I have a idea of what i want to do but I'm curious... Anybody interested in possibly helping me out here?

"marhabaan bikum fi funduq kalifurnia
hadha makan jamil
hdha makan jamil
hadha wajhaan jamilana
'innahum yfyn al'amr fi funduq kalifurnia
ma latifat mufaja'a ma hi mufaja'at litifa
jalab al'aedhar alkha-."

A gloved hand reached for the dial, quickly scanning to a different channel from the one constantly broadcasting the Arabic version of a popular American song. "Kess ikhtak. I'm so sick of that damn song." The voice was lower, deeper, and filled with rocks and gravel grinding against each other. "Everyone in the damned army blares it on every radio all day long." The man, with graying hair and a face full of developing wrinkles, set his elephant foot of a left arm back on the steering wheel. The elbow and wrist relaxed, hand hanging limply just over the rim, the right arm doing the actual steering.

To the left of him sat a younger woman, adorned in military garb, slouching back into the sand-brown Humvee's torn up leather seat. The window was rolled down, helmet in her lap, face looking out, the ends of her short hair being tugged from the breeze coming through. When the music cut out, a pair of combat boots came down from the dashboard, the owner exclaiming a small "Hey!"

"Prayer will be starting soon, anyways." The older soldier began sifting through channels, different voices, all speaking Arabic, mixing together with white noise. "We'll have to pull over and see who will be standing watch."

The woman in the passenger seat nodded her head, scooching back up into proper posture, legs sliding off the dash. "I think Johnson and Briggs would be willing to. They're Christian."

"You want two US Marines standing over praying Muslims with rifles?"

"I don't think we're gonna meet any trouble out in the middle of Sau-"

Ting
Pop
BPHOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMM

A rapid expansion of heat, energy, and shrapnel triggered by a mechanism detecting a specified weight sent the back end of the Humvee up and over, pieces of the undercarriage sloughing off like leaves from a tree. The convoy of two light armored vehicles six trucks and a tank suddenly came to a screeching halt, front- and rear-ending each other as the vehicle at the head was suddenly upside down, the sound of crunching metal and bulletproof glass resounding throughout the barren sands. The one-ton armored car slid forward about a meter, gouging out the road, before laying unceremoniously in a pile of its own guts.

In an infinite moment of calm, everyone in the convoy sat in their own armor, looking at each other, not speaking, eyes wide and mouths agape. All that could be heard was the rumbling of pistons cranking, a few radios blaring a prayer song, hissing and popping from the wreck in front.

It wasn't until a few crackles, zings, and pops followed by puffs of sand and sparks, then the screaming of an LMG operator that the entire convoy suddenly exploded off the road. The new front vehicle peeled off first, circling around the down Humvee, and each vehicle followed the next, before the tank at the end, a light and fast FV101 Scorpion, sped around to face where the fire was coming from. A circle of armor now had its center on the wreck, nine military-grade vehicles in total becoming a protective barrier. The two LAVs, both ACV-15s, formed up on the opposite side of the road from the light tank, back doors swinging open and soldiers filing out to surround the new flaming pile of scrap. A man from each had wrenched off a fire extinguisher from inside and began blasting the engine with white clouds of CO2. A group of four others broke off, splitting in half to each side of the Humvee, prying off the doors with either a crow bar or a knife. All but one of them popped off eventually, the front passenger door having been bent inwards and locked in place.

Then there was a sharp whistling, someone screaming "MORTAR!" then both squads scattered and hit the deck. Not even half a second later, three plumes of heat and metal bits flying in all directions erupted in quick succession, each one either too far, too short, or too much to the side of the improvised fort. Another hoarse shout of "ALL CLEAR MOVE!" and everyone was back on their feet, one man returning to an LAV and browsing over the available equipment.

During this whole spectacle, the Scorpion had continued to exchange ballistic shells with what was a pea-shooter in comparison. First the LMG far off in the rolling dunes would try a few pot-shots at the soldiers within the circle, a man inside the tank would relay corrections for aiming to the gun operator, then it would fire. This back and forth went on for about five minutes, before a fourth shot was never responded to.

The man that had been driving the downed Humvee was dragged out, visibly shaken and sore, but otherwise unharmed. The two men in the back as well as an LMG operator had been blown up the ass by the IED and crushed by the weight of the vehicle. The woman was still inside.

"Taavetti!" One the squad leaders called the man over, both keeping their heads low. As information was relayed to him, the survivor pulled back his T-91's chamber and ejected the clip, inspecting the weapon thoroughly. "120mm mortar shells and an LMG, sounds like an FN MAG, that's all we know right now. Can't tell if it's Saudis or another tribe."

The older man nodded, looking to a limp body that hung from one of the Humvees, blood dripping from what used to be a soldier down a loosened helmet, pieces of skull and flesh splattered about the armored side. "If it were Saudis they either wouldn't have attacked us or at least would have been better at it than this mock-up of a surprise attack." Taavetti's head swiveled over to where the Scorpion was still firing, despite the LMG fire having ceased. "This is a raid, and if a tribe thinks they have a chance against actual military convoy with a damned tank, then they must be confident in themselves for a reason."

Whistling for a second time, everyone splitting up and dropping to the ground and curling up for a second time. Three shots way off course for a second time. Everyone getting back up and tried to pry the other door off for a second time.

Taavetti chuckled, "And if it was Saudis, they would have only missed the first time."

BANG BANG BPUNGK

The three soldiers that had been working on the passenger door suddenly leaped back about a meter each as the door swung open at around eighty kilometers an hour, a leg appearing for half a second before it shut again with its own momentum, then flew open and slammed closed a second time before finally being blown off its hinges, flying across and slamming into the side of another Humvee from the sheer force of the kick. Two legs popped out into view, flailing around in the air, a torso slowly squirming its way out before the whole soldier finally plopped into the dirt. Two of the men went to her, arms out in front, but had to take another step back as she quickly righted herself, smacking off dirt and glass from her hair and clothes. The woman furiously cussed throughout the whole ordeal, just about every bad word in the Arabic tongue being spat off in less than two minutes. She then plunged her hand back into the wreck, fishing around for a moment before pulling out a sand-brown helmet, her seat being ripped off its bolts at the same time with first a screeching noise followed by a loud POP. The ruined piece of metal, plastic and leather-wrapped cushion tumbled off to the side. The woman that had just become the jaws of life for about five minutes trotted up to Taavetti as she did her chin strap.

"Welcome back to the war Aadibah."

"Eat a pig!"

"Language. You're in my area of expertise now, strategist."

"Then show me you can do your job, tactician."

The old man laughed as the engineer, the leader of their stray band of soldiers, went over her AK-47, pulling back the chamber, checking the sights, ejecting and re-clipping the magazine.

"Alright!" Taavetti's mountainous roar drowned out the rest of the chaos, the commander turning around on his heel to address the whole group, "Someone radio in the rest of the convoy, let them know the scouting party has met hostile contacts and to be on the watch for raiding tribes!"

* * *


"Ay, goatfucker!"

What did that ugly son of pig just call me?

"'eah 'ou!" The man that was currently laying in the dirt, off to the side of the gate, making an incredibly aggressive attempt to call for Aadibah's attention struggled with something hidden by the tall, dry and brown grass. Despite the racist remark, the engineer still ambled on over, albeit with a slightly less stiff posture.

"Me?"

"Yeah 'ou dum bitch! 'oo the 'ell else?"

"I don't know. Maybe the goatfucker you were talking about."

"Screw you!"

The soldier furrowed her brow at the man, stopping just two meters away from his spot, putting a hand on her hip and scanning the ground. A bear trap had snapped over his hairy leg, a mangled shin and calf leaking blood, bits of a snapped tibia poking out.

Damn. That's medieval. Not even the Russians did that.

The "victim" in question reeked of sweat, shit, and blood. His "clothes" were a burlap sack sewn into a poncho and blue jeans with more holes in it than a piece of Swiss cheese that got hit by the payload of a shotgun shell.

"Ay, 'elp me out and git 'is fuckin' ting offa me! Come on aren'tcha suppuhsed to whatever a guy tells ya too?"

"Oh-ho ho ho, honey." The soldier stepped up to the man, bending down low and shoving her face into his grizzly, wrinkled and pimpled own. Her green eyes stared down into his grey and dead pair, "Talking like that is not going to get you far with any Arabian girl."

The woman reeled back, spitting and coughing and smacking her face in order to removed the loogey that was just hacked onto her face. "Fuck 'ou bitch! Git outta 'ere, I dun need any 'elp from an alo'a snackbar like 'ou!"

After successfully scraping off the combination of snot and saliva, there was a prompt clicking and snapping from the chamber of an AK-47 assault rifle. Aadibah brought her weapon up and shoved the end of the barrel into the man's skull, baring her teeth in an ear-to-ear grin, her eyes wide and lips slightly quivering.

"Buddy you just fucked yourself!"

"Eat a bag of dicks!"

"Oh it's going up your ass now darling!"

"DO IT BOYS!"

"Wait wha-"

Tink!

"What the he-"

Tink!

"Stop it."

Tink tink tink tink tink tink tink!

"STOP IT!"

A second man, similarly dressed in terms of dirty and torn clothes that were probably stolen from a modern fashion show, wielded a tire iron. Compared to the Aadibah, he was a mountain of muscle. Even still, he backed off after several failed attempts to whack the woman over the head from behind, aiming each shot right at her solid helmet.

"Boss!" He shouted, voice shaking, body subtly vibrating, "Ah can't do nut-in' to 'er boss!"

"'ou dumbass 'it 'er in the face! Quit goin' for the 'elmet!"

"Oh... y-ah good tinkin' boss!" An arm equivalent in size to a bulldozer's hydraulics came swinging in from Aadibah's left, along with the mighty roar of her assailant. This war cry was cut short and replaced with high-pitched, almost childlike squeal as the arm was suddenly stopped in its tracks half a foot away from the soldier's face. Her left arm was now the pressure point from which the giant's own snapped in two, the lower half flopping forward and lightly smacking her cheek, the road-side auto-repair tool skipping off the back of the helmet again as its direction was thrown off and its inertia halved. A small plume of dust hung in the air where the defender had spun about to meet the strike.

The man in the bear trap let out a scream of his own as the crunching of bone and tearing of muscle and skin came from his friend, before preceding to shout at the top of his lungs "Fuckin' crazy bitch!".

"YYYEEEE-AHHHH!" A third voice, much higher pitched on its own, sprung from a bush to the right. A younger boy, adorned in some sort of animal skin instead of a shirt along with dirty brown cargo shorts. In both hands was a spear crafted with a long iron rod, chicken wire, and a knife.

It was with this assault that Aadibah's right arm finally flew up, finger on the trigger of her own weapon. Fortunately, the boy hit the brakes upon seeing the rifle, losing his balance and tumbling over backwards into the dirt.

"Dumbass kid! Now 'ou've got us-" Before the first man could finish, his forehead was re-united with the end of the barrel.

"You ever seen what a full-metal-jacket does to a person's skull?" Aadibah pushed further into her would-be mugger's skull, steeping on his injured leg's foot and crushing it into the dirt like a tin can. "Because I have. I've done that to people. Lots of pe- Wait what the fuck?" The woman looked down at the appendage, one eye-brow raising and eyes widening when she saw that it was, in fact, a bloody pulp mixed with bone dust.

"Dumb bitch!" The new-found hostage reached down to his right knee, pulling up his jeans and popping out his skin stump of a leg from a rounded out socket of wood.

"Oohhh... wait where did you get the other le-"

"Let's bail boys!"

"Wait wha-"

Behind her, the giant man came trotting over, feet thumping into the ground with tiny quakes, tears and snot streaming down his face. Despite the limp and mangled right arm, he still managed to scoop up his "boss" in the left like a small dog before sprinting off into distant tall grass, soon enough being trailed by the boy with the spear.

Aadibah was quite still after the whole spectacle for a few minutes, simply staring at the mangled and rotten leg that lay under her boot. Flies and other insects were already beginning to gather and pick at the flesh. The white gate several meters behind her humming ever so gently.

"....where the fuck did they get the leg from?"

For keeping up with the threads you're in. Struckthrough ones are ones that I've already replied to. They will be un-struckthrough when it's my turn to post again.

• Mickey
  Nexus Post-Graveyard Return Post
  A Home for Heroes (as Aladdin) - w/ Proto Man + Gilgamesh
  
  Jessica
  Hell's Frigidaire

I DID ANOTHER THING!

Download For True Justice here!

As some of you have no doubt noticed, Book Club has been absent for some time now. The reason for this is that Book Club participation was quite abysmal, which has made staff consider how best to encourage more reading/reviewing activity among our members. While there are some radical changes being contemplated, I was granted permission to try out some more moderate tweaks to the current format first. For that reason, I intend to organise an experimental Book Club during the next fortnightly.

But a Book Club is nothing without threads to read. For that reason, I am reaching out to the community for any and all IC threads that you would like to see featured in this latest iteration of Book Club. There are no restrictions regarding which threads can be put forward (though I will favour those that weren't featured in past Book Clubs). And yes, you are completely free to recommend your own threads.

There are no bad suggestions, so please, do not hesitate.

It's that time of the month again. Yep, it's time for the February edition of the Monthly Accolades, where we celebrate those that have shined the brightest in the passing month.

For those of you who are unaware, the Accolades involve nominating (and later, voting for) those who have outdone themselves in a particular area each month. For variety's sake, the categories for each month may be different.

You have until March 2nd to nominate your choices. After that, we will proceed to the voting phase where members will vote among the two individuals with the most nominations for each category. The only exception is if someone manages to get 5+ more nominations than the runner-up, in which case that person becomes the winner by default.

If you wish to participate, think of who stood out the most in a particular category this month and post your choice, along with a 2-3 sentence long explanation, in this thread. You are not barred from nominating your own characters/threads, nor do you have to fill out all the categories.

The winners will become this month's "Community Stars" and will receive a blue user title in recognition of their achievement.

And now, this month's categories are:

‘Best’ Character – Which character has you engaged the most?

‘Best’ Writer – Which writer wowed you the most?

Most Helpful – A staffer or a member who gave you amazing feedback on a story or was simply there to help you sort out some of your problems.

Rising Star – Which up-and-coming member stands at the crème of the crop? (must have joined within the last month and a half or have less than 8000 OM)

'Best' Story – What story did you find most riveting/entertaining? (like past major storyline events, the Graveyard Saga is disqualified from being nominated; give someone else a chance to shine)

Most Dynamic Duo – It's not uncommon for some of the best storylines to be created by two partners. After all, one is lonely and three is a crowd. Which pair of characters did you think had the most interesting chemistry? (Thanks to Amaterasu for suggesting this category)

'Best' NPC – What non-player character (can be a site, personal, or story NPC) entertained you the most (for whatever reason). Please note who the 'owner' of said NPC is, just in case I am not familiar with them.

Purple Ribbon - Consider this a bonus category for nominating someone who, while they may not be the best and have all the twitter followers, you believe deserves to be recognized for what they bring the the Omniverse. (The winner must be a DIFFERENT person than last month's winner)

Quote:

Winter Wasteland

Quote:Quest: Into the Halls
Word Count: 633
Amount left: 9,367

Retane stood there thinking for a few moments. He held Brave Sword in his hands as he let out a long sigh. He looked on at the sigil on the scabbard and deep into the eyes of the Mohekian. "I am sorry that I failed you my friend. He truly is a lot like you. But he can not live in your shadow. He has to become his own person. You helped us a lot, and I am glad for that. You helped me a lot. "

The Leader of the Horsemen fingered the sharp blade for a moment. Without Tapion, he wouldn't be where he was today. Dante's Abyss, from the past and now. The namekian took in a deep breath and smiled, "Thank you."

"You're welcome." It was Krosst, who answered from the entrance. Retane snapped a glance at him and waved him on to come in. The young namek was usually attached to Jack Frost's side or messing with his brothers, so it was unusual to see him alone. The 'Copy Namek', Alaina and Airyonna had dubbed him, looked on eagerly at his father as he approached him. The smile on his face brightened as he caught site of Brave Sword in Retane's hands.

There was a sparkle in Krosst's eyes as he put his hands out as if pretending to hold a sword, mimicking his father. The Leader of the Horsemen was about to offer the Symbol of their faction to his son but paused as he watched the young namek's hands glow for a few moments. A golden light extended to connect the hands and reached further outward. After a few moments the Emerald Warrior blinked realizng his hands no longer held anything and that Brave Sword now rested in his son's grasp.

Retane gave a smirk as Krosst's smile grew even bigger. The Leader of the Horsemen placed a hand onthe smaller ones shoulder. Krosst didn't say anything but offered the blade back to his father, which the warrior accepted. "This sword is only able to be summoned by Horsemen you know?"

Krosst nodded and smiled.

"There you are! What are you guys up to?" Jack Frost was at the entrance to the vault looking in on them.

Krosst looked to Retane and asked," Is he looking for me or you?"

Retane smiled and shrugged,"You?"

"No I tihnk it's you." Krosst grinned

"Are you sure?"

Krosst shook his head and shrugged.

The two nameks looked at Jack Frost and demanded, "Who were you looking for?"

Aadibah stepped outside after Connor, watching the man as he mounted his "hover-bike". The futuristic vehicle created a large plume of dust while rising about a little less than a meter into the air, the soldier covering her face as it took off down the streets of the coastal town. He got smaller and smaller as he sped off down the roads, eventually taking a turn and vanishing from sight. Then, the sounds of the restaurant and the town settled in. Voices, low, muffled by the wall at her back, others more clear as they came from civilians making their way around town. Some spoke English, others different tongues, none of them Arabic. A warm, night wind made its own way through the sidewalks and roads, washing over the residents like a massive, ethereal blanket.

Left boot crunching against the dirt path, right one pushing off to rotate her body, then taking a step forward, and Aadibah was on the move. Her pace was a speed-walk compared to the casual amble the rest of the denizens and occasional drunk had. Within the next ten minutes, some of the time being wasted after a few wrong turns, and the same path the trio the engineer had joined was laid before her, a gravel line in the sand being drawn to a white half-circle in the distance.

Two small, boot-shaped concave dents were made into the gravel as the woman became still, caught mid-stride. For a small moment, all that could be heard were the people, the waves crashing against the sandy beach, some birds chirping, a dog barking. The scent of seafood, salt, and even the stench of rotting seaweed and dead fish on the shore. It assaulted Aadibah's senses. The warm air settled on her hardened, dirty skin, her rough cheeks and bumpy nose.

It's not home. It will never be home. Keep moving. The sands of Arabia are course, hot, stained with blood. It is not welcome here, where sand is soft, warm.

The crunching began again, the soldier's boots driving home with every step, grinding into the path. Her legs powered through each stride, each motion. Another ten minutes of this and the gate stood only a few meters away, watching Aadibah heave and cough, gasping for air.

"Gah... ha... hoo.... hah....." Leaning against a palm tree, she gave herself a moment. It took everything you had to leave. You know you can never stop this. You chose this path, the path of a leader- No, a warlord. Five more minutes of her lungs expanding and contracting, chest rises exaggerated. Then a small push off the tree, calves and thighs taking a few awkward steps forward to get back into a proper cycle of movement. Even here, some place outside of the world, where there's magic, and technology from your future... No, not even here.

The whiteness, the light, the front face of her body bathed in it, on the edge of its abyss.

So keep marching, soldier.

A step, a flash.

Keep fighting.