had to suppress the notion that the enemy could get an easy bead on their people. If they were withdrawing, the enemy must be informed that this was not an open invitation to follow. If they were holding in the trenches, the enemy was to be told that they cannot just waltz right in here. A Gunner must do all these things, and they must understand that their weapon can reduce a human being to giblets in seconds. That much had been demonstrated for Isaac in training when they destroyed a pig carcass on a rope. Blood and sinew all over the place. Britta must have done very well to become the same class of soldier as him.
@Rigmarole[@Symphoni]@LetMeDoStuff
For Isaac, the war began a bit differently.
He wasn't one of the many who flocked to the enlistment centers, and he wasn't marked as a coward for wanting to remain behind, either. It was a funny thing, but he always figured he wasn't going to go to war, because he provided a necessary resource to the Federation. Three things, actually, because his family ran a farm. They'd poked fun when his family had originally bought this land, not far from the city, but enough that you'd have level grounds of dirt and grass and such. Oh, it was dirt cheap, and they'd laughed when they started calling it the Black Lands, a plot of land unfit for growing much, 'cept maybe some potatoes, if that. But then, the smiles changed hands as the only 'crop' that was brought out there was livestock. Not even milk cows, who required more grass than other varieties to make milk. Walking slabs of beef and leather is what the Blacks raised. Not just that, but mutton and wool. Yeah, that's right. The food on your plate and the clothes on your back, courtesy of the Black family, at least if you were in central Edinburgh.
So, you had those two resources, but there was a third, and here is where Isaac comes in. This family learns the way of animals, every last member, including if you married into the family. The farm has to keep going, no question about it. Some are better than others, and some have that certain something that puts them along the lines of the third important resource of the Blacks: Dogs. Dog-breeding has been around for centuries, ever since the first wolf approached a man hungry and that man fed him. But in order to get MORE dogs with fresh blood in the breed, you have to start from scratch. You have to have wolves, and you have to have someone in the family who's empathetic enough to the wolves that they can be on each other's wavelength, like radios. Isaac spent his young years to his current years becoming the alpha to a band of wolf pups, hybrid wolf-dogs that were a part of the more dangerous issue of finding a wolf willing to mate with a dog, like a husky.
Thus, the third resource is dogs, and Isaac was responsible for raising at least a couple generations from a young age to present, and then he had to take them to a buyer. They arrived not far from an army recruiter and his men, where he easily escorted his pack right in front of them, like it was nothing, and then...once he was out...hoo boy. The man was simply impressed with his work, so much so that he insisted that he have his name on the list. Isaac explained that providing what his family did was just as important as fighting the war, maybe more so. The recruiter did not agree. In fact, he disagreed with the help of two armed men, stating that the army will benefit from a man of his caliber, and that was final. So, Isaac was drafted, and he wasn't given any recourse, as he would otherwise be labeled as a traitor and probably shot, which he'd rather not have on his family's conscience...or his head.
Training found him quiet, angry, and driven to freak out the sergeant with his actions, seemingly too vicious to be allowed anywhere near a weapon. No dice. It was as he feared. His skills really were suitable for the front lines. He became a gunner, armed with a lead-spewing machine of death and a kind of blade they made for punching and stabbing foes in confined spaces, namely the trenches. He'd had to drill in mock trenches, actually did very well. He didn't like that fact, though. More and more, Isaac felt he was being distanced from his family, maybe distanced from that which was human, but one thing that he did notice was that these squads were reminding him alot of his work back on the farm. These people might die without him. Maybe not these ones specifically, because they randomized the units, but others. Dammit, just when he felt like he should really buck the system...he discovers a good reason for why she should not.
Time passed, and Isaac mellowed out, though he was always disapproving of those in authority throwing their weight around for the wrong reasons. Ultimately, he found himself more beholden to the orders of the war - Kill the enemy while still keeping your men alive - than those a little closer to home. This led to some rather interesting developments when he received his commission and found out that his rank wasn't private, but lance-corporal. He almost asked the sergeant why he didn't just get HIS job, but that would've been a punch in the face and a night in the stockade, if he had said that. So, naturally, he had to of course get going. Isaac didn't relish this. He didn't want this war forced down his throat. If anything, he was going to shove it in somebody else's face and make them pay for it. Just get through this with as many people alive as you can, and then you win. Simple, right? Hah.
And so, with murderous thoughts for the bugler the morning he was at his assigned location, Isaac got up to fall into form. No, he didn't have any trouble getting up. He'd worked at a farm, after all, and wolves only sleep maybe a few hours a day, so he had to get up at some strange hours then, too. No, it was just that racket, that's all. What a pain in the ass. Speaking of which, introducing Lieutenant Middleton! This guy was of a similar class of twit and arsehole that that recruiter was. Isaac already didn't like him, and it seemed like he and the other Lances were all being made his accomplices to his bad temper and callous behavior. Gets worse when he started muttering about the Darcsen next to him, saying 'Charpentier' was a weird name. Come on, Lieutenant! It's just 'Carpenter' with a bit of flair!
Anyway, Middleton had gone off, allowing the recruits and all speak as they will. Isaac noticed the Darcsen boy just standing there, scribbling some notes. He wasn't sure what it was, but he managed a quick chuckle as he spoke to the guy while looking over the others here.
"We're in for alot of work if we have to follow that into battle."
He now turned to the Darcsen, really not caring that he was a Darcsen. Really, Isaac couldn't even remember what people had against the Darcsens. For his own part, the young man extended a hand.
"Isaac Black. I guess Lance-Corporal Black really, but that's not what I'm here for. I'm here to keep people alive. How about you?"
@LetMeDoStuff
He wasn't one of the many who flocked to the enlistment centers, and he wasn't marked as a coward for wanting to remain behind, either. It was a funny thing, but he always figured he wasn't going to go to war, because he provided a necessary resource to the Federation. Three things, actually, because his family ran a farm. They'd poked fun when his family had originally bought this land, not far from the city, but enough that you'd have level grounds of dirt and grass and such. Oh, it was dirt cheap, and they'd laughed when they started calling it the Black Lands, a plot of land unfit for growing much, 'cept maybe some potatoes, if that. But then, the smiles changed hands as the only 'crop' that was brought out there was livestock. Not even milk cows, who required more grass than other varieties to make milk. Walking slabs of beef and leather is what the Blacks raised. Not just that, but mutton and wool. Yeah, that's right. The food on your plate and the clothes on your back, courtesy of the Black family, at least if you were in central Edinburgh.
So, you had those two resources, but there was a third, and here is where Isaac comes in. This family learns the way of animals, every last member, including if you married into the family. The farm has to keep going, no question about it. Some are better than others, and some have that certain something that puts them along the lines of the third important resource of the Blacks: Dogs. Dog-breeding has been around for centuries, ever since the first wolf approached a man hungry and that man fed him. But in order to get MORE dogs with fresh blood in the breed, you have to start from scratch. You have to have wolves, and you have to have someone in the family who's empathetic enough to the wolves that they can be on each other's wavelength, like radios. Isaac spent his young years to his current years becoming the alpha to a band of wolf pups, hybrid wolf-dogs that were a part of the more dangerous issue of finding a wolf willing to mate with a dog, like a husky.
Thus, the third resource is dogs, and Isaac was responsible for raising at least a couple generations from a young age to present, and then he had to take them to a buyer. They arrived not far from an army recruiter and his men, where he easily escorted his pack right in front of them, like it was nothing, and then...once he was out...hoo boy. The man was simply impressed with his work, so much so that he insisted that he have his name on the list. Isaac explained that providing what his family did was just as important as fighting the war, maybe more so. The recruiter did not agree. In fact, he disagreed with the help of two armed men, stating that the army will benefit from a man of his caliber, and that was final. So, Isaac was drafted, and he wasn't given any recourse, as he would otherwise be labeled as a traitor and probably shot, which he'd rather not have on his family's conscience...or his head.
Training found him quiet, angry, and driven to freak out the sergeant with his actions, seemingly too vicious to be allowed anywhere near a weapon. No dice. It was as he feared. His skills really were suitable for the front lines. He became a gunner, armed with a lead-spewing machine of death and a kind of blade they made for punching and stabbing foes in confined spaces, namely the trenches. He'd had to drill in mock trenches, actually did very well. He didn't like that fact, though. More and more, Isaac felt he was being distanced from his family, maybe distanced from that which was human, but one thing that he did notice was that these squads were reminding him alot of his work back on the farm. These people might die without him. Maybe not these ones specifically, because they randomized the units, but others. Dammit, just when he felt like he should really buck the system...he discovers a good reason for why she should not.
Time passed, and Isaac mellowed out, though he was always disapproving of those in authority throwing their weight around for the wrong reasons. Ultimately, he found himself more beholden to the orders of the war - Kill the enemy while still keeping your men alive - than those a little closer to home. This led to some rather interesting developments when he received his commission and found out that his rank wasn't private, but lance-corporal. He almost asked the sergeant why he didn't just get HIS job, but that would've been a punch in the face and a night in the stockade, if he had said that. So, naturally, he had to of course get going. Isaac didn't relish this. He didn't want this war forced down his throat. If anything, he was going to shove it in somebody else's face and make them pay for it. Just get through this with as many people alive as you can, and then you win. Simple, right? Hah.
And so, with murderous thoughts for the bugler the morning he was at his assigned location, Isaac got up to fall into form. No, he didn't have any trouble getting up. He'd worked at a farm, after all, and wolves only sleep maybe a few hours a day, so he had to get up at some strange hours then, too. No, it was just that racket, that's all. What a pain in the ass. Speaking of which, introducing Lieutenant Middleton! This guy was of a similar class of twit and arsehole that that recruiter was. Isaac already didn't like him, and it seemed like he and the other Lances were all being made his accomplices to his bad temper and callous behavior. Gets worse when he started muttering about the Darcsen next to him, saying 'Charpentier' was a weird name. Come on, Lieutenant! It's just 'Carpenter' with a bit of flair!
Anyway, Middleton had gone off, allowing the recruits and all speak as they will. Isaac noticed the Darcsen boy just standing there, scribbling some notes. He wasn't sure what it was, but he managed a quick chuckle as he spoke to the guy while looking over the others here.
"We're in for alot of work if we have to follow that into battle."
He now turned to the Darcsen, really not caring that he was a Darcsen. Really, Isaac couldn't even remember what people had against the Darcsens. For his own part, the young man extended a hand.
"Isaac Black. I guess Lance-Corporal Black really, but that's not what I'm here for. I'm here to keep people alive. How about you?"
@LetMeDoStuff
The battle had ended before it had begun. I know that that's sort of a cliche thing to say, but just look at it! Star had descended upon the leader of the group, never aware that it wasa KING she was assaulting, and a bodyguard of some kind had gotten in the way. The gargoyle would've been the last thing the captain saw, glaring vicious intent and effectively not even seeing her until she was already gone. In afterthought, Morningstar realized that someone had gottenn away, the reason why this man bearing the crown was on the ground below her, and not a splatter himself. He also seemed to be employing some sort of shield. Interesting...
Oh, and apparently six hundred armed soldiers had just exploded behind her, bathing her with intense firelight as any residual flames from Garlock's spell did absolutely no harm to her whatsoever. In fact, she turned to look the cat mage's way in confusion, surprised that he had even bothered to help her. Had he said something about facing his wrath? If he was attacking, though, why did he use a spell that could never hope to damage her? Unless...ohhh...he'd been fooling these people into believing he was on their side.
Oops. I think I spoiled something here. Oh well.
Garlock was looking over the scene, as of now. He probably shouldn't have used his greatest fire spell on this. He'd destroyed the army of soldiers, as intended, but with the second stage of the spell, he had utterly destroyed the area around them, leaving nothing but wasteland of broken everything, including that demon king that he'd been getting on with. Well, he'd been playing with the idea of stalking and killing him, anyway. Tasty birdy. The dark magus sighed as he approached the now-landed Morningstar. He knew that she was looking after what she considered the best interests of the Cathedral, but they would have gone away, none the wiser.
"A little overkill, don't you think?"
"You're one to talk. Look at this place!"
She gestured to the scorched landscape, looking a bit pissed off.
"You left me behind. I didn't know what was going on!"
"It was none of your business what I was doing. Now, you've gotten us both in the middle of this thing."
The demon scowled at him.
"There wasn't suppose to BE 'a thing'. You made it a thing, you stupid cat!"
The black magus growled at her.
"Everything. Was. Fine."
Aaand it's about this time that King Lucius regained his footing and addressed them. Really, Star was surprised that he could stand after that, let alone breathe and...you know...be in one piece. In fact, this intrigued her enough that she actually smiled at him.
"Well, hey! You're still alive! Of course, you can live! I need someone to bring back, or else this was a total waste! Ummm..."
Star seemed to falter for a second, then inclined her head more towards Garlock to ask just who this guy was, exactly. Garlock facepalmed.
"Oh, for the love of... Alright, fine. This is King Lucius of some country at war with a place called Amali. Look into that, would you? I'm going to be very busy, for a while."
"Why, what're you gonna be up to?"
Garlock vanished, and then Lucius would find his crown taken from him, and placed upon the head of...King Lucius?! There was another king in their midst! Garlock had cast an illusion to appear as the winged man himself, battle damage and all. He walked past Lucius with a grin on his face.
"I go where the muse takes me..."
Any attempts from Lucius to stop Garlock from his act of limping away now, like a wounded warrior making his way to some sort of refuge, would be met with Star's mace blocking him. She would look, rather calmly, into the man's eyes, and speak plainly now.
"You are my captive now, and must accompany me to the place of my lord, where you will be questioned."
And this would be something of an eye-opener for Lucius. Not only had he been assaulted by two powerful foes, but they had a leader above them?! And just wait 'till he meets Volaris! Star now attempted to grab Lucius so that she could fly him back to Dead Moon Cathedral, as Garlock fully intended to become The Cat Who Would Be King.
Oh, and apparently six hundred armed soldiers had just exploded behind her, bathing her with intense firelight as any residual flames from Garlock's spell did absolutely no harm to her whatsoever. In fact, she turned to look the cat mage's way in confusion, surprised that he had even bothered to help her. Had he said something about facing his wrath? If he was attacking, though, why did he use a spell that could never hope to damage her? Unless...ohhh...he'd been fooling these people into believing he was on their side.
Oops. I think I spoiled something here. Oh well.
Garlock was looking over the scene, as of now. He probably shouldn't have used his greatest fire spell on this. He'd destroyed the army of soldiers, as intended, but with the second stage of the spell, he had utterly destroyed the area around them, leaving nothing but wasteland of broken everything, including that demon king that he'd been getting on with. Well, he'd been playing with the idea of stalking and killing him, anyway. Tasty birdy. The dark magus sighed as he approached the now-landed Morningstar. He knew that she was looking after what she considered the best interests of the Cathedral, but they would have gone away, none the wiser.
"A little overkill, don't you think?"
"You're one to talk. Look at this place!"
She gestured to the scorched landscape, looking a bit pissed off.
"You left me behind. I didn't know what was going on!"
"It was none of your business what I was doing. Now, you've gotten us both in the middle of this thing."
The demon scowled at him.
"There wasn't suppose to BE 'a thing'. You made it a thing, you stupid cat!"
The black magus growled at her.
"Everything. Was. Fine."
Aaand it's about this time that King Lucius regained his footing and addressed them. Really, Star was surprised that he could stand after that, let alone breathe and...you know...be in one piece. In fact, this intrigued her enough that she actually smiled at him.
"Well, hey! You're still alive! Of course, you can live! I need someone to bring back, or else this was a total waste! Ummm..."
Star seemed to falter for a second, then inclined her head more towards Garlock to ask just who this guy was, exactly. Garlock facepalmed.
"Oh, for the love of... Alright, fine. This is King Lucius of some country at war with a place called Amali. Look into that, would you? I'm going to be very busy, for a while."
"Why, what're you gonna be up to?"
Garlock vanished, and then Lucius would find his crown taken from him, and placed upon the head of...King Lucius?! There was another king in their midst! Garlock had cast an illusion to appear as the winged man himself, battle damage and all. He walked past Lucius with a grin on his face.
"I go where the muse takes me..."
Any attempts from Lucius to stop Garlock from his act of limping away now, like a wounded warrior making his way to some sort of refuge, would be met with Star's mace blocking him. She would look, rather calmly, into the man's eyes, and speak plainly now.
"You are my captive now, and must accompany me to the place of my lord, where you will be questioned."
And this would be something of an eye-opener for Lucius. Not only had he been assaulted by two powerful foes, but they had a leader above them?! And just wait 'till he meets Volaris! Star now attempted to grab Lucius so that she could fly him back to Dead Moon Cathedral, as Garlock fully intended to become The Cat Who Would Be King.
@Kazemitsu I'm aware and I'm rather pissed, myself. I PM'd Scorp last night.
Everyone start planning to move on.
Everyone start planning to move on.
I think we have openings still. This is, after all, a squad in the armed forces and all. Up to the GM, though.
@LetMeDoStuff Sure, man. No problem.
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