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- Harbringer 12 yrs ago
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Why is ecology so dry...
Bio
20 year old skinny asian living in Australia. Nothing much to say really. Despiser of the YOLO generation. Acts more like a crochety old man.
Has two dogs. Pets them a lot and applies the same logic to humans too.
Most Recent Posts
I dunno. He could be a truckie
After catching Fiora with little effort, Garran laughed loudly and placed her gently back on the ground, placing his hands on his hips quickly afterwards. "'Tis only nat'ral t' save a damsel 'n distress," he shouted loudly as he puffed up his chest, "tho'...what d' we do 'bout tha' man?"
"Oh...leave him to me," sounded a familiar voice as Caelum appeared from the shadows, a smile on his lips but the rest of his face as expressionless as a porcelain doll. It made for an eerie image. "Charges of kidnapping, embezzlement of funds, and I'm sure with access to his manor...other things will be found," he said as he lifted up his hand, revealing a sheaf of papers with Garen's personal seal on it. "With this...I can ruin him politically and put an end to his caterwauling at my family," he said with a small chuckle under his voice. Garran felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. This Caelum was...different. He was usually so nice, but apparently when it came to politics, he was...pitiless...relentless...well, from what he had seen so far at least. Turning over to Garran and Fiora, his tone changed once more to one that was much gentler. "Good work, Garran," he said, "you didn't cause too much damage so I can probably write this off with a few explanations of uncontrolled magical experimentation. I'm sure I can fake a few things down in here, but you madame," he said as he turned to Fiora, "would you like a part in ruining your kidnapper? I am sure a victim's account will not go amiss in his incrimination."
"Uh...Cael'm, methinks Fi'ra needs t' get some rest 'fore she thinks of anything else," Garran said as he looked down at the Seraphim. Caelum nodded. "But of course," he said, bowing, "let us return to the compound for now, I shall see to what wounds you have madame, if any."
"Oh...leave him to me," sounded a familiar voice as Caelum appeared from the shadows, a smile on his lips but the rest of his face as expressionless as a porcelain doll. It made for an eerie image. "Charges of kidnapping, embezzlement of funds, and I'm sure with access to his manor...other things will be found," he said as he lifted up his hand, revealing a sheaf of papers with Garen's personal seal on it. "With this...I can ruin him politically and put an end to his caterwauling at my family," he said with a small chuckle under his voice. Garran felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. This Caelum was...different. He was usually so nice, but apparently when it came to politics, he was...pitiless...relentless...well, from what he had seen so far at least. Turning over to Garran and Fiora, his tone changed once more to one that was much gentler. "Good work, Garran," he said, "you didn't cause too much damage so I can probably write this off with a few explanations of uncontrolled magical experimentation. I'm sure I can fake a few things down in here, but you madame," he said as he turned to Fiora, "would you like a part in ruining your kidnapper? I am sure a victim's account will not go amiss in his incrimination."
"Uh...Cael'm, methinks Fi'ra needs t' get some rest 'fore she thinks of anything else," Garran said as he looked down at the Seraphim. Caelum nodded. "But of course," he said, bowing, "let us return to the compound for now, I shall see to what wounds you have madame, if any."
The comment from Watch Captain McGarrack him aback, but Alaric barely showed signs of it under his helmet as borrowed some of the Techmarine's tools to tighten one of the valves within the Narthecium's structure. He looked up slightly for a second and, despite the Storm Warden's boasting, simply nodded in reply, but offered no verbal confirmation. The hushed talk was all lies. He had not bested the Carcharodon. He had simply endured. Hwever, the Dark Angels of all people knew what a reputation could do when in the right, or wrong, hands, and so if they believed that he had bested Kyros, he had no reason to say otherwise. Suddenly, a large shadow was cast over their Thunderhawk, the access hatch darkened by the appearance of a humanoid figure, and from its sheer size, Alaric had his suspicions of who. Watch Captain McGarrack confirmed this a second later as he greeted the figure with an iconic Space Wolf name. The Dark Angels barely paid it any heed. For all the psycho-indoctrination and oaths he had undertaken, the Space Wolves and the Dark Angels were rivals first and brothers later. When the Space Wolf actually started addressing them, however, Alaric turned his gaze away from his tinkering and focussed on the massive Wolf, his deep maroon eyepieces reflected in the glowing lupine yellows of his counterpart.
As Alaric had thought, they would be under the command of an Inquisitor. He inwardly grimaced. Many a time, Inquisitors had accused the Dark Angels of bearing some sort of horrid secret, but few dared to act on it, for those that did had a terrible habit of disappearing. Nevertheless, Alaric made careful note of the plans, and his Corvus helmet listed the order of the mission, until they came into contact with the Righteous Indignation. With his departing words, Alaric bowed and slammed his breastplate with his armoured fist. "Praise be to the Emperor," his vox crackled out as he bowed his head in reverence, "may he find us worthy of his protection." With that, the reinforced hatch slid shut, and there was a hiss as the internal compartment pressurised. Ovrhead, Kyros' voice crackled through the comms, counting down until their departure. With little other recourse, the Dark Angel twisted the panel in his Narthecium shut and lightly tapped it with his palm, resealing it as he moved his fingers. He grimaced under the helmet. It still wasn't calibrated exactly to his liking, but it would have to suffice. Just as Kyros' voice read 2, Alaric slipped into his crash webbing and cnapped it shut, tugging the straps to tighten himself into position. Whoever had occupied this seat before him had either been a devastator or a terminator.
As the artificial gravity of the watch station fell away, Alaric could feel his body start to rise in the zero gravity, held only in place by strict discipline, mag boots and his crash harness. Leaning his head downwards, he let the hoo fall further over his helmet, until the only thing left visible was the white beak of his corvus helmet. Despite his catalepsean node kicking in, Alaric was rather tired from his trials and experiences over the previous few days. With finally nothing left to do, Alaric found his body slowly drifting into the sweet embrace of sleep...and would have, if it weren't for his iron discipline. Shaking off the vicious talons of slumber, Alaric remained conscious and vigilant, his mouth slowly moving in catechisms that would release stimulants into his body, stopping the feeling of sleep deprivation from coursing through his body. He could not afford to show weakness to his future brothers, not even for a second. Emperor save him, he would not let others misinterpret his drowsiness for weakness. As the hood floated off of his helmet, Alaric started to look around the chamber. Individually, he assessed each of the marines, and determined their parent chapters, or in the Storm Warden's case, known genetic faults. As an Apothecary, he was responsible to maintain his Brothers' health and genetic purity. The problem, however, was that he still ahd very little experience in dealig with the genetic stock anyone other than Dark Angels or their successor chapters, the other Unforgiven. Unconciously, his eyes drifted back towards the Guardian of the Covenant sitting beside him, his helmet hiding his gaze as he blankly stared at the Guardian.
With a sudden jolt, Alaric fell back into his seat, artificial gravity once more gripping his body and forcing him down. "It seems we have reached the Dawn Star, brothers," Alaric said as he Sank back into the plastic seat, removing his helmet. "Smoothest ride I've had so far."
As Alaric had thought, they would be under the command of an Inquisitor. He inwardly grimaced. Many a time, Inquisitors had accused the Dark Angels of bearing some sort of horrid secret, but few dared to act on it, for those that did had a terrible habit of disappearing. Nevertheless, Alaric made careful note of the plans, and his Corvus helmet listed the order of the mission, until they came into contact with the Righteous Indignation. With his departing words, Alaric bowed and slammed his breastplate with his armoured fist. "Praise be to the Emperor," his vox crackled out as he bowed his head in reverence, "may he find us worthy of his protection." With that, the reinforced hatch slid shut, and there was a hiss as the internal compartment pressurised. Ovrhead, Kyros' voice crackled through the comms, counting down until their departure. With little other recourse, the Dark Angel twisted the panel in his Narthecium shut and lightly tapped it with his palm, resealing it as he moved his fingers. He grimaced under the helmet. It still wasn't calibrated exactly to his liking, but it would have to suffice. Just as Kyros' voice read 2, Alaric slipped into his crash webbing and cnapped it shut, tugging the straps to tighten himself into position. Whoever had occupied this seat before him had either been a devastator or a terminator.
As the artificial gravity of the watch station fell away, Alaric could feel his body start to rise in the zero gravity, held only in place by strict discipline, mag boots and his crash harness. Leaning his head downwards, he let the hoo fall further over his helmet, until the only thing left visible was the white beak of his corvus helmet. Despite his catalepsean node kicking in, Alaric was rather tired from his trials and experiences over the previous few days. With finally nothing left to do, Alaric found his body slowly drifting into the sweet embrace of sleep...and would have, if it weren't for his iron discipline. Shaking off the vicious talons of slumber, Alaric remained conscious and vigilant, his mouth slowly moving in catechisms that would release stimulants into his body, stopping the feeling of sleep deprivation from coursing through his body. He could not afford to show weakness to his future brothers, not even for a second. Emperor save him, he would not let others misinterpret his drowsiness for weakness. As the hood floated off of his helmet, Alaric started to look around the chamber. Individually, he assessed each of the marines, and determined their parent chapters, or in the Storm Warden's case, known genetic faults. As an Apothecary, he was responsible to maintain his Brothers' health and genetic purity. The problem, however, was that he still ahd very little experience in dealig with the genetic stock anyone other than Dark Angels or their successor chapters, the other Unforgiven. Unconciously, his eyes drifted back towards the Guardian of the Covenant sitting beside him, his helmet hiding his gaze as he blankly stared at the Guardian.
With a sudden jolt, Alaric fell back into his seat, artificial gravity once more gripping his body and forcing him down. "It seems we have reached the Dawn Star, brothers," Alaric said as he Sank back into the plastic seat, removing his helmet. "Smoothest ride I've had so far."
Alaric will make sure everyone lives.
What hammer said.
As expected, Richard's plan was shut down. Of course, he had never meant to purposely sacrifice himself, it was just a conversation starter of sorts. What was the old saying? It was better to have 100 daggers poised at your back than one pointed at each of your friends? Thankfully, the other members of the team made their contributions, but Richard remained silent, scratching his cleanshaven chin as he studied the ever shifting tides of battle. Only once did he pause to direct a sardonic smile and look at Jack, indicating that he did indeed know that it was a bad idea, but he swiftly returned to studying the hololith. While Richard had been versed in tactics, he was only proficient at individual ones, given his position and regular purpose. He would be of little help here, but he could do some other things, given this simulation...things which would be much more useful. Taking note of the spoken plans, Richard tapped the side of his head, activating the communications bead which came with the carapace suit. The voices of his comrades were echoed in his ear as their squad radio relayed the words to him.
"Energy shouldn't be too much of a problem," Richard said as he tapped the computer in his wrist, bringing up a holographic plan of the DEMON which rotated silently, its arms splayed to the side, "I have a pair of TOMB batteries which will sustain me for long enough, or at least until I find a generator or some other such area to resupply my power." Looking over to Wolf, he nodded. "The German's Helios should also use the same interface jack that my DEMON uses, given the manufacturer," he added as he speciified the TOMB battery plan, bringing into focus, "as long as I can find an alternate energy source, the CANNIBAL system should keep us going." Closing the plans, the Englishman once more studied the map, squinting as the red bulges seemed to grow. "I'll leave you guys to do the greater planning, but I'll keep listening in on the comms channel. Keep me informed," he said as he stood up straight, "I'll go try and liaison with forces already on the ground, and prep our transport. Hopefully the Thunderbolts and Sparrows are in good condition." Taking a step back, he nodded once, before disappearing into the depths of the ship.
Thankfully, the ship they were on was built according to standard plans, and so Richard found it relatively easy to navigate his way through the twisting corridors. The ship was occupied by an entire Naval complement, who saluted him as he passed. The petty officers directed him towards the communications hub, and the Englishman soon found an area which reeked of human habitation. The stale stench of sweat was rank in the small white room, while empty ration tins and dreary look in the combined communications officers' eyes suggested they worked, ate and slept at their stations. Organised chatter rang from mouth to mouth as they co-ordinated with forces on the ground. Here, one officer authorised an orbital bombardment of a small village which had been overrun, while another was responding to a request for reinforcements. Finding an officer who was focussed on their area of engagement, Richard gently tapped him on the shoulder. "I require your assistance," he said bluntly to the man as he looked at the screen, which was barely moving. The balance of forces was quite even. Startled, the little pale man jumped back, his skin tone and odd body shape suggesting that he had been born ship side. "S-Sir?" he asked as he looked back at the Englishman. In the Terran military, A.W.E pilots, even the lowliest cadet, was given a healthy respect, and given their pedigree and schooling, this was only to be expected. "Get me into contact with the overall commander of the ground operation," Richard said as he studied the unshifting patterns on the screen. At the same time, the discussion of tactics was still raging in his earbead. "That...that would be...Colonel Montague, sir..." the communications officer said as he turned back to the theatre of operations. "Patch him into a channel with me," Richard said, pulling a small black wire from a compartment in his chest. The officer, thankfully, complied, plugging him into the console, before rapidly chattering some unknown cant into a microphone. "Everyone be quiet," Richard said into his commbead, silencing his teammates. As an afterthought, he patched them into the channel. While they would be unable to make comment, they would be able to hear the conversation.
"Colonel Montague, this is A.W.E. Cadet Richard Williams contacting you from the 'King Marlon II' currently in orbit around your position-" Richard started, before he was interrupted by a brash voice that sounded like it was in horrible pain. "It's about fecking time I got some help down here!" it shouted before groaning in pain, "Montague is dead, and has been for three feckin days." Calmly Richard focussed on the man's voice. "May I ask who I'm addressing then?" Richard replied, his voice almost infuriatingly at peace. "My name is Lietenant Scikkor, ah feck that hurts!" was his reply, followed by a wincing sound as the man on the other end tended to his wound. A lietenant was the overall commander? Richard growled. That wasn't good. That means the Saurids had managed to knock over a large portion of high command in the area. That meant they had no company structure anymore, probably just a few isolated platoons fighting to stay alive. "Leftenant, stay with me," Richard said, his voice calm and soothing, "I require your assistance to deploy our unit effectively "JUST GET THEM FECKING DOWN HERE!" Scikkor shouted. Richard gritted his teeth as the commbead screamed into his ear. "At this point we might not even be coming down, Leftenant," Richard replied smoothly, his cadence unbroken and serene. There was a moment of silence as Richard's words sunk in, broken only by the hard breathing of the Lieutenant and intermittent winces. "How...how can I help?" answered a meek voice on the other line. Like Richard had thought. If there was the threat of no help, it would calm the man down. Or at least scare him into compliance.
"First, give me a rundown on the enemy forces," Richard said as he brought up the the Grimoire Biologicos, "what creatures do you see?" The pause on the other side seemed to stretch into eternity. "I dunno what they're called, sir, weren't taught this in training," Scikkor replied. "A description will suffice, Lieutenant."
"Well...most of em seem to be this...weird dog...thing, but on two legs. They've got claws...long claws..." Following his description, Richard brought up an article that was relayed to his comrades.
Name:
Saurid Serrasalmus "Tearers"
Classification:
Melee infantry
Subspecies:
Saurid Clavada "Slimers"
Saurid Clupeidae "Swarmers"
Information:
One of the lower tier units, the colloquially known "Tearers" are basic melee infantry which use swarm tactics to overrun their enemies. Of particular importance is their talons, which are known to tear through Mk II Battle armour with little difficulty.
"Oh, then there are those dog things again...but they only have two legs, but their mouth...its bigger...and it shoots...slime...but that shit burns..."
Name:
Saurid Clavada "Slimers"
Classification:
Ranged Infantry
Subspecies:
Saurid Serrasalmus "Tearers"
Saurid Clupeidae "Swarmers"
Information:
A simple adaptation of the "Tearers", the slimers have forgone talons in favour of using the biomass in order to create glands of acidic spit which their fire from their oral orifices. This 'slime' is similar to human phlegm and is capable of melting through gunmetal, but Mk II battle armour seems to provide some protection. Beware that shooting these creatures in the head may release the slime prematurely.
The Lieutenant was about to say more, but was interrupted as another voice filtered in through the comms. "Lieutenant! They're starting to break through!" it cried urgently. "Close up ranks and intensify fire!" Scikkor shouted back, before seeming to turn his attention back to Richard. "I don't care what else you need, please...I'm begging you...We need you donw here...I have a wife and kids to provide for...I can't die on this shithole he-"
"I'll do what I can, Leftenant," Richard said, cutting him off before he got all emotional. Disconnecting himself from the console, Richard nodded his head to the operator before stalking away towards the drop bays. "You heard him ladies and gents, we need to get down there soon. Things are getting desparate. I'll start maintenance, but get down here quick."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
By the time everyone else arrived, Richard was already finishing off mainenance, making sure that all pods were primed and ready. "Fuels all dandy, reverse thrusters are reading operational, and I've calibrated most consoles so that we drop in generally the right place. Feel free to alter the co-ordinates," he said as he checked the crash webbing one one of the drop capsules, tugging it with great force and making sure it did not snap. "I also took the liberty of installing smoke launchers into the overhead. All you need to do is trigger them with the console." Turning to Wolf, he smiled. "Course we're a bit different," he said, tapping the larger launcher in their pod. "Skyshard shrapnel launchers to help us clear our landing zone. We'll probably drop right into the thick of em."
Stepping away as he admired his handiwork, he turned to the squad. "Right...should we suit up then?"
"Energy shouldn't be too much of a problem," Richard said as he tapped the computer in his wrist, bringing up a holographic plan of the DEMON which rotated silently, its arms splayed to the side, "I have a pair of TOMB batteries which will sustain me for long enough, or at least until I find a generator or some other such area to resupply my power." Looking over to Wolf, he nodded. "The German's Helios should also use the same interface jack that my DEMON uses, given the manufacturer," he added as he speciified the TOMB battery plan, bringing into focus, "as long as I can find an alternate energy source, the CANNIBAL system should keep us going." Closing the plans, the Englishman once more studied the map, squinting as the red bulges seemed to grow. "I'll leave you guys to do the greater planning, but I'll keep listening in on the comms channel. Keep me informed," he said as he stood up straight, "I'll go try and liaison with forces already on the ground, and prep our transport. Hopefully the Thunderbolts and Sparrows are in good condition." Taking a step back, he nodded once, before disappearing into the depths of the ship.
Thankfully, the ship they were on was built according to standard plans, and so Richard found it relatively easy to navigate his way through the twisting corridors. The ship was occupied by an entire Naval complement, who saluted him as he passed. The petty officers directed him towards the communications hub, and the Englishman soon found an area which reeked of human habitation. The stale stench of sweat was rank in the small white room, while empty ration tins and dreary look in the combined communications officers' eyes suggested they worked, ate and slept at their stations. Organised chatter rang from mouth to mouth as they co-ordinated with forces on the ground. Here, one officer authorised an orbital bombardment of a small village which had been overrun, while another was responding to a request for reinforcements. Finding an officer who was focussed on their area of engagement, Richard gently tapped him on the shoulder. "I require your assistance," he said bluntly to the man as he looked at the screen, which was barely moving. The balance of forces was quite even. Startled, the little pale man jumped back, his skin tone and odd body shape suggesting that he had been born ship side. "S-Sir?" he asked as he looked back at the Englishman. In the Terran military, A.W.E pilots, even the lowliest cadet, was given a healthy respect, and given their pedigree and schooling, this was only to be expected. "Get me into contact with the overall commander of the ground operation," Richard said as he studied the unshifting patterns on the screen. At the same time, the discussion of tactics was still raging in his earbead. "That...that would be...Colonel Montague, sir..." the communications officer said as he turned back to the theatre of operations. "Patch him into a channel with me," Richard said, pulling a small black wire from a compartment in his chest. The officer, thankfully, complied, plugging him into the console, before rapidly chattering some unknown cant into a microphone. "Everyone be quiet," Richard said into his commbead, silencing his teammates. As an afterthought, he patched them into the channel. While they would be unable to make comment, they would be able to hear the conversation.
"Colonel Montague, this is A.W.E. Cadet Richard Williams contacting you from the 'King Marlon II' currently in orbit around your position-" Richard started, before he was interrupted by a brash voice that sounded like it was in horrible pain. "It's about fecking time I got some help down here!" it shouted before groaning in pain, "Montague is dead, and has been for three feckin days." Calmly Richard focussed on the man's voice. "May I ask who I'm addressing then?" Richard replied, his voice almost infuriatingly at peace. "My name is Lietenant Scikkor, ah feck that hurts!" was his reply, followed by a wincing sound as the man on the other end tended to his wound. A lietenant was the overall commander? Richard growled. That wasn't good. That means the Saurids had managed to knock over a large portion of high command in the area. That meant they had no company structure anymore, probably just a few isolated platoons fighting to stay alive. "Leftenant, stay with me," Richard said, his voice calm and soothing, "I require your assistance to deploy our unit effectively "JUST GET THEM FECKING DOWN HERE!" Scikkor shouted. Richard gritted his teeth as the commbead screamed into his ear. "At this point we might not even be coming down, Leftenant," Richard replied smoothly, his cadence unbroken and serene. There was a moment of silence as Richard's words sunk in, broken only by the hard breathing of the Lieutenant and intermittent winces. "How...how can I help?" answered a meek voice on the other line. Like Richard had thought. If there was the threat of no help, it would calm the man down. Or at least scare him into compliance.
"First, give me a rundown on the enemy forces," Richard said as he brought up the the Grimoire Biologicos, "what creatures do you see?" The pause on the other side seemed to stretch into eternity. "I dunno what they're called, sir, weren't taught this in training," Scikkor replied. "A description will suffice, Lieutenant."
"Well...most of em seem to be this...weird dog...thing, but on two legs. They've got claws...long claws..." Following his description, Richard brought up an article that was relayed to his comrades.
Name:
Saurid Serrasalmus "Tearers"
Classification:
Melee infantry
Subspecies:
Saurid Clavada "Slimers"
Saurid Clupeidae "Swarmers"
Information:
One of the lower tier units, the colloquially known "Tearers" are basic melee infantry which use swarm tactics to overrun their enemies. Of particular importance is their talons, which are known to tear through Mk II Battle armour with little difficulty.
"Oh, then there are those dog things again...but they only have two legs, but their mouth...its bigger...and it shoots...slime...but that shit burns..."
Name:
Saurid Clavada "Slimers"
Classification:
Ranged Infantry
Subspecies:
Saurid Serrasalmus "Tearers"
Saurid Clupeidae "Swarmers"
Information:
A simple adaptation of the "Tearers", the slimers have forgone talons in favour of using the biomass in order to create glands of acidic spit which their fire from their oral orifices. This 'slime' is similar to human phlegm and is capable of melting through gunmetal, but Mk II battle armour seems to provide some protection. Beware that shooting these creatures in the head may release the slime prematurely.
The Lieutenant was about to say more, but was interrupted as another voice filtered in through the comms. "Lieutenant! They're starting to break through!" it cried urgently. "Close up ranks and intensify fire!" Scikkor shouted back, before seeming to turn his attention back to Richard. "I don't care what else you need, please...I'm begging you...We need you donw here...I have a wife and kids to provide for...I can't die on this shithole he-"
"I'll do what I can, Leftenant," Richard said, cutting him off before he got all emotional. Disconnecting himself from the console, Richard nodded his head to the operator before stalking away towards the drop bays. "You heard him ladies and gents, we need to get down there soon. Things are getting desparate. I'll start maintenance, but get down here quick."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
By the time everyone else arrived, Richard was already finishing off mainenance, making sure that all pods were primed and ready. "Fuels all dandy, reverse thrusters are reading operational, and I've calibrated most consoles so that we drop in generally the right place. Feel free to alter the co-ordinates," he said as he checked the crash webbing one one of the drop capsules, tugging it with great force and making sure it did not snap. "I also took the liberty of installing smoke launchers into the overhead. All you need to do is trigger them with the console." Turning to Wolf, he smiled. "Course we're a bit different," he said, tapping the larger launcher in their pod. "Skyshard shrapnel launchers to help us clear our landing zone. We'll probably drop right into the thick of em."
Stepping away as he admired his handiwork, he turned to the squad. "Right...should we suit up then?"
Imagine the satisfying clang you get when using the force skillet.
Its a frying pan. But its also a force weapon.
Y U NO FORCE PAN!? IT WOULD HAVE BEEN GLORIOUS!
Force pan.
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