Storythread

...

I want a funny

Amidst the lockdown of the CDC facility was a schoolgirl. She walks through the crowds with her bag and aluminum bat by her side, and when she got to the yellow tape, she slips under with nary a complaint. The officer who saw her pass by took her bag, and when the press asked what her deal was, but she ignores them and enters the front door.

In the entryway was a single detective, an old man, with a ragged jacket. "It's good you came, Sadasako. The Hazmat team's being held up, and we can't wait. It's insane, some idiots tried to blow up the place with some bombs. The good news is that most of the samples are fine, but those that weren't..."
Sadasako nods her head, her stringy ghostlike hair concealing whether or not she was even paying attention. "I understand, Commissioner. Please, allow me to handle this." The commissioner takes a gasmask and mounts it on the girl, sliding it under her long hair.
As she enters the facility, the commissioner reminds her, "When you're done, I have something ready for dinner, so don't stay there for too long."
Sadasako pauses, looking back through the glass door. "I...understand, commissioner."

The commissioner sighs. She was always strange, she had his brother to thank for that. Being a renowned geneticist, he managed to develop a particular strain of human DNA that was impervious to even the most powerful of viruses and bacteria. She was immune to illness, incapable of developing allergies, even cuts and bruises healed at a startling rate. Considering her genetics, she was considered a holy grail. Even being in a danger zone with pathogens on the loose did little to her, the gasmask was really more of an accessory, a mark of her duty to help him.

Sadasako explores the abandoned facility to notice the bodies strewn about, some of them already emaciated, one or two already showing some advanced necrosis around their bullet wounds. She needed only look to realize that they could spread if that blood was contacted.

Aistraph Chambers stood victorious amidst the planetary wastes, a wretched green beast crumpled at his feet. The rough sphere upon which he stood was the core of the greater debris field around which the remains of worlds drifted almost imperceptibly, around which planetoids and moons encircled, with the blackness of space illimitable behind them. Far flung galaxies, nebulae and void ruins every so often drifted into sight like flickering stars when the thin, reddish clouds of the nebulous atmosphere parted. By his side, the sorceress, her raven black hair swept back in a wild cloud behind her, nude but for the generous ornamentation of her many, many trinkets, charms and amulets about her bosom and the belt laden with jewel-hilted blades, scrolls and vials about her hips. Chambers cleaned off the deep, dark green metal of his blade on a shredded piece of cloth from the fallen creature, an astral assassin. He stepped from the low mound to the dusty ground, the sorceress slinking back behind him, her fingers playing across his tensed skin. Their goal lay here in this deep place. Far above them, countless miles away on a stable but broken continent, was the monolithic city the man of crystal sent them from, to seek this most elder of places. To think the life, death, crime, love and mundanity in that city was going on so regularly right now while Aistraph and the sorceress stood in the unplumbed depths of living myth certainly put existence in perspective.

cont.

Striding across the barren plain, there came into view something like the shell of a building, yet was never meant as one. Raised, vertical surfaces resembling free-standing walls with uneven apexes surrounded, carved from a single slab of dark stone dusted with the sand of ages, an intricately carved altar, resembling some nameless, forgotten structure or god, topped with short spires whose hammered flat surfaces twinkled dimly in the diffused cosmic light. A great half circular surface acted as the altar itself and was littered with braziers and chalices, the former belching thick grey smoke which collected around the base of the altar, the chalices were of something like gold and stained with red and rich, dark green. Calcified remains of beings were heaped in two piles in the middle. But before it all was the ultimate rite keeper, a figure which, as it turned to Aistraph, showed its true proportions. Though bent was its humanoid form from the weight of elder ages, it stood heads above Aistraph. Its pearly white hair fell stringy down its front and shoulders, it was bedecked in many layers of ancient magi's finery, with a coat and robes of dim gold and around it all, a colossal, dragging cloak of the richest crimson. Its limbs were long and thin, but wiry, greyish and veined. But its face was the most terrible part, for it was hollow and long, eyeless and gazing, the mouth agape, unmoving and issuing whispered dark litanies. The Yrgmoth descended the rough-hewn steps of the dais, the last remaining pre-human devil of the elder world.

No idea what to do next and it's 6:50am, I want to revisit this.

After grabbing a few spare body bags, she rolls down her sleeves and, with the help of her bat, fit them in. The headset in her mask rings.
"Sadasako," she replies.
"Sadasako, do you see?" The commissioner asks through his own headset.
"Bodies," she observes. "Some of them already rotted, frozen in rigor mortis."
He asks, "Who...were they?"
Without any concern, she mentions, "Two terrorists, three employees. The Employees, their blood is infectious."
The old man nods, grumbles. "I see. Please be careful." She wordlessly replies and hangs up.

It was hard for him to not be worried for his niece. She was already learned in her father's work by the age ten, but emotionally, she was not quite as developed. She showed concern about people and their safety, but never quite connected with her peers, especially when concerned with infections. She wasn't even supposed to work for the police, but she insisted, as a means to thank him for taking her in. Thanks to the forensics department having an intern position, she was allowed to reach where she is right now: investigating potential outbreaks without the need of hazmat equipment.

Sadasako takes some medical equipment and then takes some samples from those victims she shoved in the bags. She hurries forward and knocks on the glass door she entered from. Her uncle takes the samples with a thanks and closes the door shortly after.
The next floor had more signs of violent struggle, bullets in the walls, thrown furniture, strewn bodies. These too had the rapid necrosis, but what concerned her was the nature of some of those injuries: claw marks and bites, scattered on both sides. Sadasako contacts her uncle.
"Commissioner," she asks, "it's Sadasako. I...do not think I will be able to effectively isolate them and gather suitable samples within the timeframe. Please forgive me."
"Don't worry," he assures her. "Take what you can. As long as most of them are wrapped up, the Hazmat teams can handle the rest."

Exellent, thanks OP. Just the image I'am looking for. BRB gonna be posting it in a while.

No one really knows who this vigilante is. Some people; especially law enforcement officials say he is nothing more but a punk and a rebel who dresses up as some pretentious fictional hero in a TV show, but others; especially the people who’re saved by him, believe him as a noble hero. Sure vigilantism is understandable as a violation that some crafty people would use to take advantage of the law, and not everyone- no, no one is ever above the law, even the Biker Hero knew he was not above it and would sometimes let the official authorities handle things themselves.

But of course there have been some local stories and urban legends surrounding this local vigilante-hero, some say he was a disgruntled ex-cop who quit the force out of shame and self guilt but decided to take up a masked identity and dish out justice his or her own personal way. While others believe he or she is just a rich adrenaline junkie who just has too much time and money in their hands and spends it in such acts of vigilantism.

He or she is also referred to in numerous nicknames; “Biker Hero”, “The White Scarf” or “White Cloth”; because of the fact that he or she wears a white scarf. Some names even include; “Leather Jacket”, “The Midnight Kai”, or “The Cyclist.” Though according to some witness testimonies and even surveys done by law enforcement, it seems the most common names people call this Biker Vigilante is either simply Biker Hero or White Scarf.

Hiss acts of heroism range from retrieving snatched purses from snatchers, stopping attempted robberies, applying first aid to injured before medical response teams arrived to apply full treatment, and even tales of victims of attempted assault and sexual assault being saved as they hear the sound of his revving bike engine followed by the sound of the assailants being beaten up by the White Scarf and speeding off. Heck, there were even tales of him parkour-ing up trees to save kittens stuck on trees.

...

Tonight was going to be another night of vigilante heroism for this Biker Hero, he was in his racing superbike; speeding down the road to a destination which housed typical scum and villainy, which he or she got from a trusted informant. It was a small abandoned warehouse that was just located near the outskirts of town. And as he got near the destination, he slowed down his superbike, parked it in a discreet location and proceeded to walk the rest of the way on foot.

As he begun approaching the entrance to the warehouse, some goons saw him but yet do not know who he or she is yet while still in the shadows.

“Hey you! Who the fuck are you? This is private property. So back away!”

The White Scarf continued to advance as another thug yelled out. “Are you deaf or something!? GET OUTTA HERE! YOU’RE NOT WELCOME! AWAY WITH YOU, OR ELSE!!!”

It was until then the White Scarf stepped into the light did the thugs realize who it was.
“Hooooly Shit! IT’S THAT BIKER GUY!!!”

“THE WHITE SCARF!!!”
One of the thugs charged head first to the Biker Hero with a metal pipe, but the Biker Hero brandished a Wakizashi, drew it from its scabbard. The thug made a wide opening as he was about to strike with his pipe, only for the Biker Hero to use this opening to cut open the thugs throat as he thuds to the ground.
The second thug is craven and was about to dash back to the warehouse, but the White Scarf was nimble and fast and managed to outrun the thug as nearly appeared in front of him and delivered a knock blow with his metal padded gauntlet. The White Scarf let out a cheesy one liner;

“That is what you get for guarding the doors of villainy, and crime!” The White Scarf said in a cartoony hero manner as the thug was then knocked out. The Biker then rushed down the door and busted in the warehouse.

> imagine this song being played then: youtube.com/watch?v=SYmPpteNHqo

The sound of the doors being busted open startled the thugs guarding the floor and the startle turned to fear once the hoodlums realized who broke down the doors.

“OH MY- THE WHITE SCARF!”

There was a bit of a pause as the goons were flabbergasted at the sight of the White Scarf, until one of the thugs blurted out; “HEY, THERE’S MORE OF US AND ONLY ONE OF HIM! WE AIN’T GONNA LET NO GODDAMN SCHMUCK WEARING A LEATHER JACKET AND A BIKE HELMET SCARE US, GET HIM!!!”

“YEAH, BRING IT!”

Some of the thugs begun brandishing makeshift weapons of their own; bats, pipes, chain links, and planks of wood; came charging at the biker hero. But the Biker Hero proved a much more experienced and trained fighter as he mostly sidestepped and dodged every predictable attack and swing they made, and in turn he simply cut down the attacking foes with his wakizashi.

One thug even threw an empty bottle at the White Scarf’s head, only for his head to be protected by his helmet, which did nothing but just made the Biker Hero turn to the thug who threw the bottle at him. The thug attempted to tackle the White Scarf, but again the White Scarf was more agile and nimble and simply knocked the thug over by slamming his arm to the thug’s neck, and proceeded to knock out the thug by punching him with his metal padded glove.

>BGM from continues to play

After clearing the first floor he proceeded by the stairs, the White Scarf was immediately greeted by gun fire the moment he opened door that ended from up the stairs.

“LET’S SEE YOU TRY DODGING BULLETS WHILE DOIN FANCY MOVES WITH THAT SWORD OF YOUR’S SCARF!”

The White Scarf being the savvy combatant he/she was, was obviously not going to charge into a hail of automatic gunfire like that, and while the idea of deflecting bullets with a blade such as a katana-like weapon like his/her wakizashi seems cool and inspires images of badassery. Such a move or technique is unrealistic and just plain dumb, so the White Scarf just opened the door to the second floor oh-so-slight ajar just to peek at how many people he/she could see only for the guys with guns to notice and shoot again as the scarf quickly shut the door again.

The Biker checked his/her biker jacket to get something, what he/she got was some homemade smoke bombs. He opened the door and before the armed goons could shoot with their sub-machineguns, the Biker Hero threw the homemade smoke bombs as it detonated and filled half the entire floor with white smoke; although it was homemade, it was very effective, clearly the Biker Hero put thought and good chemistry work into making his devices thus showing how savvy the White Scarf is. The floor was filled with white smoke which blinded the thugs.

“FUCK! WHERE IS THAT BIKER BITCH!? CAN’T SEE SHIT!”

One of the gun-toting thugs begun shooting wildly into the smoked area hoping to hit the White Scarf, but the Scarf had an advantage thanks to his helmet. It was no ordinary full face bike helmet; it was modified by the Scarf him/herself, reinforced with Kevlar and other materials that military combat helmets are made of, and it was even fitted with high tech Head-Up-Display systems; including some thermal imaging which the White Scarf used to see through the smoke and identify his/her targets.

The Scarf began cutting down the blinded thugs and as one gun wielding thug noticed a buddy of his being slashed by the Scarf’s blade he started blindly firing wildly to where his friend got slashed and killed.

“COME THE FUCK OUT SCARF! COME OUT AND FIGHT LIKE A- *slash* BLAARRRGH!”

With the blinding smoke the White Scarf utilized it to cut down the gun wielding thugs with his trusted wakizashi blade and repeated the process one by one to each armed thug, but once the smokescreen has dissipated there were only a few gun toting goons left; three precisely. They opened fire towards the Biker only for him to immediately roll onto his/her shoulders towards a metal crate which provided cover against bullets.

“Got any more of them smokes Scarf? What’s the matter, ain’t got guns ya self- AHHH!!!”

Although the White Scarf personally does not have any guns, what he/she had were a ready arsenal of throwing knives, some of which were even iconic kunai knives. And the two thugs were immediately dumbfounded at the sight of their buddy being struck to the neck by a throwing knife and before one of them could even react, the Biker quickly threw another throwing knife to a thug’s neck as said goon gurgle and slumped to the ground bleeding to death.

The Biker Hero dashed off from behind the metal crate as the last remaining gun toting goon in the floor wildly fired at the White Scarf but every single shot missed as every single shot simply hit the ground and other miscellaneous object around and the Biker stopped to hide behind another column beam that was holding up the warehouse building. The remaining thug tried rushing to where the White Scarf was but as the thug got behind the column beam the White Scarf was hiding but found nothing until the thug felt a tapping behind him, and there he was, the White Scarf.

One thug from the third and final floor of the small warehouse rushed downstairs to the commotion only to see the Scarf and before he could even try shooting at the Biker, the Scarf threw a kunai at the thug’s general direction but missed. The thug hurriedly shot back with his sub machinegun as the White Scarf rolled to cover, the thug rushed back upstairs to inform his remaining pals and the boss;

“Guys, GUYS. HE’S HERE! THE WHITE SCARF! EVERYONE BELOW’S KICKED THE BUCKET!!!”

“Bullshit! The guys below had guns, you saying that Biker killed ‘em all!?”

"Uhh YEAH! HE KILLED THEM ALL WITH HIS KUNG-FU SWORD AND THROWING KNIVES 'N SHIT!"

The boss of this seedy crew then chimed in and told everyone: “Settle down boys and girls, settle down. Let him or her come up, stay close to each other and get yourselves some guns. And gather up the drug mules.”

Meanwhile downstairs the White Scarf actually was contacting the police from an untraceable phone he utilized and modified.

“That is correct dispatcher, the location I am at is an old abandoned warehouse just out in the outskirts. It's named the Toddman Warehouse."

"Is there any more information you'd like to give out? I'm having a bit of difficulty taking you seriously since you are talking like a cartoon hero."

"This no laughing matter, I have a hunch that there are innocence involved in here, I shall ensure the safety and well-being of any hostages be handled. Send in the SWATs!"

The Scarf then hung up believing and or knowing the police will arrive at the current location. His/her plan is to take out the baddies, secure any possible hostages and make out of the area as the law enforcement officials clear up the rest of the place, he had already encountered the law before which was them trying to arrest him. But none the less, the Scarf knew he/she was not above the law and simply lived with having to avoid direct contact with the police. He then proceeded upstairs.

Gonna continue this later on, just want to say thanks to the man who found that pic for me and also, does anyone know a list or a "dictionary" for police jargon?

Might include a small police chase in this story with such fitting music: youtube.com/watch?v=Jlnvv5up0u4

...

...

A captain, a pilot, a diplomat and... a bartender.

He swore this would be the last time he ever let his sister drag him into her work as he tore through the ships corridors, air being sucked out of room after room.
"Escape pod, escape pod..." he repeated to himself while checking for any sign he was going the right way.
Rounding the next corner he crashed right into just the person he wanted to see
Or maybe the last person he wanted to see
His sister jumped up from the floor just as he got to his feet, doing his best to restyle his bright crimson hair.

"Where are you going?" She had already grabbed him by the wrist and begun pulling him behind her
He struggled to keep his footing as she pulled him along, "I was hoping the escape pods. Barring that a brothel," he looked up, distracted by the thought, "yeah, if I had to choose a place to die, a brothel doesn't sound to bad"
"You're such a pig," she huffed and briefly thought about letting go. But she wouldn't; they both knew that.

Finally they could see them. At the end of the hall were the planet-facing escape pods. Finally she let go of her brother as they each charged down the line, looking for a pod they could use.
At the end of the line, there was a single pod left unfired. A perfect escape, if only there weren't already two people fighting over it.
"And I said, I outrank you," came the voice of the decorated man with tidy blonde hair.
"You outrank me on a ship that's not going to last even ten more minutes under this bombardment," huffing and adjusting her clothing, "and need I remind you the whole point of this expedition was for you to escort me to the embassy on Tarion IX"

cont.
"That mission is null and void, now get away from my pod," finishing his thought he looked up and saw the elven siblings.
"Identify yourselves!" he barked at them, reaching for the weapon on his hip.
The elven girl straightened up and gave a practiced salute, "Sergeant Lysandra Numiel, Co-pilot and sensors operator," her boots clicked together as she finished.
"Erynion Numiel... stowaway," he mimicked his sisters salute as well as possible barely appeasing the captain, who, not managing to find his gun, finally turned to look for it.

And found himself staring right down the barrel.
"My escape pod," was the only thing the shaking diplomat managed to say.
"Why exactly can't we all get into it?" Erynion's question drew everyone's gaze.
Almost in unison, "do you know anything about flying?"
The captain sighed, "Any more than one person in a pod could disrupt its trajectory and mean we all die when we hit the planet."
The diplomat wrapped her arm around his throat, holding him as a human shield, "that's enough. Time for me to go," and she made a break for the pod.
Eryn reacted as quickly as possible, pulling his gold-plated pistol and taking a shot at her leg.

Too bad he missed.

Everyone hit the deck as the bullet ricocheted in the hall, pinging off the metal walls until it hit the pod's control panel with a spray of sparks. With the pinging of the bullet over the four got to their feet, each noticing the scorched panel. Silently Alexandra smacked her palm again the back of her little brother's head.
"Great, now we're all dead," everyone was thinking it, but the captain had the nerve to say it.

cont.
"Maybe not," an idea had started to form in Eryn's mind, slowly hatching into a plan, "Sister, you can fly, right?"
"I'm a co-pilot," looking a little worried where this was going
"Good enough. Captain, take us to the bridge"
"I don't take orders from-" his sentence was cut off by another barrage, rocking the ship as the lights flickered, "follow me," and snatched his gun away from the diplomat, who had dropped to her knees and had tears welling in her eyes.
Seeing them leave she ran after them, "wait, wait for me."

The bridge was damaged, but it was intact as it needed to be.
"Sister-" Eryn started to direct her to the pilot's chair when she cut him off.
"Already on it"
Sometimes he swore she could read his mind.

For the first time since the attack had started he took a look out the viewport and saw their assailant. The ship was wreathed in coils of flowing purple, no engines in sight. This ship was definitely full of Psirons. Gifted with natural psionic powers, each one honed them from birth, telekinesis, telepathy, illusory effects, all were powers of the Psirons.

And here they were, blowing the ship to pieces.

The captain shouted, "Why are there Psirons here? We're no where near their space."
Eryn shifted uncomfortably. Darting her eyes around, the diplomat noticed.
"It's your fault. Isn't it?" She glared at the bartender.
"I mean, why w-would it be? What could I possibly have that they want?"
The captain walked up and grabbed his arms, "Pat him down, sergeant."
Not even looking up from the controls as she steered the ship toward the planet and started to accelerate, "Little busy over here."
"I'll do it," and the blond woman step over, searching through his pockets until, on a hidden one inside his jacket, she found it.

cont.
"WHY? WHY WOULD YOU EVEN TAKE THIS?" The entire bridge was nearly deafened by her screeching yell.
"I won it in a game of cards. How was I supposed to know that it would bring the wrath of an entire race to bear?"
"These are made especially for the purpose of giving psionics, an extremely coveted power, to those who aren't naturally gifted. They give these only to the people who prove themselves to be of the right character to have such power. AND YOU THOUGHT THEY WOULDN"T MIND?"
Alexandra shouted back from the pilot's seat, "If you don't mind keeping it down, I'm trying not to kill us all."
"Well talk about this later," yanking his arm free and snatching back the artifact.

The ship hit the atmosphere and the pulsing purple cube flew out of Eryn's hand, bouncing around the bridge. The three of them looked to each other, holding each others' gaze for just a second before they simultaneously dove for the artifact, tangling up in midair and knocking it further away. The ship crashed through another layer of atmosphere.
"Okay, this is going to be a rough landing but-" she glanced back and saw them squabbling and sighed. tilting the ship so that its belly started to touch the treetops of the planet's jungle canopy.

The other three crawled over each other, scratching and reaching for the little cube as each thump of the ship's rough landing knocked it away from them.
"I won it fair and square."
"I'm the captain here."
"I don't trust either of you as far as a Psiron could telekinetically throw you."
Another sigh from Alexandra the ship settled lower, the snapping of trees filling the bridge. The ship had almost settled when she saw that it was barrelling toward a giant tree at least twice as tall as the others. Alex desperately pulled on the controls, trying to get out of the way but the ships nose slammed into the tree.

cont.
[Is everyone okay?] Alex's voice echoed in each of the other three's minds.
"Who taught you to fly?" The diplomat sounded indignant.
"I've been worse," a simple response from the captain
"Just peachy. At least I got the thing back," Eryn picked himself up and fixed his jacket.
"Liar" The diplomat's voice rang out in the now otherwise silent bridge.
"I have it right here," He pulled out a coin, but for a second she saw it as the artifact, before it faded back to the appearance of a coin.
"IT'S MINE!" The captain reached out and started to move toward him, but even as he did, the coin flew out of Eryn's hand and into the captain's, where the illusion faded. "Where's the real one?"
[Guys...] Alex held out a few shards of cobalt blue metal. [It's smashed.] and as she said this, the three others realized something. As she talked her mouth wasn't moving.

Thus ends the first adventure/introduction of the psychic space crew. Feel free to continue their adventure.

Captain: Telekinesis
Pilot: Can speak telepathically
Diplomat: Can sense motives and see through lies
Bartender: Induce hallucination

There was an uncomfortable pause for a moment. He knew why: Sadasako never liked leaving things incomplete, especially not when there's a risk. "Understood," she finally replies. "These individuals on the second floor, they have look like they clawed at each other." Considering that the floor below didn't have them, this had to mean that the phage had a short lifespan, possibly an alternate means of infection. Just seeing them was unsettling, much less forcing them into bags in order to contain their infection, and yet she still does this without even hesitating.
As she runs to the washroom in order to clean her sleeves and hands, she pauses to hear something. She moves to the room on the other side of the washroom to hear it clearer - someone was breathing!

Sadasako runs to find far more than that noise. All across the floor of this storage room was complete chaos. Scientists slumped on the floor, staining the floor with red and orange, blue and violet and glass splattered on the floor in the middle, windows shot out. And in the middle of this all was one last terrorist, breathing labored, his body decorated in weeping sores and claw marks.
"Commissioner," the girl hurriedly calls, "I found someone. He's alive, but he has a lot of wounds. Breathing is strained. Awaiting orders."
Her uncle had to act fast. Awaiting orders meant she wasn't sure what to do in this case. "Sadasako, please ensure his condition. Don't move him."

The masked girl takes a cautious step, but as she does, she hears laughter.
"It's...so beautiful..." Words are choked out of this last survivor. "This world worries so much about living... So what's the problem if I gave them less to worry about?" She slowly approaches him, but it seemed like he didn't respond. "If they knew you like I did, mister Sandman..."
"Sandman?" Sadasako freezes. Did he actually see her?
He laughs weakly. "That first time... When I saw you, I was already in love..."

...

user who posted the image here. I liked the story, well written, but I think you need to be clearer about who's who.

Yeah, I meant to also name the captain and diplomat. This is what I get for writing in the dead of night.
As a note: The captain is the blonde man in all black in the top left
Alexandra the pilot is the red haired knife ear in the top right
Erynion is the other knife ear in the bottom left
Unnamed diplomat is the bottom right

Sadasako's legs refuse to move back, the entire conversation was just getting too weird. "Commissioner, he's mumbling to himself. He's..." she breathes in. "He might be the perpetrator."
"Just keep him distracted for as long as you can," he calls back. "I just heard from the Hazmat teams, they got past the traffic holdup. They'll be here soon."
She tensely responds. "Understood."

The order was enough to walk forward. She always listened to orders.
"Mister Sandman..." the man mutters again, "I've wanted to see you...for so long..."
"You...do?" Sadasako was glad for the mask. Even though she didn't know how to smile quite properly, she blushed quite brightly.
"Your eyes...just like back then...so big..." the girl before him fretted a bit before approaching again, eyes trained at him. "So pretty... Wish I could move...make sure you're real..." She looks at his hands - one of them had shards of glass embedded in it, the other stained. She hesitates, but with her sleeves over her hands, she has nothing to fear. She grabs his stained hand, taking it into hers. Another sigh. "Just like that time...made me feel safe... Then...the face..."
Sadasako speaks, "Please, stay awake. I...I do not want to leave until I can see what you did."
The edges of the man's mouth pick up in a faint twitch. "Yeah...I'd love that too...means the world you're here..." His eyelids slowly droop.
"Please, do not go yet. I still want to ask you something." Her hands grab tighter.
"Ask away then..."
Sadasako gathers herself. Just being near these dead people, this hotbed of contagion, made her on edge. "Why? Why did you do this to these people? Why did you kill them?"
"Because...so many people are afraid...of you." His voice was growing fainter. "I love you, but...nobody feels the same way. Thought...this way, more people would understand..." The words left her speechless. All this...to spread his feelings? "World would be happier...if we weren't afraid of you...right?"

She chokes on her words, caught in the emotion of disgust. Nothing she says quite grasps on her feelings, none of it can embody the disappointment of committing the murder of potential hundreds, just to espouse his love.
"They...wanted havoc...let them..." His speech slurs further. "That way...us...together." His eyes close.
"But...this is not what I wanted." She finally whispers those words, but it's already too late. She can already feel his pulse making its last, pitiful beats. He exhales one last time, and then all is quiet. She rises again, grabbing what remained of the bodybags. Half of the men on this floor were given bags, but the rest could not be just left there. She found sheets in the hospital beds and wrapped another two in them. When she finally reached the perpetrator, the lover of the Sandman, there was nothing suitable left. The plastic wrap was insufficient, and labcoats were not able to seal in the body.
In the end, she merely crosses his arms and closes his legs. She then draws close to the dead man and plants a faint kiss using the filter touching the forehead. The samples were all stored in a nearby tub, which she carried back with her bat.

Sadasako returns to the entrance with the samples and hands them to the Commissioner. She bows, "I'm sorry, Commissioner, but the man..." He puts a gloved hand on her hair, pulling it back.
"You did good out there. Now come on, we need to give these to the department." She nods and dutifully follows her uncle outside. The crowds are still out there, screaming about the gunshots, the possibility of something terrible in there. The press still tries to pester them, but the shut door is enough to scare them off.
"Uncle, can I take this off now?" She asks. He nods, and she removes the gasmask. "Will we be handing in the recording?"
"We will." The gasmask had a video camera stored in it, recording her investigations. When she hands in the samples, she also has to hand in the mask's recordings.

...

When the two returned to their apartment, Sadasako found herself unusually clingy with her uncle - she was grabbing his arm the entire time, only letting go to eat dinner.
"Is something the matter, Sadasako?" he asks.
"Uncle, is it normal to do something insane for someone they love?"
"What brings this up?"
She looks at him. "That man, at the center... He said that he did it because he wanted everyone to love...the Sandman like he did."
Her uncle took a moment to think about it. If this man really was the perpetrator, then he attacked that CDC center for a love of death, a need to show this love to others. That was insane, alright, but so was his brother, who decided to tamper with his unborn daughter's genetics to the point that disease meant nothing to her. He risked her life to make sure she was healthy, and even if it was successful, it was still incredibly risky, both to her mother and the child.
"That man...he didn't understand what he was doing." He figures out his answer. "He was showing off. He didn't really consider what happened to other people because of his actions."
"But what does that mean about me?" His niece points to herself.
"My brother...your father did something dangerous, yes, but he did it to make sure you were the happiest girl you could be. He protected you from everyone that wanted to take you away from your family. I don't like how he did it, but...I'm glad that you're here with me, Sadasako. Don't forget that." In the days following her father's death, there were countless organizations who wanted to study her unique genes like she was some lab rat. It was thanks to her uncle and her father's will that she was even able to live the peaceful life she had.
After dinner, Sadasako began feeling a little less clingy, but she still wanted to hug her uncle. As she does, she mutters, "Thank you, Uncle. Thank you, Dad."
He smirks. "You don't ever need to thank me. As long as we can be proud of you, I'll always be there for you."

When the world began there was naught but the twisting seas and the great god spirit, Urya. Urya controlled all, the waves and the sky but soon grew weary of its solitude and set out to create. Slowly the sea grew to be inhabited by numerous creatures, until the dread serpent, Hyore was created. The serpent was forceful and filled with purest rage against its creator, so Urya sealed it, and the sees under a barrier of darkness, leaving the sea and all that dwell there trapped away from the skies, which Urya claimed as its own.

Both were in control of their own domains, however, the covetous serpent was unsatisfied with its life in darkness and lashed out of the waters, striking toward the sky that Urya controlled. With each strike the barrier of the sky grew weaker and weaker until, eventually it shattered, spilling Urya's great throne into the sea. Hyore had grown stronger, fed on hatred and on the destruction of Urya's other creations. The two forces struggled against each other, but Hyore had grown too powerful and could not be defeated. Seeing this, Urya created its children, splitting itself into the parts that composed its duality. The goddess Dami, ruler of the seas and her twin brother, Renu king of the skies.

The two gods struggled against the force of chaos, Renu wielding his great mace, imbued with the wrath of the sky itself and Dami, twisting the forces of the seas to her will with her staff, set with a piece of the moon itself.

The battle raged on for days, weeks, perhaps millennia as the push and pull of the struggle continued. With a final mighty strike Hyore was ended and, as its last act, regurgitated the creations which it had consumed.

cont.

With the dread serpent dead the two gods assumed there domains of sky and sea. Each however, left a guardian of their own, to watch over each other. Dami created the moon and called it Venu, or "watchman" and Renu created the stars and their reflections on the water. He thus called them Uryan or "dualities"

However, there was a problem. The pieces of the barrier to the sky had sunk into the sea and produced great protruding masses of land. The twin gods convened and came to decide that a creation of there father should come to take the land as its own. They called these beings "Humana" and watched over them as they grew.

It is said in prophesy that when the black moon rises over the daytime sky, Hyore has returned and that the two gods repeat their struggle for the fate of all humana and that which we know.

*The Paladin gets back to his feet, handing the boy at the front of his audience of little ones and passers by a small charm of a crescent moon, the dark space filled by a constellation of stars*

Now, I must go. I have duties to attend to in service of our lord Renu.

AND
FUCKING
SCENE

How did I do guys?

...

I feel like this could be told interestingly with the sword nuns as the villains and still tell the story through their perspective, maybe even play around with 1st person for this one. If this thread is still around later I'll see what I can do, right now, I've got a headache that's kicking my ass.

Tolkien quality descriptions. Very well done

That night, the Commissioner decided to have a drink. He looks out of his window in the kitchen with a glass in his hand. The night sky was desolate, bleak save for a few stars here and there. "I don't regret taking her in for even a second," he talks to himself. "But...I regret that you couldn't see how your little girl's growing up. I'm sure you'd have been proud of her."

The next morning, life continued for Sadasako and her uncle, as if last night was just some common occurrence.
"Uncle," she starts as she's about to leave for school. "I need to say something."
"What?"
"It's about last night." She pauses. "I know that I don't have to worry about my well-being, but...I have been thinking about everyone around me. I would be worried if anything happened to you, Uncle."
The old man smiles. "You're already a splendid girl. When you grow up, I know that your parents won't have to worry because I won't. I love you, my dear niece."
Again, her face blushes. "Thank you, Uncle."

>END

Okay, I have a story from a campaign I'm currently involved in.

So we're playing D&D 3.5, no splatbooks. Basic stuff, no books of weeaboo fightin' magic or any of that. All four of us started out at level 1. Our party consisted of a paladin who had more conversational skill than combat ability, a barbarian that didn't use weapons, like, at all, an angry, cynical dwarf who was armed to the teeth, and a wizard who was basically useless in combat (as all level 1 wizards are apt to be).

The premise was this: a merchant was looking to hire qualified individuals for protecting his business assets and for "loss mitigation" -- whatever that meant. An honest day's pay for an honest day's work. All of the characters individually heard about the opportunity and signed up without getting any specific details on what exactly it was that they were agreeing to. They assembled together at his caravan the morning it was scheduled to set off.

The merchant (a little halfling by the name of Brimly) climbed on top of a cart and started explaining what it was that the party was doing.

"Now I am sure you are all wondering why it is I assembled you here. Well, let me explain. About two weeks' travel from here I have acquired a most valuable asset. I purchased a few acres of pristine mudflats! It has exquisite clay deposits that make the highest quality porcelain that you have ever seen! Look at this, isn't this the finest creamy hue?"

Brimly held up a porcelain plate some six inches from the face of the dwarf, a fighter named Dabab.

"Actually I've seen better. The kaolinite content isn't enough, you need even firing for the smooth texture and off-beige that most people want."

Brimly gave Dabab the most fierce scowl before Johann von Krugger, the paladin, stepped in.

"Well I like it. Anyway, we aren't here to debate the subtle points of tableware. We're here to do 'loss mitigation'. Could you tell us what that means?"

"Ugh, fine. See, I've had workmen out there working the kilns before, but it seems that there have been a few complications. Nothing too serious, I just need you lot to set things straight."

Grimauld the wizard piped up,
"What do you mean 'complications?' That doesn't sound good."

"Some wildlife trouble. Nothing to be worried about."

Johann looked perplexed for a moment, then asked,

"If it is nothing to be worried about, why bring us along?"

Brimly had a look of pain on his face, paused for a moment, and then explained the true nature of his "complications." Turns out that his operation had a little wildlife problem. And by little, Brimly meant big. And by wildlife, he meant bear. And by problem, he meant eating all of his workers and grinding production to a halt. It was the party's job to find the big bear eating all his workers and grinding production to a halt and to kill it. If this sounds simple, you overestimate the group's competence.

So they all left town with the mud merchant and his (new) workers and headed over to his property. The trip was long and, for the most part, uneventful. The only thing really to note is the "displays of skill" that Debab and Grimauld tried to put on. Emphasis on the word "tried."

About four days into the journey, as the caravan stopped to make camp for the night, Grimauld spotted a rabbit just off the road. Wanting to impress his companions and enjoy a cooked rabbit for dinner, he proposed a competition. He wagered a copper that he could kill the rabbit with a simple cantrip. Dabab threw his helmet into the ring, so to speak, and bet another copper that he could kill it with his javelin after the weakling wizard failed.

So Grimauld attempted to cast ray of frost on the rabbit. Now, see, here's the thing. Ray of frost is a spell that requires aim. Grimauld couldn't hit the broad side of a barn with it, so naturally he failed, much to his embarrassment. The ray hit just behind the rabbit, startling it and making it run off towards a small clearing presently occupied by Lothar the barbarian. Dabad acted quickly and threw one of his javelins (he had several), but only managed to get it jammed in the side of a cart.

The rabbit hopped off in the direction of Lothar who promptly A.) stomped it, B.) picked it up and C.) bit the head off.

Other than that, the journey progressed and the gang soon arrived at their destination. The workmen unloaded all their tools, shovels, axes, bags of grain, crates and what have you, and prepared to turn a few shacks next to the pottery kilns into suitable barracks. While they were doing that, the party started familiarizing themselves with the surrounding terrain.

Now, no one really knew anything about bears. But Johann claimed to be an aristocrat and said that he knew a little about hunting, so everyone else might as well follow him. Dabad said that he couldn't give two shits what aristocratic lineage Johann was from, just because he was born with a silver spoon up his ass doesn't mean that he gets to call the shots. But Johann seemed to know what he was doing at least, so after some bickering, the merry band of adventurers fell in line and followed Johann's lead. At a little before sunset, after some six hours of searching, the group ran into the bear. Literally.

See, here is the thing about party coordination, it isn't just a balance of classes and skill sets. Actually, it is more about COORDINATION, as in, working together, coming up with a plan together, executing it TOGETHER. Party coordination did not occur.
Immediately after spotting the bear, Lothar did the intelligent thing and charged straight at it, yelling like a madman. Lothar was unarmed, by the way. Lothar no use weapons, Lothar like killing with bare hands. Bear hands. Ha ha Lothar made joke. The bear, predictably, reciprocated and started running towards the group. Now, Johann and Dabab were hesitant about what to do. See, Dabab learned in dwarf fighting school to play it slow and steady, use his big ass tower shield and scalemail armor to his advantage, and gradually wear the opponent down. Johann thought that was also a good idea, but seeing as how Lothar had already broken away from the group, all he could do was follow the mad barbarian and to hope to be of some use. He unsheathed his great sword and charged.
Grimauld, using his superior wizard intellect, had foreseen the encounter with the bear and had SPECIALLY PREPARED for just that moment. Waving his hands in the air, he cast the ultimate spell for just that occasion -- grease. Specifically, he cast grease right smack dab in the middle between Lothar and Johann on the one hand and the bear on the other. The bear ran into it, started to skid, spun over on his back, and slipped at full speed towards the party. Now, Johann was able to stop before he hit the grease, but Lothar didn't seem to care. He plowed right into the bear and was knocked over like a bowling pin.

Lothar flailed his arms around in panic, grabbed hold of the bear's fur, and held on tight. He climbed onto the bear's back and began to grapple with it. Dabab ran over to the edge of the grease spell's area, pulled out a javelin and tossed it into one of the bear's legs. Lothar got the bear into a headlock and began to squeeze as much as he could. Dabab readied another javelin and tossed it...straight into Lothar's arm, piercing right through it and hitting the bear in the throat, effectively pinning Lothar's arm to the bear.

It was at this juncture that Johann ran over to assist Lothar, slipped, and skidded some ten feet. Grimauld also tried to "help" with an acid splash, but ended up hitting Lothar in the face with it. Lothar started screaming and continued to squeeze the bear's neck until everyone heard this nasty snapping sound, followed by a little pumpf as the bear's head ragdolled onto the ground. Still screaming, he ripped the javelin from his arm, tried to get up, slipped, tried to get up again, succeeded, pulled out a knife and started to skin the bear on the spot.

In fact, he didn't really stop screaming until he had cut off the damn thing's head and had gotten a fair ways through ripping the hide off. He then placed the bloody and mangled bear head on top of his own head as some kind of morbid hat, threw the skin over his shoulders like a cloak, and started walking back to the caravan. This took literally like 25 minutes and during the whole time no one else said a peep.

They returned just as the last light of day was disappearing. The party went to Brimly to inform him of the, ahem, results of the expedition. But words were hardly necessary. Brimly took one glance at Lothar, covered in blood with a severed head as a helmet, and asked,

"Who the fuck are you people?"

Dabab looked at Johann, all covered in grease and dirt, gave him the most shit-eating grin imaginable, turned to Brimly and said,

"We're the Aristocrats!"

That's a pretty nice story you did author, but I'm afraid the image you based it off , has a different context.

That was a drawing request from a drawthread and according to the artist and the requester, that's suppose to be a family pic. And honestly I was expecting a family story with that pic. But hey that was still a neat story though, just wished you were much more clearer on who's who and give the captain and the diplomat a name; and especially you gave info on who diplomat really is considering she does'nt look too human judging by her eyes.

Also may I reuqest any other author to make a family story for pic related? =

...

Honestly, I'm disappointed in myself. I wrote it in the dead of night and didn't bother to go back through my first draft to fix anything and just posted it raw.

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Alisryth stared at the mon'keigh brute sitting opposite to him, her features portraying the deep disgust she felt towards it. Truly the humans were like cattle. It made him feel revolted and sick watching the thing hork down the 'food'.

He wondered if it tasted as bad bad as it smelled, for it smelled awful. He debated asking the human if it was made of excrement, and declined. Truth be told He really didn't want to know. Alisyrth bitterly cursed Isha. When the news had come to the craftworld that the goddess had returned to the eldar, freed from her imprisonment in the horrors of the warp, he had rejoiced alongside his kin. They had feasted and drunk and made love to celebrate the return of their goddess. The eldar were finally on the rise after so many years.

The goddess herself had returned to lead them to a better age. That the farseers had not forseen this didn't matter. The resonant feeling of joy that had touched every eldar soul was proof enough that Isha had returned to her children. He had signed up as a guardian after that, setting aside his path as a healer for a time. The goddess asked for their aid, and Alisyrth would answer her call.

When word reached him that Isha had brokered an alliance with the living corpse the humans worshipped as a god, Alisyrth didn't bother. The goddess, kind hearted as she was was surely manipulating the gullible humans like her children had done. She wouldn't lower herself to marry such an abomination, despite her boundless love for her children.

Now, Alisyrth was not so sure. He was helping the human man one of their crude contraptions they called a heavy bolter. It lacked the finesse of a construct made from wraithbone, and the sound it made was as obnoxious as those made by the orks they fought. Still it was an effective weapon, that was capable of blowing orks to bits. And he was surrounded by enough humans to stay safe from harm.

He coughed a little and looked at the human sharing the crude contraption with him. A female, Alisyrth surmised, as it didn't have hair growing from it's chin or lips. What hair it did have was a rather pleasant red, that went well with the color of it's eyes, a blue hue that was quite charming to look at.

For her charms, she was quite , well, human. Her face was too round, her body was too thick and her expression too dumbfounded. The mon'keigh would barely be able able to communicate with him during combat, daring to shout orders at him while she fired her loud contraption. Still, Alisyrth was content enough to be sitting here at the back, away from the front trenches where more humans were burrowing and trying to desperately stop the next orkish wave.

To their credit, the humans worked surprisingly well as a team. Alisyrth had thought that the humans were a squabbling bunch that existed only to win through raw numbers, and were used by the craftworlds to their own ends, rather like orcs. That they were capable of advanced tactical thinking was something he was not aware of.

Still for all their crude intelligence, they were still beasts that walked upright. The human seemed to be eating her disgusting slop with gusto, spilling it all over her armor. He had to do something, if only to keep boredom away.

"You know, human. You can actually chew food with your teeth before you swallow it. I suppose it takes getting used to but you should keep at it. After all, you can pretend you are capable of thinking."

You forgot to link to the image.

The human stopped eating and stared at him with a mixture of fright and awe. Her eyes became as large as soulstones and she stared directly at him for an awfully long time before she said

"Ifs eafier to swaww..."

If she had insulted his mother, she would have received a warmer reply. As such Alisyrth was furious at the way the human deemed to insult him for his helpful advice.

"Are you some kind of exceptionally stupid animal? Isha's mercy, I have seen milch animals have more grace than you. Your kind is a disgrace upon the stars and I am appalled that I, the scion of the eldest race am forced to be here to watch your kind try and stop the orks. Your kind is unworthy on even standing upon one of our maiden worlds, and yet here you are, sullying the world with your disgusting slop and the excrement that you call food"

Alisyrth stopped and took a deep breath. His outburst had turned every human nearby to look at him, and suddenly he was aware of how outnumbered he was. He was no exarch, and the humans would overpower him and he would be at their mercy.

"What did you say?" She had finished eating her food and had gotten up, and was looking down on him with her hands upon her hips Her expression was that of puzzlement, and for a moment Alisyrth couldn't understand why.

Then it dawned on him. His outburst was in the high tongue. No wonder the humans couldn't understand him. The poor brutes were incapable of understanding what he said. He laughed a little. Insulting the mon'keigh to their faces when they couldn't understand him would be a rather enjoyable experience.

"I was simply saying that it is kind of your people to help this world by shedding your blood while you fight the orcs. you are not as bad as I thought you were, although it would be better if you actually slowly chewed your food instead of slurping it down. It goes ill with your radiant face miss..."

The human blushed and turned into a delicate shade of pink, She had rightly assumed that what Alisyrth was saying was not flattering but she hadn't expected to be complimented, not by an eldar anyway.

"Marcelline, but everyone calls me Marc." She signalled to the rest of the assembled Mon'keigh and they went back to their holes . By Vaul, did the humans not have any deflectors or shields to take cover behind?

"Besides, this is designed to go down easily. Sure, it is filling and keeps us in the fight. It could use some salt though."

It took Alisyrth a moment to realize that the human was talking to him. Gloating over his close shave with the mon'keigh, he had forgotten that the two of them were isolated from the rest of the group.

"Oh, yes, yes. I assumed so. As long as I don't have to eat it, I can keep singing it's praises. It looks rather unappetizing though, I will admit. I do not blame you for eating it as fast as you did."

The human was taken aback somewhat more than Alisyrth at that. His mind had contrived that subconsciously, and the human was still processing it. After a few moments, she laughed a little at his verbal riposte.

Seeing as he had nothing better to do, he decided to talk to her.

"So Marcelline - "

"Call me Marc, it's easier in combat, and I have gotten used to the name."

"Very well then. So Marc. What do you actually like eating? I hope for your sake that it is at least solid or something you can chew on."

She paused for a few seconds before answering.

"The food they give on emperor's day is better than standard rations. We generally eat better when we are off frontline duty or back on the troopships.

Well not so much better as warmer, I would say. Sometimes we get extra rations of drink as well."

what image?

His horror and shock at human food must have been showing on his face because Marc quickly stopped and reassured him.

"Not all human food is that bad. I once had a pastry when we were allowed to recuperate on a paradise world. It cost me a year and a half's pay, but it was worth it. It was just the sweetest thing, and it melted in my mouth. I only wish it was a bit bigger, y'know?"

Alisyrth was speechless. He had no idea the humans lived such miserable lives. In spite of himself he felt pity for Marcelline at that moment. If you had to beggar yourself to eat a little sweetmeat, what kind of monstrous regime were you living in?

"So, what's your favorite food?"

He composed himself for a moment before answering.

"Liasha. It's not exactly a food, per se. rather it is a drink made from aiolym fruit that have been plucked when they just begin to ripen. Their bitterness passes into a sweet sourness and their pulp is delicious. It is mixed with the honey that the songbirds make and stored deep in the craftworld's vault for a century or more. On the nights when we honor our gods and those who have sacrificed for us, we breach those casks and drink. It is of great significance to our people as the taste of honey reminds us of our days of glory, the bitterness the horrors of our fall, and the sour sweetness that holds the promise of rebirth."

The human was staring at her with that expression again, only her fear was largely gone and replaced by awe. He assumed the humans didn't put any significance on what they consumed, and after seeing her eat what she ate, Alisyrth could hardly blame them.

"Contact, Ork mob, heading straight ahead!" The shout brought both of them into the present, and away from their contemplative moods.

The orks, as numerous as they were dumb were advancing upon the human positions. Most of them were armed with a few crude axes and blades, comically oversized even for the brutes. A few of them were armed with what looked like even cruder versions of the human weapons. Whereas the human weapons looked sturdy, the ork ones were ramshackle to an extreme.

What the orks lacked in equipment, they made up for in sheer bloodlust. Alisyrth could see several human heads and skulls adorning the orks like grisly trophies. If the humans were daunted by this display they gave no sign of it.

They waited until the orcs were close and then they shot volleys of las fire from their trenches. The orcs kept bowling over as they died and the orcs behind them trampled their comrades as they rushed to get to grips with the human line.

They were almost upon the trenches when Marc opened fire. The ork line buckled as the bolter fire ripped into it from it's enfilading position.
The orks were torn into gory chunks. The carnage was far higher than Alisyrth had anticipated. His job was to ensure that the bolter had a steady supply of ammunition as Marcelline kept firing. It was a tedious job, but it was also interesting seeing how the humans fought.

Marcelline's jaw was set and her brows furrowed as she kept shooting into the ork mob. Caught between two sides, the ork line began to buckle and mill about. Hapazard fire from the ork shooters directed at the bolter was the only returning fire they could offer. The orks would doubtless break soon and run away.

Alisyrth would be relieved soon enough by someone else. Almost idly he wondered what the woman next to him liked to eat. It was curious, seeing a human who was so tongue tied while talking to him, while at the same time be so calm and collected in the heat of battle. He wondered if humans had war masks that made them like that.

His reverie was cut when a shout of "GRENADE!" went up. In slow motion, Alisyrth watched as a grenade floated up towards him. He caught it with his outstretched hand and tossed it back towards the offending ork. He was rewarded with the ork going up in a puff of smoke and blood.

What came next was panic inducing. At least a dozen grenades were chucked at the bolter position. The orks didn't even duck for cover as the fire from the trenches cut into the remaining beasts.

Most of them fell around the gun, but one of them fell right behind the two of them. The grenade would explode nearly instantly, killing the two of them if they were upright.

Alisyrth grabbed Marcelline and hit the dirt. The band was deafening, and the hot shrapnel falling on his fingers was excruciatingly painful. Alisyrth counted till ten and got up. Marcelline had been hit rather badly. She was bleeding all over her side. Not caring to look at his injuries, Alisyrth cradled her on his lap and tore off part of his cloak to act as a makeshift bandage.

After an hour, when the replacements came to relieve the platoon, the guardsmen were surprised to see an eldar cradling an injured soldier in his arms. Her condition was steadily worsening and it was clear that without triage she would die soon.

The eldar followed the wounded and dying guardswoman back to the rear lines, and while it raised a few eyebrows most guardsmen were focused on the threat ahead of them. The orks were amassing again for another push, and the emperor demanded that the green tide be pushed back to help their new allies.

At the end of the day, no matter what the gods and masters of the galaxy wanted, blood would be shed. It was perhaps the only constant in a galaxy in the midst of conflict. All guardsmen needed to know was the most important truth. They were men and women of the imperial guard, and no matter what their friends or foes were, at the end of the day, they held the line, and they died standing.

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...

Fallen

A blinding flash followed by a resounding boom. Then the feeling set in, like a thousand pins had flown into each and every nerve in her body. Voices. Voices saying things she couldn't distinguish apart from a few words. "Targeted" "Infection" "Amputate" A bright light...

Little Sandra awoke staring into a blinding light. For a second she wondered if she had died, if all that commotion was her last memory on Earth. Slowly her vision focused and the comfortingly mundane image of a cabinet, made of simple wood on the other side of the room came into view, followed the sensation of the small hospital bed beneath her. A stand of her fiery orange hair had shifted in front of her eye as she sat up. She tried to brush it away. Nothing. A second time. Nothing. Sandra looked down toward her left arm, or where it should have been. It was gone.

For a moment she panicked, sitting up even straighter until she felt a pain in her abdomen. The sensation brought her back to reality. Taking another look around, she was in a room with no windows. The room was well kept, each of the walls gleamed a porcelain white. Taking another look there were five other beds scattered across the room in an orderly fashion. She felt alright, except, oh god, her arm! Her wing! And where was she? Sandra started to panic again, waving her remaining arm and trying to get untangled from the thin blue sheet over her legs.

cont.

The door swung open and in came a dark skinned woman, clad in a white dress that came down to her knees.
"Calm down. It's alright. You're safe here," her voice was soothing, like a soft breeze Sandra could just spread her wings and... oh.
"Why should I be calm? Where am I? Who are you? What happened to my wing?" Tears had started to well in the scared girl's eyes, and she did her best to slide on the bed away from this nurse.
"I'm Lisa, I'm just a doctor. Nothing to be scared of. You're in the ship's infirmary for recovery," the calm lilt stayed in her voice, even as Sandra's tears started to slide down her cheeks, leaving little trails of sparkling droplets.
"Sh-ship?" She was starting to calm down.
"The CTS Cerulean. Only one of the finest steam powered patrol ships in the entire fleet!" Lisa seemed very proud of the ship and her station on it, raising her voice as she declared them to be of such caliber. He voice faded to a combination of embarrassment and regret, "and it's our fault your wing is gone."
Sandra was stunned, now just staring at her bandaged shoulder where the base of her wing, fiery orange like her hair, should be.
"There's someone I think you should meet.
Cont. further later, its the middle of the night and I need to take a break.

bump

you really only need a bump every three of four hours at this time of day. Also, bump with pictures, otherwise it's just a wasted post.

The hallway was so old that it should by all rights have been reduced to dust; the very stone upon which it was built seemed to have rotten as it crumbled beneath my feet. A whisper of a breeze moved through the cracks in the walls, carrying with it the terrible chill that had been slowly spreading over the southern peninsula. There was not a flicker of life to be seen in any direction. Even the wind was a whimper of its old roar, with not a single tree to whistle through. The fertile black soil had long since been turned to white powdered chalk, dyeing everything foul grey as the water receded back into the sea.

My memories were vague, fleeting, but I could recall a time when the dilapidated fortress was called the garden eternal, and how every inch of the stones was once overgrown with flowers. Lush and green, smattered with so many colours we could hardly find names for them all. It was no use trying to wear a mask of indifference. Nobody was left to see it, and perhaps I would have taken comfort in the sadness after feeling so little for so long. I could hardly even remember what 'green' looked like.

One hundred and eighteen thousand years have passed since I became immortal. Upon reflection, I wouldn't have been so eager to cast off my humanity had I been born a century or so later. I was only two hundred when I began to notice signs of the coming decay of the world. To anyone who spends the time listening to the trees and the stones, it would have been clear. I was just too naive to see it.

I was born human, though I have no evidence of this. I surmise that the only proof I have is the fact that I've forgotten. The human mind was not made to last forever. It only took a few centuries for my mind to fade and become fragmented, little glimpses of previous lives washed away by the next like so many winters washed away by the spring.

What I do remember is the last winter, when spring never came. The last winter I spent with her, the other.

(cont.)

She was eternal, like me. If I met any others, I had forgotten. We must have encountered many times in our long lives, as I remember her by many names. Most vivid in my mind was 'Nohl', but I do remember saying vows more than once to someone named 'Friese'. I traveled with a 'Sara', and fought the ninth great war with a woman by the name of 'Reiga'. I suppose we should be grateful our bodies outlived most of our memories. We must have lived many lives together.

I had resigned myself to sleep in a frozen cavern some years ago, and decided I would simply wait for the rest of the world to turn to dust. Of course she didn't join me; she still found the humans so fascinating, even after they had all given up on building and creating. Right up until the last few were freezing to death searching the chalk wastes for paradise, she never stopped watching them. Perhaps she had forgotten more than I had about her humanity, or maybe she simply didn't get bored of seeing the patterns in people that I did. She might have hated me for giving up on them too, but if so she never said it. Humanity only lasted roughly thirty thousand years, and the rest of the world didn't last another five. Perhaps she wanted to be around in case life sprang up again as it so often does.

It's been only a few months since I was roused from my sleep. The world had gone quiet, and hearing her voice over the silence was more than enough to wake me. I held onto that sound and searched tirelessly in all the time since I woke, nothing driving me other than the idea that there might be something other than myself left in this world.

I was pleased when her voice led me to the ruins of the garden. Not all of it could be brought back, but just seeing the cobblestones was enough to make me nostalgic for the time we spent there.

I followed her voice down the only hallway still intact, my ragged clothes barely clinging to my body as the wretched cold tried in vain to make me shiver.

(cont.)

I'm feeling creatively burned out on this book I'm writing (its almost finished).

What's something you guys do to creatively recharge?

In all of the many years I had wandered and observed the earth, never had I seen anything quite like what greeted me with a smile in the chamber at the end of the hallway.

She was there. It could only be her, but she had taken on a new shape. Wings like a butterfly's, skin pale as the chalk, and eyes that saw nothing. Such an ironic shape to choose, given how early on the butterflies ceased to be.

She might have had a voice, she might not. The words echoed from every direction all the same.

"I've missed you, Voh."

I struggled, but I could not ascertain whether that was my previous name or not. So much of it was a haze, not unlike watching the horizon flatten underneath the never-ending torrent of white chalk.

"And I you." I answered, barely a whisper. I hardly needed to speak to be heard. It was so quiet that my thoughts might have even been audible.

While she still bore a vague resemblance to her former imitation of humanity, it was clear that she thought a human shape no longer suited her. She seemed content with her new form, if a little lost. She didn't give an explanation for the crude shackles at her wrists, and I didn't ask; I was doubtful she could remember.

"You've felt it, haven't you?" The words appeared in my mind, and I nodded. Even if she was blind, she would have heard the movement. "Then you remember, maybe?" I tilted my head, puzzled.

"So you've found it, then?" I asked simply. She would know what I meant.

"Yes." she nodded, and her wings fluttered ever so slightly as she gestured to the old blade I had dragged halfheartedly into the garden. "That will do."

I wasn't sure why I had gotten so attached to the old weapon. I didn't know how old it was. It might have been from when I was human, or it might have been something that belonged to someone I liked. Whatever the case, there were no battles left to fight.

"If we want to end..." She began, "...We must do it together. That's all there is to it."

(cont.)

Writefagging.

"It was that simple, all along?" I exclaimed, the sound so loud it might as well have been a thunderclap. I recoiled at my own voice, and even she shuddered. I had completely forgotten what that feeling of shock and alarm was like. I was almost tempted to shout again.

"Yes. It's that simple." She replied some time later. "Our lives are sustained by the earth, and bound together." Her wings ruffled anxiously, the colours playing across them like oil over water. "We've been borrowing it for too long." she sighed, and composed herself again. "It's time to give it back."

How didn't I see it? So many cultures had already said as much. You take your life from the earth at birth, and in death you pass it on. After so long, of course there was decay. We had been doing nothing but taking.

As though they served no purpose at all, she slipped out of her shackles and collapsed to the floor, her iridescent wings billowing down after like great sheets of silk. She began trying to stand, but I doubt her new legs could bear the weight.

I walked over, and as I drew closer I could see roots forming at her feet as though out of anticipation.

Very carefully, she reached out with her sinuous white arm and took gentle hold of the old sword. Her arm stretched and cracked to suit its new purpose, raising the corroded old blade high above both of our heads.

I began to allow my shape to unravel too, but she shook her head.

"Humanity suits you."

She drew me in close and took hold with her other arm, the first time I had felt warmth in millennia. We both collapsed to the cold floor and she wrapped her wings around us both as she lay on top of me, our imitation of the sword of Damocles poised carefully overhead.

I felt nothing as I heard the heavy iron whistle though the air, but I swear that what ran between the cobblestones after was fresh, clean water. The room finally began to crumble as the water rose, and algae began to form on the broken stone.

Unless you've got a really good reason (which from this story, you don't) just use 'said' instead of stuff like 'exclaimed/answered/whatever'

And manage your adverbs better. Adverbs aren't something you want to overuse.

So guys what do you think of my two previous stories I did previous storythread?

1d4chan.org/images/e/ea/OperationSpiderLust.png

and

1d4chan.org/images/9/9a/DressToImpress.png

Just wana get some thoughts about these two tales because I sort of posted and completed them late, not giving people who read the previous thread a time to fully read it.

How'd you find 'em?

Also Chronicler, I'm quite surprised you added this to the story archives:

1d4chan.org/images/8/8c/RedWall.png

I think that was meant as a funniez shitpost, but I guess I'll take it that you know Metal Gear, Metal Gear Rising and all the fucking invincible nano-memes involving it which is also the DNA of the soul right?

Yeah, you're right. That's the sort of thing I would go back over if I could come back to edit later. I usually let my work sit for a while before going back in to edit but I want to work on my improv. I'm also guilty of having favorite words, most of which are adverbs. I probably should have slowed down a bit, in hindsight.

Thanks for replying straight away with useful criticism though, I wasn't expecting that at this hour. Really cool of you.

No problem. It's something I'm being stricter about in my own work.

"They come! Brothers, rise up in violent rebel and drive away our evil gods!" screamed out Tarogg in defiance of his fate.

It was a time filled with terror and blood, the soul beneath their feet toxic and unable to uphold life. Their skins discolored by the polluted air and spines curved and weak from years of crawling before these tusked monstrosities. The monsters would come every winter to feast on their tribe, leaving behind but one corpse of their own kind, bloodied and beaten by the others. Perhaps it was a way to make new leaders, perhaps it was just their violent tendencies, but every year it was only one corpse. One corpse of gigantic size that the surviving tribals would scavenge and preserve to survive the winter. They felt embraced, as if the lives lost were a sacrifice for the beasts to give them the means to survive the harsh winters. They had learned to hide, to leave the unwanted and the chosen to be torn asunder and to be sacrificed. This continued for years, decades and centuries. This was the 500th year of sacrifice when something change. There was no corpse this year.

cont.

The winter took it's toll, but the tribe considered this a punishment from their gods. Some survived, but at the cost of cannibalizing their kin, others left the tribe in fear of death or from determination to find a new home, a better home. They were never seen again. The tribe couldn't understand why this has happened to them. Has their sacrifices not been sufficient? Once the winter had gone, the tribe has determined to sacrifice more of their own this year to the beasts in hopes that they would this time leave their boon. Winter came and more people had sacrificed themselves for naught, as the beasts left satisfied and their pack whole. Another loss to the tribe whose numbers had been reduced to a bare few. Next winter they would gather animals to fill their role in the sacrifice. This had proven useless too, as the beasts gorged themselves on fatty meat, leaving nothing but some blood behind from their meals. The tribe was dying, the bare few had turned into a dozen. Their chances of survival was not guaranteed and the dozen dwindled every passing week by one, leaving only a single member of the tribe alive after these three harsh years: Toragg, son of Kosagg and Andagg, Hunter to Be and now the Last Son. He crawled from his home covered in scavenged furs and leathers to stave off the cold and marched to the hunting grounds, in hopes of finding something to feed on. He was young and inexperienced, but shear determination for life kept his senses sharp and methods working. Like a beast he would lay in ambush under a layer of snow and excrement to hide his scent and presence, waiting with bated breath for a small animal to come near to be crushed under his body. This honed him into a mighty hunter as he learned the tactics of other carnivores who did not hibernate, carving out a powerful body despite his weak and curved spine. He had become an animal as the other inhabitants of the forest and had survived a winter no other of his tribe could have.

con

Three years passed and Toragg would observe each of them as the beasts that had terrorized and sustained his family for many years rush through the empty cottages of his former home, not even stopping for one moment to wonder where their food had gone. With his being filled with vengeful rage towards his former gods, Toragg one year tracked where the beasts went to every winter. Stalking them from a distance, he followed the beasts rampage through forest and field, trampling the already desolate and barely livable land into a bleak dust filled wasteland. After weeks of tracking, Toragg and his quarry had reached the end of this bloody stampede: the hold of another tribe. Like with his tribe, the beasts tore apart any who did not run or hide, beat one of theirs to death and left for their own home. Toragg was baffled that his gods had abandoned him and his kin for this other tribe, but instead of seeking retribution, Toragg remained and he watched.

cont.

Taking a break for a few if anybody even cares at this point.

Toragg soon learned the routines of the tribe, the characteristics and people. It was much like his own, save for a traditions, but the likeness was eerie to say the least. Many of them shared names and roles and their home were almost an exact copy of Toragg's own. Some of his old tribe members who left had made home there, integrating so well it seemed that they had always been part of the tribe. Come winter, the beasts rampage, kill one of their own and leave. The tribe survives and prepares for the next year. This repeats for five times before the beasts refuse to kill one of their own for the tribe to feast on. Some remain, some leave and on the third winter the tribe gathers animals for the sacrifice in vain. The tribe dies out and the monsters forge on. Toragg tracks them once more to another tribe where this repeats, always with the same families leaving for another tribe to be spotted and observed by Toragg again. Toragg aged and his hatred for these beasts grew each passing year as he observed the same pattern repeat itself for almost five decades. He had adapted from all the tribes before him, learning secrets of their survival. He now walked upright with the help of a support on his back, learned the art of venom and poison, crafted weapons that spew fire without catching flame and studied the language of those who had come before him. Nearing his seventh decade, Toragg had grown weary and weak, unable to carry on. Seven decades of nothing but hateful observation and careful study, during which he had never taken a step towards his desire for revenge, biding his time for his justice to take form. He had now come to a new tribe, but instead of observing, he took action.

cont.

He was an anomaly, a freak. A man who had survived to grow old in a harsh land where nothing grows old. He strode high over the tribals who, like he and his kin before, crawled on all fours as their spines were bent and weak. Toragg made home in the center of the hold, living among the tribe as if an animal had made a nest none of the tribals wanted to shoo away. He stood among them a silent shadow that tailed them every opportunity, but both ignoring each other. Finally winter came and the tribe left their sacrifices as the rest went into hiding. Toragg followed those who were to survive this winter into their sanctuary. The tribe stared at the aged stranger before them, sitting calmly as a slaughter happened way from them. Once the thunderous roars of the feast had faded, the tribe returned to their home to find it ravaged, but with a supply of meat for them to preserve and survive with. Toragg stood there, finally opening his mouth to speak, something he had not done fore almost sixty years:
"This will not go on forever. They will stop coming and they will lead to your death. You must fight or die."

cont.

The tribe reeled back as this freak spoke their language with fluency. After the initial confusing had settled in, the tribe began to yell insults and curses at Toragg. Heretic, pagan, outsider, freak and many others Toragg was called. The tribals became violent towards him, but were too afraid to attack, instead throwing pebbles and mud at Toragg who withstood the petty assault. Finally the largest member of the tribe crawled forth and begun to talk. "The Gods have sustained us for hundreds of years for but a few lives sacrificed. You spit poison instead of words, trying to turn against our saviors. Even if we were to follow your blasphemous words, they are Gods, they are almighty and undying, we cannot defy them lest we want to destroy our families and burn away our legacy on the boiling blood of their rage. We have tolerated your unwelcome presence for long enough, but now you must leave or we will end your life with righteous fury!".

"Poetic, but misguided" said Toragg, "Your sharp tongue and quick wit are impressive, but you are just waiting for your death to come. I have followed these monsters for longer than any of you have lived and have seen how they operate. They lull you into obedience until their own numbers have been reduced by enough, at which point they stop providing their kin to you as food. They continue their bloody feast until you are few and disperse into the wilds, but before that you probably will herd animals for one year to replace your sacrifice of kin. Mark my words, you will die out unless you fight back. I have the means and knowledge to train you, but i lack my own strength as time has taking it's toll. But you will choose now, because i am tired: Will you continue your death march towards the extinction of your tribe and throw another rock at me or will you place your trust in my experience and have your tribe live for another hundred generations".

cont.

Toragg did not know if his methods would work or if the tribe would survive if they followed him, but he cared for neither. All he cared for was a chance at vengeance. The tribe was but a tool to him, a way to make his mark on the world by wiping out those who he had stalked for all of his life. Would this fail he would go to another tribe in hopes of persuading them to die for his sake and continue until he would finally keel over. The tribe was hesitant. They shuffled in a group, whispering and conversing about the situation. Was this stranger speaking the truth or was he an insane man trying to turn them away from their faith.

"You, the one who had the gull to actually talk, what is your name?"

The, still confused and taken back, stammers a few words before answering.

"...Meregg."

"I see that you are a bunch of fools, so i will grant you a day to actually decide. After that time, you, Meregg will come to me and give your answer. And if you are going to drive me a way, bring a large enough rock to kill me, because otherwise you will regret letting me live."

After saying that, Toragg walked off into the nearby wilderness to survive this winter. Meregg and the others were left to their own devices, to either tear themselves apart or to come together as one for an answer. Toragg made his habitat easily visible to all, so as he would be easily found. A day passed and Toragg sat in his small den, waiting for an answer, whether it be a rock or a man who couldn't even walk upright. The day turned into night and nobody had come either to drive him away or to beg for his teachings. Hiding in the shadows, he stalked the tribe who had completely ignored him, They simply continued their life as normal, much to the ire of Toragg. Gullible idiots he called them and prepared to leave, but he instead remained in the vicinity as the wilderness was more lively here than anywhere else he had come across.

The Biker Hero proceeded up the slightly longer flight of stairs leading to the third and final floor of the building. He/she kicked the door down which caused two thugs to rush at the Biker Hero with their melee weapons, to which the Biker easily eliminated with his/her Wakizashi. Another thug with an automatic weapon stepped out to try shooting at the Biker, only for the Biker to deftly throw a throwing knife to the thug's neck; killing him.

The biker Hero went for the room where that gun wielding thug came from, and there it was, the room the Biker's looking for which housed all the illegal narcotics that was said to be housed in this very abandoned warehouse by reliable sources he knew, and there was also the Cartel Boss, the rest of her gang and guards, and the unfortunate innocent victims who're exploited as Drug Mules.

The Crime Boss was a woman named Viktoria Cloven, a rich and spoiled woman who is the daughter of the lately deceased "Marky" and Zoe Cloven; who were her parents. Marky and Zoe were assassinated by The IIA ( Intercontinental Affairs Agency) when they were suspected and proven of crimes relating to drug, human and illegal weapons trafficking. Including extortion and racketeering but despite the death of Viktoria's parents, this did not stop her from following her evil parent's footsteps as she used her inherited wealth and the reputation of her parents to gain control of their assets. The local law enforcement agencies could only do very little as Viktoria was able to keep her tracks well hidden, thus she's not able to be prosecuted for any major crimes due to lack of evidences. But the IIA suspect that she may be guilty.

And the illegal drug in question is a designer drug that is known as "Liftoff", which was known to cause dulling of pain, hallucinations and a loss of a sense of time and chronology of events, but it had a dangerous tendency to cause organ or heart failure which was why they were dubbed as illegal drugs.

A year passed and the beasts stopped giving their own tribute to the tribe, as Toragg had predicted. He was now wearier than even and intended to remain in the wilderness, with dashed hopes of getting his desires fulfilled in a feast of blood. Once the third year come around, Toragg prepared to gather the remains of the now dead tribe, but something odd had happened. The tribe was still in nearly full strength and the beasts had left a tribute to them. Toragg was confused by this, what was different about this tribe where all the others had failed. Once the winter was over, Toragg stalked the tribe once more, observing them and following them. Over the spring and summer, Toragg had noticed that the tribe gained new members in their adulthood every week or so, but these members were treated like animals. The tribe numbered in hundreds and more and more member joined them. Only way that this would happen was for other tribes to integrate to them, but why would they do that was still a mystery. Another winter passed as Toragg was barely clinging to his ancient life. He stalked them once more and found out the secret of their survival and why the beasts still supplied them for the winter: the tribe had raided and enslaved other tribes to be placed as a sacrifice in their stead and larger tribes had formed an alliance with them and combining them. The number of the slaves grew with the tribe and eventually there were more than enough people to form a true nation. But Toragg cared none for that, for all he saw was finally a chance for revenge. His plan began as he got captured on purpose. He was enslaved and made to serve a family quickly, becoming nothing but a gawdy bauble for them to strut around with to showcase their superiority and status in the tribe. Toragg was still forced to sleep with other slaves, where he found a familiar face: Meregg who too was now a slave.

"I too was enslaved by my own brothers. Once i had mulled over your words, i realized that they rang true and with honesty in my heart i tried to contact you to teach us how to battle the Gods. But i was taken and forced to become a laborer for them, building them homes of stone and weapons of reshaped stone. They enslaved more from other tribes, made alliances and established communications with the Gods. Now they..." Meregg was interrupted by Toragg yelling "The beasts can talk!?"

"Of course they can, they are Gods, ascended from the mortal coil into immortality, sending their fleshen harbingers to provide us with nutrition. But they are evil and vicious, they care for only themselves. They speak with poetic words of nectar that turn people into into zealous cultists. It was a year after you left when..." Meregg continued on, but Toragg had stopped paying attention. He was now mulling over the information he had learned, that the beasts were smarted than he thought, perhaps even smarter than any human he had known or will know. But it mattered little, it only meant that his vengeance was that much harder to attain. And Toragg's plan had already began with his captured and the fact that he could easily speak to the slaves in secret. His plan was simply: A rebellion. Toragg began slowly gaining the trust of his fellow slaves, learning their names and lives before, creating an air of unity and brotherhood among them in the shadows, away from the eyes of the free tribals. They had started to steal small pieces of metal, stone and wood when they worked, learned secrets and methods from Toragg and had slowly started walking upright as him with the aid of the makeshift supports they bore on their backs while asleep. Toragg's health was growing weaker, but the slaves cared for him and made sure that he would live leisurely among them. Some slaves were caught for stealing and Toragg was almost caught himself once, but another was saved by the others.

cont.

"There you are White Scarf, glad you could come! Kinda knew you were coming in here the moment someone mentioned a 'ninja-biker' guy was causing quite a ruckus down below." Said Viktoria as she stood from her fancy desk and chair. She then approached one of the innocent Drug Mules she used as human shields against the Biker Hero.

"So I take it someone tipped you off of the location of where my custom drugs are being made and stored huh? From who? A fellow vigilante and 'do-gooder' like you? The cops who couldn't find a like of evidence to link me to various crimes and decided to let you take me out and they take the credit? Oh I know! Maybe The IAA are behind this, decided to once again hire a guy like you to do dirty work, 'cause while they MIIIGHT have 'evidence' against me with their spying and whatnot. They decide to let you do the busting downs 'cause they don't have enough 'authority' yet to try chasing me here in the nation of Braland! Heh and all because I knew how to be subtle and keep my tracks well hidden. Whether The IAA hired you or you're just doing this for your version of the greater good, ya can't stop me now. 'Cause unlike the dumb rabble ya fought on your way were dump enough to charge head first to you. We all got guns in here! Oh and you wouldn't want any of these hostages harmed in the process now would ya!?"

She wasn't bluffing, everyone had guns and the White Scarf only had his trusty melee weapon and throwing knives, she used the drug mules as meat shields to try discouraging the White Scarf and he was plain outnumbered. But the Scarf was persistent to have her taken down.

Five winters passed and Toragg could barely walk. By chance or by fate, he was never chosen as a sacrifice while other slaves were carried away to be killed for the luxury of others. Toragg knew every slave by name, tribe and face. They were no longer captives and colleagues, but family. Brothers and sisters. But Toragg this entire time had only done it for the sake vengeance. He only thought this convenient as they would throw their lives away for him in the blink of an eye. Winter was coming once more and Toragg was chosen as a sacrifice for his charm as a bauble and an oddity had worn out with his skin that had turned ashen gray from age. As he stood defiant among those chosen for sacrifice, the remaining slaves were preparing to take their fate back into their own hands. Armed with fire, metal and poison, they sat silently in their homes, hidden from their masters, arming preparing themselves mentally for the slaughter that was to come. As the dust clouds of the beasts' rampage came to view, Toragg could barely contain his delight, knowing that his vengeance was about to come. His entire life would finally be over and he would finally know the satisfaction of knowing that his life long enemies would finally die thanks to his own resilience. The tribe retreated to their sanctuary, leaving the sacrifices the be devoured. The beasts formed a circle around Toragg and the others, smacking their lips and staring at them with hungry looks. The beasts prepared to begin their feast, when Toragg shouted with a bellowing voice that could be heard miles away.

"I am Toragg, son of Kosagg and Andagg, Hunter That Is and The Last Son and Father! You have killed my tribe, but now i will finally take my revenge and revel as your lifeless carcasses thump onto the ground rotting away in the wasting away in the winter's winds! I have lived longer than any human before me or any human who will ever live and i have chased you to the end of the world!"

>pic related, cause its what the villainess would look like

"There you are White Scarf, glad you could come! Kinda knew you were coming in here the moment someone mentioned a 'ninja-biker' guy was causing quite a ruckus down below." Said Viktoria as she stood from her fancy desk and chair. She then approached one of the innocent Drug Mules she used as human shields against the Biker Hero.

"So I take it someone tipped you off of the location of where my custom drugs are being made and stored huh? From who? A fellow vigilante and 'do-gooder' like you? The cops who couldn't find a like of evidence to link me to various crimes and decided to let you take me out and they take the credit? Oh I know! Maybe The IAA are behind this, decided to once again hire a guy like you to do dirty work, 'cause while they MIIIGHT have 'evidence' against me with their spying and whatnot. They decide to let you do the busting downs 'cause they don't have enough 'authority' yet to try chasing me here in the nation of Braland! Heh and all because I knew how to be subtle and keep my tracks well hidden. Whether The IAA hired you or you're just doing this for your version of the greater good, ya can't stop me now. 'Cause unlike the dumb rabble ya fought on your way were dump enough to charge head first to you. We all got guns in here! Oh and you wouldn't want any of these hostages harmed in the process now would ya!?"

She wasn't bluffing, everyone had guns and the White Scarf only had his trusty melee weapon and throwing knives, she used the drug mules as meat shields to try discouraging the White Scarf and he was plain outnumbered. But the Scarf was persistent to have her taken down.

The beasts clearly understood what Toragg had said, but they were merely amused. Whatever passed for a smile had crept onto the faces of the hulking monstrosities. They begun to tear into the sacrifices, leaving Toragg for last. Toragg stood still, staring at the carnage happening around him. Finally he was taken between the fangs of a monster who seemed to take pleasure in slowly closing it's jaws, crushing Toragg. His ribs had caved in, his stomach ruptured and crushed and his lungs were almost punctured. But one final yell came from Toragg's lips.

"They come! Brothers, rise up in violent rebel and drive away our evil gods!" screamed Toragg in defiance of his fate.

But nothing happened. The slaves had left, chasing after their enslavers to take their revenge on them, rather than the ones who were the source and reason of their enslavement. Toragg succumbed to blood loss finally and his corpse torn to shreds by the hungry beasts.

cont.

"You shield yourself behind innocence, Viktoria Cloven! Exploiting these poor and lower class folk to transport your illegal goods. And you shall fall before me." The White Scarf said in the typical exaggerated cartoony good guy hero manner.

"Pssssh! Don't talk to me like that. Some of my associates here, and some of these other chumps think that you're some sort of legend. Walked straight out of a comic book. But you and I know, you're human, and you're weak. You came here and for what? To do good and help enforce the law by trying to take me down with a sword and throwing knives while we have guns, and to save these poor losers I use to transport my goodies? Ironic, since the very thing you do; vigilantism, is illegal since it takes advantage of the law right?" Viktoria replied back.

"I have cut a path through all your thugs! Whom have most likely committed vile acts of crime and by associating themselves with you. Who cannot say I do not do good and be lawful good? And yes I am fully aware of what I do, but I do it for the goodness with my heart!" The White Scarf said, still in the heroic good guy manner.

"Don't listen to him guys, he or she is a phoney. Also what's wrong with my product by the way? It just cause harmless hallucinations, plus it dulls the pain."

"Yes it does, but your product is not National Health Organization OR Global Health Alliance approved! And have been known to cause organ or even heart failure, you immoral and indifferent villainess!"

"Oh yeah? Well guess what? This is what's gonna happen: Me and my associates here; we're gonna kill you, you're gonna fail to save these worthless bums I simply use for business. And I guarantee that since you're here in this large open area, far in a distance from me in comfortable area, you have no cover ya could hide in and you don't even have a gun. Try throwing them ninja stars at me or any of us at the distance you're in."

30 years passed. The former slaves had formed a new tribe far away from the beasts. They lived their lives in peace, enhancing and improving on what they have learned long time ago from Toragg. The new tribe has become the largest and most powerful as they adapt and learn from other tribes. They no longer need supports to walk upright, but wear them still as a mark of their allegiance. Their hold has become the mightiest and their walls the highest, hunters the fastest and their home filled with game and pure water. And now 30 years later a new winter has finally come. Atop a watchtower the guard rings the alarm. In but a few minutes, those with able bodies and a strong will have gathered outside the hold as the weak, young and old retreat into a hiding place. Before that tribal militia stands a man, head taller than others, painted with elaborate war paintings all around his body. He raises his weapon and yells with a bellowing voice:

"I am Tarogg, son of Toragg and Jarigg, The Leader That Is and The First Son!" is heard for miles away. "Justice has finally come after a hundred years of injustice to our hero and savior! He may have not cared for us, but we have and will care for him, in life and in death, both his and ours! With fire, metal and poison, we will finally act as the spear of retribution that he forged us into!". The men and women behind him rally and prepare themselves for death and victory.

"They come! Brothers, rise up in violent rebel and drive away our evil gods!" screamed out Tarogg in defiance of his fate.

And that's the end. Now, you all 2 people who did read it, how shit was it?