05-28-2015, 05:26 PM
Tartaros arose from the temporary table he was laid out on, the remains of Mr. T still in his hand, and stared around hazily. The table we was currently sitting on was odd... more like a temporary construct, cobble together out of whatever materials the creator could find, covered with what seemed to be rough linen and splattered with blood... Clearly someone had been busy...
Looking around the room however, his location became obvious... the clinic! The room was almost pure white, disregarding some obvious stains of blood and muck on the floor, presumably left by Okor after he dragged the marine into this damned place... Ah well, better here than dead in the field...
Finally Tartaros gently placed the remains of Mr. T into his tattered bag hopped from the bed... directly onto his right leg...
*KRAK*
"Emperor damn it all...", the marine thought to himself, attempting to fix his leg back into place, before crudely bandaging the wound through a hold in his armour and limping down the corridor. Finally, the Luna Wolf came across a mirror...
He was a complete and utter mess, covered in blood and filth... his helmet was damaged completely beyond recognition, dented and missing both its lenses. Well, the lenses were more cracked than anything else... no thanks to that building landing on his head... His chestplate wasn't much better for wear either, covered in scratch marks and slashes. The gauntlets and greaves had by far received the worst of the damage, one gauntlet missing complete, with nothing but a bloodied stump in its place, and the other chipped, with some marks even reaching the flesh... Finally, the greaves, both were an utter mess, twisted and broken beyond all belief, the front plating had all but been smashed off the right, and the left was left bleeding and chipped.
After reaching the bottom floor, Tartaros looked around, finding nothing but barricades and junk throughout. Eventually though, he found a suitable replacement "weapon" for the lost driftwood. Two somewhat blunt metallic stakes, seemingly torn from a chair leg. The marine quickly pulled them out from the makeshift stockade, and crudely tied them to his arm stump with a roll of leftover medical tape, before proceeding his slow limp throughout the grounds.
Finally, there was that same repugnant smell coming from the hall as there was in the barracks... Okor. Tartaros limped forward along the hall as fast as he could, eventually coming within eyeshot of the decrepit titan, laying down a set of caltrops, he waved. "Hello?... O-Okor?!"
Looking around the room however, his location became obvious... the clinic! The room was almost pure white, disregarding some obvious stains of blood and muck on the floor, presumably left by Okor after he dragged the marine into this damned place... Ah well, better here than dead in the field...
Finally Tartaros gently placed the remains of Mr. T into his tattered bag hopped from the bed... directly onto his right leg...
*KRAK*
"Emperor damn it all...", the marine thought to himself, attempting to fix his leg back into place, before crudely bandaging the wound through a hold in his armour and limping down the corridor. Finally, the Luna Wolf came across a mirror...
He was a complete and utter mess, covered in blood and filth... his helmet was damaged completely beyond recognition, dented and missing both its lenses. Well, the lenses were more cracked than anything else... no thanks to that building landing on his head... His chestplate wasn't much better for wear either, covered in scratch marks and slashes. The gauntlets and greaves had by far received the worst of the damage, one gauntlet missing complete, with nothing but a bloodied stump in its place, and the other chipped, with some marks even reaching the flesh... Finally, the greaves, both were an utter mess, twisted and broken beyond all belief, the front plating had all but been smashed off the right, and the left was left bleeding and chipped.
After reaching the bottom floor, Tartaros looked around, finding nothing but barricades and junk throughout. Eventually though, he found a suitable replacement "weapon" for the lost driftwood. Two somewhat blunt metallic stakes, seemingly torn from a chair leg. The marine quickly pulled them out from the makeshift stockade, and crudely tied them to his arm stump with a roll of leftover medical tape, before proceeding his slow limp throughout the grounds.
Finally, there was that same repugnant smell coming from the hall as there was in the barracks... Okor. Tartaros limped forward along the hall as fast as he could, eventually coming within eyeshot of the decrepit titan, laying down a set of caltrops, he waved. "Hello?... O-Okor?!"