AmongHeroes

Falling Skies: 7th Mobile Armor Suit Team

Web’s green eyes looked to Erwin, and then to Nat. A smile, weighted heavily with the reality of the utter defeat he and his comrades had just witnessed, lifted at the corner of his mouth. The expressed relief from his fellow Wargods at his safe return buoyed his spirits, and took the edge off his troubled mind.

“Things would’ve been a lot different if it hadn’t been for you two. Thank you for giving ‘em hell out there, and getting me out alive.”

His thanks to Nat and Erwin was punctuated by the continued sounds of rumbling explosions, and the rattle of the Solace as the ship continued to battle for its survival. It was a sobering backdrop to the exchange of the three pilots. Web noted in the back of his mind that the ship had to make its jump to UEE space soon, or his good fortune during the last engagement wouldn’t amount to anything.

That thought soured his expression.

Nat must’ve felt something similar, as she was the first to take up his offer and head for the hangar’s exit.

Web watched her walk away, noting the woman’s lithe, long frame as her sweat-soaked flight suit moved along with it. The wad of brunette hair held up at the back of her head was plastered irregularly along the nape of her neck, and the slumped edges of tired shoulders gave voice to a profound degree of exhaustion. Altogether, she looked as tired and disheveled as they all did—mentally and physically drained, trying to keep the reality of things at bay. Yet, if there was one person Web could think of that made the aftermath of combat look halfway-decent, it was Natalie Vehrs.

The sounds of actuators and the whir of electric motors from behind him took Web’s attention away from Nat. Looking over his shoulder, Web saw a pair of MAS support techs working quickly and efficiently to rearm, and run battle-ready diagnostics on Old Crow. Another sobering sight. At any moment the Wargods could be called out again, and even if the jump had taken them clear of immediate danger, the war was still perilously close.

Turning back to Erwin, he jerked his head in the direction of the hangar exit, and the promise of a little downtime. “Let’s go, kid. We need to rearm too.”

Following in Nat’s wake, Web made his way clear of the loud and stuffy hangar bay, and into the slightly less loud, and slightly less stuffy ‘kitchen’. On his way down the corridor, Web had unzipped the upper portion of his flight suit, and had tied the sleeves of the garment around his waist. The fabric of his black undershirt was completely wet with perspiration, but Web didn’t care. A little comfort was all the man desired.

Seeing that Nat had set out the instant coffee for Erwin to handle, Web knelt to rummage into the back recesses of the pantry. With only a few grunts and breathy curses, Web managed to find what he was looking for.

When he stood, he held a box of candy bars in his large hands. Ripping off the cardboard top, he tossed one to Nat, and then to Erwin.

“Now, these babies aren’t the rationed, synthetic garbage you get in the mess hall. No, my friends, I smuggled these in one of Old Crow’s maintenance hatches when I got transferred from the 42nd. This shit is real Earth chocolate, so don’t just gulp it down.”

He winked at them both.

Plopping down across from Nat, Web ribbed open the wrapper of his candy bar. He regarded the chocolate held in his hand for a moment, thinking upon just how absurd it seemed to be eating candy right now. Some would’ve considered it disrespectful to the memories of the recently fallen perhaps, but Web didn’t think of it that way. The Wargods had been through hell, just like the rest of the UEE navy. They did no one any good by basking in the ill-fortune that had befallen them. The living needed to live, and to have something to fight on for.

In Web’s mind, chocolate was as good a reason as any.

Falling Skies: 7th Mobile Armor Suit Team

Well hey! Speak of the devil, and he shall appear...

Sorry I've been gone. Got sucked into some things IRL, but I'm back and doing fine. I'll get a post up tonight.

Avalon: A Tale of Arthurian Legend

Hello, all. Sorry I've been away for a bit, but I'm back no worse the wear. My plan is to get a nice long, juicy, post up this weekend. It would move the plot along markedly, and get our characters set down the true path I intended. However, before I go to the trouble of writing up this monstrosity, I want to be sure I still have enough people interested in this RP.

So, I'd like to do a roll-call. If you're interested and willing, please say so. If not, please let me know. No hard feelings if things have changed--I just want to not waste anyone's time if people have moved on.

Thanks!

Avalon: A Tale of Arthurian Legend

Soooo...? Everybody doing alright?

Falling Skies: 7th Mobile Armor Suit Team

PROXIMITY-PROXIMITY-PROXIMITY

Web could do nothing but endure the blaring call of Old Crow’s incoming threat alarm as it filled the cockpit with its banshee call. His hands were locked to the control sticks of Old Crow, desperately trying to outmaneuver the approaching barrage of Coalition munitions.

The MAS’s directional boosters fired continuously in response to Web’s commands, deftly contorting the giant machine of war in an erratic dance of life and death. ‘Above’ him, the gargantuan form of the Solace illuminated the battlespace with bright lances of energy, as it exchanged salvo after salvo of fire with the Coalition capital ships. These flashes of color made the swirling viewscreens of Old Crow into some morbid caricature of rave lights making it nearly impossible for Web to continually orient himself spatially to the incoming missiles.

In the midst of it all, Old Crow’s Matchstick proximity guns had reset at least three times since the engagement had begun, with even their highly advanced tracking programming unable to compensate for both the movement of Web’s MAS, and the changing trajectory of the missiles. Even now only two of the guns had any ammunition remaining in their dedicated hoppers.

This shit will be over sooner than I would’ve liked, Web said in the back of his mind.

Then words so sweet that he could barely fathom their realism cut through the battlenet:

"I gotcha, Web!"

Nat’s declaration of impending salvation was quickly followed with the destruction of the missiles that were hot upon Web’s tail. Riding the shockwave, and with a flick of his wrists, Web managed to flip Old Crow around just in time to see Nat’s MAS shift from the dissipating explosions of the missiles, and into launching a barrage of her own towards an unprotected Ferir. A damn good shot.

“Thanks, Jack,” Web called out as he worked his MAS towards acquiring another target; there was no time to acknowledge his savior further. The battlespace was all but filled with approaching Coalition targets, and their accompanying fire.

Web worked to bring Old Crow’s battle rifle to bear, while at the same time keeping tabs on as many Coalition threats as he could. The battle had evolved into a mixture of MAS duels, dogfights, and longer range munitions exchanges, and it was nigh impossible to be aware of it all. Skill accounted for a lot in combat, but an engagement such as this came down to just as much chance for the individual pilot as anything else.

The cry of Jenks over the battlenet brought Web into a frenzy of searching his viewscreens. Illuminated missile tracks on his HUD crisscrossed in all directions, and Web only found the green bracketed MAS of Jenks just as the missiles detonated around him. Before Web’s eyes, his fellow Wargod disappeared in an all-encompassing ball of flame.

Web forced his attention away from his fallen comrade, the hatred welling in the back of his mind to plague him at a later time. Old Crow’s battle rifle got off a few ineffectual snap shots at Ferir’s close to where Jenks fell, just as the blinding blue-white flash of the Ulysses station’s core going nova blotted out the whole battlespace.

Web’s jaw fell open in stunned silence. For a time everything seemed to stand still in a surreal freeze-frame of doom and disbelief. The elevator attached to the giant platform buckled, framed by the blaze of Coalition plasma, and began its long and inexorable descent towards Cerol. The figurehead of the great UEE fortress-planet had just been lost.

The rest of the battle was a dim blur to Web. Admiral Bishop’s call to retreat was a distant buzz in his ears, and the call of XO Rexer to return to the Solace followed in an equally disembodied haze. What came next was fire, obsidian, and the skill born solely of desperation and instinct.

By the time Web was climbing his way down from the kneeling Old Crow inside of the hangar, he could barely remember how his feet had come to be on the metal decking. The MAS behind him popped and groaned, as the superheated directional surfaces, gun barrels, and heat sinks were at last given a reprieve.

Looking up, Web noticed two of his fellow Wargods standing together, not. Nat and Erwin. With his mind still fuzzy from the adrenaline and shock of the last engagement, Web tucked his hands into the waist pockets of his sweat-soaked flight suit. Making his way over to the two pilots, Web looked to each in turn, his face blank and slack. Web’s signature Mohawk was plastered onto his head, and his beard was matted to his jaw.

“Coffee.” He said to the two, his voice low and hoarse. “I could use some. You guys in?”

Avalon: A Tale of Arthurian Legend

Below the walls of the Great Keep, Camelot

Granite spires, topped with banners stitched in the bright livery of the house of Pendragon, fluttered in the summer wind. Situated atop a large hill in the middle of the city, the Great Keep of Camelot rose towards the azure sky like a beacon of stone, calling a trumpet of hope and prosperity outward to the rolling hills that surrounded it. Its imposing size and large ramparts likewise sent a clear message of martial strength, which gave the subjects of Camelot an equal sense of protection and pride.

Set slightly below the keep, and across a large cobblestoned courtyard, known as King’s Mall, stood St. Stephen’s cathedral. The great structure covered almost as much earth as the keep itself, with the four ends of its cross-like outlay rising upward to near the height of the ramparts that bordered it. Its stone face was polished and inlaid with marble and limestone, and segmented at regular intervals by tall panes of thick, colored glass.

It was in the midst of these two giants of magnificent human achievement that Sir Delwin stood. Looking outward from his vantage point near the center of King’s Mall, the web of cobblestoned and dirt streets spread through rows of thatched rooves, wooden shake, and the open spaces of town squares. Beyond the ribbon of gray the denoted the outer walls of the capital, the shimmering blue of the River Usk wound its way along the southern third of the city, while to the north the land was covered with forests and marshes, all the way to the Lake of Avalon and beyond.

The sounds of merchants and craftsman lifted upon the breeze, to give the city a living, breathing quality that quickened Delwin’s pulse. It was a sound that spurned a sudden rush of fresh awe for the humble knight. Though Delwin had traveled to Camelot on numerous occasions before, it was still far and away anything grander than he had ever laid his eyes upon. The confluence of high-born and commoner alike, all intertwined beneath the true king of Britannia, gave Delwin chills, and seemed a fitting embodiment of every tangible hope that Arthur had bestowed upon the Britons.

An echoed clang rang out from high in the bell tower of St. Stephen’s, tolling the noon hour, and causing Delwin to spin in his boots to gaze upon the spectacle. The appointed time for Sir Lancelot’s address of the marshalled knights was at hand. Delwin’s childlike adoration of Camelot melted quickly away, and was supplanted with an anxious tremor in the pit of his stomach. It was now that the subjects of Arthur would learn the fate of their king.

Though Lancelot had kept a tight lip upon the matter, the arrival of so many knights in Camelot could not be ignored by the commoners. Rumors ran rampant, spreading like disease from hovel to trade-stand in a litany of flavors, ranging from the great king’s death, to the announcement that Queen Guinevere was with child from some traitorous knight. The speculation was salacious, and outlandish. Delwin, along with most of his compatriots, rejected such notions out of hand. But it could not be denied that some event of gravity had come to a head within the realm, and even the brave warriors of Arthur were not immune to that fear.

Adjusting the sword at his hip, Delwin set his resolve, and joined the other knights that had come to gather in the open air of King’s Mall in making their way inside the Great Keep. In the milling mass of stout men and women, every color and combination of heraldic device danced upon tunic and cape. Great houses and noble names came together with families of new and slight reputation—a testament to the tumultuous times of the Saxon invasion, and the magnanimous gratitude of Arthur Pendragon. For his part, Delwin’s deep purple tunic was fitted with a silver device of a leaping fish upon the field of a shield, flanked on one side by a column of three crowns—a tribute to Arthur—and a rampant stag upon the other. His long hair was drawn up into a tight bun at the back of his skull, and his beard had been freshly trimmed. Vanity was not in Delwin’s character, but honor certainly was, and he was not about to be addressed by the regent looking like a country fool.

As the group of knights came to congregate at the massive wood and iron gate that led into the Great Keep, Delwin scanned the crowd, hoping to catch the eye of a veteran of the Saxon campaign he might commiserate with on this most auspicious of occasions…

Falling Skies: 7th Mobile Armor Suit Team

Sorry I haven't posted yet! Been doing... stuff. Will get a post up within 24 hours. At least Myke isn't here to say anything about it yet.

But it's late right now so when I'll do it when I wake up I guess.

@Sen

Basically the same traffic, here. I'll have a post up within the next day.

Avalon: A Tale of Arthurian Legend

Well I'm certainly happy that it seems most are happy with our pacing. Got the little collab I did with Gowi up. It's not much, as I had to duck out in the midst of it for overtime at work. But, I think it still works.

At any rate, on to writing the post for the rest of you fine peeps!

Avalon: A Tale of Arthurian Legend

The courtyard of the Great Keep, Camelot. Ten days following the summons.

The blossoms of the climbing vines, the meandering buzz of honeybees, the song of the circling swallows, and the vibrant green of the grass, belied the dire gray storm that gathered in the back of Sir Lancelot’s mind. In the courtyard outside of the great keep, the regent of Arthur paced ceaselessly as his thoughts continued to gather. With his eyes downcast upon his booted feet, the man was lost to the world around him.

Even now anxiety crept up his back, tingling at the roots of his brown hair. The knights he had summoned in the service to their king were gathering in Camelot; each having responded to the call with the loyal alacrity only a king like Arthur could garner. These men and women were knights and nobles of the highest order, chivalric and true to their king and cause. These facts alone would make the news Lancelot would have to impart upon these faithful subjects a gut-wrenching prospect.

What a time I must prevail upon? He thought, his eyes almost welling with tears. Am I destined to preside in the twilight of Arthur’s reign?

Something from beyond Lancelot’s immediate view drew his notice. Whether it be a sound or draw of movement, he could not say. Yet, it called his attention upward from his dark musings, and brought him back into the more pleasant setting which surrounded him.

Looking up, Lancelot saw the approaching figure of Sir Ignatius Dantus. In spite of himself, Lancelot gave the man a smile of greeting, and a nod of pleasant notice.

“Sir Ignatius,” he said, crossing the distance to the other man, “it is a fine thing to see you here, my friend.”

“The first of many I’m sure, Knight-Regent.” Ignatius stated with a nod as he retrieved a piece of parchment from his inventory before placing it down on the table before the two men.

Lancelot’s eyes followed the knight’s hand as Ignatius withdrew a roll of stout parchment from the midst of his cloak. There seemed to be weight to the roll of paper; not a physical weight, but an intangible one, born of ill-tidings and grim fortunes. Lancelot closed his eyes, and exhaled a slow breath.

“I’ve returned from the quest I was committed to in the eastern stretches. Tis as Arthur feared before he left— the anglo-saxon’s are gaining in strength; they've united under a king. My full report is in writing.”

“The fulfillment of your mission is most valuable to the crown, Sir Ignatius, and the timing of your report could be no better…” Lancelot’s jaw clenched, and he stared hard at the Roman. “…And no worse.”

Turning away from the garden table and into the full light of the climbing sun, the pleasant sounds of the courtyard yet played in antithesis to the mounting somber reality. Lancelot’s fingers played across the pommel of his sword, drumming lightly upon the bejeweled device of death.

Sir Ignatius was a trusted member of Arthur’s court, so trusted in fact that the king had given the man a quest of high value to the realm. The threat of a Saxon resurgence was a real one, and something that Arthur feared almost above all others. Sir Ignatius had been dispatched to ascertain the threat of such a return, and the mission had produced vile fruit.

The temptation of displacing some of the weight that had settled in the last month upon his shoulders, and sharing it with another soul, was a tempting prospect to Lancelot. Especially with this latest stress added to the heap.

Lancelot lapsed into silence for a time, his back to Ignatius, lost in thought. When at last he turned back to the knight, Lancelot’s face was thin lipped.

“I am sure you are keen to learn the meaning of this summons, Sir Ignatius. Yet, I shall not dishonor the rest of our king’s subjects by speaking of the matter early.”

Stepping forward, Lancelot clapped a hand upon the shoulder of Ignatius. He gave it a friendly squeeze.

“Your hard work is held in high esteem, Sir. Please forgive my abruptness, but I must prepare for the coming meeting.”

Reaching forward, Lancelot took the parchment from the garden table, and placed it carefully within the folds of his tunic.

“I shall review your report in detail. For now, however, I shall bid you farewell.”

With that, Lancelot gave Ignatius a polite nod before turning to make his way into the halls of the Great Keep. The calls of the swallows, and the buzz of the bees wafting unperturbed in his wake.

Avalon: A Tale of Arthurian Legend

Working my way through a collab post with Gowi at the moment that'll set the stage for our next portion. Sorry for the pace being a little slow as of yet, but I promise it'll pick up. Thanks for all the great writing thus far, everyone.