Frengo

Darkness and Light

Gormagh, Ranger of Galuntrung

Okly

@IcePezz

Gormagh's advance halted in its tracks, as if he'd slammed into an invisible wall of stone. His brow furrowed, as he looked at Liara, who fought the Bane of Kalar Splint with a speed and fury he'd never before seen in any mortal man. Her form was perfect, her movements determined and concise. Her exotic blades and her nimble frame somehow held against an overhead swing that would have cleaved Gormagh in two, or at the very least, shattered his wrist.

"By the Gods," he managed to mutter, not quite believing what he was seeing. "What is she?"

And then she whirled, all soot and mud, breaking from the Bane of Kalar Splint with an attack that seemed so out of place - as if designed to withhold the finality she was capable of unleashing. Gormagh gasped then, when her sunken eyes, as black as night, locked with his - and then returned to the much healthier, much more enticing blue that his intimate thoughts knew her for.

"Well that's terrifying," he remarked, panting; his exhaustion returning to him tenfold. "Though perhaps weariness deceives my senses..."

”Rangers, fall back!” she called.

Gormagh looked to his left, looked to his right; green clad bodies marred the mud and the ruins of Okly in place of his living and breathing brothers. He was the last. And as much as that realization pained him, and as much as he wanted vengeance for Kalar, the combatants on the field far surpassed his abilities and valor. Adding himself to the slaughter would do little for him, and even less for the cause of Galuntrung Keep.

"We must send word to Lieutenant Hertford," he said, watching the soiled form of Liara trudging towards him. "A regiment of Rangers would see these dogs all put to the stake," he paused to motion to the line of dead men shambling their way. "And they would see those abominations returned to the literature of children's tales."

Lieutenant Hertford was one of Kalar's subordinates, whose regiment would be in the vicinity. If the Gods had smiled upon Liara and Gormagh, then perhaps he had stumbled upon the ruins of the Okly caravan, and was perhaps making his way towards the village - having picked up the tracks left by Kalar's men in their hasty advance. Then again, it was possible he was miles away on some other errand.

Nevertheless, an escape to the Keep would allow Liara and Gormagh to raise the alarm, and they certainly couldn't dwell in Okly a second longer.

"Let us break north, around the dead men, and rejoin the Geshmere Road. Either we find Hertford on our way back to the Keep, or we find him when we get there; it matters little, there is nothing else the two of us can do here." He said, sheathing his sword and backing away from the settling chaos.

He turned to see the bearers of Kalar's body vanishing into the green surrounds of a now deceased Okly. He mumbled a prayer, asking for their safe journey, and for his former master, that his soul may find peace in the afterlife.

The Rise of Man (Fallout-like RP)

His Majesty's Governorate of Normandy

Province of the Kingdom of Great Britain

---

Operation: French Lion

Phase Two + 4H

---

Capitaine Francis Desjardins, 1st Infantry Company, 1st Cherbourg Regiment.

St-Malo Town Center

Mortar rounds bounced across the ancient paved roadways of St-Malo's town center, flattening barricades and blasting Norman infantry rushes into the next century. Dozens of men lay dead and dying, as scores of their comrades found cover behind anything solid enough to offer some confident protection. Brittan snipers picked off those not so fortunate, and every hour or so, the die-hard Republicans made desperate counter attacks, often to little avail.

Francis peered across the town center from his entrenched position, nestled between the bodies of two Brittan zealots. He was losing men fast, and the constant ringing in his ears from an incessant mortar barrage was hampering his decision making process. He needed to take the center yesterday, and not a minute later, otherwise his entire company risked being routed.

There was no air support to reach for, no tanks to lead an armoured charge; aside from a few prehistoric British warriors, the battle for St-Malo had become an inadvertent infantry slogging-fest. Though the Normans out numbered the defenders three to one, the Brittans were proving to be effective fighters, despite the widespread civil strife and starvation affecting their country. The Viceroy had planned for a lightning campaign of relative ease; instead, the Normans had been bogged down in intense street fighting.

A church across the way was lit up like a Christmas tree; all muzzle flashes and sandbags. It formed the Brittan strong point in the area - perhaps the town, but without heavy artillery, there was no way the Normans could crack the nut without losing half their men.

This was something the Norman Captain was desperately trying to avoid, but every minute saw another of his men cut down.

The town's ancient castle, formerly a feudal bastion of power, had been taken by his British comrades before they'd even arrived at the town. It had disallowed the Brittans the possibility of a strategical retreat and subsequent siege; however, it'd also stiffened their resolve when it came to the street fighting. These Brittans weren't the rag-tag militia types the Normans had encountered earlier on either, but rather, were fanatical yet professional soldiers fighting for a Republic they truly believed in. Mixing these ingredients together had created an intense engagement in St-Malo's center mass.

What the Norman Captain needed was a way out, but the 1st Cherbourg Regiment didn't possess the heavy guns.

... yet HMS Canterbury did.

Capitaine Francis Desjardins pushed a hand against the side of his Ensign Battle Helmet, and took reluctantly to the task of asking his British Overseers for assistance. Rather than addressing command, and asking them to forward his message to the Frigate, he contacted the vessel directly.

"This is Capitaine Francis Desjardins, 1st Infantry Company of the 1st Cherbourg Regiment. First, second and third waves ineffective, we do not hold the town center, say again, we do not hold the town center," he spoke in heavily accented English, flinching as a mortar round exploded a few meters away. "Say again, we do not hold the town center. The enemy have established a strong point in a church across the way, bearing coordinates 435-525. Requesting urgent fire mission from His Majesty's Royal Navy." Francis took his hand away from his helmet, and ducked back down beside the two corpses he was using as shrapnel bags.

All the while, Normans screamed and died around him, and the church continued to pour its rage onto anyone who dared step into its line of fire.

The Rise of Man (Fallout-like RP)

Merry Christmas guys.

In the spirit of this holiday, I'm declaring a 24 hour truce against NPCs, but will continue murdering them tomorrow.

☣ Days of The Dead ☣

Merry Christmas fellahs and fellahesses :)

Crazy (Closed)

To all of you, Merry Christmas!

And to all of your characters:

Darkness and Light

Yeah Merry Christmas guys. Have a good one.

Crazy (Closed)

Im conflicted. I want wepons, but i want freedom, and i feel something bad might happen with the blackhawks.

@AbysmalDemon

:)

EDIT: :) :)

SECOND EDIT: :) :) :)

☣ Days of The Dead ☣

Woodhouse Smith, American Retiree.

---

Woodhouse relaxed, what harm could one little girl to do him anyway? He just beat a soldier's ass into the ground- well, with a little help from some sick friends, but never mind.

"Well in that case," he said, lowering his rifle. "Name's Woodhouse Smith, retired. I'd offer you my hand but I don't think we're quite there yet."

"If it's any consolation, I won't be attempting to take it either."

Woodhouse let an exasperated sigh escape his lips, "Aww, now what?" he muttered, turning to see some young prick perched on top of his camper van.

"I learnt a long time ago not to separate Americans from their guns... You're quite protective over them."

"Uh huh, and take one more step and I'll put a bullet through your limey face," Woodhouse uttered.

The young man started swinging his legs like some kind of moron, and Woodhouse felt himself done with just about everything at this point.

"I must say... I was quite excited when I heard the cursing... More English speakers seemed appealing in this hellhole..."

"You aint quite right now are ya, son?" Woodhouse said, frowning. "Look, I don't know what it is you want, but I'm three seconds from getting the Hell away from here. Either try something, or don't." He turned to the young woman. "That goes for you too, otherwise, let's get going before more of your boyfriends show up to weird me out."

Crazy (Closed)

Captain Iroquois Pliskin, United States Marine Corps

Located: Above Survivor Processing

Iroquois peaked around the corner, grunting in satisfaction when the civilian answered the maths question correctly. It didn't solve all of the problems, but it countered an immediate threat to his mission: getting these people topside. He reached into the pocket of his BDU, and pulled out a thick Alligator cigar, and stuffed it into his mouth.

Today was proving to be one Heck of a roller coaster ride.

He sparked a light with a match, and ignited the tobacco dream he'd been savoring since the 22nd ceased ground operations. Today would be as good a day as any to suffocate himself on that sweet, sweet smoke. He pulled, the familiar and pleasant taste of acrid cancer-giving smoke swirling in his mouth. He puffed some of it out, and inhaled the rest.

And then it was time to put his cards on the table; those people needed his help, and wouldn't last a second without him.

He stood up, let his M4A1 hang freely on its shoulder strap, and walked out onto the walkway with his arms raised. His cigar blazed lazily in his mouth, and rolled slightly as he chewed it. His military training kicked in immediately, and he started appraising the makeshift militia; analyzing its strengths and weaknesses.

They'd begun arming themselves; two women wore slightly over-sized ballistic vests, a few of them were armed and had pilfered grenades from Iroquois's comrades. This was good, they were thinking on their feet; secure a strong defense, and use it to launch a strong offense. He liked these people, they had a chance. Though he also saw fear in some, perhaps even dissent; mistrust and selfishness - that'd be a nail in the coffin. Then again, he saw a child, trapped under a body of the not-so-fortunate. A woman was helping her. Selflessness, compassion... yeah, that'd be a nail too.

"If you people want to stay alive," he called out to them. "Stay with me."

Iroquois pulled out a rope from his battle harness, and attached it to the railing, and threw it over the edge.

"Through that door is the de-contamination area; it's a whole mess of small cells, shower rooms, adhock labs and security check points. There's an armoury that'll deck you guys out in the latest and best that the U.S of A has to offer," he said, expelling a cloud of cigar smoke. "Only problem is, we lost contact with that area fifteen minutes ago, so you can bet that your friend there isn't going to be the last crazy to come your way." Then he motioned to the dangling rope. "Or, if you've got the upper body strength, you can climb this rope to freedom. Should be a nice easy walk from here to the helipad, where in about five minutes a whole Blackhawk full of Navy Seals is about to extract your all-important asses."

"Ca-Captain?" A familiar but weak voice moaned out from the middle of the room.

---

PFC James Corville, United States Marine Corps

Located: Survivor Processing

The world dimmed, and then it flashed a vibrant white; large banging noises echoed through his mind, but they were distorted, as if he was underwater. Then he felt himself being lifted, and tossed about; the angelic and overly bright image of a woman's face crashed against his brain.

Then everything went black again.

James awoke with a start, his head spinning; bile rose to his throat, and he vomited over the floor immediately in-front of his face. His eyes gave him distorted pictures, silhouettes; his ears haunted by an intense ringing noise.

Where the fuck am I? were his first coherent thoughts.

And then he remembered everything; the walkway, the Level 5 Breach, his orders to kill the civilians - Jones! James reached for his rifle, only to find himself finding the fabric of his fatigues. Where was his armour?

He sat up, rubbing his head, trying to piece everything together. Nothing made sense though, his memory had cut itself off the moment he left the walkway. Looking around, he realized he was in the middle of the civilians; half of them were covered in blood, some were dead, others were gearing themselves up for war.

"Or, if you've got the upper body strength, you can climb this rope to freedom. Should be a nice easy walk from here to the helipad, where in about five minutes a whole Blackhawk full of Navy Seals is about to extract your all-important asses."

That voice! James could never mistaken that grizzly, smokey velvet of Captain Pliskin.

"Ca-Captain?" He said, as loud as he could, making to stand.

"Four divided by two," the husky voice blared back at him.

James didn't immediately understand, "What?"

A streak of heart rending fear pierced his addled consciousness, as the horrifying realization dawned on him that he probably had a millisecond before the Captain put a bullet through his brain.

"Four!"

FUCK!

"NO! TWO! IT'S TWO!"

"Welcome back to the party, Private," he heard the Captain say; the man was still a blur to James' eyes.

James managed to get to his feet, his eyes slowly regaining their proper 20/20 vision. The survivors were looking at him, but they didn't seem all that concerned, more pissed off than anything.

"We've gotta neutralize them, Sir, the Colon-" James tried to say, perhaps unwisely given his predicament.

"Orders have changed Private, those men and women are now our top priority. The Colonel wants them top side," the Captain interluded. He addressed the survivors. "So what's it going to be? A crawl through the belly of the beast? Or a quick climb to freedom? Make it quick, as that Einstein of yours just pointed out, we haven't got long."

---

Jamie Alycia Reyes

Location: Survivor Processing

The armour was heavy on Jamie. She was the kind of girl that took good care of herself, not obsessively so, but she prided herself on her New York Minute style workouts that she'd crammed in at every opportunity in a life she could now barely remember. Still, the weight of the ceramic plates, the buckles and the Kevlar all added up to double gravity. She shifted her weight to the left, then the right, trying to gauge some kind of happy medium. It'd keep her alive, and it'd be great for cardio, but she wasn't so certain it'd do her speed any good.

"Are you okay?" Kahleen asked, Jamie looked up at her.

Those big, wonderful green eyes eclipsing everything. Jamie could tell that Kahleen wanted this nightmare to be over, but Hell, who wouldn't? Jamie was starting to remember who she was, starting to remember her father's words. The andrenaline had run itself dry, and the cold rush of reason was returning at an impressive pace.

"I'm fine babe," Jamie said, patting at the pockets on the body armour. "Has that guy gone crazy yet? Maybe you should give me that gun and I can put him down."

"Ask him a maths question," a voice yelled out from above, "the infected can't logic for shit."

Jamie pushed Kahleen aside, and stood in front of her. It was her time to be the heroine! "Stay behind me, babe. Looks like another one of these fucking soldiers wants a piece!"

Jamie's eyes narrowed on the doorway up top, and for a split second, she saw the spindly legs of a bandanna blow around the edge of the door frame. "How about you fuck off," she mumbled to herself, before turning to Kahleen. "I don't like this, we need to get out of here."

"For--fortynine!" called out the potential murderous clown from across the room, Jamie heard audible sighs of relief.

"Idiots," she whispered to Kahleen. "Really? A maths question? These people can fly planes!"

And then Army Guy #4 was up on the walkway, giving a speech reminiscent of a 90's action flick. If Jamie had a gun, she'd of shot him down; soldiers had managed to get their way down to the bottom of her "trust list". He was a grizzled hunk for sure, and were Jamie that way inclined, she might have found him half way to being attractive; she wasn't though, and that kind of macho bullshit didn't come close to touching her.

And then he tossed a rope down.

Seriously?

Jamie looked at Kahleen, "I can't climb that, is he crazy?" she paused, "Of course he's fucking crazy."

"Ca-Captain?"

Jamie looked across the room, and saw Soldier #1 starting to get up.

OH HELL NO

She marched across the room towards the soldier, even as he haphazardly conversed with his buddy up top in a manner that made Jamie think he'd done one too many vodkas. Still, whether he was sane, crazy, just an asshole or a moron, it didn't matter. He was going to kill them all a few minutes ago. She walked up to him, and launched her right foot into his unprotected genitals.

He fell down with a whimper.

"Yeah fuck you," she said, spitting at him. "I'm done with the Army. You guys can all go with Captain Crunch if you want, but me and Kahleen will take our chances on the other side of that door!"

She turned to Kahleen, "come on, babe, let's get the Hell out of here."

Crazy (Closed)

Righty'o, I'm up to date.

Christ I underestimated how hard it would be to gleam details from 5,000 words.

Microsoft Mike proved an invaluable ally.

Going through that door, eh?

Lying about the radio? Meh, human thing to do.

Robbing dead and unconscious soldiers? That's the spirit.

Freaking out over a guy being covered in blood? Damn straight.

Disapproving of everyone picking up blood stained equipment? Without meta-gaming, you're bang on with that.

But anyway, time to give you guys a few things to think about.