Hawthorne

Falling Skies: Reboot (Mecha, Space Opera)

Right, small post out. Not as detailed as I liked, but I have a lot of trouble with intro posts anyway. Hopefully, that should suffice.

Falling Skies: Reboot (Mecha, Space Opera)

---

Sweat dripped from Robert's brow as he held his arm steady, the plasmacutter docked in his prosthetic shining bright as he used its low-power mode to help weld some hull plates back onto the ship proper. Light bounced off his welding mask as he did his work. Strictly speaking, as a member of the 101st, he wasn't a part of the noncombatant engineering crew. And yet, here he was, lending them a hand.

In both a literal and figurative sense.

The INS Roanoke and some of the mechs within needed repairs, and the engineering crew was always short-staffed. Dieuseul was a boon in that regard, and it didn't take much to convince the mechanic to lend them a hand. In exchange for an extra leave pass, and the promise of a cold bottle of beer at the end of the day, Bob got to work.

Still. Orientation would come sooner rather than later, and he would be expected to have been there. As he finished off his repair job, the man took off his welding mask and gave the hull a once-over. Satisfied, he stepped away from the ship, dusted off his gloves, and prepared to clock out and take a break. His engineers watched as he left, giving him a nod and a few words of thanks.

"Im ta nating." (It was nothing.) He lifted his right fist in a friendly gesture of acknowledgment as he made his way through the hangar. He knew the Intergalactic Standard Language, but sometimes he'd slip into the strange Creole language that was common in the Free-Enterprise Zone.

Of course, he didn't expect to be ambushed by a pair of Savionians as he walked.

Not that he minds.

"Oye." (Hey.) He greeted both of them, a grin on his face. Abigail gave him a smile as Jakunta stood behind her. Robert couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at her words.

"A leak? You two bust a pipe or something? How 'slight' are we talking?" He asked, a little exasperated to have his well-earned break taken away from him. It almost seemed as if he was used to these sort of antics already.

Almost.

Falling Skies: Reboot (Mecha, Space Opera)

I've been meaning to get a post out, but have admittedly been blanking on this. I will definitely try to push one out soon, if not today, then within the next few days.

Advance on Distant Proxima (Mecha RPG)

Good to see you're still alive, in spite of FedEx's efforts. At any rate, I will admit that I'm in a number of different RPs now, so I don't know if I'll be able to be as active as I used to be, but if you'll have me, I'm more than happy to keep going.

DIVINE INTERVENTION

---

Alistair couldn't help but let out a sigh as diplomacy failed. He had a feeling the Satanist wouldn't give up that easily, but with the option of mercy off the table, only punishment remained.

And punishment, he'd deliver. The very thought of it put a dark grin on his face.

Still, the exorcist couldn't help but lift an eyebrow in curiosity as another man entered the room. Judging by his choice of clothing, he must've been an exorcist that had investigated the mansion on his own. A commendable effort, if a little reckless. The Vatican Priest had little time to think on this, however, as the Satanist in front of him vanished into thin air-- a product of unholy magic. With Ryan Chambers gone, several other cultists teleported into the room. Armed and armored, these Satanists seemed well-equipped to face the group of Exorcists.

Even so, Alistair felt no fear in his heart. How could any man have fear, knowing that God is beside him, and allies watch his back? No, instead, he felt grim anticipation for the task before him. A cold bloodlust-- one he hoped to sate in the battle to come.

The priest counted ten Satanists, plus the armored figure playing the piano. He had little time to strategize as five swordsmen moved to face him-- Alistair would just have to trust that his allies could handle the rest. The warriors before him didn't seem like amateurs with the sword; their posture clean, their tactics sound, and numbers superior.

As they surrounded and isolated him from the rest of the team, Alistair found himself with his back to the table. He threw a quick glance at the feast behind him, before turning to his opponents. They circled and waited for his approach-- in a one-on-five situation, they held the advantage, after all.

"By the sweat of your brow you will eat your bread, until you return to the ground--because out of it were you taken." The priest said, resting the false edge of his blade atop his right shoulder, in a standard woman's guard.

"For dust you are--"

He put weight on his front leg and leaned forward-- a low, aggressive stance.

"--and to dust you shall return."

They did not reply with words, but with steel. One of the bolder Satanists swung his blade in a downward cut, but Alistair took a step forward and brought his longsword up in a window guard to deflect the attack. The opponent's sword now knocked aside, the priest moved from defense to offense, his own blade cutting through the air, like a ribbon twirling in the wind.

Much to the Satanist's surprise, the blessed blade found its mark, leaving a deep cut on the side of his neck. The dark protective magic of his armor was nullified in the presence of a holy relic, leaving only physical protection. Even so, armor at the neck and joints were the weakest-- something Alistair knew well. The wound was not immediately fatal, but had the Satanist been wearing anything except plate, he would have lost more than just an artery.

As the man stumbled back, the other armored cultists moved to support their ally, but the exorcist was not done. Moving from a forward thrust into a long guard, Alistair pivoted, moving to the left as he swung his blade in wide, flowing arcs to force them to either move out of the way, or to take the hit.

The key to fighting multiple opponents at once was to always be moving-- to always be on the offensive. To pressure your opponents, and never give them a chance to tighten the noose. There was no time to think, strategize, or fight defensively-- and so the best tactic was to deprive your opponents of their ability to do the same.

Like a raging storm, the exorcist was a veritable whirlwind of blood and steel, his movements causing the blessed smoke around him to move in turn. Slowed and weakened by Yu's alchemical concoction, the opponents were wary of Alistair's blade, for they knew that a single solid cut could be the end of them. The sounds of battle raged all around, and not just from him. Even now, the man knew his allies were fighting just as hard as he was.

He would not be left behind.

Alistair locked blades with one of his opponents, sparks flying as blessed silver met cursed iron. The priest twisted his wrist, gaining an advantage with the true edge of his blade, before positioning his sword's forte against the opposing sword's debole. He then gained a final advantage by putting his sword over the opponent's sword-- with three advantages over none, the cultist had no way to defend.

Seizing the momentum, Alistair switched into a two-horned guard and rushed forward, crashing into his opponent's helm with a thrust that sought to end a life. There was a sickening crunch as the tip of the blessed longsword pierced through the faceplate and into the Satanist's left eye. The exorcist continued pushing until the sword ruptured the skull, and the brain matter beneath, before quickly pulling the sword out to face his other opponents.

...not quickly enough, however. His instincts shouting at him to move, Alistair switched into a reverse woman's guard and yielded to the attack that came from behind him. The attack slid down the length of his sword and protected his back from a potentially fatal injury, but left his front completely exposed. The Satanist before him seized the opportunity and made a forward thrust aimed at the exorcist's heart.

Thinking quickly, the man twisted in place before hopping to his left once more, pivoting to face the opponent behind him while dodging the attack. Try as he might, however, he could not completely evade the heartseeking strike, the blade instead finding purchase on his right side, leaving a nasty cut under his sword arm.

Clenching his teeth and fighting through the pain, Alistair reoriented himself, swinging in wide arcs once more to threaten his opponents as he quickly took stock of the situation. Of the five enemies before him, one was dead, and another was injured, but not quite defeated. This time, thankfully, they were all in front of him, so while he no longer had to worry about surprise attacks (provided his allies were doing their jobs), he still had a long way to go.

And yet, he smiled, even as crimson began to bloom from his beneath his cassock.

"Is that your best?" He spat out, venom dripping in his voice. "Disappointing."

He let his words for a bit, but before they could get a response in, Alistair dove once more into the breach.

Falling Skies: Reboot (Mecha, Space Opera)

@Hawthorne added a little something on the end of our post to sink your teeth into. Sorry about lack of formatting I'm no good at it and I'm on my phone

@Stitches

Good stuff, thanks! Definitely gives me something to work on, heh.

Falling Skies: Reboot (Mecha, Space Opera)

Still interested in this! Just not sure how to start. Might have Bob work on a repair job before walking over to orientation, I dunno.

DIVINE INTERVENTION

---

Mother Ekaterine, as energetic as ever, had kicked down the door, just as she did last time. The priest would take her suggestion under consideration-- the Vatican would certainly back his desire to procure a firearm, if he so chose. It's not the weapon he was most skilled at, but in a situation like that, a gun may prove invaluable.

But there were more pressing matters at hand. Namely, the two figures currently in the dining room.

One was a man clad in armor. Perhaps they were not even a man at all-- however. Regardless, the armored figure sat at the nearby piano; how they were able to play the keys with such grace and precision, the priest did not know.

The other was a handsome man in a suit and tie. Physical beauty aside, he reeked of Satanism. He looked friendly enough, but Alistair had long since learned not to trust people like him.

The priest confidently strode into the dining room. If these Satanists were willing to talk, then perhaps they were willing to negotiate. The man in the suit and tie introduced himself as Ryan Chambers, and invited the group to dine with him. As one of the senior exorcists present, Alistair was one of the first to reply.

"My name is Alistair Ardizzone, representative of the Vatican Church." He introduced himself in turn, the tip of his sheathed longsword resting upon the ground, with both hands on the hilt. The priest paid little heed to the inordinate amounts of food on the table, though he viewed the sacrilegious painting on the wall with more than a little bit of disdain. "Ryan Chambers, you and your comrades are found guilty of the crime of heresy, demon summoning, and the murder of several innocent civilians."

"The punishment is death." The priest said, his voice cold. "However, if you surrender now, renounce your faith to Satan and his ilk, and assist with cleanup operations, then the Church may grant you leniency."

The keyword being 'may'. Only the truly repentant can have any hope of surviving the Church's punishments, and both of them knew it. Alistair stood there silently. Though calm, his body was tensed and ready to react to any sudden movement, his reflexes honed over his many years of service.

"What's it going to be?"

DIVINE INTERVENTION

---

The Castillan household was in remarkably good shape, which was contrary to the initial information given to them. Still, even as rain fell all around them, and even as the night sky was as dark as ever, the mansion almost seemed welcoming.

Almost.

Temptations like these were not uncommon amongst Satanists and their ilk. Having fallen prey to their earthly desires, they do not have much in the way of... modesty. Still, even as an agent of the faith, Alistair couldn't help but appreciate the aesthetic beauty of the place. He was certain that before these Satanists had arrived, this place was even more beautiful than what stands before him now.

The priest opened the car door, shards of glass and drops of blood falling loose from their position. Alistair let out a deep sigh and took a moment to dust himself off, before turning to Mother Ekaterine.

"Four rounds left." He presented the gun to her, grip first. "...It's an excellent weapon. Thank you for entrusting me with it."

Alistair walked over to the Chevelle's trunk and retrieved the longsword that had been bequeathed onto him by the Vatican. Despite its gaudiness, it was a fine weapon that was excellently balanced. Although this was not a holy weapon used by the Saints, this sanctified nameless blade was still more than enough to dispatch the enemies of the Lord.

The priest then turned to the others, who were discussing the plan once more. He had already committed the plan to memory, but it was good to get a refresher. Jin was also given a map, depicting blueprints of the mansion's layout. It would come in handy, in case the plan goes awry.

"You have our thanks, Signore." Alistair said, tipping his hat. "If all goes well, we'll be finished come sunrise..."

There was a pregnant silence in the air. He did not have to give the driver instructions in case they had failed. The standard operating procedure meant that the ferryman was to drive back to base and call for an immediate Purification of the household. The nuclear option, so to speak.

Even so, however, Alistair had nothing but the utmost faith that the Lord would show them the right path.

As the four priests walked through the house and sauntered up to the door, the sound of music could be heard. "Nocturne op.9 No.2." Alistair commented. "One of Chopin's most famous pieces-- a beautiful rendition of that song." The man then shook his head.

"It seems our quarry has some... refinement when it comes to their choice of music." He looked towards the door a faint smirk on his face. "...At least the last thing they'll hear is something pleasant before they're sent to be with the Being they love so very much."

Resting the longsword against his arm like one would with a rifle, the priest gave the rest of the group a nod. Whatever lay beyond that door would not compare to four of the Lord's exorcists.

DIVINE INTERVENTION

---

As the battle raged on around them, Alistair merely let out a faint smile. Mother Ekaterine was as lively as ever, having blasted two with her her shotgun, before removing a third on the left side. Pastor Yu had dealt with the one on the roof, and let the blessed incense within his censer do its work. Meanwhile Pastor Jin had managed to fell three more-- two with holy water, and one with bullets.

Surprisingly (or perhaps unsurprisingly so-- Mother Ekaterine would be the one to carry a sidearm), the nun from the Eastern Orthodoxy was the one who had broken free from her battle-frenzy to pass him a spare gun. She told him of how many rounds was in the pistol, and how it was precious to her.

If she was trusing him with this, then how could he do anything but oblige her?

"Thank you. I will put it to good use." The priest said with a gentle, but resolute smile.

Alistair gave the pistol a once-over. It was a Makarov Pistol-- semi-automatic, blowback operation, with eight rounds. There was a story to this pistol, and it was likely that the weapon may have been older than he was. Judging by the weight, it was fully-loaded, though a round still needed to be chambered. The priest operated the slide to chamber the first round, and flicked the safety off.

He took a deep breath, and then swung the door open. Taking hold of the car's interior roof handle in his right hand, Alistair went from a sitting position to a standing one, his feet on the car floor while he leaned out of the car. With the wind at his back and the rain in his eyes, he took aim. Gun in his left hand, he took a moment to line up a shot at the two remaining riders, who were now lagging behind somewhat.

If he decided not to do anything, these demons would not be able to catch up. Strictly speaking, if all they needed to accomplish was the mission, these ones didn't have to die.

But it was not enough that the exorcists would live. The demons had to die.

And so they would.

The priest fired once, narrowly missing a demon by mere inches. The next bullet tore through the rider's chest, and the one after that pierced the horse-thing's neck. With one down, Alistair turned his attention to the sole surviving demon. Without a shred of emotion, the man fired one last time, this bullet splattering skull and brain matter alike. The demon fell to the ground, lifeless.

With four more bullets to spare, Alistair took a moment to survey the surroundings. Finding that the threat had passed, even for a moment, meant that a bit of respite was in order. He let out a sigh, swinging back into the car's interior to get out of the rain. He then closed the door, raindrops still falling through the broken window.

"...I believe that was the last of them." The priest said, a bit of satisfaction in his tone. "Excellent work, everyone."