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

[angramaintsu]

"There's no point to it." Sighing as though it might dismiss the topic easier. "They will continue to come. The monsters are never-ending like many of the things in this tower."

Sometimes though, you've just got to appease them. Raising a hand, flame snaps to life along her fingers.

"I'll handle it this time if you like."

[greyerrant]

"Sorcery!" Loken blurts, surprised and obviously on edge, then he slowly, slowly reverts to a less aggressive state, remembering Amberley's advice.

"I mean... a psyker emanation." He looks at her hand for a moment, then nods.

"By all means, burn them."

[angramaintsu]

"No, this isn't sorcery or a psyker emanation." Whatever that last one was, Rin's sure that this was anything but. "This is called magecraft and if you want to earn my favor in this place, you'll actually call it that. Referring to it as anything else is an insult and magic is outright wrong."

Without hesitation, the fire bursts forth from her palms as though it were a flamethrower itself for the bodies. After a couple seconds of pure channeled flame, she draws back her arm free of burns.

"It'll start to stink here soon."

[greyerrant]

Loken says nothing, staring suspiciously at the arm for a moment, and nods, taking some time to finally respond,

"It matches with Pyrokine abilities I've seen some of the Librarius manifest."

He looks at the bodies, and looks back to Rin, and says, "Do you wish to move, then?"

[angramaintsu]

"We can move if you want, but you're going to have to explain what you just said. I'm kind of a nosy one, you know."

Putting him on the spot as she motions for him to follow, Rin surprisingly turns her back to him. Red eyes, white hair, and a faint of evil should he be able to pick up on the supernatural. She's no ordinary girl, but she has no qualms in exposing herself to a potential enemy.

A lack of fear, maybe?

"So this Librarius manifest--what is it?"

[greyerrant]

The red eyes and white hair are completely unsurprising to him, living in a time of massive gene-alteration and genetic mutation. It doesn't even provoke a twitch. That whiff of evil.... however. That bothers him. Like the reek of chaos, the hunter in him claws past his inherent reserve and he consciously restrains the impulse to reach out and throttle her from behind. Information is more important than a purge, at least for the moment, so he restrains his righteous anger.

"Psyker abilities. Fire manipulation. Divination. Astropathy, electrokinesis, and other, more suble arts that might seem to be... sky magick. The Emperor forbade his Astartes from using them because of the dangers of corruption or... well, worse things, as we have learned."