Futuristic The Conflict of Agrris Zeta

[YsFanatic]

The shorter pilot barely gave the other man a glance before he too stood at attention with the opening of the doors. Inwardly however, he was rather annoyed by what Marcus had said. Perhaps he had resigned himself to death in battle, but Jaste had every intention on living long enough to get home, and if that meant reaching old enough age that he could no longer reliably pilot and was kicked out that way, then that is what he would do. Or at the very least get moved to something that didn't involve combat, desk work or something. But first he would have to survive the coming battle, something that would equal parts be up to his skill and the orders he would be given.

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Ian Autumnall​

Mentions: slim Interactions: shadowz1995 Pilgrim59 ​

Just as Ian had gotten used to Bell's loud—to his ears anyway—chewing, he had to open his mouth and start talking. The handyman offered a barbecue chicken sandwich which did seem like a satisfiable, even exemplary offer, however, Ian would have to decline. His head turns to him with a neutral/passive expression. "Thanks, but no thanks. I packed my own." It was the truth, as much as Ian wanted to accept that sandwich, he'd have to go through several packs and two beers before he can handle the taste of the chicken, the spices, the lettuce or whatever other toppings that were in it. No, for this demolitionist, the food that was readily available to him would be those tasteless pastes with nutritional value. What a troublesome life. Deep down within his psyche, Ian wished for him to never acquire this "gift" or "curse."

While Ian stewed in his own misery, the keenness of his ears detected the characteristic footsteps and the wind hitting a person's leathery wings. "Ah, Dracula is here," Ian muttered though Bell was surely close enough to hear him. The bat greeted them. "Vampire." Ian returned his greeting. It seemed as though Eyvahn had the right idea of a pre-flight check, though Ian simply dropped his duffle and pulled out the aforementioned combat knife. Immediately, he grabbed the knife by the pointed tip to which he proceeded to toss the blade in the air. As it turned in the air, Ian's senses analysed the shape, sharpness, even the weight acutely. He even used to do this with non-volatile explosive ordnance that wouldn't go boom if you looked at it funny.

"So, handyman," Ian spoke. "Got any decent stories to share while we sit here."

Just as Ian asked. Zatara, the mean one of the group in Ian's eyes. The one who would chastise you for shifting your foot the wrong way. That's the kind of impression that he got from her. Maybe it was wrong, maybe she had a heart of gold-plated circuitry and silicone-encased wires of silver. But he wouldn't know.

 

[Pilgrim59]

BELL
Undesignated Unit, DSC Einherjar
Hangar, Undisclosed Site

Interacted: Worthlessplebian shadowz1995 slim
Mentioned: N/A​

The mechanic raised an eyebrow, before shuttering his eyes briefly with a chuckle to follow Ian's decline. Shortly after, they were joined by the bat and the cyborg. For a group of strangers with questionable compatibility, it did not take long for them to share the same space of respite. Bell gave Eyvahn an acknowledging nod as he came up upon them. Like Ian, Eyvahn seemed to have tugged along their essentials and armed themselves. In his benign neglect, Bell was less expectant of an attack on the station and had chosen to keep keep himself free of any equipment until they boarded the Cwellere. Besides, his marksmanship ability was far from that of a professional gunner. It would not do a mechanic any good with a gun in hand when he should have a wrench in hand. The latter mostly for whacking unsuspecting infantry than actual maintenance details, but he digressed.

Following Ian's deflection of Bell's inquiry, it suddenly fell upon the handyman's shoulders to be the designated story teller. The pressure mounted as the Zatara situated themselves to his left. It was not the first he was put on the spot, and it would not be his last, Bell thought to himself.

"I suppose we have plenty of time to kill before we board the Cwellere." He noted, fixing his brim slightly, as he dusted off the crumbs of his recent meal. His eye fixed across from where he sat, as he revisited his memories. He leaned forward, with his hands interlocked.

"Parmino Drop, Point Red. After the Fifth Lancers broke through the Brunhildr Line, my company was sent up to plug the gap and set up a Forward Operation Base." Bell began, with his tone turning heavier as he spoke. "It was the usual job, get in, round up the supplies and dig in. By twenty-hundred hours, we lost communications with the Lancers. Before we could send out a patrol, Dominion flares began to mark our outer perimeter. They charged us with heavy Blades and mechanized troops. I must have immobilized at least ten of them tracked vehicles on the western approach alone. Bless the mines. We began to fallback underground as a last resort. Our makeshift defenses began to fall one by one, until an artillery shell breached the tunnel - separating me from the rest of my unit."

"When I came to, the rumblings and gunfire have stopped. And so, for the next two weeks, I was stuck underground, trying to find a way out. Now see, the best part of being stuck in an underground facility is the food. Say what you will about the enemy, but their provisions have some real flavors. None of that powdered crap. Zargosan chicken, Kreuz stew, spicy beef, barbecued ribs, coconut stew, floss and anchovies, to name a few. Must have gained almost twenty pounds over it. Turns out, there was another passage just behind the supply room. Took me another week to lose the weight in order to fit through the crevice. Didn't have any use for ammunition, so I stuffed my gear full of their MREs and got to the surface. It was a very nice vacation." Bell chuckled aloud.

"As to how I got back to Centrice... Well, that's another story for another time. Probably never. Don't tell anyone else about my haul from Parmino, though. I'll throw in three packs per person here as silence money." Bell eyed his comrades one by one until they understood his point.

 

[slim]

Centrice

Zatara M̶a̶n̶o̶o̶r̶

location:

Briefing Room

tags

Pilgrim59 Worthlessplebian shadowz1995

Zatara felt relief when the silence was broken by the mechanic, and she felt the tenseness she had been holding in her shoulders leave. Everyone's eyes shifted off of her and on Bell as he began talking about the most recent drop. Parmino. She had heard of it through others after her surgery, and she had noticed many bodies missing in the cafeteria as well as the empty dorms for sure. Usually she didn't even have hot water to shower with from all the people that beat her to it, but she'd rather have her fellow soldiers alive and well than a few measly comforts. She wasn't exactly close with anyone on this base, but they were all on the same side and lives lost. The change in Bell's voice reflected that sadness as he went on his with his tale. Dying was unfortunate, but surviving felt like cheating sometimes even if the odds were random. Zatara liked pretending that every single drop was her last. She lived like a ghost in this building, and so no one would miss her or have to grieve in the ways she had seen others.

When the mechanic started discussing food, that's when he received the cyborgs undivided attention. He was listing things she had never even heard of, but by the way he was describing it it must beat the nutritional sludge they were given here. The only time Zatara had ate something with flavor was a tiny cake someone had offered her in gratitude after she had helped get them out of a rather iffy situation. After they had left, Zatara had spent a good five minutes just..staring at it in her hands. It was obviously made by hand, with lumpy icing that clearly hadn't had the blue coloring swirled in all the way. She ate a tiny bite off the corner and nearly passed out from the blast of sweetness, so she instead left it on the ledge of the tiny window in her dorm. She wasn't used to decorations, but she enjoyed looking at the splash of color and she couldn't exactly eat it so what else could she do? She had let it sit there until the passage of time (and microorganisms) started to tear away at it, and she felt immense sadness when she threw it away which was quite pathetic. At Bells' offer for food, Zatara battled with the logical side of her and the one that just wanted to try something new and/or horde it. Was it normal to horde food? This Bell clearly did it, so surely it must be.

"I'm not a snitch, especially when it's nothing more than food. But if you're offering, I would like to try these...anchovies.
The Parmino drop was very unfortunate, I'm sorry for what happened to you despite the rewards you reaped. I couldn't be a part of it, I was under maintenance." The borg said the last sentence with a sour expression as she eyed her arm, but turned back to the others. Bell's story had piqued her interest in the others―they had survived the drop and were now here. She was rather curious on their experiences with such a nasty affair.

"Anyone else have any interesting tales from the drop?"

code by @Nano

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Ian Autumnall​

Mentions: Mentioned None. Interactions: shadowz1995 Pilgrim59 slim ​

After having heard Bell's story about his daring defence against the Dominion's Blades, Ian was sufficed to say impressed. Being the son of a Knight family in Dominion had its' benefits like having some preliminary knowledge of the inner workings of the family Blades/Half-blades. The demolitionist ceased throwing his knife out of boredom and sheathed it behind himself on his belt. This was also the time when Ian noticed the mechanic was travelling lighter than the rest of them. Odd, but the demolitionist thought nothing of it further. His explanation of food did bother Ian, reminded once again of his inability to actually enjoy food normally. At that point, a grumbling escaped Ian's stomach. A sigh escaped as Ian quickly unzipped his duffle bag to retrieve a tube of food paste. "A meal you can't miss," slogan was written under the MRE symbol, whoever produced this slop had a sense of humour.

Ian tapped his foot while unscrewing the cap. The food tasted absolutely like nothing, but the lack of stimulation coupled with the uncomfortable texture would be difficult to swallow if Ian wasn't experienced. Even so, he could only stomach a small portion before putting it away again.

"Reminds me of my Caduceus Drop, or rather after we landed," Ian spoke, a hint of building agitation could be felt. "It was Oh-Four-Hundred hours, the squad that I was in and another unlucky bunch was tasked with infiltration and "deconstruction" of a Dominion base." Ian began circling his left wrist like it was incredibly stiff. "Trudging through eleven klicks of thick snow was hell; one guy after the mission had to get his limb chopped off due to the frostbite. Anyway," Ian spoke while picking up his duffle again. "We got to the AO with little enemy resistance, the infiltration guys did their part, now it was our turn to bring the whole shebang down. From a safe distance, of course." Ian lifted up his pointer, ring, middle finger, and thumb to indicate the number four. "There were four of us to set the charges at the agreed weak points. Except our luck had managed to run out." Ian paused for a moment, closing his one good eye. Then opened it when he began to speak. "Somehow, somewhere, a massive alarm blared through the whole rotten base. By the time, you could turn around to take a sh!t, you were neck-deep with baddies. Seriously, if that didn't make it worse: One of our charges went off. The result?" Ian said as he looked around at the present company. "A dozen dead on our side, those of us who survived thanks to our suits were covered in bone, brains, guts, or yesterday's lunch."

"Those of us alive did manage to get out before the blades woke up, the small blessings. You know." Well, Autumnall manage to thoroughly disgruntle himself, recalling old memories never made him feel better. Not even a smoke after it. "Never even found out who or what caused it. Debriefing was pissingly vague and I called them pancakes, tossers, pissants and more."

 

[shadowz1995]

It was unseen but the large bat mutant smiled briefly as Ian and Bell told their stories. Not because of the context but because sharing war stories was a custom that went under appreciated. No matter if they were grim but somewhat comical like Bell's or just harrowing like Ian's, despite his casual demeanor, it meant that someone survived to tell those stories. Someone survived so that the memory of the fallen could live on. There WAS someone to tell their story after they died. Many squadrons do not get that luxury and are completely wiped out to the last man.

"A few drops ago..." The Chiropteran began, "I was tasked with being aerial support for an offensive on an enemy outpost. It was a key point in the enemy supply line and we were planning on crippling it to force a retreat or surrender. It seemed like a simple and straight forward mission except for one minor detail."

The veteran slammed his recently reviewed magazine into his marksman rifle and chambered the round, the satisfying click of the bullet sliding into its new home causing the mutant to nod with affirmation.

"They wanted us to gear up for heavy resistance. Now, that order would make sense for the infantry and friendly armor but they were even telling myself and the other Chiropterans in my flight to do so as well. That little fact tipped us off that they weren't telling us something. Generally, we don't put on flight-assisted battlesuits unless they are dropping us into hell and they know it."

Eyvahn stood to his full height, leaning his rifle against the seat, and began to strap his magazines to their designated pouches on his chest and waist. His helmeted face shook side to side as he recalled the details of the drop.

"Hell was an understatment. The moment we broke through the clouds, we immediately started taking flak. It decimated about 30% of the pods headed down and knocked every other one off course. My flight was lucky because we were a Chiropteran wing and we deploy in mid air. We had the luxury of watching our infantry get blown apart before we started taking fire."

The man sat back down once his gear was properly situated on his body and removed his helmet after a few clicks and hisses. He ran a hand through the fur on his neck and head that got tussled by the motion.

"We were tossed into a losing battle, scuttled on entry, and what remained of our forces were to busy blowing up comms trying to figure out what had just happened and where they were. One of the pods was sent off course so badly, it actually hit an enemy convoy transporting a VIP about 5 clicks away. Blew them all to hell. It was unintentional but it was a good blow to the enemy as he got sent to Valhalla."

The mutant's mouth twisted upwards into a lopsided smirk at the memory. "If I'm being honest, It's mostly a blur. Our battlesuits aren't meant to be in active flight for more than a few hours. We clocked in 13 hours of active combat. We ran out of fuel and were forced to the ground to engage alongside what pitiful remnants of infantry we had left. The landscape was so torn up with blood, mud, and debris that it didn't resemble the briefing geography at all."

The vet tore his black eyes from the hole he had unknowingly burned into the ground and back to his new squad mates. "On the 14th hour, reinforcements finally arrived and we were barely able to beat them back. Only a handful survived of our total forces. About 12 men, not including the reinforcements. Me and the 3 other survivors from the flight wing stripped off what remained of our armor and took to the skies to go home. It was only after we cleared the smog of war that we realized it was daytime. We thought it was night the entire time."

To that, the Chiropteran chuckled lightly before appraising his teammates once more, "We thought we had died, gone to hell and kept fighting in an endless night of death and bullet storm. Funny, how it turned out."

@ my vikingr bois and lassies

 

[Soviet Panda]

Torny was quite visible as he approached the hanger with their carrier, sitting like a squat toad, in it. And why should he try to hide? They were well behind friendly lines, there was no chance there was some pissant Dominion sniper hoping to lick their master's boot by picking off a freshly promoted officer before being summarily executed when they were inevitably caught. He was not carrying much, like Bell. He had his medium combat suit on, a combat rig loaded with additional ammunition and two grenades, his long trench knife, and his assault rifle. The way he saw it, if they were going to be spending a long amount of time on their drop ship, the captain would have something sorted out for them. And, more often than not, they spent time on the ship before being thrown back down.

"Well I'm glad everyone's getting along and sharing such uplifting war stories." He said this with a smile, knowing all to well happy endings were few and far between for an Einherjar. "Maybe once we get beautiful, lovely Agrris Zeta as our little trophy, we'll be able to have a nice chat over a cup of whatever local booze ends up in our glass. Aye? No fall in, we got a carrier to catch." And with that, he lead them into the squat carrier, where they took their seats and strapped in, bracing for the rigmarole of atmospheric exit. They were one of the first to do so, so they could finish up whatever conversation they were having.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As weeks passed by, the two factions continued to glare at each other from across no man's land, firing the occasional shot or ordering an artillery strike on the opposing trench to remind them that they were being watched. For the Dominion Forces of Damascus Lance, that time was also filled with the repairing of their damaged Full and Half Blades. Dread Unblemished, the Blade of Squire Arin had one of their missile arrays damaged but little else, while the Aurum Magnus seemed to have not a scratch upon it's gleaming, obsidian skin. The Half Blade Hand of Wrath, however, had to be severely overhauled, having many of it's several decades old mechanisms replaced for the first time since it's construction. House Guard Sir Marcus, the pilot, did not take this news well and was seen spending most of his time in the repair bay with his injured war machine, fondly polishing it's already gleaming armor and whispering apologies to it's Echo. It was a temperamental Blade at the best of times, who knew how having a majority of it's systems replaced would effect it.

But as surely as the sun rose over the muddy and shattered battlefield were the damaged Blades repaired. Lady Adelin Maret herself was overseeing the final repairs as they were set in place and tested for combat readiness, the final repair being for the Hand of Wrath, no less. As the last joint, one of the knees, were tested and given the green light, Adelin gave the word. "Rally all Blades. The Centrice dogs need to know that we are wounded no longer." As she spoke, her words were quickly passed around the camp, reaching all Blade Commanders in a matter of minutes. They were to march the perimeter of their trench section, sounding their war horns in challenge. A move to rally the moral of the infantry men and women they fought alongside, and a warning for any would be attackers of the wrath that would fall upon them should they accept the challenge of the war horns.

 

[Soviet Panda]

Torny always hated the wait before the drop. And this particular wait had lasted two full days. Two days he had spent in the cramp confines of the Cwellere, able to do anything except maintain his weapons, something as simple as that even being made difficult with the almost shoulder to shoulder press of troopers. The only small grace he had gotten while on the ship was that they had gotten their assigned call sign. 'Sword Breaker', or simply 'Breaker'. They finally had a name to call themselves, though he didn't like what the name meant. They were the ones that were going to be going after Blades, and not simply turning them aside or dragging them off, but destroying them. And if the data slate he had gotten were accurate, there were a lot of Blades piling up at Suln.

Checking the screen of his drop pod, he made sure his communication link was open between his squad. "Jarl to all Breaker elements, communications check." This was the second time he had asked for one, the nerves of leading a new crack team of Blade hunters was obviously starting to rear it's rather annoying head. Once everyone checked in, again, he continued. "Pixie, deploy mid drop and hold, direct us as needed. Me and Borg will range ahead. Bell, stick close to Ringer and make sure he can do his thing. Once we hit contact we're going to have to move fast, hit hard, and fade away. We can survive a prolonged engagement with a Half, but not a Full. Ringer, target the joints, I'll take crippling the damn things if I have to. Any questions?"
Pilgrim59 shadowz1995 slim Worthlessplebian
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lady Adeline lead her formation much like she had done two days earlier. That show of force had done much to bolster the moral of the foot troops, seeing their great engines of war moving once more. Marcus had reported his Hand of Wrath being resistant to command inputs, no doubt disgruntled from it's mass repairs, but otherwise things went smoothly. Adeline would not turn her nose up at those results, few things ever truly went smoothly. As had been proven time and time again during her long career.

"Aurum Magnus to all Blades, we make for Suln. Long range sensor reports have detected a large energy mass accumulating in the region. High Command has assigned us with the of investigating and confronting this source of energy, for it is, most likely, a new Centrice weapon. Knight Sebastian Goo, I give you the honor of scouting ahead. Command your forces well. Lord Borisov, I request that you join with me and my retainers, even an Oced is quickly picked apart if separated and singled out from it's pack. Tsesarvich Zimanov, I leave the command of your forces to you, though I expect you personally to see my orders carried out. Once Knight Sebastian has sent the appropriate information on the target, I wish for you and your forces to level it before my own sweep in to clear it."

 

[YsFanatic]

As soon as the order had been giving to his surperior, Jaste knew that it was almost guaranteed that Knight Goo would be having him be near the front to help protect the units equipped with more powerful sensor arrays. It was a song and dance he had been through plenty of times, and by this point the actually made tactical sense since it was something he was used to and could do competently rather than just serving as a meatshield for some noble's life. Giving his systems one last quick check to make sure everything was in working order, and when the order was passed down he quickly ramped up the Sunburst's speed so that he could take his place in the modified formation.

Even though the dedicated scouting units would be better equipped to detect any threats than his jack-of-all-trades design, Jaste still kept a sharp eye on his sensor readouts as well as watching the terrain through the Half-Blade's viewport. You never knew when one of your allies would have a lapse of concentration that would cause them to miss an incoming threat, and he sure as hell didn't want to be caught by surprise because someone had to sneeze or took a sip of champagne. Or at least Jaste believed some nobles carried alcohol in their cockpits, perhaps not the ones in this unit, but there had been others in his life that he could easily envision doing that despite how stupid it was.

 

[Huntertabbysandshark3]

Dimitri
Interaction: Soviet Panda Wandering Grim Hollow YsFanatic​

Dimitri piloting the great Galiron remained quiet and sat in the back of the blade formation as the mech was designed to do. the reports of a large energy accumulation were certainly concerning... At least they were to scout ahead first Dimitri's first assumption was likely whatever the energy signature was it would be capable of damaging a full blade.. if it was given a chance to fire at all. "very well I shall provide support where I can and if needed." he'd say thoughfully.

(sorry for the short shitty post wanted to actually write something)