Re: QUIETUS [S!5] [Round 1: Godsworn Valley]
07-14-2012, 01:56 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by One.
Anila’s sudden descent came as a complete surprise to Arokht and his newfound comrades, but the Wintergod’s soldiers reacted with commendable swiftness. The three grunts under Gelu’s command had brought their weapons to bear almost before she had touched the ground. The only reason why they didn’t start shooting was the fact that their chaplain and their alien ally would have been caught in the crossfire (though admittedly their guns wouldn’t have done much to the iceworlder’s immense armor).
“Weapons--down!” barked Arokht, shouldering Brother Gelu aside as he stomped forward. “This one is mine.”
The trio complied immediately, returning to a more relaxed stance, guns not quite pointed at her but not quite at rest either. The Wintergod’s forces were well-disciplined, it seemed.
The alien towered over the newcomer like an angry, blue-black skyscraper. He looked down on her, physically and metaphorically, remembering how the Outsider had described her: an experienced adventurer, but host to a parasite that was slowly killing her.
Oh, and she spoke his language too. And flawlessly, just like Gelu. Either these aliens weren’t actually humans, or the Outsider had provided its captives with some kind of automatic translator.
“Anila-Vakmero,” Arokht growled. “How kind of you to show. Simpler for me.”
<font color="#008080">Brother Gelu gave the iceworlder a curious look. Did these two know each other?
“Yeah! I’ve been looking for you. Wow, you’re even bigger in person!”
The human seemed completely unafraid of the alien, much to his chagrin. Indeed, she seemed positively fascinated.
Setting aside his curiosity, Gelu sidled away from Arokht, making a series of hand gestures at his minions. Like a well-oiled machine, the three took positions around the alien and the adventurer, setting up a perimeter as best they could with their limited numbers. The chaplain seemed worried, restless, like he’d prefer to be on the move rather than standing in the open. He scanned the tall grass nervously.
But the body language of iceworlders was very different from the body language of humans, so despite keeping one of his four eyes trained on Gelu at all times, Arokht failed to notice his tension. Not that he had any interest in understanding the nervous habits of aliens anyways.
“I do not intend to obey the Outsider, or play its little game,” said Arokht. “Like you, I am uninterested in this deathmatch.”
Anila beamed. “That’s great! From where I’m standing it looked like you wanted to murder me horribly, but--”
“Make no mistake, Anila-Vakmero,” interrupted Arokht, a note of menace entering his subwoofer voice. “You are still alive now because I...”
There was a pause as Arokht swallowed his pride with an indignant twitch of his mandibles.
“...because I need you,” he finished. “I have a plan. And your cooperation is necessary for my success in that plan.”
The great adventurer folded her arms. She looked thoughtful. “Am I allowed to say no?”
“You do not have a choice in the matter. You will help me.”
“Just making sure. Let’s do it! ...what are we doing, anyways?”
Taken aback by the human’s enthusiasm, Arokht took a second to recover his composure. He hadn’t expected her to be so pliable.
“Killing the Outsider.”
Nearby, one of Gelu’s grunts indicated to the chaplain that he’d found something of interest. Though he had been intently eavesdropping on the alien and the adventurer, Gelu was immediately at his soldier’s side.
The grunt tapped the lenses of his gas mask and pointed at something in the distance, then pointed at the ground. He then brought his hands up, extending one finger on his left and two fingers on his right. Approaching contacts--twelve in number.
Gelu nodded, then signaled back a response. Who?
The soldier made a single sign in answer: a fist with the thumb curled under the fingers.. One word.
Raxis.
All the gesturing and signaling did not go unnoticed by Arokht. He turned a wedge-shaped head towards the priest of Frigidus. “What is happening, Brother Gelu?”
“Raxis warriors inbound,” said the chaplain, grimly. He raised his right hand, drawing in what little water existed in the dry air. A cloud of white vapor swirled around his outstretched hand, coalescing into a solid shape, a gun formed from ice. “Hibernus, Algon, fan out and try to find cover.”
“Raxis?” Arokht asked, as the other two soldiers spread out, weapons ready.
Gelu nodded. “The old war god’s servants have been hunting us down since we destroyed his temples at Serres. They killed the rest of my section. Seems they’re here to finish the job.”
The iceworlder gazed into the distance, a faint whirring sound audible from his helmet as he amplified his vision, sweeping the horizon for the enemy. There, stalking through the grass, advanced a pack of nightmares.
The warriors of Raxis were no chaotic horde of madmen. They were organized. Professional. Each one wore a set of sleek black armor emblazoned with the red symbol of their god: a sword piercing a human skull. Like the worshippers of Frigidus they hunted, they exposed none of their skin to the elements. Not even their faces were distinguishable, for their helmets sported only a single, glowing red eye on their otherwise featureless surfaces. Everything about them suggested rigid purpose and cold inhumanity, an impression only reinforced by their lithe, feline movement through the plain. They were the Predators of Raxis, hunters of mankind.
Arokht chuffed. He had faced worse odds before, and come out on top every time. For all their menace, Arokht was certain that the Predators were outmatched. Yet despite their paltry numbers, the iceworlder felt his old bloodlust beginning to rise again. A battle was brewing. The old warrior nearly bristled with anticipation. War was the air he breathed and the ground he walked, and soon he would be back in his natural surroundings.
His eagerness did not go unnoticed by his aide. Brother Gelu, too, was a veteran of many hard-fought battles, but unlike the towering alien, he had seen the Predators in action. He was not keen on meeting them again.
“My lord, I humbly suggest that we retreat," he urged. "We should try to find other survivors, regroup--”
“Let them come,” Arokht growled. “Lambs pretending to be lions. I will show them how true war is fought!”
With that, the iceworlder reared up and roared. This was not a roar of frustration and anger. This was a challenge, daring the soldiers of Raxis to try to defeat him!
He left a bemused Anila craning her neck behind him, trying to catch a glimpse of the distant enemy.</font>
Anila’s sudden descent came as a complete surprise to Arokht and his newfound comrades, but the Wintergod’s soldiers reacted with commendable swiftness. The three grunts under Gelu’s command had brought their weapons to bear almost before she had touched the ground. The only reason why they didn’t start shooting was the fact that their chaplain and their alien ally would have been caught in the crossfire (though admittedly their guns wouldn’t have done much to the iceworlder’s immense armor).
“Weapons--down!” barked Arokht, shouldering Brother Gelu aside as he stomped forward. “This one is mine.”
The trio complied immediately, returning to a more relaxed stance, guns not quite pointed at her but not quite at rest either. The Wintergod’s forces were well-disciplined, it seemed.
The alien towered over the newcomer like an angry, blue-black skyscraper. He looked down on her, physically and metaphorically, remembering how the Outsider had described her: an experienced adventurer, but host to a parasite that was slowly killing her.
Oh, and she spoke his language too. And flawlessly, just like Gelu. Either these aliens weren’t actually humans, or the Outsider had provided its captives with some kind of automatic translator.
“Anila-Vakmero,” Arokht growled. “How kind of you to show. Simpler for me.”
<font color="#008080">Brother Gelu gave the iceworlder a curious look. Did these two know each other?
“Yeah! I’ve been looking for you. Wow, you’re even bigger in person!”
The human seemed completely unafraid of the alien, much to his chagrin. Indeed, she seemed positively fascinated.
Setting aside his curiosity, Gelu sidled away from Arokht, making a series of hand gestures at his minions. Like a well-oiled machine, the three took positions around the alien and the adventurer, setting up a perimeter as best they could with their limited numbers. The chaplain seemed worried, restless, like he’d prefer to be on the move rather than standing in the open. He scanned the tall grass nervously.
But the body language of iceworlders was very different from the body language of humans, so despite keeping one of his four eyes trained on Gelu at all times, Arokht failed to notice his tension. Not that he had any interest in understanding the nervous habits of aliens anyways.
“I do not intend to obey the Outsider, or play its little game,” said Arokht. “Like you, I am uninterested in this deathmatch.”
Anila beamed. “That’s great! From where I’m standing it looked like you wanted to murder me horribly, but--”
“Make no mistake, Anila-Vakmero,” interrupted Arokht, a note of menace entering his subwoofer voice. “You are still alive now because I...”
There was a pause as Arokht swallowed his pride with an indignant twitch of his mandibles.
“...because I need you,” he finished. “I have a plan. And your cooperation is necessary for my success in that plan.”
The great adventurer folded her arms. She looked thoughtful. “Am I allowed to say no?”
“You do not have a choice in the matter. You will help me.”
“Just making sure. Let’s do it! ...what are we doing, anyways?”
Taken aback by the human’s enthusiasm, Arokht took a second to recover his composure. He hadn’t expected her to be so pliable.
“Killing the Outsider.”
Nearby, one of Gelu’s grunts indicated to the chaplain that he’d found something of interest. Though he had been intently eavesdropping on the alien and the adventurer, Gelu was immediately at his soldier’s side.
The grunt tapped the lenses of his gas mask and pointed at something in the distance, then pointed at the ground. He then brought his hands up, extending one finger on his left and two fingers on his right. Approaching contacts--twelve in number.
Gelu nodded, then signaled back a response. Who?
The soldier made a single sign in answer: a fist with the thumb curled under the fingers.. One word.
Raxis.
All the gesturing and signaling did not go unnoticed by Arokht. He turned a wedge-shaped head towards the priest of Frigidus. “What is happening, Brother Gelu?”
“Raxis warriors inbound,” said the chaplain, grimly. He raised his right hand, drawing in what little water existed in the dry air. A cloud of white vapor swirled around his outstretched hand, coalescing into a solid shape, a gun formed from ice. “Hibernus, Algon, fan out and try to find cover.”
“Raxis?” Arokht asked, as the other two soldiers spread out, weapons ready.
Gelu nodded. “The old war god’s servants have been hunting us down since we destroyed his temples at Serres. They killed the rest of my section. Seems they’re here to finish the job.”
The iceworlder gazed into the distance, a faint whirring sound audible from his helmet as he amplified his vision, sweeping the horizon for the enemy. There, stalking through the grass, advanced a pack of nightmares.
The warriors of Raxis were no chaotic horde of madmen. They were organized. Professional. Each one wore a set of sleek black armor emblazoned with the red symbol of their god: a sword piercing a human skull. Like the worshippers of Frigidus they hunted, they exposed none of their skin to the elements. Not even their faces were distinguishable, for their helmets sported only a single, glowing red eye on their otherwise featureless surfaces. Everything about them suggested rigid purpose and cold inhumanity, an impression only reinforced by their lithe, feline movement through the plain. They were the Predators of Raxis, hunters of mankind.
Arokht chuffed. He had faced worse odds before, and come out on top every time. For all their menace, Arokht was certain that the Predators were outmatched. Yet despite their paltry numbers, the iceworlder felt his old bloodlust beginning to rise again. A battle was brewing. The old warrior nearly bristled with anticipation. War was the air he breathed and the ground he walked, and soon he would be back in his natural surroundings.
His eagerness did not go unnoticed by his aide. Brother Gelu, too, was a veteran of many hard-fought battles, but unlike the towering alien, he had seen the Predators in action. He was not keen on meeting them again.
“My lord, I humbly suggest that we retreat," he urged. "We should try to find other survivors, regroup--”
“Let them come,” Arokht growled. “Lambs pretending to be lions. I will show them how true war is fought!”
With that, the iceworlder reared up and roared. This was not a roar of frustration and anger. This was a challenge, daring the soldiers of Raxis to try to defeat him!
He left a bemused Anila craning her neck behind him, trying to catch a glimpse of the distant enemy.</font>