09-06-2013, 10:29 AM
A new entrant would appear, fading into view in a sprawled out position in the grass before the great fountain. His head tilted up as he started suddenly, opening his eyes and revealing a set of yellow-gold hues that stared up at the sky. Clad in purple, red and black, the figure would stare up at the sky for a few moments, blinking as though trying to clear his vision, then would slowly push himself into an upright sitting position. Shaking his head as though he were shaking unwanted thoughts from his mind, he grunted and slammed both fists into the ground, propelling himself a few feet into the air so he could drive his feet under him. As he landed, he would reach over his shoulder, laying his hand on the katana still sheathed there, just as it had been only moments ago when his Unit had come under artillery fire in the War.
Letting the meteorite-infused Katana slide slowly from it's sheath, he would twirl it a couple times, testing the reflexes of the muscles in his hand, arm and fingers. He would then toss the blade over to the left hand and repeat the process. Being ambidextrous, this kind of feat came easy to him, at least when he was in ideal condition.
None of the wounds remained from the injuries he had sustained on the battlefield. His left arm, which had been blown off before the rest of his body, was live, healthy and intact, which he had noticed when testing it. After a few moments of this, he concluded that his limbs were in tip-top shape, so he sheathed the blade and began to stretch, rising to his full 6'7" height and allowing all of his limbs to stretch to their utmost, then he lowered his arms, took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly.
Where are you, Maximillion? Where are you? Where are you?
These thoughts kept going through his head as he willed himself, forced himself, to see all around him, and to understand his bearings.
He was now standing before an enormous fountain, which he somehow knew was called the Fountain of Infinity. He had no idea how this knowledge had come to mind, but he once again envisioned the silhouette with the wide, disconcerting grin. Who had that been? Maximillion thought to himself, his eyebrows furrowing, giving away that he was deep in thought. I can't help but feel as though there's an important element here I'm missing.
Meanwhile, beyond him, he was vaguely aware that there was a lot of talking, a lot of activity, voices and even some bouts of what seemed like absurdity as one green-haired fellow began mocking someone else, then got taken down, then others began to filter out into lines, as though to follow these men off somewhere.
Shaking his head, as though to break from his reverie, Maximillion' yellow-gold eyes stared at those who had lined up. A motley crew, true, and he had no idea which side looked the most appealing. However, he did notice that there were still a few by the fountain undecided. Using his best tactical know-how, he weighed up each of the men, paying special notice to the one referred to as Bradley. There was something about him that reminded him of the General of the Empire's Forces where he'd come from, who had led the troops against the Samurai Rebel Forces that Maximillion had been part of. It had been a fool's errand, after all, facing off with space-age technology with only swords. However, some of them - and he'd been amongst that number - did better in those kinds of circumstances than others. He had found it fairly easy to dodge most of the laser beams, only taking the occasional glancing hit, and to slice through bullets that had went flying his way. In the end, it had just been him and a handful of others, other men who had been trained with the same feverish intensity he himself had been, who stood alone amongst the crowd, steely-eyed and the look of I will die before I surrender strong in their eyes...
I know I'm being entirely subjective, but I'd rather not follow someone who looks as though they eat nails for breakfast, he said, remembering the kind, gentle soul of the seasoned ex-war veteran who had trained all the up-and-coming orphans who would later have the option of joining the Rebel Forces. Someone with kind eyes, yet a strong spirit. Is there none of those where I now reside?
But he wouldn't say anything aloud. He knew well that saying nothing would cause the attention to be drawn, at least mostly, to the ones who were speaking, and especially towards those who spoke the loudest. He had no intention of getting drawn into a war of words, least of all with complete strangers.
Let one appear who shows valor, courage and benevolence, and I may well follow him or her, perfect stranger or no.
Letting the meteorite-infused Katana slide slowly from it's sheath, he would twirl it a couple times, testing the reflexes of the muscles in his hand, arm and fingers. He would then toss the blade over to the left hand and repeat the process. Being ambidextrous, this kind of feat came easy to him, at least when he was in ideal condition.
None of the wounds remained from the injuries he had sustained on the battlefield. His left arm, which had been blown off before the rest of his body, was live, healthy and intact, which he had noticed when testing it. After a few moments of this, he concluded that his limbs were in tip-top shape, so he sheathed the blade and began to stretch, rising to his full 6'7" height and allowing all of his limbs to stretch to their utmost, then he lowered his arms, took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly.
Where are you, Maximillion? Where are you? Where are you?
These thoughts kept going through his head as he willed himself, forced himself, to see all around him, and to understand his bearings.
He was now standing before an enormous fountain, which he somehow knew was called the Fountain of Infinity. He had no idea how this knowledge had come to mind, but he once again envisioned the silhouette with the wide, disconcerting grin. Who had that been? Maximillion thought to himself, his eyebrows furrowing, giving away that he was deep in thought. I can't help but feel as though there's an important element here I'm missing.
Meanwhile, beyond him, he was vaguely aware that there was a lot of talking, a lot of activity, voices and even some bouts of what seemed like absurdity as one green-haired fellow began mocking someone else, then got taken down, then others began to filter out into lines, as though to follow these men off somewhere.
Shaking his head, as though to break from his reverie, Maximillion' yellow-gold eyes stared at those who had lined up. A motley crew, true, and he had no idea which side looked the most appealing. However, he did notice that there were still a few by the fountain undecided. Using his best tactical know-how, he weighed up each of the men, paying special notice to the one referred to as Bradley. There was something about him that reminded him of the General of the Empire's Forces where he'd come from, who had led the troops against the Samurai Rebel Forces that Maximillion had been part of. It had been a fool's errand, after all, facing off with space-age technology with only swords. However, some of them - and he'd been amongst that number - did better in those kinds of circumstances than others. He had found it fairly easy to dodge most of the laser beams, only taking the occasional glancing hit, and to slice through bullets that had went flying his way. In the end, it had just been him and a handful of others, other men who had been trained with the same feverish intensity he himself had been, who stood alone amongst the crowd, steely-eyed and the look of I will die before I surrender strong in their eyes...
I know I'm being entirely subjective, but I'd rather not follow someone who looks as though they eat nails for breakfast, he said, remembering the kind, gentle soul of the seasoned ex-war veteran who had trained all the up-and-coming orphans who would later have the option of joining the Rebel Forces. Someone with kind eyes, yet a strong spirit. Is there none of those where I now reside?
But he wouldn't say anything aloud. He knew well that saying nothing would cause the attention to be drawn, at least mostly, to the ones who were speaking, and especially towards those who spoke the loudest. He had no intention of getting drawn into a war of words, least of all with complete strangers.
Let one appear who shows valor, courage and benevolence, and I may well follow him or her, perfect stranger or no.