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Post by The Loathed on Aug 13, 2011 3:26:40 GMT -5
There is a great burden that comes partnered with our great strength. The mantle of leadership, of our duty, comes at a steep price of responsibility. It comes with an obligation to make difficult choices which in turn causes people who should love you, who should thank their stars for your presence, instead to despise you, to curse your name. Pure and noble intentions are ignored as collateral damage mounts, and your triumphs become tarnished with the blood spilled by your decisions. While the innocent blood spilled by inaction is a vast ocean compared to the puddle leaked by our hubris, the masses turn a blind eye to their own apathy and instead, label us as the enemy, as the monsters. The strain of holding our heads high against the weight of the chains bearing them down is almost too much to bear, but I can promise you this. Without us, this world would falter. Without us, this world would rot from its necrotic core, wither away into ash and ruin and despair. While you can take little pride in the love and adoration of the world, you can walk tall and proud knowing that you hold back the tides of shadow that would love nothing more than to consume this world. -Armok, on 'The Curse of Pride, Power, and Privilege' Armok sat in the corner of the pub, taking in the ambience of smoke and chatter, of laughter and mugs. Voices clamoring over one another, becoming one with the sound of traffic outside. He studied the bartender, a portly man with a red beard. Irish, both in appearance and accent. There were two men at the bar, both vying for the attention of a simply dressed but attractive woman sipping a martini. There were two soldiers sitting at a booth across the bar, studying Armok just as he studied them. A quick assessment, then they returned to their drinks. Armok chuckled, then sipped his whiskey. London was not one of his favorite cities, but it did have some of the best pubs. The Shadow Clan was more or less welcome there, and unlike some other countries there was no fear of an attack. Like most countries, England's military forces had been dismantled. Private military corporations were the run of the land, mingling with the civilian police force to protect the people from crime. And unlike other European countries, London's PMC of choice was not the holy warriors of the Blacksun Mercenari. Despite the world's general apathy (borderline scorn) towards the Shadow Clan, not many would risk insulting the Clan. The Blacksun were one of the very few that risked it. Armok's scowl caused the waitress to step back, raising a hand defensively over her chest. He refocused on his immediate surroundings and smiled at her disarmingly. He gestured for her to move along with his half full whiskey, still savoring the burn of the aged liquor. He shifted in his seat, then set down his glass. One of the men at the bar had given up, and had returned to his friends at the booth. The other man, triumphant, bought another martini for the woman and started to sit beside her. Armok reached for his glass once more, then paused. He felt power flare to life somewhere near, then fade as quickly as it had appeared. He grinned slightly, then finished his drink. It was time to leave. He was halfway to the door when he noticed the soldiers leave their booth. They weren't headed out, which meant trouble. The three men walked to the bar, then surrounded the man and the pretty woman. Armok paused in the middle of the bar, and as the man stood and tried to talk with the other three, chatter throughout the bar hushed. Men who had been laughing and yelling were now whispering or silent altogether. The general rule of thumb throughout most of the civilized world was simple. The PMC's were untouchable, not to be bothered. Despite their work alongside the civilian military force, they held the higher position of authority and made the shots. And though these three were off-duty, in a pub, the rule still applied. The rejected man pushed the other man back down onto his stool. His friends laughed, and one of them turned and ran his gaze over the crowd. He was menacing, with a jagged scar across his face. He was physically intimidating, and he flaunted it to keep everyone in their place. The man scowled when he noticed Armok, but held his ground. Armok stood his ground as well, not advancing. He would see how it played out before he made any decision. The man that had been pushed rose, and he angrily pushed back at the soldier. The soldier slapped the mans hands aside, then slugged him in the face hard enough to break his nose. Armok winced at the sound, realizing the man was outclassed and probably of the intellectual variety. Before Armok could intervene, however, the bartender yelled at the soldiers. "Oy, you lads take it outside, I have no room for this idiocy in my pub!" The soldiers laughed rudely, then two of them kicked over stools as they dragged the man towards the door. Armok took a step, intentionally blocking their path. He paid the two men in front of him no attention, despite their posturing and growled threats. His attention was focused on the antagonist, who was now grabbing the arm of the woman this whole quarrel centered around. The man said something vulgar, and the woman poured her martini in his face. He cocked back an arm to slap her. Time seemed to slow. The lights in the pub, dim as they already were, flickered then went out entirely. Not but a second later, the lights were back on, and everything in the bar was the same... with the exception of Armok. He was standing behind the man about to hit the woman, holding his wrist. The man cursed and spun around, swinging his other hand at Armok. Armok knocked the fist wide, then tightened his grip on the man's wrist. The man cried out, then growled. He kicked Armok's knee then jerked his wrist free from his grasp. The other soldiers had turned, and one pulled out a nasty combat knife. Armok ignored the soldiers for a moment, taking one last glance around the bar. While most of the people drinking were on his side, either openly or secretly, there were none that would act. Normally, Armok would have frowned at that, but in this case it was common sense. Courage would get them hurt or even killed if these drunk soldiers didn't get themselves in check, and judging by the bared steel that was probably not going to be a likely event. He cracked his neck, then positioned himself between the woman and the soldiers. He reached up and took off his shades, intentionally letting them see the red pupils in his hazel eyes. The soldiers looked uneasy, and muttered to one another as they tried to figure out their approach. At once, two of them surged forward, leading with elbows and fists. Armok blocked two hits, then took a glancing blow to his jaw. He ducked under one soldier's swing, forcing the man to overextend himself. He wrapped hands in the man's hair and slammed his face on the bar hard enough to knock him out cold. The man slumped to the floor in a boneless heap, leaving just the antagonist and the knife wielder. They changed tactics then, abruptly. Instead of trying to fight Armok, the unarmed man rammed him against the bar. While it did little damage, it dazed Armok long enough for him to grab a bottle of tequila and smash it against his head. Even as the bottle hit his head, the last soldier threw his knife. It hit Armok in the chest, missing major blood vessels and organs. However, the blade was enough to force a reaction. Armok growled, then slugged the soldier who had hit him with the bottle in the ribs. The man gasped, then dropped to his knees. His ribs were bruised, almost broken from the force of the single punch. Armok wiped blood and tequila from the side of his face, pulling out a piece of glass as well. He studied the man who had thrown the knife, and watched his face pale as he realized Armok was not entirely human. The supernatural was accepted as much as anything else on Earth. Demons, angels, and any other number of creatures and powers had been in circulation for as long as man recorded history. Prevalent hatred for the demonic and occult had been around for as long as man recorded history and before. Although most of the world was uneasy with magic and the supernatural, little inspired such fear and hatred as the fel. And so far as demons went, the most hated, feared, and respected of them was Armok Everhate, Lord Commander of the Shadow Clan. Fortunately for Armok, most of the world knew of him only by reputation, although this was one situation where the conflict could have been avoided entirely if the men knew what foe they were engaging. "Fuck you man, why did you attack us like that?" The man said, scared and angry. His eyes darted around the room, looking for support. "Fuckin' animal, you aren't even human!" Armok chuckled, then looked at the two men laying at his feet. He turned and reached around the terrified woman, grabbing a bottle of vodka. He faced the soldier once more, then took a healthy swig. He pulled out the knife with a grunt, then studied his blood on the blade. "Few men can brag to have spilled this much of my blood," he said, "For a simple reason. Those who spill this much of my blood, do not live to tell of it." The man blanched even whiter than he was, and he started to sweat. He turned and ran out the door, tripping over a stool on the way out. Armok sat at the bar beside the woman and set the vodka bottle back down. The wound on the side of his head was healing nicely, but the knife wound would take longer to knit together. It wasn't an issue, he knew that she would find him.
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Post by Miss Twix on Aug 13, 2011 23:22:57 GMT -5
MORE THX
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Post by The Loathed on Aug 14, 2011 16:40:21 GMT -5
Armok was still sitting at the bar when the local constables arrived. They took one look at the downed mercenaries, then immediately studied Armok. They whispered to one another, presumably trying to decide how to handle the situation. Armok saluted them with his vodka bottle, now half empty, and went back to drinking. He had more important things on his plate for the day than to allow some constables to arrest him and interrogate him about doing the right thing. He lifted his foot off of the still-unconscious man's back so that the constables could drag him out in handcuffs. Although much of the pub had emptied out after the final mercenary fled, some men had chosen to stay. Many of those who remained had bought him drinks, and two of the men had offered to take the woman home, but Armok assured those men that he'd personally escort her back to her apartment. The side of his face was entirely healed, and he had wiped the dried blood from it with the shirt off the second mercenary he had taken out. His chest still bled weakly, but the majority of the wound had knit shut while he waited on his companion.
There was a commotion outside as more constables tried to prevent someone from entering, interrupting Armok's thoughs. Although the constables protested quite adamantly, their objections fell upon deaf ears. The men were backing down from her gaze alone, piercing red eyes alight with a mixture of rage and bemusement. Armok grinned when he saw her standing in the doorway, lit up with the red and blue police lights behind her. She was a beautiful woman, putting the woman beside Armok at the bar to shame. She was pale, and there was no makeup on her face. She had a natural beauty, and she carried herself with confidence and a predatory gaze one would imagine the woman got what she wanted, and more often than not, Armok thought, she did. She wore simple garb, a black corset with red silk ties, and over that the woman wore a black trenchcoat similar to his own, though hers was not leather and it tied up the back, similar to a corset. The only accentuation to the stark, dangerous appeal she exuded was her two weapons, shukensens. The bladed fans dangled from her corset, and a sword rested within easy grip over her shoulder. Although they were not obvious to an outsider, or to a stranger, Armok knew that she had two daggers in her boots. She'd almost stabbed him with one before, so he made sure to remember where she kept all of her weapons stashed to avoid potential harm.
She studied the bar immediately, already aware of what had happened base off of the raw emotions of the people within the bar. The woman in the corset was an empath, perhaps one of the best on Earth. She studied the terrified woman, then the approval laced with fear that the men felt towards Armok, and once she saw the blood she sighed in exasperation. She followed the blood to where Armok sat at the bar, grinning at her with an empty bottle of vodka beside several empty glasses that had been gifts from the other patrons of the pub.
"Glad you made it, Rose. You missed the fun, but at least you get to finish patching me up!" Armok said, with a chuckle as he rose from his stool.
"I cannot leave you alone for five minutes without you getting hurt or killing someone or almost getting killed," Rose said, the anger in her tone only half serious, "I mean, seriously Armok. Do I need to get one of those leashes that women use on their children for you?"
Armok laughed, then shrugged his shoulders as he pulled off his shirt. The bar went completely silent then, as even the constables were at a loss of words. Armok's chest was almost entirely healed, but more startling was the tattoos on both sides of his chest. Obviously demonic, they seemed to move, the eyes studying everyone around the room just as they studied the ink. He paid no attention to the shock or awe of his demonic bloodright, instead focusing on Rose.
"You'd probably have better luck with a shock collar, eh bascha?" He winked at her, then pulled on his trenchcoat.
Rose just shook her head, running her hand over his injury. It knitted immediately, healing without even a scar. She wiped the blood on her hand onto Armok's trenchcoat, then ran her hand through her hair. The bar was still silent, and even her empathy gathered only awe, terror, and the beginnings of disgust towards Armok's demonic heritage. Her red eyes narrowed at one of the constables, who was thinking of how he thought demons aught to be handled, his thoughts coinciding with the thoughts of the Blacksun.
"I'm a demon too, and you don't see me killing anyone, do you?" She scowled at the man, more annoyed than anything, "Those PMC's were fully willing to molest that woman, or worse, and they would have beaten that man to an inch of his life for trying to stop them. They even tried to kill Armok, and you still think we're the enemy? Unbelievable."
Armok chuckled, then patted the constable on the shoulder as they walked out. The shocked look on his face, coupled with embarrassment, was worth all the money in the world.
"Women are bad enough on their own. When they gain the ability to read minds, mankind is truly fucked."
Armok stepped outside of the bar into the twilight, closing his eyes as he stretched. Although it wasn't quite night yet, and the city lights were too bright for him to feel at home, the shadows sang to him, and gave him strength. He offered Rose his arm, and they started walking down the street. London was still a beautiful city, despite the prejudices of her citizenry, and although they were in the city on official Shadow Clan business, there was no sense in not taking advantage of the city's splendor. Armok and Rose didn't speak, and though she could have read his thoughts, she chose not to. They walked for about an hour, watching tourists and locals alike enjoy the city just as they did. They passed diners and cafes, pubs and bars, making their way towards their destination. Constables passed them on patrol, pausing to comment about Armok's bloody chest but changing their minds once they noticed the Shadow Clan insignia emblazoned on his trenchcoat. Mercenaries also started to challenge them, but for a very similar reason decided against it.
As much as the PMC's might hate the Shadow Clan, an outright conflict with them was akin to suicide. The Shadow Clan had the highest success rate of all militaries known to have existed, the highest retention rate, and the lowest morbidity rating as well. They took on missions that the PMC's would not, did not want, or simply could not handle, as well as the missions that Armok deemed necessary for the success of the human race. Though it had been years since the last near-apocalyptic attacks on Earth, the Shadow Clan was ever-present, ever ready to fight. That vexed the other PMC's as much as everything else about the Shadow Clan, with the possible exception of stealing Kat from one of their research programs she had went renegade from.
"Before you ask, Kat is fine. She's irritated you didn't want her for this mission, but I told her it wasn't because you think she was incapable so much as it was you thought she'd kill all of them." Rose said, shaking her head.
"I wasn't going to ask, but thank you for the answer nonetheless." Armok said, with a chuckle. "I don't think she'd kill all of them. I know she'd kill most of them, though, which is why I let her sit this one out. I assume our friend with the sword is in position?"
Rose closed her eyes for a second, then she nodded. She sensed him, sensed the calm anticipation emanating from him. That was common for their mutual friend, as he was one of the best assassins and swordsmen alive. Fear was not often a gift of his psyche. She let her attention wander to their other friend, who was currently wandering a department store possibly salivating over shoes. Her red eyes opened, and she smiled faintly in the direction of the department store.
"Both are ready, though one of them was distracted by shoes." Rose said quietly. "Once we do this, there is no turning back. Are you positive that he is here?"
Armok's only response was a hard stare towards a prominent building a hundred yards ahead of them. Mercenaries patrolled the streets and guard towers around the building, as well as inside the razor-wire fence. They wore white tunics over their armor, emblazoned with an insignia. There was a cross, and affixed to the cross was a black sunburst. The Blacksun Mercenari.
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Post by Miss Twix on Aug 15, 2011 0:03:28 GMT -5
SHOES YAY!! ROSE BADASS YAY!! MORE PLZ
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Post by The Loathed on Aug 16, 2011 1:12:29 GMT -5
Armok studied their fortifications carefully. Their soldiers wore armor similar to that worn by the templar of the medieval ages, but the metals were far superior in both strength and weight. Their weapons were also an assortment found straight in the history books: swords, maces, axes, alongside their ranged counterparts of bows and crossbows. The occasional assault rifle and pistol could be spotted as well, reflecting that these Mercenari were prepared for any sort of foe, be it supernatural or human. Within the razor-wire and guarded perimeter was the four story building he intended to break into. The impenetrable Blacksun Mercenari compound had weathered many attacks, but this attack would be different. The Blacksun had several capable tacticians and sound strategists. The mercenaries knew that a direct conflict with the Shadow Clan would be far too public, and far too bloody, not to mention groundless. While privately many people took offense to the demonic blood flowing through the veins of some of the Shadow Clan, to publicly challenge their dedication to humanity was both foolish and unfounded. With that said, contractors that had taken the tainted money of the Shadow Clan were fair game, meaning the some-what questionable Black Knight Legion, led by the mysterious and infamous Cutlass, was in their sights. After ambushing a company of Knights during their leave, the Blacksun realized they had struck gold: they had captured the leader of the Black Knight Legion himself.
Armok narrowed his eyes as he watched a truck pull up to the gates. The mercenaries opened the gate, and the transport pulled into the compound. Eight men got out of the vehicle, stretching and walking to ease the sleep from their limbs. The soldiers around them saluted, obviously awed to be in the presence of the elite of the Blacksun. The only difference in uniform of the new soldiers, from the men around them, was the emblem on their tunic. Their tunics lacked the cross, instead only home to the black sunburst. They were the Paladins of the order, and they earned their mark by personally slaying a demon. While Armok understood that many of his kind were malevolent creatures bent on chaos and destruction, many did not account for all--- and most of those slain by the Paladins were similar to himself: possessed but in full control, capable of a normal life like any other human. Rose squeezed his arm comfortingly, distracting him from the stirrings of the great rage locked deep inside of him.
"They complicate things, bascha." Armok growled, as he pulled her into the shadows of an alley. "Warn our friend the blade, and make sure our pretty friend is in position in three minutes. I'm making a call."
Rose nodded, then closed her eyes. Armok knew she was communicating with both of their comrades, and satisfied with that, he pulled out his communications device. Similar to a watch, it had a panel that flipped open to reveal a keypad and a tiny screen. Unlike other devices of similar make and model, the Shadow Clan's ComLink had a unique function found nowhere else. Each ComLink had a needle attached, and upon first putting it on, the needle, as thin as a piece of human hair, would break off into the wearer's body, absorbed into the bloodstream where it became tiny nanites. These would in turn bond with the wearer, allowing them to attune themselves to radio frequencies and communicate with one another with no need of an ear piece. Without the ComLink, however, only Rose maintained the ability to communicate over distance with her empathy.
Armok tapped in the proper codes, then adjusted the frequency to the proper encrypted channel. He waited for the prompt, then spoke his name and rank. The scanner took less than a second to verify his voice patterns and qualifications, then he was patched through.
"Wolf, change of plans. I need you to hot drop my ... gift ... on their doorstep." Armok said, with a frown. Combat never went as planned, but having to change tactics moments before combat was never an optimal choice. History and experience had taught Armok that, the hard way.
"Not a problem, sir. He's itching for a fight anyway." Wolf responded crisply.
Wolf was a soldier, and a damn good one at that. He was a career man, but not an officer. Rather, he was one of the gutsiest, toughest, nail-chewing sons of bitches in the field. He was an enlisted man, and though he could climb higher than his Master Sergeant, he enjoyed being a pilot, and he enjoyed inspiring men to great heights in combat. As such, Armok was of no mind to change his employment, another lesson learned by a history of war and leadership. Those rare men that inspired others to greatness, were few and far between- to lose even one, could cost the lives of an entire unit, if not the entire course of a battle. Armok knew Wolf well, and trusted him with his life.
"Excellent. Festivities start in two minutes." Armok closed the channel, then looked to Rose.
"Isaac is in place," She said, then paused, frowning. "They've noticed Hawk. Something seems off, though. I don't think..."
Rose's frown turned into a scowl. Rather than finish her sentence, she took off down the alley, away from the Blacksun compound. Armok hesitated, then shook his head before he trotted after her. They ran through several busy intersections, ignoring angry drivers and shouting pedestrians alike. Armok knew Rose, and knew that she would not veer off course of this mission without very good reason. And Hawk in trouble was a very good reason. He tossed his shades aside as they ran, and the lights around them flickered as he tapped into the shadows of the city. It took seconds for Armok to find Hawk, and when he did, his frown became a growl.
Hawk was studying the display of an upscale fashion boutique, purposely ignoring the half dozen men surrounding her. They wore some sort of uniform, emblazoned with an insignia of a fist clutching an axe. Several of the men had bared steel in their hands, and all the people that had been shopping or strolling carelessly were scurrying away from the scene as fast as their legs would carry them. Hawk wasn't too concerned; she was a beautiful woman, and she was well aware of it. Her long blonde hair framed a beautiful face, with intelligent, deep blue eyes. Her ears, slightly pointed, sometimes peeked out from her golden hair, but she didn't often let them stay out because she was not fond of being called an elf. She wore a pair of crimson heels, with a miniskirt and a revealing top with a stylish sweater tying the outfit together. She was currently unarmed, but she felt confident that she could flirt her way out of trouble with these men.
"Well, hello there boys," She almost purred, turning to smile at the leader of the mercenaries. Before she could finish, however, he backhanded her with a steel-plated gauntlet.
Hawk staggered back, rubbing her jaw. She glared at the man that had hit her, and studied her surroundings. No one who was still around seemed interested in fighting the burly mercenaries to help her, so the passer-bys were of little use. There were no real weapons in her reach, and she did not have much faith in her ability to grapple with these men. She might take down one, but there were eight of them, and one of her. She knew how these situations often ended, but the audacity of the mercenaries to attack her in broad daylight was startling, and had caught her off guard.
"We know who you are, bitch." Growled their leader, the man who had hit her, "Your boss fucked up some of my boys today. I think we're going to return the favor, and I think you're the perfect little bitch for us to do it."
Hawk bit her lip, trying to figure out some way to diffuse the situation. Leave it to Armok to piss off some crazy, ravenous, mostly criminal mercenaries on the eve of such an important mission. She stepped back as two of the men took a step forward, and she winced as she backed into the glass of the display. She had nowhere to go, and they knew it as well as she did. Hawk grit her teeth and then pulled off her heels. She was going to go down with a fight.
The big man laughed at her, then shook his head. "If you fight, you're going to hate it even more. Then again, even if you don't fight, you're going to hate it."
He blinked when her only response was to start laughing. He looked to the man beside him, who shrugged, then back to Hawk. He sheathed his knife and cracked his knuckles as well.
"Looks like she snapped in anticipation of what she's about to get from us real men, eh?" Their sergeant laughed again, a nasty sound. "Not used to humans anymore, I bet. This bitch is probably only used to demon."
Hawk paid no attention to the mercenary leader, as over his shoulder, she watched several light posts flicker. An alleyway with direct view of the shopping center blacked out entirely, and tendrils of darkness snaked out, climbing across the walls. A woman noticed the shadow and screamed, almost running into one of the mercenaries in her haste to get away. The mercenary turned to see what she was running from, but before he could say a word an orb of crimson energy slammed into his chest, knocking him back as if he had been hit by a truck. Two mercenaries turned and raised their weapons defensively, facing the blackened alleyway.
"Speaking of demons," Armok drawled, "I do believe you're about to be acquainted with one."
The two mercenaries charged Armok, and his only response was a smile. He gestured idly with one arm, and one of the tendrils of shadow lashed out as quick as a whip, wrapping around the man's leg. He screamed as it slammed him into the wall of the building, and with a sickening crunch the man's scream was silenced. He dropped to the ground and didn't move, his legs bent at the wrong angles. The second man roared, slamming his axe towards Armok. Armok shook his head, stepping aside so the man's axe slammed into the ground, sending jolts up the man's arms into his shoulders. Before he could recover, Armok lifted him by his face.
"I learned that when I had an issue with a man, I should address my grievance with that man." Armok smiled, but his eyes were dark. "Obviously that lesson was one you never learned. Fortunate for you then, that I can be the one to teach you."
The man made a sound that was half roar, half scream, and he kicked at Armok, grabbing his wrists with his hands. Armok tossed the man aside like a rag doll, then turned his gaze to the sergeant, who was no longer interested in Hawk whatsoever.
"I am Armok Everhate, and you have made the incredibly stupid decision to aggravate me into being violent."
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bk
Beginner
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Post by bk on Aug 16, 2011 1:28:29 GMT -5
I agree! More please You've really got something here
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Post by Miss Twix on Aug 16, 2011 22:02:53 GMT -5
UPDATE NOW!! yay hawk!!
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