Alien Versus Predator: First Hunt

[tamefisher]

The OOC can be found here.


From the journals of Edward Lackland, first of the taken:

There are no coincidences.

Distant cousin to the late King John of England, I was pressed into military service during the Baron's revolt - against my will, I should note. There is no glory to be had in dying on an unfamiliar field, by the hand of a confused Frenchman without the slightest idea of why he's fighting another country's war.

But it was nearly so. Marching to the defense of Dover, starving and lacking any possessions but the shield on my back and the horse beneath me, I was captured by a knight's squire - a squire, for Heaven's sake - and dragged back to their siege camp. There, broadsword pressed against my neck, it would have been the end of me if not for their arrival.

Three even beams painted the knight's face a ruby red, and when he turned and caught sight of the source, seeing him you would have thought he'd died right there, on the grass. The air itself bubbled as an unseen demon reached out and plucked the sword away from my executioner - seeing my chance, I seized a dagger and introduced it to the idiot squire's throat. The ghost did not take kindly to my impulsiveness, however - I felt a light breeze as he moved towards me, and the weight of a battering ram launched me across the camp into a pile of broken shields.

Slipping out of consciousness, I caught sight of one last horror before sleep took me - the cocksure knight crying for mercy shortly before the beast turned corporeal and pulled his spine out through the armor, as easy as one plucks feathers from a chicken.

-

When I arrived in this maze, there was little here I could call familiar. The trees were curled, surreal things, swaying with no breeze. I was in a forest - thick and wet, hotter than any I'd ever been in. There were others, then - I spent the first few weeks running from bears, and once caught sight of a lion. One by one, they disappeared - some taken by the ghosts, others...others by something else. Something dark.

After some time I began to map out the corridors of the maze - partly because I still held hope of escape, and partly because I needed something to focus on, to keep my mind off of those glass-faced horrors that even the ghosts seemed weary of. Remarkably, though the low ceilings gave clear evidence that I was not outside, weather persisted, and the vastly different seasons in each region of the maze remained consistent for many years.

I used dyes from strange flowers to mark the borders of these regions for reference, though in time plant growth and general wear did away with much of my signage.

The region I marked Blue was perhaps the harshest. It is cold and desolate - usually quiet, unless the dogs are hungry. They wander the icy terrain in packs, either looking for food or running from larger predators. There are few places to hide - it is essentially one long sheet of ice. Occasionally, the 'floor' will break, creating hills and exposing the pool of half-frozen water underneath. I've seen things in that water that I pray were only delusions.

The region I marked Red is where I began my journey - a jungle with living trees that curl up in response to your touch. The ground is covered in a thick moss - some animals feed off of it exclusively. Other than the rather tame pack animals, I have noticed that the majority of the ghost's "prisoners" begin their journey here - the hunters prefer this environment to test their tracking skills. They are the biggest threat in this region, by far.

The region marked Yellow is perhaps a middle ground between the two - the air is a little drier, but it is rarely hot, and never cold. The walls here are barest - stone, with the occasional smattering of moss and slime. The most striking things about this region are the bones - remains of every creature to ever live and die within these walls are scattered about the corridors. They are not trophies - they are warnings. This is where the lion came to die. I have never seen the creature that calls this region home, and I hope I never do.

-

Blue
1: Sir Alphonse Robeaux
2:
3: Thorr'born the Beserker
4:
5:

Red
1: Guan H'dlak - "Nightfear/Nightterror"
2: H'chak Mar'cte - "Mercy Killer"
3: Edward Stone, Hitori Yamahoshi
4: Chiva N'yaka-de - "Trial Master"
5:

Yellow
1: John Carson
2:
3:
4: Phillip Ironward, Quentin "the Savage" Bryce
5:

[Scallop]

Edward sat watching the carriage travel through the forest. Stroking his beard he slowly crawled closer through the bush that he was laying in keeping his eye on the carriage and keeping his bow at the ready. He shot a flaming arrow just in front of one of the horeses alarming it and making it stop. He looked directly into the window and recognised the passenger as his target.
"there you are you bugger" said edward in his gruff british accent.
He slid over to the carriage and stabbed the driver with his dagger which didnt kill him but the poison on the dagger would and he lay the body dying on the ground. One of the targets men stepped out of the carriage and readied his spear.
"Come out assassin!" cried the frenchman in his best english. "Ze baron is ready for anything you have."
the mercenary smiled he loved it when he was called an assassin. He rushed towards the spearman and knocked the spear out of his hands using his shield. As he slit the mans throat he noticed a light in the background a blinding one and as a last attempt he shot an arrow at the baron as he was knocked unconsious.

[SinisterScythe]

Darkness. Nothing but darkness. I must find the light, I must escape!

Quentin suddenly sat straight up off the hard stone ground on which he was laying, his breathing heavy. He quickly scanned around the area - it appeared as if he was in some kind of old castle - the walls were bare, mostly smooth, some areas covered with moss and slime.

A dream. Thank the Divine Lord, it was all just a dream. But then...wait, where am I?

Quentin quickly stood up to get a better grasp on his surroundings. He checked himself over first - he was still wearing his knight armor and all of his weapons remained - his favorite two-handed long sword strapped across his back as well as his smaller broadsword and daggers. Looking to the floor, his helmet and shield lay on the ground - the shield baring the insignia of his order.

The Templars. Arsuf, I was at Arsuf.

Pushing his long black hair out of his face, he thought about his last memories before waking in this strange place. He remembered being on the battlefield, surrounded by angry Muslims - Saladin's soldiers - on all sides. He had struck down dozens before one of the heathens had gotten a lucky blow on the back of his leg. He had fallen down, but continued to fight, before he passed out in the sand likely due to blood loss. Now he was here - but where was here?

Reaching down, Quentin scooped up his helmet and placed in on his head, then his shield which he held tightly in his left hand as he ventured out of the small cave in search of any clue as to his whereabouts. His mind suddenly wandered back to the Battle of Arsuf...

[Battle of Arsuf - The Third Crusade, 1191]

"Come on you heathens! God has given me the strength to strike all of you down in the name of our Lord!" Quentin yelled, swinging his longsword. As he did, a Muslim fighter stepped forward and was quickly struck down. Another came at him from behind, but Quentin quickly backhanded the man, his gauntlet breaking the man's nose and sending him spiraling to the sandy ground. Quentin quickly realized he was surrounded. Near him, his fellow brother-knights lay dead - he was on his own. Facing the Muslims in front of him, he ripped his helmet off and screamed at the top of his lungs, charging his enemies with the intent to die an honorable death - perhaps he would, but not at the hand of the Muslims.

[End Flashback]

[Gaius Quintin]

[Hitori Yamahoshi, Just after arrival]

In his mind, Hitori came up with various explanations of what happened.. where he was, how he got there. None made enough sense to follow through. "What twisted Christian science did this?", he thought to himself. "I have to find hiding places.. set up ambush spots.. but what I see can't be real. They must have drugged me.. My best chance is still to do what I do best. I better hurry.. I think I hear someone."
With relative speed, Hitori looked around, and started moving toward the noise, sticking to the shadows and making as little noise as possible. He gripped the handle of his katana tightly, ready to strike at any sign of threat. For now however, he felt it best to watch and learn. The other person, as he discovered, didn't look much like the enemy he was after. "Could he be another in my position? Or maybe he knows more.. one way to find out. Follow him. In the worst case, he leads me to where those who did this, currently are." He relaxes briefly, then resumes stalking the other human. "I am one with the blade. I am one with the shadows.", he kept thinking to himself."

[cunfuzzler]

Sir Alphonse opened his eyes in a daze, met with the darkness of the inside of his helmet that had been jarred, he lifted his helmet from his head and examined his surroundings. A frozen tundra, this couldn't be, last he remembered he was sparring with his squire in a field outside of Marsielle. What kind of witchcraft is this, more importantly, where am I? He had never personally been far enough north to see such sites as this icy land. His surroundings certainly were foreign, and cold, so very cold he found himself quite thankful he had been wearing full armor. The padding required to wear it kept him at least somewhat warm.

He brought himself to his feet, replacing the helmet on his head he began to make his way forward no clear intention of where he was going, but it was better than just staying there in the cold.

[TheAcmeEmployee]

Thorr'born awoke face down on the icy cold ground, the familiar taste of his own blood in his mouth. His last memory was of tracking a bear through the frozen tundra of his mountainous homeland, hunting to bring food home for the tribe. This was certainly not where he had left off. He had been taken here whilst unconscious. But by who? Or by what? He knew that men and women of his tribe had been taken before, to serve as slaves to soldiers, mercenaries and pirates, but he would not expect his captors to keep him in such an icy location.

His frozen surroundings barely startled him however, as it was reminiscent of home. It's chilling temperature felt like home, although it didn't smell or sound familiar. The reeking smell of death lingered in the air around him. He hoisted himself to his feet, lifting his axe and shield from the ground beside him. His water flask was empty, and the barbarian refilled it with the icy cold water dripping from the scenery. Behind him, was a dead end, and the only path was forwards. A cave? A prison? A dungeon? Perhaps. Perhaps it was all those things.

Thorr'born started moving forwards silently, his boots making no noise on the snowy ground, something he was a master at doing. He did not know where he was headed, but far be it from a barbarian to sit idly by and await death.

[Gaius Quintin]

[John Carson]
Waking up, he rubs his forehead, feeling similar to hangover. He looks around himself to grasp the layout of where he is, and picks up his bow. "Whoa th' 'ell 'appen'd?", he said to himself. Not seeing much difference between where he is and where he last was, John starts walking casually, though with his bow ready with an arrow in the string. "Danny-boy? Lad, where are you? Alan, Andrew? Malcom? Where are you all?!", he kept shouting around.
Noticing skeletons around, he's suddenly scared for a moment, but then relaxes, knowing his friends couldn't have been turned into skeletons so soon. He approaches one such skeleton. Looking at the skull, he can't recognize it to be any animal he knows of, and no human skull looks like that either. "Wha' the 'ell's this?" He turns the skull around with his right leg, to the left and to the right, to get a better view. "Eh, must be the French. Only they could be so hideous.", he muttered. He kept on moving and shouting around for his friends, not knowing he is no longer in Scotland.

[Mercy Killer]
H'chak checks his equipment, to see if he has everything he needs, or might need. He extends the wristblades, then retracts them. He pushes the single button on the rectangular device on his right hand, and hears a low, surge-like sound. He pushes it again, then opens his wrist-computer on the left hand, checking his own vital signs and power supplies. He switches between his three vision modes on his mask, then settles for heat detection, then takes out the medicine panel, and retracts it, having made sure he has it all, and then closes the lid on the computer. He takes his combistick and extends it, then retracts it and places it back on his belt.
It's time for the hunt to begin. He jumps onto the nearest tree, activating his cloaking device until he finds his prey. He keeps on jumping from tree to tree, heading south, his cloak shimmering in the air when he moves.

[Tearstone]

[Phillip Inronward]
Phillip snapped awake but didn't move at first. Last he'd remembered, he'd been on the boat back, headed for his homeland. So where was he now, he wondered. His heart was hammering in his chest and he knew not why. Seeing no immediate threat he began to calm as he sat up, his armor and weapons clinking a little bit. His side was sore, especially along the hip from laying across his sword, and the handle of his morning star.

He looked around before blinking as he saw bones, but unlike anything he'd ever seen. "What is this place," he asked himself quietly before putting one knee under him and clambering to his feet. He was at the end of a very wide hallway, dripping with some sort of ... moisture or slime. The blacksmith wasn't an expert on such things, but the bones told him he was in the den of something.

The smithy found himself wishing he'd had a shield. Most of the time his mace and sword proved enough to fend off most threats. Today was different, and he had no idea what was going on. He should have been on the shore among hundreds of other soldiers, conscripts, volunteers, and nobles. He could only guess as he was alone now.

Slowly he began stalking forward, taking his time to move easy, not to disturb the bones, or step on things that would make noise, keeping his back to the wall and as close to it as he could. He slowly pulled his morning star also known as a mace from his belt silently. It was a weapon that had been blackened, and normally would have been heavy in hand for most, but for the powerful blacksmith it weighed little, from a lifetime of swinging iron and steel hammers, and using such weapons, tools, and working the foundries for making said weapons.

It was then that he heard the rasp of steel and clatter of someone lifting something hinged. He paused, before noting in the dim lighting a figure ahead. "Hello," he said loud enough for his voice to carry for a little ways, hoping that in the dim interior of this castle, or keep, or whatever it was... there were no torches lighting the place, that if it was another person, they would hear him. Maybe they had some answers.

[SinisterScythe]

Hearing a person call out, Quentin drew his smaller broadsword, pulling it from the sheath attached to his hip. Making his way forward slowly, he saw a dark figure ahead of him. With his shield and sword raised, Quentin slowly moved forward until he was perhaps 20 feet from the man - and he was man.

"Be you a Christian or a Muslim warrior?" he asked. "Furthermore, what is this wretched place and how does one get out?"

Although he was prepared for battle, his intention was only caution - much like when he had first arrived in the Middle East, he was once again a newcomer in a strange new land, possibly surrounded by enemies on all sides, and once again alone. Who knew if any of his brother-knights were in this place, but his gut told him he was most likely alone.

He awaited the man's response.

[Tearstone]

"I am a Christian in service in the armies of the King of England," Phillip said lowering his own weapon some. "I know not how I came to be here. I only awoke a moment ago. My name is Phillip Ironward. Like you I wonder what devilry is it that brought us here." His tone was sincere and deadly serious as he moved closer to the fellow in front of him, weapon lowered.

"One thing I do know is that we are not alone," he said, gesturing with his sword to the assortment of bones laying in just that section of corridor alone.