Starlance

Raven Squad: Second Storm (Military/Spy-Fi RP)

Boraro
Souk Semmarine, Marrakesh, Morocco
1350 Local Time

---

”Did he just say ‘Mech’?” Ebrima sounded almost annoyed, ”Pick a side.” He offered to the Gurkha before making his way upstairs himself. Ebrima was glad he got sent up top. Yes, having been raised in Central Africa’s rainforests, he thrived in close quarters. Heck, it was one of the pillars he built his career on. But not having to mind stragglers when shooting was better. He had to hauů ass to keep slightly ahead of the main team, but not too far ahead in case someone came at them from behind. ”Chaos, if you still have drones up, would appreciate early warning.” He asked as he sent two frag grenades over the heads of a machine gunner and his assistant mid-leap, slamming a new magazine of frags into the M25 and transitioning to the rifle. He kept it moving, thinking less like an infantryman and almost like a fighter pilot - don’t move in a straight line for long, attack with speed and altitude - until he misjudged the material of the roof on landing and crashed through into the room below, feeling something moving under the piece of corrugated metal under his feet.

Three heads, two regular and one exo, snapped to face him. One immediately erupted into pink mist as an armor piercing round went through it. Ebrima’s brow furrowed when the exo-clad operative grabbed the other guy to use as a shield, a surprised “Wat de fok?!” indicating this wasn’t standard Artemis procedure. Some leader this was. Not that he sympathized with the South African, just that his commander pissed him off, even more so when the meat shield turned into a meat missile launched at Ebrima. He dodged him quite easily, leaving a foot behind to help the hapless guy on the ground. A groan from under the metal sheet he initially landed on confirmed the guy under it was still a factor as well. Boraro got his weapon up quick, but the Artemis Exo had a head start, a salvo of 9x18 mm from a PP-19 hammering against Ebrima’s chestplate. In true Russian fashion, the weapon’s designer seemed to compensate quality with quantity and gave his creation 64 round helical magazines, and although neither bullet found any weak spots, it would be a big bruise tomorrow.

The endless stream of lead was only interrupted by the MDR’s barked reply, the Artemis operative recoiling just enough for Ebrima to close in and grab the business end of his weapon and wrench it away from his face. Unfortunately, the other guy had the same idea, landing them in a bit of a stalemate. After a few seconds of pulling at each others’ guns, Ebrima took advantage of his enclosed helmet over the Artemis Exo open-faced design and headbutted him in the face, letting go of the Bison a split second later and throwing the other guy off balance, buying himself enough time to draw his kukri. A quick slash across the torso caught the sling and disconnected the Bison from its wielder, allowing Ebrima to hold the kukri under his right arm and yank the Russian submachine gun away and throw it to his right side. A dull thud and a hissed “Ow!” confirmed he hit roughly what he was aiming at, but the Artemis exo made good use of his now-empty hand and grabbed Ebrima’s rifle with both.

The Cameroonian made the mistake of fully trusting the sling and grabbed the kukri again to make sure he didn’t drop it, but with a sharp pull and a rip of tearing nylon, his weapon left his grip. Okay, now the guy was just copying Ebrima’s homework and slightly changing the answers. The pale merc pushed forward, under no circumstance intending to allow the other guy to aim. The kukri never stopped as Ebrima circled around the other man, the Artemis operative too busy using the stolen rifle as a shield to keep the Nepali blade away from his unprotected face to use it for its intended purpose. Moving around turned out to be a prudent decision, as it allowed him to see the South African picking up the Bison and put the enemy exo between himself and the Russian lead hose. The spray hammered against the back of the artemis exo like rain against a metal roof, the exo and shooter both startled by that turn of events enough for Ebrima to lean around him and finally shut the South African up with his USP, raising his left knee to catch the descending head of the exo operative a split second later as he bent over from the spray, following up with a kukri under the armpit as he straightened up from the blow. Exosuit or not, functioning with that was difficult, even if Ebrima wasn’t sure if he got the axillary artery or not, but the slowdown was enough for Ebrima to shove the USP into a soft spot and keep shooting until the noises stopped.

Another safety round belonged to the South African.

The man under the rubble finally got himself from underneath it just in time to be shot in the face before Ebrima retrieved his rifle, hastily tied the torn sling together and jumped back up to the rooftops to rejoin the fight. ”Still alive.”

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

”Hel no, I won’t be responsible for that rising to your head. You want more, you gotta earn them. No freebies in our line of work.” Marit grinned, craning her neck back toward the Doc to give her a thumbs up behind the Raven driver’s back. Not that she expected to be able to keep Ziska from doing stupid things, but it was the thought that counted, right?

”Might even be some silver lining to losing your ‘Mech’s arm, now they get to mount the one from that salvaged Raven and you get to smack the Fire Witch with pieces of her own lance the next time she crawls out of her den.” Marit grinned, imagining the verbose war criminal seething.

”Think I saw Rivers heading to the Colonel’s shack? The rest probably went to get chow before the debriefing. Maybe a nap if-” She began to answer when a commotion from the ‘Mech bays’ direction loud enough to be heard made her pause. ”Vad fan? Sound like your kind of party?”

Raven Squad: Second Storm (Military/Spy-Fi RP)

Boraro
Marrakesh, 1350

---

Boraro felt a bit like moving through a town behind an APC, Wilk in front of him practically an impenetrable wall while he busied himself with making sure no one got the jump on them from behind. It looked like something out of a horror movie: Armored man breaches a room, gunshots are heard, maybe some commotion or cries of pain, and then he comes back out like nothing had happened and moves onto the next one. It was a prime opportunity for the Kukri, but with their pace Boraro didn't have a lot of time to spare to draw it, instead resorting to throwing the weight of his armor around where needed. With the exosuit’s strength, a punch or an elbow could reliably disable. Aided by the jump pack, a front kick hit like a small car. Close quarters fighting on its own was a messy affair by its nature, but the exos added a coefficient to it that was greater than one. Maybe it was an exponent, not a multiplier Ebrima thought as he scraped some red goo off his boot, having crushed a man's head between it and a wall.

Clearing the mostly knocked out ground floor and basement quickly, Boraro knelt down beside the VIP, quickly checking for pulse and breath before unclipping the helmet and vest he carried on his bag and getting Simmonds dressed. Adam had been on the same wavelength, grabbing a hold of Simmonds himself to give him more protection with his shield. ”Let the heavies punch a path through the garden first. You'll be slower now unless we want to break his neck by accident.” He gestured to the VIP. They should've brought a neck brace. ”I’ll catch up before you head out of the garden.” And with that, Ebrima took off, taking the stairs by four with the jump pack and hauling ass back up onto the roof. Kicking open the access door he and Wilk ignored before - it opened inward, not like the exosuit cared for small details like that - he went back to the marksman he killed earlier, grabbing his SCAR-H and two magazines and posting up by the roof’s edge. Not his preferred range, but the heavies could do the close-range fighting better than he could. ”Set, go when ready.”

He watched the heavies’ rampage through the scope, picking off any hostiles that were smart enough to keep their distance from the heavies and putting safety rounds into any fallen body Adam would be running past. With Wilk almost at the exit, Boraro threw the rifle away and took a running start to clear the gap between the roof and the buildings they initially attacked from, using the roofs to catch up to Wilk and descending down to street level with the help of the jump pack and some bits of the building sticking out for handholds. ”How’s our passenger?” He asked while setting up waypoints and quickly checking the map loaded into his PDA. Checking that Simmonds was okay and Adam ready to move, he set out toward where extraction was waiting, hopefully without any more human garbage along the way, putting his native French to use yelling at any civilian stragglers to stay inside and out of the way.

Kingdom of Threndel : Beginning of the End

Sapiliezen Hill

Early morning

---

Of course getting the people happy was the solution to most nation’s woes, but ’How?’ and ’With what?’ were the real questions. “Perhaps the citizenry could be encouraged to visit the City of Darkness and look across the strait to see what will become of them if they don’t stand against the tide.” She offered with some bitterness before picking up on the equipment side of things. “All the more reason to secure the Empire’s roads so that foreign merchants and craftsmen are convinced of their safety when they come to sell their wares or practice their craft.”

‘Five years. Better step to it.’ Myrrhis thought to herself, the Elf viewing the passage of time from a completely different angle than a Human or even a Dwarf would. In five years, a Human went from apprentice to Journeyman or decided that the woman he met was the right one. In five years, an Elf decided that the new barn should indeed be painted red, not blue. Barring disease and injury, they had all the time in the world. Perhaps that was among the reasons why they kept to themselves, to spare themselves the pain of having to watch their fellows of other races wither away. Yet at the same time, they had to respect the short lived ones for how much they could get done with a paltry few decades.

Hearing of a bandit attack five days of travel away sent chills down Myrrhis’ spine. No, not that, anything but her former conscripts committing such an act. She had not heard of their order, which gave her hope they weren’t from around Yllaren, but dark thoughts usually prevailed in such situations. Bad enough she failed them, much less if others paid for their mistake with their lives. “May I ask, Father, where you came from?” She hid the worry in her voice well, though Gordon had been by her side long enough to notice, raising an eyebrow before forcing himself to adopt a neutral expression again. “That must be invaluable for reading in bed.” The young squire said with genuine appreciation of the demonstrated magic.

Kingdom of Threndel : Beginning of the End

Sapiliezen Hill

Early morning

---

”Perhaps it will make you more popular among the common folk?” She tried to find some positive spin on the Emperor’s woes. Truth be told, she did not envy the man’s position, at all. Most commoners envied the nobility’s wealth and status, but that came at the cost of the responsibility the nobles bore on their shoulders, one that often called them to sacrifice their dreams for the less wealthy, but more carefree masses. Well, unless one was like the Duke Manith who clearly never got the memo. Likely a failure on the part of his parents and tutors. ”No apologies needed, your majesty. A mere knight in a city half the Empire away is hardly important enough to take note of.” Well, so much for the thought of ‘Let’s send some people to help as a political gesture.’ Either no one thought to inform Threll they had done so, or the Emperor forgot.

”Enforced service.” Myrrhis explained the unknown word, “There may not be a war now, but building an army when it's already at the gates is too late and unrest need not come from the outside.” She explained the reasoning, picking up the Emperor's line of thought. “An unit of soldiers is more than an abstract object fighting others. Soldiers need rest, they get injured, fall ill. Camps need to be built and guarded, messages passed, prisoners watched and more. Small or specialized units have their place, and with each invention, their numbers and tasks grow, but you will always need common soldiers in numbers.“ She had no idea where the bit about a mayor came from, even if the Emperor could read thoughts she thought of a ‘Major’, not ‘Mayor’.

Upon being informed of the numbers in the capital, her eyes grew wide. Over two years since the transition, and nothing's been done. The fact that the far reaches of the Empire’s husk were coming apart at the seams was understandable, but the capital? When one finds themselves in a blizzard, the hands and feet grow cold so the heart may keep beating. That the imperial palace was understaffed years after the disaster was unfathomable. Were there difficulties she wasn’t aware of, or was the Emperor genuinely incompetent? “I haven’t, we arrived yesterday.” She grabbed onto the question like a lifeline to recover from the shock.

Slightly off to the side, Gordon approached behind one of the palace guards and cleared his throat. “Excuse me: the door.” He gestured to the bearded man peeking in.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

She would’ve almost liked to stay, move a few hundred meters and ambush the Meteors, but that was just the combat high thinking for her. Before they turned to head for home, Marit managed to coax Archie’s arms into the best approximation of a shrug apology an Archer’s range of motion allowed, a nonverbal “sorry” for the bridge. Between his help on this sortie the fleeing fighter would probably report and Cassandra personally delivering Reya to the capital, Marit couldn’t imagine the lengths one would have to go to to make people think Cassandra was still a neutral party. Assuming that wasn’t a lack of creativity on her part - which admittedly was on the table, even she knew as much - they’d just cost him a detour with their grand finale. As much of a legend a Marauder was in the community, no one had made them fly yet. Well, not the original 75 tonner Jon was piloting, some madlads built a 100 ton version almost two decades ago that could jump, obviously, because overkill is underrated.

---

The adrenaline had hours to wash out of her system, but Marit was still riding the success high when she got out of the cockpit, renewed by the Techs demanding details before they got to work as soon as they learned there were no casualties. Even Rimmer looked happy, a sight so uncanny Marit made haste to make herself scarce for once. As she headed to their barracks to take whatever shower she could get, her gait bore some resemblance to the merry skipping of Jester’s Firestarter. After all, why shouldn’t she be in a good mood? Job well done and everyone was alive, despite some injuries, although she could vividly picture Ingrid holding a military funeral with full honors for the Ostroc’s lost arm, a mental image that only added fuel to her snickering. Maybe paint the new arm to look like it was in a cast, but she decided she wasn’t going to mention that in front of Ingrid just to be on the safe side.

She quickly tried to stifle her giggling as she was passing by Doc Yuri’s office as someone opened the door just as she was going past, with minimal success. Fortunately, Mr. Murphy had been looking elsewhere and it was not the doc. Not that she minded the woman, but getting pulled aside for a psych eval was not on the day’s schedule. If anything, the person in the door was the exact opposite of having to do anything with psychological assessments. ”Hey, Ziska! Back in one piece for a change?” Marit hollered with a broad grin on her face. ”You’re awesome by the way, have I told you that? When we liberate a suitable watering hole, remind me I owe you some drinks for today. The TAG was on point.”

Rise of Rasalhague

Routing VTOLS made an alright situation even better, and with the Hunchback was running out of rope, Karel had a few seconds to look around, making sure there were no more surprises coming before turning to address the biggest problem on the board. ”I got you, kid, hold my beer.” Karel replied to Alvin’s request for pest control, prioritizing the two large lasers on the Hermes over the PPC and an AC/5 Jaromír’s Trebuchet carried. Jumpers were no joke, and although Alvin could get rid of the one on his windshield in a pinch, the ones on the back not so much, marking them as a priority.

Stomping up behind the Hermes like a 25 ton can of bug spray, the first jump trooper only realized something was up when he woke up on Satan’s porch. The other two were definitely alerted by the Hermes shuddering slightly as the Mad Goose practically gave it a pat on the back, enough for the second one to notice the shadow of a Mongoose’s hand that came over her before she, too, had her life subscription canceled and life insurance activated. The third one tried to lift off and run, only to get spiked into the ground like a volleyball. The day’s frustration could be seen in the Mongoose’s strikes, as if each of the sorry bastards was somehow responsible for Karel’s misfortunes. Double-checking the back of the Hermes to make sure no charges were left, Karel doubled back around, lining up a strike sideways to get the last guy off without splattering Alvin’s windshield with pirate pate. No one needed to see that shit. ”You’re clear, might need a hose down and a lick of paint though. I’d like my beer back.”

Rolls

Sweeping crunchies off of Alvin’s ‘Mech

Raven Squad: Second Storm (Military/Spy-Fi RP)

Boraro
Market roofs, 1345

---

Ebrima did not expect a prim and proper western merc to agree with his cynical, African warlord-lite views of the world and fighting in it. He knew why he liked Adam right out of the gate. Neither Pole nor Cameroonian spoke much as they raced across the rooftops, carefully picking out each landing spot to avoid crashing through some corrugated steel sheet into the buildings below, the exo’s air conditioning struggling to keep up with the baking heat of the rooftops. It was a double-edged sword, however, keeping Artemis goons inside and on street level where the what was bearable. The first lookouts were easily dealt with, three shots of the suppressed rifle solving Boraro’s side of the equation. The two men continued bounding cover to cover along the rooftops, Boraro making a brief stop at the neutralized lookouts to dead check. Legal? Of course, he made sure to do it before he walked past them. After all, he was one of the righteous now. One more pair of lookouts had the misfortune to be in their path, suffering a similar fate with the same efficiency. The price of standing on the wrong side of lady Luck and more zeroes in the budget. The Cameroonian led them to a roof level with the target structure, overlooking the garden. The view wasn’t the best, but the roof with the best view was the one Ebrima would put a mine on top of if the roles were reversed. Good enough to reveal a quartet of exosuited spotters on the main roof rotating the directions they were looking in in regular intervals and a garden full of automated turrets, turrets that - according to the timetable - were already toothless.

”Minimal effort.” Boraro began introducing his plan. It might not have been the best way to describe it, but that was how he worked. Minimal effort for maximum gain, the less you did, the less could go wrong and the more fight you had in you for later. ”Ignore the garden for now, that’s Chaos’ field, but stay away from the garden-side windows and walls just in case they wake up. We work top to bottom, either we find our man or drive him out toward Viper. Once we have him, we don't bother with doors, go out the first suitable exit we find or make.” It would be easy for Artemis to hold them back going through the rest of the house with Simmonds in tow, but a lot harder to pin them down if they punched a hole in the wall and made a beeline for their exfil. Good thing Wilk had some charges on him, as Boraro had neglected to check before they shipped out. He would’ve wanted to time their strike along with the Heavies and disappear in the chaos, but there would’ve been too many variables in Artemis’ reaction to risk it. ”Team 1, Team 2 is moving in. Out.” He let Viper and Chaos know, loading a magazine of frags into the M 25 and switching back over to Wilk. ”After you, on my mark...” First two grenades fired, ”Go!” A third and final one, timed so that last would detonate a few seconds before Adam landed. He doubted the grenades would be enough to disable the exo operators, but their point was to stagger the farther ones to give Adam a safe landing window.

Taking a running start and with a boost from the jump pack, Boraro followed as soon as he could stow the launcher away, landing a few seconds after Adam, the shotgun at the ready. Rolling to a crouch, Boraro swept the Artemis operative’s legs from under her. She grunted a German curse as she fell on her back, more annoyed than hurt by the fall on account of her armor. Boraro’s shotgun wouldn’t let that stand, the Cameroonian driving its muzzle into the unknown German’s face and painting the inside of her helmet red with a double tap.

Whipping around, he came face to face, Muzzle to muzzle with the lookout in the far left corner, the shape of a rifle in the operative’s hands. Boraro moved fast, the jump pack propelling him into cover behind an AC unit. Disciplined semi-automatic fire whizzed past, one lucky shot striking a side plate and skipping off under such a large impact angle. Verifying it had remained intact, his HUD reporting the impact wasn’t strong enough to leave much of a bruise, let alone actual injury, he switched to the other side of the unit, peering out and firing at the spot the Artemis operative was last at. As the fire drove him behind cover, Boraro left his, trusting the other two would not bother him on account of Wilk and advancing a few bounds while firing before stopping. The Artemis operative popped back up, but Boraro wasn’t there already. The difference of a few meters was enough to let him take a shot unmolested, the Artemis operative falling backwards behind cover. When Boraro reached him, he was desperately trying to stop bleeding from his neck with one hand, a large chunk missing where the slug clipped him, the other hand reaching for the IFAK, not quite obeying its owner’s commands.

Bang!

Regrouping with Wilk, he swapped the M 25’s frags for stun grenades, making sure to remove the already chambered frag as well. ”No lethal grenades from now on.“ Wilk most definitely didn’t need to be reminded of that, but it was a good habit to have in case you found yourself working alongside an idiot. ”You have the shield, you're first through doors.” Was he gonna use Wilk to soak up bullets? Teeeechnically? But then that was exactly what breachers with handheld ballistic shields did, and his shield allowed him to return effective fire while being protected for long enough to matter. It was a shame the operation was a smash and grab and not just regular assault, otherwise doors would rarely be a factor and their entry would not be from the roof, but through the roof, but burying Simmonds under a hundred kilos of cinder blocks and concrete by accident wasn’t in the notes.

Stacking up on a skylight, Boraro prepared a flashbang, ready to follow the Pole inside. ”Flash and clear, on you.”

Kingdom of Threndel : Beginning of the End

Sapiliezen Hill

Early morning

---

Having an Emperor apologize to her for being rude by not knowing her name was a jarring experience. She'd seen lower ranked nobles get around the problem by addressing the unknown party as ‘you’ the entire conversation rather than show their lack of knowledge. Finally some positive example for Gordon, playing into what she said earlier about not letting keeping up appearances interfere with performing one’s duties. “Lady Myrrhis Nivellen and my Squire Gordon, at your service, your Majesty. I've been sent to aid our Northern allies in whatever capacity you deem necessary.“ She had a feeling they've been sent with the mindset of ‘If we send a few advisors now, we can claim to be helping already and thus delay the expeditionary force.’ And studied the Emperor's expression and posture as she said it, wondering if he'd come to the same conclusion.

When the Emperor inquired about the presence of a garrison in Yllaren, one word fought its way onto her tongue: ’Barely.’ But she knew better than to say that out loud. “It is a mere shadow of its former self, just 60 soldiers, some officers and 90 conscripts in training not counting the deserter company and the city guard which the garrison commander refused to conscript from, fearing disorder in the city.” She shared, “Most of those we've trained in the past two years had been posted to other parts of the Empire, but recruitment around Yllaren continues to be difficult as the farms, orchards and vineyards require a lot of farmhands, thus and limiting how many young men we can draw on from each family.” Since new years’, they have gone as far as conscripting women as crossbowmen to free up men for roles that prioritized physical strength.

“Yes, young Duke Cato still rules in name, with his mother managing the holdings until he comes of age to do so.” Gordon piped up with an explanation in an area Myrrhis wasn't very familiar with, his father's membership in Yllaren’s Guild of Merchants to thank for some knowledge of his home city's politics.
“And the fort's previous commander came out of retirement until Garrison Deputy Trevisan is deemed fit for promotion.” She filled in on the parts she was knowledgeable of. The old Major may have been pushing 70 years and physically it showed, a lifetime of battlefield injuries and army camp diseases leaving an unmistakable mark on the man’s body and preventing him from taking a hands-on approach to his duties, but his mind remained sharp, as did his voice. The man had an air of wisdom that made even Myrrhis feel like a novice squire in his presence at times.

Kingdom of Threndel : Beginning of the End

Sapiliezen Hill

Early morning

---

Myrrhis accepted the refreshments with an appreciative nod of her head, savoring the flavor of oranges and cinnamon. Gordon for his part furrowed his brow, caring little for the taste of dried tree bark in his food and drink, but contained his displeasure and continued taking small courtesy sips.

The Elf would have intervened when the argument came to fists, but fisticuffs turned into a stabbing before she could set her cup down. Normally that wouldn't have been a concern, had she and Gordon not been asked to leave their weapons with a guard a few doors earlier before meeting with the Emperor. What a shame, that, for the desire to beat some manners into the Duke with the hilt of a sword was great and growing further with each word out of his mouth. The voice of dissent from the crowd did not bode well either. It was up to the ruler to ensure the nobility did not abuse their power at the nation's expense, and while Threndel’s instability was nothing new, Myrrhis couldn't fathom why someone would disrespect the emperor this openly in his court white expecting help with their grievances. She wasn’t familiar with the full story of how the current Emperor came upon the throne, but surely two years were enough time to get situated.
“This is common here?” Gordon wondered, “Fighting in court?”
“Not quite the court experience I intended. I suppose today, the student learns alongside the master.” Myrrhis shook her head, lowering her voice to a whisper. “The palace guard could also use some attention. I've seen the innkeeper in Lannion step in to break up worse brawls with more gusto.” Here, a man with a bloodied knife was still unrestrained.

With the Emperor's approach, the Knight and the Squire set down their cups - the Squire with delight as the cinnamon tearror had come to an end - and stood, bowing once more. The Emperor's blunt honesty was about as expected as rain from blue skies, Myrrhis having expected him to play it off as court entertainment or something of the sort. “Your Majesty, I have been summoned to present a report regarding the unfortunate desertion at the Yllaren garrison.” She said in an appropriately apologetic tone while producing the summons letter from a belt pouch, forgoing introductions assuming someone had told the Emperor whom he was meeting on a given day and bracing to deal patiently with the derisive comment she expected from the stab-happy duke given his speech about marshaling more troops.