Re: Grand Battle S3G1! (Round Two: The Great Battlefield)
05-28-2011, 04:18 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Pinary.
Tor, quite unfortunately, ended up near the top of one of the mountains in the area. The region's few mountains were gathered in something resembling a range, and yellow had set up camp nestled in as much cover as they could provide. From where Tor stood, he had quite the view of the base. It was really quite the view from up as high as he was.
And really, he was up quite high, now that he thought about it. He'd spent the vast majority of his life on a ship, secure in a cozy little metal shell, in full control of the gravity, air pressure, and every other condition that, on a planet, you just sort of had to take for granted. The most he'd ever set foot on a world was the occasional trip back to his home planet, and even then, he stayed pretty much exclusively in the city.
To suddenly find himself high, high above the ground, just a slipped rock or something away from a very, very long tumble down was a bit... disconcerting.
Disconcerted, he pressed himself flat against the cliff face behind him and sidled along, not really caring where he went, just as long as it wasn't very speedily down.
After a minute or two of just sidling along, his hand touched metal. Glorious, industrial-grade steel brushed his palm, and it took him barely an instant before the heavy metal door, marked "authorized personnel only," was slamming shut behind him.
He leaned back against the cool metal of the door's interior, closing his eyes and just enjoying being inside again instead of about to plummet to his death off a cliff.
Someone demanded to know his name and rank in a loud, commanding voice.
"Captain Tor Kajan," he replied, not really paying attention.
That same someone demanded to know his allegiance, using that same really-quite-rude voice.
"Private citizen, sir, my concerns are strictly... business." He trailed off and finished weakly as he opened his eyes and found a gun staring him in the face. "Ah, but you're one of the locals, I'd assume." The relief at being away from the edge of the steep fall was washing away, returning him to some semblance of himself again.
Ignoring that last sentence, the blue-clad soldier holding his sidearm on Tor replied, "Civilians are not authorized to be in this facility, Captain." He said Tor's title with a sneer. "In fact, there shouldn't be any civilians on this battlefield at all."
"Well, I could-"
The soldier, his uniform labelling him Walters, cut him off with a gesture of the gun. "You could nothing, pal. I'm locking you up until we can get you safely shipped out of here. Come with me." He stepped forward, using more gestures to indicate that Tor should step away from the door.
The Telpori-Hal stepped forward to cooperate, but he really didn't have any intention of being locked away. He had a dinosaur to hold accountable, a sea-serpent to find, and a universe-hopper to clue in. And Scofflaw, of course. He'd likely be halfway to the top of the chain of command in one or another of these armies by now, knowing him. (But knowing him from where? That question still nagged at him.)
So, instead of going along with Walters' instructions, Tor grabbed for the gun. Walters yanked back, trying to get it out of the rusty-skinned man's grasp, but Tor yanked as well, twisting around and bringing it in close to himself. The soldier reached around with his other hand, trying to grab it from both sides, only succeeding in wedging the gun even more tightly between the two.
The scuffle continued for a few more moments until one of them- neither were sure who- wrenched the wrong way. The gun fired.
Tor was left with a ringing in his ears. Walters, with a slug in his guts. The two separated. The wounded man looked down at the blood pooling in his hands, then shifted his gaze up to Tor, then fell.
The second he hit the ground, his clothes snapped to a different colour and the hole in his gut vanished, taking the blood with it. Soon after, he stood back up, brushed off his uniform, and saluted.
Tor frowned at him. The man's uniform was now brown. Not red, not blue, not green, not yellow. Brown. "Walters," he said, his confusion evident, "what are the sides in this battle?"
"Red, Blue, Green, and Yellow, Captain."
"And which side do you represent?"
"Brown, sir."
"Care to explain just how that happens?"
"You'd have to ask Rawlin, sir. Of course, she's not likely to cooperate, seeing as she's Blue, sir."
"Well then," Tor said, handing Walters back his pistol, "I suppose we'll just have to convince her."
-
A few minutes later, near the center of the Blue Army base, a communications officer turned to his commander. "Sir," he said, "we've just lost the Brace Mountain Reconnaissance Outpost, overlooking Yellow's base."
"So, they're coming over the mountains, then, aiming for an attack around behind? Well, then they'll have less out front to defend with! Have our artillery cover the base for now- we're going to send out a force to strike while their defences are weak."
Tor, quite unfortunately, ended up near the top of one of the mountains in the area. The region's few mountains were gathered in something resembling a range, and yellow had set up camp nestled in as much cover as they could provide. From where Tor stood, he had quite the view of the base. It was really quite the view from up as high as he was.
And really, he was up quite high, now that he thought about it. He'd spent the vast majority of his life on a ship, secure in a cozy little metal shell, in full control of the gravity, air pressure, and every other condition that, on a planet, you just sort of had to take for granted. The most he'd ever set foot on a world was the occasional trip back to his home planet, and even then, he stayed pretty much exclusively in the city.
To suddenly find himself high, high above the ground, just a slipped rock or something away from a very, very long tumble down was a bit... disconcerting.
Disconcerted, he pressed himself flat against the cliff face behind him and sidled along, not really caring where he went, just as long as it wasn't very speedily down.
After a minute or two of just sidling along, his hand touched metal. Glorious, industrial-grade steel brushed his palm, and it took him barely an instant before the heavy metal door, marked "authorized personnel only," was slamming shut behind him.
He leaned back against the cool metal of the door's interior, closing his eyes and just enjoying being inside again instead of about to plummet to his death off a cliff.
Someone demanded to know his name and rank in a loud, commanding voice.
"Captain Tor Kajan," he replied, not really paying attention.
That same someone demanded to know his allegiance, using that same really-quite-rude voice.
"Private citizen, sir, my concerns are strictly... business." He trailed off and finished weakly as he opened his eyes and found a gun staring him in the face. "Ah, but you're one of the locals, I'd assume." The relief at being away from the edge of the steep fall was washing away, returning him to some semblance of himself again.
Ignoring that last sentence, the blue-clad soldier holding his sidearm on Tor replied, "Civilians are not authorized to be in this facility, Captain." He said Tor's title with a sneer. "In fact, there shouldn't be any civilians on this battlefield at all."
"Well, I could-"
The soldier, his uniform labelling him Walters, cut him off with a gesture of the gun. "You could nothing, pal. I'm locking you up until we can get you safely shipped out of here. Come with me." He stepped forward, using more gestures to indicate that Tor should step away from the door.
The Telpori-Hal stepped forward to cooperate, but he really didn't have any intention of being locked away. He had a dinosaur to hold accountable, a sea-serpent to find, and a universe-hopper to clue in. And Scofflaw, of course. He'd likely be halfway to the top of the chain of command in one or another of these armies by now, knowing him. (But knowing him from where? That question still nagged at him.)
So, instead of going along with Walters' instructions, Tor grabbed for the gun. Walters yanked back, trying to get it out of the rusty-skinned man's grasp, but Tor yanked as well, twisting around and bringing it in close to himself. The soldier reached around with his other hand, trying to grab it from both sides, only succeeding in wedging the gun even more tightly between the two.
The scuffle continued for a few more moments until one of them- neither were sure who- wrenched the wrong way. The gun fired.
Tor was left with a ringing in his ears. Walters, with a slug in his guts. The two separated. The wounded man looked down at the blood pooling in his hands, then shifted his gaze up to Tor, then fell.
The second he hit the ground, his clothes snapped to a different colour and the hole in his gut vanished, taking the blood with it. Soon after, he stood back up, brushed off his uniform, and saluted.
Tor frowned at him. The man's uniform was now brown. Not red, not blue, not green, not yellow. Brown. "Walters," he said, his confusion evident, "what are the sides in this battle?"
"Red, Blue, Green, and Yellow, Captain."
"And which side do you represent?"
"Brown, sir."
"Care to explain just how that happens?"
"You'd have to ask Rawlin, sir. Of course, she's not likely to cooperate, seeing as she's Blue, sir."
"Well then," Tor said, handing Walters back his pistol, "I suppose we'll just have to convince her."
-
A few minutes later, near the center of the Blue Army base, a communications officer turned to his commander. "Sir," he said, "we've just lost the Brace Mountain Reconnaissance Outpost, overlooking Yellow's base."
"So, they're coming over the mountains, then, aiming for an attack around behind? Well, then they'll have less out front to defend with! Have our artillery cover the base for now- we're going to send out a force to strike while their defences are weak."