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towerofanimus2013-04-29 11:26 pm
greyerrant) wrote in towerofanimus2013-04-29 11:26 pm
First Bolt Shell: Legion of One
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?
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?
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Any idea on how to procure some effective wargear?
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But I do have extensive experience in jury rigging things so if you promise not to tell the techpriests, I could have a looksee at what you're peeking at.
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[ He steps aside and lets Cain look at the beat up armor. ]
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...oh boy, that's a lot of...SOMETHING. Truck engines were a lot more basic than this.]
On second thought, I'd rather not break anything.
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In this case it is the sentiment that counts. Would that we had a techpriest or a techmarine.
But if wishes were fishes, we'd all cast nets.
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My assumption tends to be everywhere, for orks. Have you ever heard of Ullanor?
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[He never really paid attention in classes at the schola but it rang a small bell.]
Ah, right. Something like the biggest fight the Imperium has seen since that large spat on Armageddon. Now that I think about it, if it's compared to that, it must have been fairly...large.
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[Patting Garviel on the back! Thankfully, he's tall enough to reach without seeming awkward.]
That was a good one. I didn't know you Astartes had such a grim sense of humor.
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[ He sounds a little sore about that one. ]
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Then Abaddon runs away with the traitors and for ten thousand years, has been leading Crusades against the Emperor's own.
This story gets pounded in your head in the Commissariat.
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I have seen the adult forms of children I have known, I think this may be a similar case.
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...that sounds like some kind of bad slavery racket run by the pointy ears.
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[ His lips twitch as though amused.]