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The Elfbone Extraction [M] - Galel Baraz - 06-04-2015
Coruscant, a verse where the wealthy and influential tread on the backs on the poor and unfortunate. From the shining towers of the first tier, to the murky depths of the seventh tier, the strong tread upon the weak. Above, the shining cities put forth an aura of opulence and prosperity to cover a corrupt and rotten core. Below, the filth and violence is laid bare for all to see. Unsurprisingly, it is the lower tiers of Coruscant that provide the most secrecy for those who wish to remain unseen. In the lawlessness of Tier 7, among crazed addicts and violent psychopaths, hidden away from prying eyes, there sits an ancient and forgotten warehouse. Once used as a hideout for a gang of chem-crazed cultists devoted to Diablo, it sat unused for nearly two years before being taken over by a vicious undercity warlord and his gang of addicts and psychos.
"The Backscratcher" as the warlord liked to call himself, is a ruthless and efficient killer, with a penchant for using spiked clubs to 'scratch' open his victims' backs. Those who don't die from their wounds are nailed to the walls of his 'fortress' and left to rot. His crew is well known for their indulgence in dozens of illicit substances, ranging from the relatively harmless 'green cigars' to the cripplingly addictive 'black-purple spice'. Those of his crew who don't intoxicate themselves at every opportunity are even worse than their leader.
Among the Backscratcher's gang, two men are of particular note. First is Mendes, a genetic experiment into the creation of super-soldiers. By far the largest member of the gang, standing nearly six and a half feet tall and weighing a whopping 200 kilograms, he is a hunchbacked giant of a man who's skin barely contains his rippling muscles. Notable for having once wrestled an escaped Ogre to the ground, Mendes had been on the run for killing six Imperial Stormtroopers when the Backscratcher took him in.
The second member of the Backscratcher's gang who is of particular note is Mansarov. Nicknamed 'the butcher' by his fellow gang members, he is a thin but well built man who wields both a repeating blaster and a vibroblade to equal devastation. A former Stormtrooper sergeant, Mansarov is well known as the most charismatic of the Backscratcher's lieutenants. It's said that Mansarov was responsible for recruiting almost a third of the Backscratcher's gang, and that he once killed one of the Emperor's personal guard, though the people who said that also said that Coruscant's lower levels are made of spaghetti.
The Backscratcher, along with his lieutenants, enjoy an easy life of robbery, murder, and rape in the lowest tier of Coruscant. With a gang numbering three dozen members, the Backscratcher's Warehouse fortress is one of the more secure locations in Tier 7. Whether what is about to happen to the Backscratcher's Gang is a tragedy or a miracle is uncertain. What is known, is that on this particular day, the Backscratcher was relaxing, when one of his guards failed to report in on time...
"Ey, boss!" Eddie yelled from atop the southernmost catwalk.. Partitions and crates were stacked up to provide the place with some semblance of different 'rooms', but the catwalks above the floor could see over most of them. From within the 'recreation' area, the Backscratcher looked up. Surrounded by a dozen gang members, each in varying degrees of intoxication, the Backscratcher shouted back. "What?!"
Eddie, one of six men currently on guard duty, glanced out of the window he was standing next to, then turned back to look at the Backscratcher. "Jason hasn't reported in yet, and I don't see Marko at his post!"
The Backscratcher scowled, getting up and grabbing his spike covered club. "Those idiots are off getting high again, damnit! Thanks for the heads up, Eddie, treat yourself to a double dose tonight!" He yelled across the warehouse as he made his way through the veritable maze of crates and wall segments. "Fuckers think they can just get high and slack off in my crew, huh?! Well, I'll show 'em why I'm called the Backscratcher!" He hollered, slamming his club into the side of the building as he passed through an old fire exit. The door that had once fit into the doorway lay on the ground several meters away, dozens of dents, puncture marks, and bullet holes covering it.
Outside, it was cold and dark like always. Despite all the pollutants in the air, heat wasn't all that prevalent in this section of the city. The warehouse's heating unit had failed years ago, and there was no natural light source this far down. Still, it felt slightly colder and darker than usual, for no real reason. Backscratcher paused, looking about. He couldn't see or hear anything out of the ordinary, so why did he feel like something was off? Shaking himself, the Backscratcher kept moving, heading towards Marko's post. As he rounded the corner, he found it empty. Scuff marks in the dirt led off to the north, where Jason's post was located. The Backscratcher gripped his club tighter, angrily stalking forward.
So focused on finding and punishing his errant minions was the Backscratcher, that he didn't notice the reddish tinged spots that were trailing off to the west. So sure of himself was the Backscratcher, that he didn't notice the heavy footprints in the dirt just off to the side. As he walked further, he saw two figures slumped in seats at Jason's post. Bottles and needles were scattered about on the dirt, confirming the Backscratcher's suspicions. "Get high on the job will you? Fuck you!" He shouted, swinging his club down onto Marko's head. A sickening thud greeted the blow, and then another, knocking the man from his seat and planting him facedown on the ground. The Backscratcher planted a foot on his victim, and began to mercilessly drive the spiked bat into Marko's exposed back.
It was only after he's split poor Marko's back wide open that he realized that his victim was already dead. Confused, he grabbed Jason, shaking him and finding that he too was dead. Backscratcher panicked, running back to the Warehouse. Halfway there, he heard it. The loud bang of gunshots, the clang of melee weapons, and the whine of blaster fire. The Backscratcher broke into a sprint, sweat beading up on his forehead. "Damnit! How did this happen?!" He shouted at himself as he neared the warehouse. The sounds of combat continued, almost deafening now.
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Galel cackled gleefully, swinging his force sword in a wide arc, cleaving one ganger's arm off and slicing into another's abdomen with lethal fury. "Fall like the cattle you are, bow before the power of Change!" He bellowed, swinging his other arm about to point his Plasma Pistol at a pair of fleeing addicts. With a squeeze of the trigger, the weapon flared to life. Ancient circuits directed power from the energy cell through the device, charging and directing a bolt of superheated ionized gas out from the barrel of the gun. With swift and brutal accuracy, the plasma collided with one of the Addicts, swiftly expanding into a cloud of deadly heat, cooking both the initial target and the secondary bystander into charred husks of men.
Okor slid his blade between the ribs of another ganger, watching with morbid interest as he keeled over and began to foam at the mouth. With a grin, he moved on to the next foolish attacker. Having taken up a position in the midst of the main entrance, Okor had cut off the best route of escape, and those who tried to dislodge him quickly found that he was not so easily moved. Intoning the names of dreaded diseases from the sacred passages of the Liber Bibonicus, Okor's fist became slick with rot. The idiot addict that moved to stab Okor soon found himself lifted from the ground by the throat. The putrid stentch of rotted corpses filled his nostrils, causing him to gag and vomit, even as parasites and viruses wormed their way into his body. As Okor tossed him aside, he felt his body convulsing as his immune system began to fail. "Embrace the end of things." Okor murmured as he swung his fist towards another Ganger.
The Backscratcher burst into the Warehouse, eyes wide with horror. A dozen of his men were already dead, and the two dozen that remained were either fleeing or hiding. Mendes, seeing his leader arrive, leaped from his hiding place and bellowed a warcry. "The 'scratcher is here!" He shouted, charging towards the Death Guard. Emboldened by their leader's return, five gangers and addicts joined the charge. The Backscratcher ran towards the fray, only to be grabbed by Mansarov. "Boss, we're boned here! We need to leave!" Mansarov pleaded as Mendes grunted in pain, his bulging muscles no defense against the necrotic power of Okor's fist. The Backscratcher paused, only moving once he witnessed Galel impale Mendes with his force sword, sending a lethal surge of Psychic energy through the brute's body.
Tartaros, ever the latecomer, stepped in through the doorway as the Backscratcher and Mansarov turned to face it. "Bang." Came the last words that either of them would hear as the Luna Wolf squeezed the trigger on his weapon. Bolter shells flew from the barrel of the weapon, rapidly scything into the pair of cowards. Mere milliseconds after entering their bodies, the shells exploded, tearing limbs apart and pulping the innards of both the leader and his sidekick. Turning from the destroyed remains of the Gang's leadership, Tartaros fired upon the remaining gangers. With all escape cut off, the Gangers found themselves falling one by one, their makeshift walls providing little defence against the assault from all sides employed by the Astartes.
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Galel sat upon a crate, cleaning core off of his sword and armour with a rag torn from one of the ganger's shirts. He looked down at the floor, where Okor was busy scratching out plans and ideas in the dirt. The battle had gone well, and they had proved that they weren't weak. Perhaps they had been reduced and weakened by Omni and the collars, but they had not lost their spirit or their prowess, the battle had proven that. The Sorcerer finished digging blood out from a crack in his helmet, glancing over to Tartaros. The Luna Wolf had elected to keep watch, in case any other gangs had heard the commotion. Thus far, it seemed that either none had, or they were content to stay put for now. Either one worked for the trio. Looking back to Okor, Galel spoke. "So, we abscond with this artefact, flee the scene on a Land Speeder, and then what?"
Re: The Elfbone Extraction [M] - Okor - 06-06-2015
Okor chuckled as he dragged the tip of his rusted blade through the dust on the warehouse floor, sketching out an unmistakable floor plan: The Museum of Coruscant. Inherently recognizable by the organic curves, abundance of windows, and no end of displays, it was diligently recreated from a tourist's booklet clutched in Okor's decaying fingers. He marked an X in the center of the construct, indicating their target. Blackhand's Crown.
It was reassuring to see such a simple object could still hold power in this realm of replication. If a Xenos could bring warfare to the Immortals' lair, then it was damn well certain three Legionnaires could burn this 'World Tree' to the ground. But of course, not quite yet. While they were strong, the trio could hardly hope to annihilate an army, especially given how the abomination Omni had debased their abilities. They would need an army of their own.
He turned to face his azure brother, rising from his squatting position to address him as an equal. "Things are not always so... easy, my Brother. The locals will respond to our assault, and I do not believe... this false Emperor's dogs would miss such a battle. The Nexus would be a death trap, as we can hardly hope to avoid any fools that attempt to... stall us, should we pass through there. No." He flipped through the tourist booklet he had snatched on his way through Tier Two. He held it out towards his siblings, displaying a scene awash with sand, water and palm trees.
"The Vasty Deeps. Minimal... Imperial presence, and an entire ocean to regroup in." He tapped a short sentence in the book with his necrotic finger. "Furthermore, they have seen fit to give us a vital... warning." He flipped the book back to his armoured face, running an extremity over the words. "Te... Technological advancements, such as... the w-wonderous hovercar, do not f-function in the Vasty Deeps." Disregarding the rest of the information contained within, he tossed it aside. "The land speeder will cease to function as we enter the deeps. As... such, we must acquire an alternate method of transportation when we arrive." He grinned beneath his helmet, his pervasive smell increasing in intensity as his rotten teeth were released from their cage of necrotic flesh.
"Tell me, brothers. Have you ever piloted a boat?"
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Agent Smith, as he was known, pulled his ratty hood over his dirty hair, draping his noble features in shadow. It was his third month investigating Backscratcher's crew, and within a week, he expected to be able to bring the gang crashing down. And then, perhaps he'd be able to see his sweet Lucinda again... His thoughts were interrupted by the noted silence of the warehouse the gangers had infested. Normally, it would be filled with the cries of raucous rejoicing, and the occasional brief scream. Instead, it was as quiet as death itself. instincts finely trained over years of training kicked in, and he silently sidled over to a broken, board window, and gazed inside.
The room was a charnel house. Ragged corpses dressed in the red and black cloth of the Backscratcher's gang were strewn around the warehouse, shot, burn, chopped, stabbed, dismembered, disemboweled, and far worse. Their faces were frozen into expressions of pain and terror, rigor mortis passing on the fear they had known even in death. Collapsed on the floor was the ragged corpse of Mendes, seemingly dispatched without a significant fight. Bullet casings and blood covered the floor in equal measure. But of most immediate concern were the three titanic figures dominating the center of the floor. The last monsters standing.
The first of them was clad in scavenged armour, dark grey and red steel, marred by scars, hid him from the world. Any thoughts of potential weakness was quickly banished by the brutal chainweapon hanging on his hip, and the similarly massive bolter clutched in his hands. His armour was splattered with vitae, evidence of his actions in the slaughter. Fearfully, smith turned his eyes on the next warrior.
The next seemed to have been dredged up from the sewers. His armour was filthy and rotten, pockmarked with bullet wounds. Scarred and gangrenous flesh covered his twisted bones, yet it seemed just as inviolable as his thick armour plating. A bolter and pistol alike swung from his waist, while he clutched a blood-stained rusted sword in his hand, scratching patterns in the dirt as the others looked on.
The final member of the trio was clad in shimmering azure and gold, his armour seemingly changing its appearance under his gaze. Scintillating crenelations rose from his three-eyed helm, anointing him as what seemed to be the leader of the three. Held in his grasp was a circuit-covered blade, which the warlock wiped off on his own robes, the blood vanishing into the fabric.
Flattening himself against the wall of the warehouse, Smith silently took a breath to steady himself. He had to get help. Backscratcher's gang was one of the major players in the lower tiers, and if these newcomers could annihilate his crew in such short order... He shuddered at the implications. He had to get help. But who was left to help? Dante's Abyss had claimed the attentions of almost every freelance prime. He couldn't involve direct Imperial support without blowing his cover. While Backscratcher was dead, 'Three-Legged Johnson' was still a ganger in high demand. He needed someone new, someone the Empire could deny any affiliation with. He was about to make a break for the upper tiers when an object impacted the concrete near his hiding place. Risking a glimpse, he saw a pamphlet, the pages opened to a map of the Coruscant museum, slime and filth covering the central display. Shit. Scrambling away, he scurried into the darkness of the lower tiers. He needed to get some help. Now.
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The doors shrieked as Okor pushed them apart, rotten muscles, aided by servo-motors, making short work of whatever resistance they could muster. He lifted his sword, pointing it into the darkness. "Let's teach them what they have... Forgotten, brothers. Let us show them pain. Fear. Weakness. Struggle. Glory. Meaning." He chuckled, trudging onwards. "Let us teach them life."
Re: The Elfbone Extraction [M] - King Axorn - 06-09-2015
As Axorn slipped out of the portal he was temporarily blinded by the amount of sunlight reflected off the glass and metal skyscrapers all over the top floor of Coruscant. Once his eyes got adjusted, he marveled at the spectacle that had appeared before his eyes. Everywhere you looked you could see flying vehicles, huge skyscrapers, huge spaceships, and all kinds of advanced, futuristic technology way ahead of anything Axorn had ever seen. But, there were white-armored guards everywhere. Patrolling every bit of airspace, every alleyway, every street, and they were accompanied by thousands of security cameras positioned in the most discreet ways possible. The security was overwhelming, and Axorn felt like these people were seemed to be very restricted to what they could do.
I wonder how anyone can allow them selves to live like this. he thought. I only just got here and I feel that my privacy is choked. The people here need more say in what their government does, because this looks like an anarchy. Although, this technology could do wonders if I got hold of some of it and had the time and equipment to tinker with it.
Axorn picked up his hoverboard under his arm and started wandering a little through the guard-infested city, all the while making sure to stay in sight of the portal so that he could regroup with his friends when they came out.
"Psst." someone whispered suddenly from a dark alleyway that seemed mostly camera-free to Axorn's left. "Over here"
Axorn slowly walked towards the voice, being cautious as this very well may be a trap.
"Not too close," the voice said. "That's far enough, I don't want to blow my cover."
At this, Axorn stopped moving and placed his back against the wall.
"Alright, I need your help." the voice said.
"What for?" Axorn replied.
"There's going to be a heist at the museum on Tier 1. They're going to try to steal a dangerous artefact."
"Tier 1?"
"The top floor of Coruscant, you're standing on it, there are multiple floors and each has a tier. Tier 1 is the top floor, Tier 7 is the bottom floor."
"Alright, thanks. Is there anything you can tell me about the thieves?"
"There's three of them. Heavily armed, covered head to toe in battle-worn armor, you'll know 'em when you see 'em."
"Is there anything else you can do to help me other than intel?"
"I can try and keep the Stormtroopers off your back, but no promises."
"Alright, thanks. I'll re-group with my buddies and bring them up to speed. Let's hope we can keep a dangerous artefact out of the wrong hands."
Axorn stepped away from the wall as he heard the footsteps of the voice moving away from him at a steady pace, fading off into the distance. Axorn moved back to the portal, waiting for his friends to come through.
Finally, some action. he thought. Time to put my skills to use.
Re: The Elfbone Extraction [M] - Erik Vrell - 06-09-2015
Erik passed through the gate next and looked around. There was futuristic technology everywhere he looked. He gazed around in amazement. He was overjoyed to see something like this, going as far as a tear coming to his eye. He quickly wiped it away with the sleeve of his cloaked and turned to see Axorn. He explained the situation to Erik and the psychic took a minute to mull it over. He hadn't taken up guard duty since he was a lower ranked member of his sect and was more powerful back then than he is now. He also didn't feel ready to fight against three, highly armoured and heavily armed criminals and wished he knew more about them. They had probably been in the omniverse longer than him or his companions so they were probably much more powerful. He was unsure of what could happen but decided that he would go along with it. "I wonder what power is contained within this artefact. It must be great for these three to want to steal it." Erik said to no one in particular. Erik looked around for a building that could be the museum, but there were no nearby buildings he thought resembled a museum, not that he had seen a modern museum before. Erik's grey horse tossed its head impatiently wanting to get moving again. "Just be patient," he whispered to it,"we have to wait for Triest before we leave." Erik suddenly remembered Triest and hoped that his friend would be happy with the guard job.
As they waited Erik thought about a plan of attack, should the situation demand it. The fight would be three vs three, but as Axorn, Triest and Erik were most likely weaker than the three they were meant to fight so they may need to have a more solid battle plan. Since Erik was the only of the trio without a ranged attack, he would have to participate in close combat with at least one of the thieves. His only saving grace is that despite their thick armour, his psi-blades could pierce through it. At this point Erik considered developing a ranged attack but didn't feel powerful enough to do so, like he could muster the energy to use one. 'I may as well accept this for what it is.' He thought, 'after all, Omni told me not to fear death so how bad could this go?.' He opted to talk tactics later when Triest passed through the portal.
Erik couldn't help but wonder about the informant who had talked to Axorn. If he could get the storm troopers if the trio's backs, then he obviously had influence within the empire but apparently had to stay hidden, which is why he didn't just send a small army after the renegades. He didn't give it much more thought, as it was the least of his concerns right now, although he would have felt safer with a regiment if soldiers at his back. He also wanted to know the interior design of the museum. He knew that it paid to know how to get in and how to get out, both when attacking and defending. Not that the three of them could cover every entrance anyway. Erik sighed and began to mentally prepare himself for the guard work. 'It shall go how it goes I suppose'. He thought. Even if the three newcomers were grossly outmatched, they would return to life anyway, although it left Erik wondering if there was some sort of penalty attached to dying. 'Let's hope we don't find out.' Erik thought.
Re: The Elfbone Extraction [M] - Triest - 06-09-2015
Omni Wrote:After arriving from the Nexus gate on Tier One, you can take a sky-taxi through...
Quote:OOC: Oops. I'll just assume we just thought that going down to the lower tiers was a good idea... for some... reason... It might explain why Triest is late according to Erik's post though. I'll just roll with it, since it'd probably be an even bigger pain to retcon everything.
Triest would arrive out of the portal, and immdiately be outstanded with the beauty of the architecture of this area. Comapared to the previous area, which was virtually a blank slate, this was a large leap in setting. There was tech that he could only hear about in stories, right before the collapse. There were flying vehicles, armed men, cameras... wait...
His awe quickly became into weariness. Triest spent a lot of time looking out for threats, even such as cameras. Exile taught him that. Sure, he knew security was a thing that should always be considered, but from past experiences snooping around them, he knew that these people were very serious about what they wanted to keep protected. He also knew from past experiences he didn't tend to like these places. He was never sure why, but for whatever reason the more surveillence an area had, the more untrusting they were of its inhabitants. Of course, this was an entirely different world, but still... it had to make him wonder.
Quickly reuniting with his friends, Triest caught a few details of what the plan was, him being one never wanting to be out of the loop.
Well that was interesting, a group was about to steal something particuarly important very soon. Surely these had to be dangerous individuals if there was concern that the already paranoid government wouldn't be able to deal with this on their own. Or maybe there were a few details they were missing from the whole equation. Triest didn't like this, and practical sense would have told him "to hell with this!", but since when did he always listen to reason? Come on... adventure! Crime busters! Who didn't like the sound of that?
"I'm game," Triest said, "Any plans? If we have time, we might be able to scout the area first. Maybe I could cook up a cloaking device."
Triest had a few ideas of a plan, but he needed some time if they were going to work. He remembered he left a few nifty gadgets back at home. Most of them were, quite frankly, broken, or simply ran out of power, but for the few charges they had, they were one of the most useful items he could ever have. One of which, was a cloaking device. What was more annoying then dealing with an invisible trespasser, was an invisible assailant. Of course, it wasn't fool-proof, but hey, if these guys seemed as big and bad as they were made out to be, then Triest needed to pull every trick in the book. Fighting fair wasn't really an option when lives were on the line. Triest still wasn't sure about the rebirth after death, and quite frankly, he didn't want to find out.
Re: The Elfbone Extraction [M] - King Axorn - 06-11-2015
"Hey, glad to see you guys made it through OK." Axorn said. "Alright, first things first, we need to map out the layout of the museum so that we can formulate a plan. In the meantime, we could try and find these guys so that we know what we're up against. Triest, if you could whip up a cloaking device and then do some reconnaissance work for us, that would be great. I'll head to the museum and take a look around so I can get an idea of what we can set up. Erik, you see if you can get some more reinforcements to help us out, those telepathic powers of yours will help to find possible candidates. We re-group back here when the sun starts to set. Got it? Good. Then let's stop these guys!"
Axorn hopped on his hoverboard and took off, looking for some kind of sign to point him to the museum.
This is going to be tough, especially since I'm missing some of my powers. he thought. I guess we'll just have to hope for the best.
Axorn came up on what seemed to be some kind of air-taxi hub.
If anyone will know where the museum is, it'll be them. he thought.
Re: The Elfbone Extraction [M] - Erik Vrell - 06-11-2015
Erik was unsure of where he should look for reinforcements. After looking at a map of the seven tiers, he decided to go to the seventh one, since the people living there had to be the toughest to survive. He took an elevator down to the final tier and when he stepped out, he was overcome by a wave of nausea. The seventh tier smelt like vomit and death. Erik immediately wanted to turn back but he had a job to do. He opened his mind to those around him and took a walk around. Twice, someone attempted to mug him but they were lowly drug addicts and only had a knife so they didn't stick around when Erik drew his sword.
After ten or so minutes of wandering, Erik found a potential recruit. Cody was an inhabitant of the seventh tier who was addicted to an experimental psychosis inducing drug. Unfortunately for him, it was successful. Erik couldn't help but wonder why someone would create such a substance in the first place but didn't ponder on it for long. Erik approached the drug addict, who was huddled in a corner in an alleyway. If Erik hadn't picked him up with his mind, he probably wouldn't even had noticed him. "Hello" Erik said, not sure what else to say. The addict looked up at him. "What do you want." He rasped. Erik cringed at the man's voice, the drug had apparently damage his throat as well as his mind. "I need help defending the coruscant museum and thought you would make a good candidate. The reason Erik picked him at all was because of his disorder. The psychosis would, hopefully, make him more violent and he wouldn't be as mentally scarred as a lot of people would be. Cody laughed at Erik, at least Erik thought it was a laugh. It sounded more like a rasping wheeze. "And why should I help you, eh? I'm perfectly happy here!" Erik didn't think he looked very happy curled up in an alleyway but said nothing. "I need a little... incentive." The addict said, a look of glee in his eyes. "What do you want?" Erik asked the man, eyeing him suspiciously. Again, Cody laughed. "Why, more drugs of course!" The addict cried. Erik wasn't sure where to et the drug, so he just decided to create more. After a es minutes of concentration, he had finished making it. He felt... dirty after making something like this. He hesitated before giving the drug to Cody. "And you won't desert me if things get too tough?" Erik said. The addict simply ran his shook his head. "Okay then..." Erik said, still not completely convinced. Erik turned around and the drug addict followed him.
A little later, two or three minutes, Erik found another potential ally. A tech implant addict who was more machine than human. Erik was horrified when he saw him. The entire left half of his body was covered in machinery, and most of the right side was as well. Erik approached him more cautiously than he had approached Cody. The cyborg didnt remember his own name, but Erik could find it in the corners of his mind. His name was Drake and he was constantly suffering, but he wanted more implants for reasons Erik could not fathom. Erik quickly introduced himself and told he cyborg about the job. "Will it be dangerous?" The implant addict asked. This didnt seem unusual to Erik, ofcourse someone would be worried about their own safety when taking a job like this. Erik decided to answer him honestly, there was no point in lying because I'd he did, the cyborg would desert him at the first sign of trouble. "Yes," Erik said "three string and potentially violent criminals." The cyborg seemed...happy about this. "Then I'm in." The implant addict said. Erik was surprised by this. "You don't care if it's going to be dangerous?" Erik asked, partially in shock. The cyborg nodded. "Look at me." He said motioning to himself. "I WANT to die." He said, a note of distress in his voice. Erik just accepted this and moved on. When he asked Drake what he wanted to be paid in, the cyborg simply shook his head. "I don't want to be paid, I just want to die." Erik was concerned about the mans motives. If he just got himself killed immediately, he would be of no use to Erik and his friends. Erik sighed and motioned for Drake to follow him.
He wandered around the seventh tier for another thirty minutes and didn't find many more criminals who would be willing to help, and the ones that would have been were part of a gang and couldn't leave. Once the sun started to set, or at least Erik thought it had, Erik and the two addicts located an elevator and rode to the first floor, where he waited for his companions. 'I hope these two die right away.' Thought Erin grimly as he looked from one addict to the other.
Re: The Elfbone Extraction [M] - Triest - 06-11-2015
Quote:I'm fairly certain that NPCs without an OM cost can't help with a fight. So the two Erik found will either be useless or immediately be killed. Or arrested. That could happen. Speaking of OM, I did in fact purchase Stealth.
"Sounds good. Uh... quick question though, do we just meet up at the museum then?" Triest asked, right before everyone scattered off.
...
Well his companions split off into several directions. He knew that Axorn was heading off to the museum to case the site, and Erik was... somewhere... Time to make that cloaking device Triest supposed. It wouldn't be useful for the reconnaissance, purely for the reason that with this much of a security presence, chances were that they had some sort of scanner designed to pickup invisible targets. The museum, he guessed anyways, never having being in one himself, was also open to the public, and really didn't require stealth anyways. Another problem is that they knew barely anything of who or where these supposed thieves were. Last Triest checked, it was darn near impossible to look for something you weren't even aware of.
Regardless of the seemingly uselessness of a cloaking device at the moment, it would be useful later if they were to actually encounter these guys, or if Triest wanted to stay overnight.
He hopped into the seat of his buggy, and began concentrating. He had only used a few in his lifetime, and had absolutely no clue on how it worked, but where there was a will, there was a way, and that way took fifteen minutes. Triest had to give himself credit however, he did just materialize something that turned him invisible while having no clue how it did it. "Because science" was the answer. He pinned the small badge-like device into his fur, giving it a glance before shrugging.
Triest, after getting some directions, drove to the museum, before experiencing the joys of what it meant to pay for parking.
"Well, at least they just don't steal it right from under you."
Triest was half-tempted to simply just deconstruct the entire vehicle, but that would take more time that he had already wasted, and who knew if he was going to need to chase someone. Triest was fast, but a buggy was faster.
Then he had to experience the joys of paying for entry into a museum. It better be a good museum to pay money for. Not that Triest would know, having never been in one. Now to find what the thieves were af- wait... shit! What were they after!? Some sort of artifact? That could be anything! Where was Axorn!? He was supposed to be here right? What were they trying to protect again?
Triest went off exploring for his companion to ask him just that. Just what in the blazes were they guarding. Actually, better be discrete about this guarding business. Who knew if the thieves were also poking around the same time they were. Not that either of them would do anything in broad daylight, not with this kind of security. Triest half expected to have wall-panels open up and gun everyone down.
Re: The Elfbone Extraction [M] - King Axorn - 06-12-2015
Quote:The NPCs are for RP fodder, make the RP more interesting, not for fighting.
Axorn zipped up to the air-taxi hub on his hoverboard but just as he was about to ask someone where the museum was, he saw a stand with maps of the city. Axorn walked over to the stand and pulled out a map, confused as to why he didn't just think of this earlier. Axorn opened up the map and found where he was. He then looked for the museum and found it, just two blocks west of the portal, the exact opposite direction to which he had gone.
Well that's just great... he thought. I came all the way over here just to find out that it was right in front of my nose the entire time. Well, guess I better hurry so I can start getting my job done.
Axorn flipped his hoverboard around and took off, heading back towards the museum.
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Axorn arrived at the museum, taking in the gorgeous, curved architecture. Axorn took a few minutes and de-constructed his hoverboard so that he could skip past the parking lot, replenishing his Omnilium supply. He then walked into the museum and payed for admission before walking into the first room, barely missing Triest as he ran deeper into the museum to search for Axorn, picking up an exhibit map along the way. Axorn opened up the map and looked at the different exhibits and their synopses, looking for any hints as to where this artifact would be. Then he found it, top floor, special exhibit, Blackhand's Crown.
That must be it! he thought excitedly. Alrighty, time to go check it out!
Axorn quickly located a stairwell and began to ascend to many flights of stairs to the top floor of the museum.
Re: The Elfbone Extraction [M] - Tartaros - 06-12-2015
Tartaros followed the rest of the group through the gate, occasionally stopping to shift scrap and the occasional body into one of the many pits scattered around the outside of Backscratcher's burnt factory-turned-fortress. Even the lowest of these little bastards deserved some kind of burial...
During their slow journey through the wastes, it seemed oddly silent. The whole area seemed, well, abandoned. Until the marines came across what seemed like a camp perched on a hill of scrap, a bonfire raging at the top like some sort of damned lighthouse. In the air there was an mistakable smell of alcohol, though it seemed to be the only sign of a landmark in the metallic hellscape. The group had no choice but to move forward into it...
Okor made his way to the camp first, and peered around the tent, there were dozens up dozens of scrappy, malnourished men, lying and sitting on ruins and makeshift benches, passing around jugs of a pure white liquid, gulping it down and laughing like maniacs.
"Utterly foolish in their ways...", the plague marine thought to himself, "Easy pickings..."
As the marine turned to head back towards the rest of the group, a crunching was heard, one of the gang of drunks had stumbled out of the tent! The man turned his head to Okor, his face contorted into some odd mixture of a drunken stupor and pure shock.
"OI! BOSS! IT'Z ONE O' DEM "BLACK LEEJUN" ONES! GET IT!"
As Okor smacked away the man, the rest of the gang rose from their temporary shelters and charged at the plague marine, swinging makeshift clubs and shivs, with the largest, a large, hulking being clad in rusted plate screamed at the top of his lungs.
"GET THE BUGGER! BEFORE HE BRINGS HIS MATES!"
Needless to say, the plague marine wasn't there for much longer. Instead limping away past down from the camp as fast as he could.
Tartaros and Galel, noticing the raging mob, clambered down the scrap heap after Okor, desperately firing into the horde as the Luna Wolf shouted, "It's no use! Leg it!"
As Okor slowly scrambled away, being pelted with rocks and spears, he came across a small hovel in the landscape, riddled with barbed wire and barely large enough to fit the marine's bulky form. As he trundled into the hole and away from the mob, he pointed towards the rest of the group, signalling for them to find cover.
Tartaros and Galel scrambled down the hill, desperately searching for a hiding place. Finally finding an abandoned metal shack, they dived through the door, hiding as the raging mob continued sprinting down the hill.
After a few minutes, there was silence... the mob had finally passed. Okor stumbled towards the shack, pulling a half-lodged spear out of his shoulder blade. He grumbled under his breath, "The area is clear, let's leave while we can..., before limping along further down the hill.
Galel and Tartaros limped out of the shack, the sorcerer wiping flakes of dirt from his armour, both following the plague marine through the tangled landscape.
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After hours of wandering throughout the metallic, blazing landscape, the group finally come across a large steel gate, guarded by several stormtroopers stationed all around some sort of makeshift tower, gripping their rifles tightly, their eyes darting across the darkness for any sign of activity. Fortunately enough however, astartes can be rather easy to spot. Hearing the light clanking of metal against stone, the group turned their blasters towards the noise... surely there was another one of those damned droids on the loose... as the soldiers prepared to fire, a group came forward. Three large and bloodied... erm... men? Well, it was better than another droid... The beings trundled forward, all carrying some form of blade or another, slowly strolling through the wreckage of the filth-pit that is tier 7.
"They're part of that group...", the squad leader throught to himself, [i]"those monsters... t-the Black Legion..."[i]
As the group approached, one of the troopers placed out a hand, while the rest of his squad raised their blasters he uttered but a single word.
"Halt."
The marines halted, hardly noticed the words spoken, of course to most of those in tier 7, the language of violence is universal... suppose the language of its threatening such a thing is too. Finally, the pale giant looked ahead, towards the stormtrooper.
"Greetings! We come fo-"
"I-It's those... things! FIRE!"
Before Okor could finish his sentence, a hail of blaster fire was brought down upon the group, tearing through chunks of armour before they could so much as even attempt to turn away. A gruff voice could be heard screaming at the top of its lungs from behind the group...
"RUN FOO! RUN FOR IT!"
As the marines ran, spraying bolt and plasma fire and being pelted down with blaster rounds, a small, brown, being crawled out from under Tartaro's armour cooler... Mr. T. Sockpuppet! The marines turn their heads with in shock as the marines make their way into a nearby rusted elevator shaft.
I pity the foo' who think Mr. T can be take out that ea-, Mr T was cut off by a blow to the head by a low-hanging pipe, ARGH! WHAT WAS THAT?!
Galel chuckled to himself, petting the sock puppet, "Ah... what a little one... so, adorable... In any case, it seem this shaft could make do for getting closer to that museum, hrm?"
Okor wiped a small drip of some sort of clear fluid away from the burnt holes in his armour, grunting in frustration, "It seems that those soldiers are hardly the most friendly of people... no matter now. We have have ourselves and exit.", the rotting giant points towards a closed of hunk of rubble, leading upwards towards a bright light.
Tartaros shook his head, "Well, nice to see you again, Turea-"
"That's MISTER T to you, foo'!"
"Right right, nice to see you, Mr. T... Now... this little tunnel here should lead us up out of this place. Out to our "meeting place", I hope."
"So, you lot planning something or other?"
Okor ran his desiccated hand down his visor. This "Mister T" was a fool, however, Tartaros seemed to trust it enough... Yes, yes. Now, let us go."
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Eventually, the group managed to crawl their way through the few kilometers of rubble in the tunnel, coming into the bottom a decrepit elevator shaft. The source of the light seemed to be the large incandescent bulbs fluttering through the place... As for the elevator itself, it seemed to have collapsed long ago, leaving nothing but a half-crumbled box and moss.
"Damn... so, how you lot gonna get up outta here?..."
"It's simple, we climb."
Galel drew his plasma pistol, firing it towards the ancient remains of the concrete box, blowing it apart before clambering through the cramped internals, and making his way to a rusted ladder.
The sorcerer chuckled to himself, "So simple... this is too easy sometimes. In any case, you should probably follow me..."
With that, the group began their slow ascent towards their mark...
Re: The Elfbone Extraction [M] - Erik Vrell - 06-13-2015
Quote:OOC: The NPCS I found are just for rp fodder, they will be net to useless in the fight.
Erik met up with his friends and introduced the pair that would be helping them out. After that, his first priority was to secure the artefact itself. The best way to do this in Erik's mind was with traps, and a lot of them. He entered the room with the crown and inspected it. It didn't seem to hold great power, but Erik already knew better than to underestimate something in the omniverse. He quickly set to work with his omnillium orb. He first materialised several bear traps and laid them in places that you would step in, but not look at beforehand, like around a corner. He then placed a tripwire at the entrance, which triggered an alarm so that if the criminals managed to evade the guards (if you could call them that) this would alert Erik to their presence. Erik wanted to place a hidden pit around the crown, but he could hardly dig a hole in the middle of the museum. In fact, Erik wasn't positive if he should have been placing these traps here in the first place. He simply decided to tell patrons that the exhibit was off-limits for renovations, which seemed like a good idea to him. Erik was overall disappointed with his traps, but they would get the job done. When he had finished laying the traps, he went and warned his friends about them, as he didn't want them getting caught in the traps. He then sat and waited, unsure of what to do before the thieves reached the museum.
Re: The Elfbone Extraction [M] - Triest - 06-13-2015
Triest was still wandering aimlessly, having absolutely no clue of what they were supposed to be guarding. He stopped by each floor, gave it a gander, and then walked off again, unsure whether or not he missed this supposed artifact. It probably would have been a good idea to hand out radios to everyone beforehand, or at least, some kind of communicator, but too late now. Perhaps later?
On a few occasions, Triest actually was simply flat-out distracted by some of the exhibits. He had never been in a museum, so he got a little carried away in simply admiring everything, before reminding himself he had a job to do. Not that they were being paid, at least, he didn't know if they were, but adventure for adventure's sake! Ooo, what was this?
One floor showcased some history. Old war-tech, the rise of the empire, all that good history that told everything from the viewpoint of the victor, and not what actually happened. Not that Triest would know. A second floor was just propaganda really. Hm... where was, or even what was this artifact? He had to at least bump into Axorn or Erik at one point or another...
He eventually reached the top floor, "Something better be here."
Not too long afterwards he had arrived, Erik soon revealed himself, and then informed Triest about traps around some kind of crown. Triest went over to have a look for himself.
Blackhand's Crown, or so the sign stated. It very much looked like royalty, or at least, what some stuck-up snob would wear to raise their own self-importance around the lesser plebeians. Whether or not it held any real power was unknown, but it sure would sell for a pretty penny.
The traps were out of sight, at least if one looked in from the entrance. It wasn't as if anyone was going to get in with Erik claiming that everything was under renovations, unless they happened to be stormtroopers, but hey, that one stranger said he'd keep security off of them right? Here's hoping he followed up on his word, or they'd be in hot water in a few moments. Speaking of which, Triest had to leave his shotgun hidden away in the buggy. Security didn't take firearms too lightly. He'd have to smuggle that in later when night fell. Not like the gun was much of a stealth weapon, but if things got hairy, he might need to fire a few shells.
There was another issue of staying overnight. It didn't take a genius to figure that the thieves would attack during closing hours. Less people, less witnesses, and predictable guard patrols, not to mention the cover of darkness. Triest had that part solved, a cloaking device and hopefully a corner that didn't happen to have any scanners. Their informant should also have some kind of trick for letting them stay as well... hopefully...
Triest turned to Erik, as well as Axorn if he had arrived by the time, otherwise just Erik. "Do you have anywhere to hide for the night? They close up after a bit, but we still need eyes on the exhibit," Triest said in a hushed whisper, before pausing, "I also need to sneak in my shotgun, just in case. We hopefully won't need it."
Re: The Elfbone Extraction [M] - King Axorn - 06-13-2015
"I think we should do a stakeout." Axorn said. "We should camp out outside the museum, follow them in without getting seen, and then get them from behind while they're held up with the traps. The only advantages we have is numbers, and the element of surprise, so let's use them to our advantage. If they do get a hold of the artefact, we need to get it away from them as fast as possible so that they can't abuse it's power. I'm just kinda hoping my fire comes back soon so that I have some more weapons in my arsenal. But for now, all I have is my sword. Triest, you do what you do best. Erik you try and distract them by implanting images into their minds if you can. The two of you..." Axorn gestured to the cyborg and the drug addict. "Go ahead and beat the crap out of them. I'll try and take on whoever suits me best."
Axorn led the group out of the museum and had the group position themselves at different locations around the museum and had them make a hand signal if they saw anything, or saw the hand signal of another sentry.
Re: The Elfbone Extraction [M] - Okor - 06-14-2015
Okor murmured curses beneath his laboured breath as he looked down upon the Museum from the spire. The climb up had been long and arduous, necessitating caution and careful pacing. Blasts of steam and sharpened fans had impeded their movement, but in the end, they failed to resist the will of the Astartes. Of course, it had been rather simple compared to the trek through the lower tiers. The damnable being Omni had seen fit to infuse even the lowest dredge with some fraction of his power, making lightning strikes impossible. Discretion was key, if they were to succeed. But still, every step back was painful. They were the finest warriors humanity had ever created, and to walk away from a fight? Anathema. His soul writhed and twisted in shame. First, they had been felled in gladiatorial combat. Now, we had been forced to flee from lesser beings. He would avenge this dishonour at the earliest opportunity, as thoroughly and as completely as possible.
The mention of the Black Legionnaires was interesting, to say the least. The fact that they had made their way to this... 'Omniverse', meant that they were cut off from Abbadon, and removed from the dark deals that consumed their Legion. They would be a useful ally, that was for sure. While they had certainly... devolved, in recent millenia, they still remained a potent fighting force. But, the sheer concept that hive scum would dare to attack Astartes, let alone succeed in driving them off? Okor's single eye glared at the white armour of Tartaros, scowling beneath his helmet. The Luna Wolf was weak. He could see it now. His denial of the truth, his early demise in the death games... Yes. His infected eye pierced the miasma cloaking the marine. At his core, the Luna Wolf was hollow. But for now, even a scarecrow would suffice. Tartaros would be culled later. He returned his attention to the museum, lifting an antique telescope to his raw, red eye as Galel and the weakling channeled the essence of Omni into a Landspeeder.
It was so close. The crown of bone was visible through the skylight above. While such an architectural decision did make a splendid environmental display in the day, now, it only served as a point of ingress. The Crown of Blackhand was almost beautiful in its purpose. A bent elvish spine formed the base, bound in preserved gut and sinew. Its ribs rose up, shortened for practicality. It was a device of hate and malice, the centerpiece of decades, if not centuries of silent loathing. It was magnificent. There was no ornamentation, no glorious inscriptions. The material was purpose enough: I have fought back. I have won. Okor's black teeth grinned beneath his helmet. Soon, he would too. A call from the Sorcerer interrupted his lust for the relic. "Brother! Our transportation is prepared. While you are renowned for your patience, I foresee speed being of the essence." Okor chuckled as he rose, moving away from the precipice. An azure and golden landspeeder was parked in front of him, although, curiously, an Aquila had appeared on the chassis by the passenger seat. Okor was sure to shatter it with a kick before clambering into place. He reclined in the seat, as Tartaros tensed his grip on the wheel. Galel took a position of command in the rear, a customized seat serving to cradle them in comfort and protection, while the others' seats were decidedly spartan. "And so, we strike the first blow. And so, we.... fell the first foe." He chuckled, eager to shed blood. "And so, we reclaim our…. birthright as conquerors."
The Landspeeder descended from its perch, the miracle of human engineering transporting three exemplars of its arrogance towards the archive of artifacts. It silently glided towards the roof, its shadow falling over the skylights and windows that displayed the ample beauty held within. He took a moment to look over his rusted bolter, verdigris coating the metal beneath. Encased within were Irradiated bolter shells. Curious, how mankind had sought to warp natural phenomena into weapons of destruction. Rocket-propelled, explosive rounds were deadly enough, not requiring the addition of a slow, painful, radioactive demise. However, the great crusade had called for more. It had called for death itself, and so they forged it. The warring tribes of Terra, conquered by the hated God-Emperor, warped and twisted into living war machines. He remembered when they came to Barbarous. How they had stolen all they had earned with their blood, how they had turned them into nothing more than another vassal of the Imperium. He still remembered the implantation. Those weeks enduring the attentions of the apothecaries, the organs and augmentations inserted into his flesh. He lost his humanity. But he gained so much more. Immortality. Power. Purpose. He had thought those things lost when he was stolen from his reality, but it offered those very same things. He would not die. He would not falter. He would not want for glory. He chuckled as the speeder stopped over the glass portal. “Tartatos. Bring the speeder around to ground level. Initiate a flanking… action once you settle it. Primary objective is the… recovery of the Crown. Acquire, and extract. Do not… fail us.” With that, Okor and Galel threw themselves over the side of the Landspeeder, their massive weight shattering the crystalline substance, creating a fine mist of shimmering dust as they crashed to the floor, alarms ringing through the complex. Stumbling to his feet, Okor whipped around, bringing the stock of his bolter down upon the glass casing, exposing the crown. He grabbed it in his diseased fist, chuckling. Far too easy.
“Okor. Something is not right.” Galel spoke, urging him to caution. “Hah! These… False Imperials are simply incapable of -” Galel stopped him. “The defenses are too light, even for a people as soft as this. I can sense… something. Weak, of course, but still present.” “Then there is nothing to worry about. Come, let us meet with Tartaros before he manages to crash the-” Okor was interrupted by a sudden snap, and pressure mounting on his leg. Looking down, he saw a metallic contraption trapping his leg. “Dammit.” Cursing, Okor trudged forward, tearing the chain from its mooring, leveling his bolter. “Prepare for contact.”
Re: The Elfbone Extraction [M] - King Axorn - 06-14-2015
Axorn heard the crash of the ceiling and the alarm in the building behind him and quickly turned around to see the glass of the roof broken and shattered, sprinkling all over the place.
Please come back, please come back, please come back! he thought anxiously.
All of a sudden, there was a flare of heat is Axorn's chest, before dying down, although he was now radiating heat.
YES! he thought excitedly with a grin on his face and his fists pumped in the air. MY FIRE CAME BACK! Just then, an extreme calm washed over him and he showed tension in his face while his grin turned into a smirk and he lowered his arms and drew his sword. Time to roast some robbers.
Re: The Elfbone Extraction [M] - Erik Vrell - 06-14-2015
Erik heard the crash and turned towards the exhibit that housed the crown. Erik couldn't help by grin, he was relieved that his traps still worked in the omniverse. He drew his sword, Mageslayer, and gazed fondly at the blade. "It's time you tasted blood again, Mageslayer." Erik said and started running towards the exhibit, a slight glint in his eye.
Re: The Elfbone Extraction [M] - Triest - 06-14-2015
"A stakeout huh? Sounds interesting."
A stakeout seemed like a good idea. At least for the moment it did. Triest did have to wonder how they would manage surveying the entire perimeter with just the five of them, including the two crackheads. He gave the two hirelings that Erik had brought a dubious look. They certainly seemed like they've seen some kind of combat, but they didn't exactly seem to be the most trustworthy of people. As long as they didn't steal the artifact, all was well and good.
Hm... a second problem. If any of them did see anything, how would they alert the others without giving their position away? Hopefully if anyone spotted anything, they would be resourceful enough to somehow gain the others attention. Triest did not like the idea of going up against these guys alone. Sure, he was in situations where he was outnumbered before, but in those scenarios, it was more about not being seen and getting away rather than taking every single target out.
Axorn gave Triest the advice of doing what he did best. Triest wasn't sure what he meant by that, since they hadn't known each other for very long, unless that Erik was telling Axorn all about Triest with his psionics. He didn't like that thought at all. Maybe if he thought hard enough, Erik would get the idea to not sift through his brain. Either way, Triest took his advice.
Cloak activated, shotgun grabbed, and now time to-
Did glass just shatter?
"That can't be good." Oh! They forgot about the glass ceiling! What a stupid mistake! Ah... oh well. Time to start running like hell broke loose towards the exhibit. Hopefully before they managed to get away with it. Oh who was Triest kidding? The others would start running from bottom up, but Triest could simply climb to the intrusion and jump down. Actually, that might be a bad idea, being alone like that. Besides, glass made noise when one stepped on it. That would spell disaster.
He followed the rest of the gang in their charge towards the artifact, giving a short "I'm with you guys," to indicate that he was with them, even if he didn't seem to be because of the cloaking device.
Run! Run! Run! Triest hope he wouldn't die to regret this decision.
Re: The Elfbone Extraction [M] - King Axorn - 06-14-2015
Quote:Alright, we have now initiated a fight and you can find the details in the Omniverse Discussion Forum, we are waiting for a mod approval before we start.
Re: Axorn, Triest, and Erik VS. Okor, Galel, and Tartaros - King Axorn - 06-17-2015
Axorn dashed forward towards the museum, noticing that the others had already done so. Halfway to the museum, he jumped into the air and flew on a upward slant, heading for the airspace above the museum. He then surveyed the seen below him. Two of the thieves had broken in through the glass and one of them was caught in a bear trap, cursing as he tried to remove it. One of them had rotten, battle-worn armor seemingly fused to his body with part of the mans skeleton showing. The other had Axorn pulled out his sword, Dragonsbane, from it's sheath and aimed towards a small gap in the rotten one's armor while the two were distracted with the bear trap. He pulled the trigger and fired, but, not having fought in a while, the recoil overwhelmed him and pushed him back in the air, causing the crystal bullet to miss and hit an armor plate causing and bounce off, creating a small dent where the sharp tip hit. The crystal fell harmlessly to the ground next to Okor's foot and bounced a few times creating a clinking sound before it came to a stop.
"Crap." Axorn said as Okor looked up and saw him flying in the air.
"What!?" Okor said. "Is this it? One measly little .... creature? This should be .... fun."
Okor aimed his bolter towards Axorn and fired.
Axorn quickly zipped to the right, dodging the radioactive bolt that spiked through the air, propelled by the launching force of the gun.
All of a sudden a bolt of white-hot plasma zipped into Axorn's shoulder, causing him to be pushed back a little bit. The heat from the plasma did absolutely nothing while the impact still caused a small bit of damage. Axorn quickly turned to Galel, seeing as he was in the direction where the shot came from to see him holding a plasma pistol.
Well, now I know this one's an idiot. Axorn thought. I mean seriously, using fire on a draconian? Come on! If this is all he has for ranged weapons I should be fine... I still need to pay attention to the other one though.
"Two against one? Come on, don't you guys know how to fight fair?" Axorn said, smirking as he dove and avoided another irradiated bolt zipping past him.
"Seeing as you're by yourself it would be highly unlikely for you to win this battle." said Galel, firing another shot directly at Axorn as he dodged a bolt and hitting him, once again the impact knocking him back a little bit but the heat doing seemingly nothing. You may as well give up.
"Give up!? I don't know the expression!"
Axorn fired another crystal, this time hitting home, wedging itself in between plates in Okor's armor.
Axorn then sat there, up in the air, concentrating, despite wincing and cringing from being hit with an irradiated bolt and being knocked back by a plasma shot, as he had been trained to do, when suddenly, the crystal stuck in Okor's armor glowed and set off a small explosion of fire, scorching his armor and the rotten skin underneath. Okor showed no sign of being hurt, seeing as he felt no pain.
Alright, Axorn thought, swerving out of the way of more bullets from both sides as he darted towards the roof of the museum. Time to up the ante a little bit.
Axorn landed on the top floor of the museum but ended up taking another hit from Okor as punishment, causing him to writhe in pain for a few seconds while taking steps towards the two. Smoke started curling out of his nostrils as he held his sword ready in a battle stance in front of him before letting loose a burst of volcanic-strength fire straight towards Okor.
Re: The Elfbone Extraction [M] - Okor - 06-17-2015
The Xenos' flame washed over Okor's form, causing his guests to writhe inside of his skin as they sought shelter from the consuming fire. The ossified crown hung from his waist, bound to his necrotic frame by a worn rope coated in moss. He dropped his bolter, the ancient, trophy-adorned weapon mag-locking to his rusted armour. As words of eldritch power tumbled from his mouth, the black speech tearing at his tongue as it twisted it into the strange, unnatural design needed to form the words as they imposed themselves upon this false reality. As the fire licked at his body, he tore his ancient sword from its rotten leather loop, its pitted and corroded surface seeping corruption. His tabard set aflame in the blaze, the mark of Nurgle emblazoned upon it remaining untouched despite the heat enveloping it and ravaging the dirty white cloth. The fire licked at an Elvish tapestry of Yggdrasil on the wall behind the dueling pair, the devouring heat destroying the masterwork of art, turning the fine patterns and intricate details into so much ash.
He emerged from the inferno, his warplate scorched black from the flame, his jaundiced skin carbonized in places. His simple blade descended on the beast, its red scales making it an obvious target, its somewhat arrogant demeanour reminding Okor of that damned child. Was this new realm some kind of penal dimension for the prideful? He would have to consider the implications later. The plague blade clashed against the creature's strange weapon, the antique iron scoring a mark in the shining blade. Pestilence flew from where their weapons met, the gathered corruption of the blade spraying over the Draconian's shimmering scales, befouling its armour. Moving as quickly as his deadened nerves would allow, Okor's hand flew to his hip, pulling his Bolter up in a clenched fist. Leaning to the side to avoid a cleaving overhead blow from the beast, he fired a round point-blank at the creature. Sadly, the Draconian reacted faster than he would have preferred, causing the radioactive round to merely skim along its muzzle, only to detonate against the wall on the other side of the hall. The Draconian responded by slicing its absurd weapon across Okor's burnt abdomen, easily parting the damaged skin, only to be met with nigh-unyielding, warped bone. With a flap of its mighty wings, the creature propelled itself away from the Legionnaire, taking up a position several meters away. It spoke, hissing slightly through pointed teeth. "Just what the hell are you?" Okor chuckled as he advanced implacably, his depreciated blade scraping along the metallic floor of the museum.
"I am the... Herald. I am the famine after the feast, the cull after the... rut. I am justice, and I am... The end." He spoke, hunching over into a more apt pose. It was not the subtle finesse of the duelist, devoid of the nobility of highborn men. It was the stature of a killer, one born upon the battlefields of Barbarus, refined through the modifications of the Apothecaries, and one who found his calling within the endless war of his home universe. It was an art form perfected by soldiers throughout millennia, a stance with a simple goal: To kill the enemy before he kills you."But of course, I would be... remiss, if I did not grant you the courtesy of my name." He gurgled, blood and phlegm fighting befouled air for dominance over his lungs. "I am Okor, of the Fourteenth... Legion. I have crushed empires into dust underneath my... boots, and you are nothing more than... Worm fodder." Trudging forward, he parried a blow from the Draconian, knocking the tip of the gunblade towards the ground, allowing him to drive his bare, burnt fist into the side of the creature's bloodied face. The being stumbled back slightly, its greater speed allowing it to score a mark across Okor's right greave as it fell back, the hasty blow failing to fully penetrate the degraded ceramite. He laughed as he placed his bare palm against the rusted blade, allowing him to maneuver the corroded tip into the beast's left breast, tearing through the scales and the flesh beneath, the carefully aimed blow deflecting off of the bone beneath. As the pair began to circle each other once more, Okor adjusted his grip on the handle of his blade, as his abdomen began to scab over, his milky blood forming an almost-translucent seal. Beneath it, a dark shape burrowed through his flesh, worming its way through twisted halls of bone to sup on his diseased flesh. He laughed, his bloodshot eye staring down the freakish mixture of man and beast. "Now, why don't you show me what... passes for fury amongst your pitiful kind, abomination?" He rose his antique sword in the universal sign of challenge, its tip slick with the Draconian's own blood. With a roar of mutual hatred, they moved forward, the ring of steel on steel filling the air as Axorn's compatriots made their moves.