First Bolt Shell: Legion of One

[greyerrant]

Characters: Garviel and you
Setting: Multiple floors
Format: Prose
Summary: Garviel wanders the tower doing various things including kicking butt
Warnings: Anything is possible including a heck of a lot of violence. Definitely descriptions of blood and war.



Floor Fifty-Six:

A huge armored figure is wandering the strange hospital ward, as if seeking something he has forgotten. He calls a name every now and then.
"Ferrus? Samus? Aqua? Nikolai? Arturia?"

Nothing but silence greets him. Lights flicker as he moves from room to room, a grey ghost of a battle that was fought in this very tower, and on a thousand other worlds as well. And yet... there is something plaintive in the sounds of the names he calls out in this place.

Floor Sixty-Seven (NIGHT)
The strange twining staircase has become a veritable waterfall of gore, blood and ichor slicking the steps from iron to light in all hues as the sound of battle crashes higher up. It would appear Cerberus set upon a band of orcs at night, or the band set on him, and he decided to single-handedly re-enact the battle of Ullanor. He holds one aloft, just over the edge of the stairs, his armor scarred by their cleavers and bows, then casts it down, smashing it into a pulpy, broken mass onto the stairs itself. His armored chest heaves, and he turns, growling in an almost-feral manner as he continues his ascent. Dare you approach?

Floor Twenty-Five: The grey knight stands vigil in the meadow, his massive form suggesting a grim sentinel in an otherwise beautiful place. He appears to be... shocked by it. Completely at a loss of what to do in a place of undespoiled natural beauty which has not been touched by war.

Floor Fifteen: A pale-skinned man one size too large to be human appears to be working dents out of a breastplate using the tools available in the workshop, hammering away at them in a less then adept manner. It would seem he has only enough skill to effect the most basic repairs on his own armor. Care to offer him some advice?

Comments

[greyerrant]

"My apologies mortal. I'll be more careful the next time I slaughter a mob of orks."

There's almost a hint of sarcasm to his voice, or amusement, or both.

[ajealouswind]

"Much appreciated!"

He'll accept both. Maybe it would be worthwhile to exchange a few more words with this one. He checks quickly about him for any nearby or approaching attackers, then readies himself for a jump. As he bends his knees and lowers, he tries to gauge just how much pull the floor will have on him.... and then he launches himself upwards. It's not figurative. He soars upwards, flips, plants a foot on the underside of one set of stairs, and uses that to propel himself to a landing much closer to Garviel.

His first thought, as he straightened himself, was that the man didn't seem quite this large, at a distance....

"The way is clear for now, then?"

[greyerrant]

"That was the last of them, yes."

He notices the impressive leap, and assumes that Kain probably has some augmetics or genehancement.

"I would have managed it quicker with bolter and blade, but we work as needs must."

[ajealouswind]

"Good. I've had enough trouble with this tower's creatures, this evening." He's wearing a dragon-like helm and gauntlets that match it, but no other armor. A pity he hadn't had more to wear, for the tearing and blood on his tunic sleeve indicated that something had recently attempted to take a bite out of him.

"Many of us would manage far better, if we had proper equipment." Though his full expression is hard to make out from beneath that helm of his, there's some sympathy and commiseration visible in it. The spear he carries with him looks hand-crafted, and not terribly refined. "You don't seem to be the sort of man that lets something like that hold you back."

[greyerrant]

"I'm not. It is a question of speed."

He indicates the slain orcs. "Their weapons would be no more efficient than my fists, and far likelier to break."

[ajealouswind]

"Your... fists." Kain hadn't considered that all this carnage had been caused by the man's fists. It was surely possible, he had seen the monks of Fabul fight, but this man seemed to be no monk of Fabul. Was this even a man?

"If this is what you can do with your fists, the administrators would do well to ensure that you never receive actual weapons!" Uncertainty could be glossed over with levity. There's a hint of a laugh in Kain's voice, there.

[greyerrant]

"I'm the final, extreme sanction. If I wasn't able to manage this rabble, I wouldn't be much good to humanity, would I?"

He shrugs.

"I would very much like my chainsword and bolter back. This took too much time, and night has fallen. Apparently that makes things worse."

[ajealouswind]

"I suppose not." He felt he was, perhaps, lacking some important context here... but a soldier was a soldier, a warrior a warrior. He understood the mountain of a man's motivations.

"Everything's worse at night. Things come out that aren't about during the day. The things that are about during the day become aggressive. I trust that you can handle yourself, but I have no plans to linger out here any longer than I must."

[greyerrant]

"Then by all means, move on. I can hold this sector until you are clear."

[ajealouswind]

"I shall. And I wish you well. Although... may I have your name, sir?"

It seemed like a good thing to know. He ought to know what to properly call someone that large. And alright, he was curious, too.

[greyerrant]

"My name is Cerberus." He doesn't really shift much when he says it, almost like it is just a meaningless designation to him.

[ajealouswind]

"Well met, Cerberus. I'm Kain Highwind." ...without the usual 'dragoon of the Kingdom of Baron' appended. Simplicity for simplicity, maybe. He gives a nod of his head, shifts his stance, begins to gauge the gravity again...

"Best of luck!" And then he springs off into the distance, aiming for another section of stairs, back on his way to safety.