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It has been six years since Burmisia seceded from Torim, and the Bloodline War began. Since then, there have been countless losses on both sides, with countless soldiers being sent to their deaths to bring "victory" to their land. The young and old alike are told of the glory they will achieve in the field of battle. Torim sings the praises of its valiant defenders, and Burmisia pushes its ethnocentric policies on its population, persuading all to take the fight to Torim and bring them into the fold. The tales of the battles at the Gate are ones of bravery, sacrifice, and service to the respective countries.
And as usual, all are glorified exaggerations.
In truth, the Gate is one of the most deprived sites on either world. A twisted, broken wasteland, rendered barren and empty of all flora and fauna, with the exception of the ravens and crows who feast every day on the fresh dead. It is a land devastated by the constant barrages of artillery, the marches of the troops, and the natural aura of the gate itself. It is a bleak, desolate place, with only rocks and dirt to offer up as scenery. Nights are frigid, and the days sweltering, and any water that isn't filtered is poisonous. And all around, the only sound one can here are gunshots, bombs, war cries, and the screams of the dying or insane.
It is here that our story begins, at what some would say are the Gates of Hell itself. The sun is rising over the Burmisian forward camp, located in the eastern part of the wastes, a few miles from the Gate. It has been a relatively quiet night, with the number of assaults somewhere in the dozens and the casualties on both sides only in the low hundreds. The sentries have not yet noticed the small stealth aircraft a mile to the north, nor the three small figures descending from it to the lifeless earth. The true assault of the day is about to begin.

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One of the things that Kent hated most about the Wasteland was the smell. He tried hard not to breathe too deeply as he lowered himself from the dropship, his feet kicking up a small cloud of dust as he hit the ground. After his fair share of tours at the Gate, he had learned that it was best for his mind and stomach if he avoided inhalation of the stench of carnage as much as possible. It permeated the air and caked his very skin, making it crawl. He never got used to it. The sights, the sounds? He fared better than most other Cerberus troops, but for some inexplicable reason, the smell made the wastes nigh unbearable. Shrugging off his discomfort, he brushed some dirt from his robes and adjusted Starfang to hang more comfortably at his waist. He heard to soft thumps to his left and right, and turned his good eye both ways in turn. Captain Tristan Fell and Lieutenant Annabell LaCroix returned his gaze with confident nods. Giving them a small smile, the Commander waved them forward and set off at a brisk pace across the plateau, the dropship retracting the cables it had used to deposit them and soaring off.

The rising sun served as their clock, keeping them aware of how much time they had to reach their first objective: the forward Burmisian camp. From their, they would carry out stage two of their plan, and then make a hasty retreat with their intended cargo in tow. Keeping low and behind as many rocks and bits of debris as possible, they made decent time. No alerts went up, and no patrols came near enough to cause concern. Kent was quite please with how smoothly the insertion had gone so far. Usually, his team was in the middle of a bloodbath in seconds, but then again, this was the first time in a while that Command had dispatched them for any type of espionage mission. It was far more typical for them to say "We're going to stick you in the middle of the front here and let you kill things for a few hours." It made Kent feel ridiculously poorly used. His team was built for hard, fast, tactical strikes, not open battle in the middle of the wastes. They told him it was to help inspire the troops, seeing the legendary Team Hades turning the tide, but he didn't buy it for a second. Every soldier worth his armor could do the same job, and in many cases, do it even better.

A few minutes from the camp, he called his comrades to a halt and huddled down behind a boulder, casting a few quick glances around for signs of trouble.
"Alright, guys," he whispered, jabbing his fingers into the dirt and beginning to draw out a rough sketch of the camp. "We know the plan. Intel came in a few days ago that a prominent General would be touring this facility for an inspection. It's our job to get in, secure her, and get out before anyone notices. Right now, we have the element of surprise, and I'd like to keep it that way for as long as possible. We're going bunk down here and wait for the arrival. We'll strike when she exits the dropship, when her guards are in single file and vulnerable. Remember, keep low, rush out only when I give the signal, and stay alive." He gave them each a confident smile. These two had had his back through thick and thin, and he their's. Today would be no different, and they would go home and get some well-deserved rest when this was all over.


++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
I will never surrender. We'll free the earth and sky. Crush my heart into embers, and I will reignite...
I will reignite
Yasha_Glory's avatar

Beloved Lunatic

¤ Hide or alone you make it feel at home ¤
Silence is not even there no more
You make it feel at ease something to embrace
A heart that's forever believing it...


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    ...Million crazy butterflies getting drunk we are one
    ↓ I'm down on my tail but I'm up and I can feel it again

    ¨°o.❆𝕮erberus 𝕷ieutenant ❆.o°¨
    "There is no great genius without some touch of madness."
      ~Seneca

    Angels wings unfold and the devil sitting moaning alone ✥
    I've been down but I'm back in a magic zone...


    User ImageXXXXXXXFalling, falling had been the first thing she’d experienced when she had been released from her bodily prison. How ironic that it was her first time falling from such a high height, on purpose. She’d missed so many things during her imprisonment, innovations such as these were common in everyday life, yet it never ceased to amaze her what else the world had come up with. It was a constant reminder of what had been taken from her.

    Although her first fall in several years had been painful and well… awkward as she remembered what it was like to stand and walk, the slow descent was almost peaceful and her landing was far more graceful than her previous endeavor. Her wedged shoes clicked and crackled as the earth beneath them began to kink and curl, moisture escaping from the surface into the still frigid air. With no large bodies of water about, and barrels of water too noticeable to sneak in, she needed to act fast if she was going to gather up enough liquid to use.

    The air was still quite brisk and felt thick with the stench of rotting carcasses. It felt almost comfortable, in a way, to Annabell. She was no stranger to the smell of death and decay and, while she preferred the relaxing warmth of a bubble bath, she was often exposed to the cold when controlling bits of ice and disappearing beneath the water’s surface. She took a quick scan of her teammates, then one of the slowly disappearing airship; it was all so very surreal. She still didn’t fully understand the war she had been roped into, nor could she fathom how an entire plane of existence was able to separate from the universe’s will without repercussion. It was odd, and irrational, as far as she could figure, that such childish bickering had escalated to an extreme. She sympathized with the selfish aspect of it all, but it certainly wasn’t settling the nerves of the many who wanted her to stay locked up. Capricious as she was, it wouldn’t be put past her to simply throw her hands up and allow Burmisan troops to walk on by her. Fortunately, her short leash was being held by a rather talented handler. Whether it was an inborn talent, or pure persuasiveness, Commander Kent had managed to gather up a ragtag team of the most unlikely of people and keep things relatively organized. If someone else had tried to mimic his actions, they most certainly would have been killed and buried six feet beneath the world’s surface.

    Pale peachy fingers reached up and readjusted the porcelain of her mask, slowly sliding across the glossy finish to the velvet strapped across her throat to feel the smooth surface of her pearl. Even now, she dearly missed her brother. She had no clue where he was or if he even had a family of his own now. It weighed heavily on her mind, far more than any battle of moral or brute force. It only took a moment for her mind to return from its fluffy wonderland and she quickly followed the other two through the dissipating darkness towards the encampment.

    Without many places to hide, their current objective would prove exponentially difficult if they failed to execute it the first time, especially since they were in enemy territory. To be perfectly honest, she hadn’t a clue how they planned to capture a general. Even if they weren’t prepared to get stuffed in a sack and gagged, they were a general for a reason, an alchemist general. Distance would be the key for Annabell, but if she stayed too far from the duo she’d be unable to help if things went wrong; too close and she might as well label herself a burden to the squad. As much as she loved sewing people back together, it was a hassle she’d like to avoid.

    Studying the drawings in the dirt and listening as carefully as she could, Annabell did her best to memorize and visualize the crude little map. Intel was intel, but things could change at the drop of a hat and it was the little details that could save someone’s a** in a tight spot. Scouting the area would have been the best scenario, but time was of the essence. She’d have to make a mental note to get some detailed maps of One World later on, so much had changed and she would no doubt get lost if she relied on the old images stored in her memory banks.

    “I can take care of the soldiers for a bit, but frozen feet are only going to give you moments of precious time to play with. Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll fall like dominos,” she lightly scoffed, “I may need to get a bit closer,” she whispered in that gentle tone of hers. It was like the timid tinkering of ice against glass, despite some of the absurd and harsh things that often escaped her lips. Even in the comfort and safety of their home base, she always seemed to have a hushed voice that hissed out from the openings in her mask. When asked why, she simply replied that it was something she had always done. It wasn’t entirely a lie; it was simply a section of the truth.

    Out of the corner of her eye, Annabell noticed an all too familiar flicker of blue and white luminosity. She tried to ignore it, but the placid tugging at her onyx locks of thigh long hair caught her attention every time. Surely, someone must’ve notice her hair moving... on its own. No one ever did. No one else could see the strange little scuttling creature that appeared from time to time, and sometimes spoke to her in an enigmatic purr. It had been around as long as she could remember yet never had she figured out why it had appeared in the first place. She looked away from the sketch, lucky that her eyes could not be seen under the thick ceramic. The tentacled beast released her hair, content with the amount of attention he had received, and scurried across the barren ground. Was it trying to get her to follow?


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    Mood: Calm Sanity: Fairly Stable Objective: Capture the General; Distract the Guards Company: Kent and Fall Location: The Gate; Hidden outside the Burmisan Camp

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...We're distorted but we fit like a glove
Pleasure and pain will walk hand in hand
No place to run take it all day by day
¤ What it takes what it makes let it breathe celebrate ¤
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XX Disconnect and self destruct one bullet at a time,
XX What's your hurry, everyone will have his day to die.
XX If you choose to pull the trigger, should your drama prove sincere,
XX Do it somewhere far away from here.


XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX . τ я ı s τ a и || f ε l l .


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SOMETIMES YOU KINDA HAVE TO DIE, howl<3
IF YOU EVER IF YOU EVER WANNA FIND YOUR WAY BACK TO WHERE YOUR LIFE IS.
howlforme<3 IF HATE IS A FIST AND LOVE IS A FLAME,
howl<3

I'M GONNA SMASH IT AND BURN IT, 'CAUSE IT'S ALL THE SAME. howlforme<3

♪♫ So cut out the heart, and watch the world burn down.
♪♫ Let's tear it apart, let's leave a mark, let's leave a mark.

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                  It was funny, that someone of his rank was taking orders from someone of Kent's rank, but that was just how it was, and Tristan didn't actually mind. In fact, he found it funny that he'd somehow managed to get himself to a point at which he outranked Kent, who was much more likable, friendly, and charismatic than himself... not to mention, trustworthy. And that was not due in part to Tristan's actions while belonging to Cerberus forces, but due to his actions from when he'd not been a part of their forces, and there was really nothing he could do about that. He had been placed in Kent's little team mere months before, and in that short time, he'd come to realize the depth of Kent's character.

                  At first, he'd been suspicious. Why was he so well-loved by the people that followed him? Was it all an act, a guise to get people to like him? But after watching and observing, as Tristan was well-known for doing, as well as fighting along side him as a comrade, he'd come to discover that Kent's 'act' was genuine, which made taking orders from him when he really should have been giving them chafe a whole lot less. Tristan was under orders to observe Kent and determine if he was fit for a promotion--and though he'd long since approved the motion, he was still in Kent's company, taking orders from him, and Kent had not yet received his payboost... and Tristan was starting to doubt if he ever would.

                  Like the Burmisian army, it seemed that Cerberus cared little for its soldiers, and in the end, all of the oddballs ended up in Kent's unit. It was really no surprise Tristan had fallen there, it was only stunning that it had taken him so long and so many advances for them to grow uncomfortable enough with him to shove him off into the darkest corner of the military. Over here, he was less in the limelight, especially overshadowed by Kent, and his power seemed less prominent and threatening. Tristan knew that a lot of people in the Cerberus military did not like that a former Burmisian General was among their ranks.

                  So, Tristan played the Shadow, as what was becoming the usual, and followed Kent and their other comrade in silence, crimson eyes glimmering in the light of the moon. The terrain around them was barren and ragged, and the stench of the dead and dying permeated the air. It was a familiar scent for Tristan, and though it wasn't quite comforting, there was a sense of serenity, like the calm before the storm. Kent's little ragtag team? They were the storm, and it was just about to hit.

                  They stopped behind a boulder, close to the enemy camp. Tristan's palms itched with anticipation, a hunger in his chest at the thought of killing. It wasn't that he enjoyed the act, and really, he hated it, but like Kent, he had no qualms with ripping the Burmisian soldiers to pieces. After all that had happened to him, all that he'd been through, the taste of Burmisian blood was something he craved. His former allies hunted him now, but they were foolish to do so, for he was an elite among them, their greatest creation. It had been a horrible move on their part to incur his wrath, to betray him, and to imprison him in mind and body as they had. And now? They hunted what had once been the best hunter among them, and all who came to near to their prize soon found that there was nothing but death awaiting them.

                  Kent went over the plan again, but Tristan already knew the drill, and half-listened as he spoke, blood-red eyes scanning the expanse before them, calculating where everything would go down. While Kent had the anticipation rune that allowed him to see or sense the future (whatever the case, Tristan didn't fully understand Illustrian magicks) Tristan had learned to do nearly the same on his own. His mind could pick apart a battlefield before the battle and predict the spots where the blood would flow fastest, where the most would die, and where would be safest. It was all in the terrain.

                  One glance told him all he needed to know. When he pulled back to look again upon Kent, he'd figured out where the best spot to drop closes to camp would be, and where they should strike. He'd also guessed how many needed to either be dispatched or disarmed for them to get in and out with as little commotion as possible, based on how many were supposed to be in the ship with the General. But, they were in good hands, for when he met Kent's gaze, he knew that the other male would naturally pick out the same things, would know where to hit and how many to bring down, and that they thought the same way. Despite all of the outside differences between the two of them, and all that had happened in their pasts, Tristan had realized only after their first mission together that the two of them worked well in tandem, and even if they didn't fully trust each other, they didn't really have to. They were one and the same.

                  When Kent smiled, confident and reassuring, Tristan smiled back, though it was only a slight curve of the lips, a dark twist to his mouth that showed his thoughts mirrored Kent's.

                  Annabell spoke then, her soft tone muffled further behind her mask. He didn't hold her in the same high regard that he held Kent, nor did he trust her to the same extent, but he couldn't deny that she was good at what she did. He supposed that it was her fragile psyche, and the fact that he couldn't see her face to read it that caused him to be uneasy around her. Either way, she was a part of Kent's team, and he had to deal with it. He wasn't quite sure, but it wouldn't have surprised him if she didn't like him either. He didn't know her past, but he could easily assume that she didn't like Burmisians, since no one in Cerberus liked them, and he had once belonged to them.

                  His hand slipped to his belt, tugging his dagger from its sheath as if by its own accord, subtly and smoothly, as he turned his attention back to what would soon become a live battlefield. He tugged the glove from his right hand, holding the dagger in his left, and toying with the tip of the blade on his skin. His transmutation circle stood out stark and black on the skin of the back of his hand, and for a moment it felt white hot. Soon, soon there would be plenty of blood for him to play with, but he'd have to start with his own. Another stripe across the scars in the palm of his hand, and definitely not the last.


XX They say I'm a sinner, but nobody knows.
XX You only do what you're told, you better hope that you're right.
XX They say I'm a sinner, I'm not the only one.
XX You want to point your finger? You'd better make a choice tonight.
XX 'Cause I'll stand tall for what is right.
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- - - - - - - - - [xxxxxBurmisian Generalxxxxx] - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -



A heavy aircraft descended from the skies. It was marked and branded with the insignia of Burmisia and although it was not the biggest of ships, it was indeed big enough to transport a few rounds of soldiers. High above the wastelands that surrounded the Gate did the airship begin it's descent towards a Burmisian military camp located not too far away from it. The cool morning winds was not going to last long and as the sun was rising, the wastes would turn into the most unpleasant of places. Fortunately for anyone able to withstand the heat of battle, the sun would prove to be an easier opponent to withstand. Inside of the ship, the metal floor rattled and rumbled beneath many feet. Knees bounced and knocked to the rhythm of the large flying machine. Many bodies were attending this ship, but not nearly as many that occupied the military camp destination below. Yet one body located on the ship was still more important than any hundreds of bodies that crawled across the wasted earth. This body was that of a Burmisian official, General Flaure Belle Descouteax.

This woman stood tall in the bay, staring down at the secured loading ramp, as if waiting for it to open. Which, indeed she was. Her hair was long and white as the clouds in the sky, a braid falling across her body on her left side. Her skin was tanned, but naturally she is probably quite paler. The constant outside activity darkens her skin quite a lot. On her abdomen were scars - remnants of a life left behind. There were many, all similar in size and shape. Although quite old, they still caused her much pain to this day. A handicap she is accepting of, aware of, albeit not entirely proud of - but she'd never have such a kind of discussion with the likes of anyone.

She wore no shirt, but a cropped, jade colored top that wrapped around her chest. The rest of her attire consisted of simple articles, such as a pair of dark shorts and heavy boots that went as high as just below her kneecap. Around her waist was wrapped a white button-up shirt, which she normally wore to conceal her body more than now, but she knew it would not be necessary later. Although she presented herself openly and was not heavily protected with any armor or even much clothing, she appeared unphased by this. Her attire was designed for flexibility, mostly, without the burden of any decorative pieces of cloth or fancy accessories. The only jewelery she wore were the plugs in her ears, which were rather small, and sparkled a similar shade of green as her top.

The expression on the face of this woman was rather distant. Flau did not appear to be feeling any excitement, anxiety, or anything really, but there was something obviously on her mind. It was something that wasn't going to be known to anyone but her. Those uncolored eyes, as clear as the water in the most distant of mountain springs, were indeed readable, but she was unbreakable.

"I request that I be the only one in the bay when the ramp opens upon landing." Flau spoke towards the ground, but her words were directed towards a man who stood in uniform quite a distance behind her. She did not move nor say any more and when the man stuttered briefly to try and question her, he quickly realized that there would be no response, and so he complied. He was wrong in thinking that she would leave him with only those words, and before he left she added, "I would also like the camp to be notified of our exact planned time of arrival and that I am met with a company upon landing. I'm not done," Flau turned around to see the man, her face still rather void of emotion, "every soldier aboard this ship is to be ready to unload immediately. Yet no one may leave this ship until I am completely off."

The request was quite odd, but it was necessary. At least it was in this woman's mind. The official had no quarrel with her plan and did not make it a point to question her, so instead he nodded and exited the room, leaving the general alone, in probably one of the largest rooms in the entire ship. That did not matter, for her mind has never been too terribly troubled by the feeling of emptiness. The airship continued to rumble and roar and Flau stood solid with her feet glued promptly to the metal floor. She quite enjoyed the feeling of the vibrations of the ship making their way through her feet and up her legs, disrupting the flow of her body with a foreign rhythm. Briefly this crossed her mind and the corners of her lips tugged into a small smile and her eyes glanced down at her feet to watch them shake with the ship. Soon they will be landing. After that, there will be some briefing. Then there just might be some war.


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ℑʟαɴтнє ϓααʟ
Do you still believe in all the things that you stood by before?
Are you out there on the front lines, or at home keeping score?
Do you care to be the layer of the bricks that seal your fate?
Would you rather be the architect of what we might create?


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She had never intended to become a captain of the Burmisan military, it had just kind of happened along the way of things. That was how it seemed to Ilanthe at least. She had, for the most part, joined the military as a medic so she might be able to keep her brothers safe, so she could save lives despite having been the cause of the end of her mother’s. It may have been an accident, but Ilanthe had mentally taken responsibility for her insane mother’s death, even if her family didn’t blame her, the majority of society did. Whatever stigmata it had left her, she was still determined to believe it couldn’t be worse than her mother drugging her in attempt to be overly controlling. Now, Ilanthe was the one in charge; a captain of the military, it wasn’t something just anyone could accomplish, in fact, she outranked her brothers, unless something had changed and she hadn’t been notified yet. Fortunately the woman was much different from her mother, she did not feel that everyone under her command had to do what she said and only what she said, Ilanthe only wanted results, like most prominent Burmisans apparently.

Currently she was seeing to the soldiers of her unit, ensuring that they were fit for battle, alongside many other medics. Just because she was a captain didn’t mean she wouldn’t take on the regular work if it needed to be done, one more person could free up a great deal of time and of course, Ilanthe Yaal was multi-tasking by taking inventory of their medical supplies as well. Her unit had not been in place long, only a few days at most, but she liked to be prepared and that had gained her both rank and a certain amount of tentative trust.

While she was working, another officer approached and soon the captain was assigning the soldiers lined up to see her to other medics, spreading them out evenly so that no one medic would be thoroughly overwhelmed. With that she was moving to Communications. Apparently they had received a call stating that General Descouteaux would be arriving and she wanted to be met by a company when she landed. As the highest ranking officer in the immediate area, that duty fell to Ilanthe. "If you’re going to send a man to inform me of our approaching general,” she sighed as she entered the tent, "be sure that he can pronounce her name correctly. I highly doubt General Descouteaux would approve of a Burmisan soldier butchering her name like that. I’ll keep it a secret, but you should all take care to learn the pronunciation.” She didn’t give them time to start fumbling over either excuses or attempts to rectify their mistakes, instead she merely continued speaking after a momentary pause. "I want a small company ready, armed and on the move. We’ve got an important guest coming our way and if those Cerberus fools have gotten wind of it, they may just try to make the mistake of attacking. We’ll find out soon enough.”

It wasn’t long before Ilanthe and a small group of soldiers were waiting for the general at the designated landing site, most of the soldiers were on edge, expecting an attack of some sort (mainly because they were paranoid) while Ilanthe just remained as impassive as she usually was when waiting for someone, her large panther Myrrh was at her side, if only because the captain hadn’t been able to command it to stay; the overly large housecat did as it pleased most of the time.




Yeah, we still believe in all the things that we stood by before.
And after everything we've seen, there may be even more.
I know we're not the only ones and we were not the first.
And unapologetically we stand behind each word.
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Confident that they were all up to date on the plan of attack, Kent poked his head over the rock, catching a quick glance of the stirring personnel of the morning shift. A few sentries, some armed men starting a warm-up, a comm officer... his breath caught and his eyes widened. What is she doing here?! Intel should have known... His sudden burning glare had fallen upon the one and only Captain Yaal. His mind flashed with the sudden memory of burning buildings, an agonizing pain on his face, the stench of death filling the air. The b***h responsible for the attack on his base just a few years ago was here. Taking a deep breath, he turned away from the enemy camp, a small gleam in his eye, and a renewed determination in his stance. He shook his head clear of the thoughts of vengeance, sweet and tempting, and focused his mind. The mission came first.

Glancing between Tristan and Annabell, he articulated their plan.
"Anna," he said, stabbing into the dirt on the east side of the rough diagram with his index finger. "You will start the attack from here. The sun will give you a perfect vantage point, as the Burmisians will be unable to see where you are attacking from against the glare. Your targets will be any troops that are near the landing pad. As soon as the General's ship lands, begin your attack, and make sure that any contacts in the area around the pad are immobile, then Tristan and I will move in from the west." He moved his hand to the opposite side of the diagram. "A standard flanking maneuver. We'll sneak in behind the buildings and kill the soldiers that Anna has frozen in place. By that point, the General will be alerted to our presence. I'll get in close to knock her out before she can fight back. While I'm doing that, Tristan... you'll do what you do best. Make sure our exit is clear, and we'll be out in seconds. Anna, when you see we have the General secured, break off your attack and head back to our drop zone. We'll rendezvous there." He made sure they had absorbed the information and then wiped out the picture scrawled on the ground. "One more thing. It seems intel dropped the ball on just who was leading this encampment. Captain Yaal herself is here to welcome Descouteaux. Above all else Anna, I'm counting on you to keep her down. If she rallies more troops to the landing pad, our job will be that much harder. Remember, our goal is the General, and nothing else. Get in, get out, stay safe, and I'll see you both on the far side."

He stood and popped his neck, looking out over the camp once more. It was almost time. Waving a hand, he directed Anna to her position, and then beckoned to Tristan before taking off at a low run, hurrying to their designated ambush site. With a little luck, they would be in and out before the weary and bleary troops could muster up the ability to fight back. His team had been on more strenuous missions than this, but battles were always an unknown. In moments, he and his comrade had reached the rocks to the west, a mere twenty feet from the perimeter of the Burmisian base. At least we don't have to contend with walls he thought to himself. Smirking to himself, he spoke into the comm on his ear. "Anna, are you in position?" He paused to hear her response. "Start your attack in 3... 2... 1... GO!"


++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
I will never surrender. We'll free the earth and sky. Crush my heart into embers, and I will reignite...
I will reignite
Yasha_Glory's avatar

Beloved Lunatic

¤ Hide or alone you make it feel at home ¤
Silence is not even there no more
You make it feel at ease something to embrace
A heart that's forever believing it...


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    ...Million crazy butterflies getting drunk we are one
    ↓ I'm down on my tail but I'm up and I can feel it again

    ¨°o.❆𝕮erberus 𝕷ieutenant ❆.o°¨
    "There is no great genius without some touch of madness."
      ~Seneca

    Angels wings unfold and the devil sitting moaning alone ✥
    I've been down but I'm back in a magic zone...


    User ImageXXXXXXXAnnabell seemed lost within her own world, staring down the invisible path her ever faithful companion had scurried upon. She could never figure out if its appearance was a bad omen or a clever blessing sent from the fates to guide her actions to victory. Such a strange occurrence intrigued her, and ignited a yearning for future study. If she could find more people with gifts like hers she’d have more to write than theories and, what most would call, the insane ramblings of a haggard wench.

    The utterance of her name and the crackle of flesh grinding against dirt beckoned for her attention, and received it without much effort. The slight turn of her mask and the gentle wave of her onyx locks indicated such. She was receiving orders from the Cerberus Commander himself, and while that should have been warrant enough to pay attention and give her respect it was a far from the reason why she seemed to be so loyal and calm around the man. The truth was, although he only had half his vision, he was able to see beyond the sight of normal people. Perhaps it was the rune embedded in his socket that gave him the insight to sway even the most stubborn of personalities and tame the most feral of people. After the complete isolation of nearly two decades, betrayal and loss of those she loved, and constant torment from spirits no one else could sense; it should have been set in stone that her imprisonment would be permanent. Anyone who even passed her door was crazy. Those who even thought speaking to her was a good idea were surely ridiculed. It was equivalent to tugging at the reaper’s cloak or knocking on the devil’s gate when Dedrick J. Kent unlocked the iron clad door and descended the steps into her chamber. He shouldn’t have come out alive, he shouldn’t have come out with a masked monster in tow, he shouldn’t have been able to control the beast without a single chain or shackle to bind her to mere words; but he did, and he did it with his head held high. That unrivaled pride left everyone in utter awe just as it did after each of his accomplishments. How was he able to do these things? Annabell had often replayed the events in her mind, attempting to dissect just what it was that lead her to believe his words. What had he done to prevent her from splattering his innards across the floor the second her spell was broken? He simply spoke. He spoke to her as though she were still human, as though there had not been a single death caused by her hands, as though there was not a single bit of fear harboring within the depths of his heart. But was it truly just that, or was there another factor involved? Annabell had to admit that when she saw Kent for the first time, she mistook him for her brother. The single eye, fair skin, dark locks of hair, and prim and pressed uniform set her frozen heart aflutter. In her delusional mind she may have seen a godlike image of her brother glowing and floating down the stony steps to her solitary hell, until, that is, the military man began to speak. His voice and manner of speech were different, far less regal and certainly not what she was used to. That hope-shattering realization initially caused her to venomously warn the intruder to turn around. Although there was nothing she could do to hurt him, it certainly didn’t mean she wanted the company of an imposter. What good could a stranger do for her? Though she had tried her best to both ignore his words and wait out his patience, his persistence prevailed. Their tender dance of wit and promise flowed smoothly, and she was reminded of what she had to fight for, inspired to try again, and soothed into a much less savage beast. This was a new world and she had been forgotten. She had survived, endured, and realized that her task was not yet over. Like a ghost stuck in limbo, there was still so much more she needed to do before she conceded to death and laid into an eternal rest.
    A gentle nod of the head followed Kent’s direction. The plan seemed easy enough, so why was there such a gut-wrenching feeling that things would end so very wrong? Was it guilt that she would not only help but cause the deaths of so many ‘innocent’ people? Was it the lack of pride for a land she did not know? Perhaps it was a number of things which, whatever the case, would need to be pushed to the back of her mind if she was to perform at her finest.

    As Anna moved to sprint away she was stopped once again by the Commander’s words. “One more thing…” he said, “It seems intel dropped the ball on just who was leading this encampment. Captain Yaal herself is here to welcome Descouteaux. Above all else Anna, I'm counting on you to keep her down.” A small sigh escaped through her nose. Keeping normal alchemists at bay was a hassle, baiting a captian away from her duties was just asking for trouble. It was wishful thinking that Annabell could complete such a task. Any misstep would need to be exploited the second it happened or the sacrifice for her teammates’ safety would be that much greater. This little David would need to find her pebble and slingshot if she hoped to take down that goliath of a military leader.

    Finally she rose from her crouch and took a quick glance of her surroundings, namely the enemy encampment. A flick of her superior’s wrist and she was off quick as a hare; her footsteps silently treading along the unforgiving ground, almost flying across the dirt as only her toes and pads of her feet occasionally graced the earth with tender kisses. Flickering off into the distance, it was not long before she reached her destination.

    Ducking behind objects, traversing through the shadows, and using every sneeze, cough, and yawn to her advantage to get as close to the western side of the landing pad as she could. Already there were troops in waiting and guards scouting the surrounding area, she could only hope that Kent and Fell had not already been spotted. Without a barrel, reserve, or body of water to draw from she needed to improvise if she wanted to survive longer than a few seconds. The Burmisans were good at keeping their resources protected and hidden. Annabell had been unable to locate their clean water source while prancing about the rim of their base and all she currently had was what little liquid the dirt held captive. If she used all the water she gathered to attack the troops, she would be completely defenseless, if she used too much to defend herself with then the ice would not be thick enough to suspend the first line of soldiers. That gave less time to her team members and extended the margin of error beyond what they could successfully deal with.

    “Hey, what’re yo—“

    In her contemplation, a guard had stumbled upon her location. What a stroke of serendipity. The body is made up of over eighty-five percent water, an amount that increased with the weight and height of an individual. An average person held over thirteen gallons of water, a soldier of considerable build and bulk provided that and more. He had seen her. There was no question he could not be spared. If he wasn’t taken care of, and quickly, he would set off an alarm and send a chain of events into motion. The two stared at one another for no more than half a tick before both pounced into action. The man’s hand reached for his belt and Annabell’s wrapped about his face and dug deep into his cheeks. “Shh…” she held a single finger of her spare hand before her mask’s porcelain lips. Stunned, the man stared into her twin voids dripping with crimson paint, and lived out the last few moments of his life. Hissing from every pore and orifice came, crawling, the fluids of his body. Obvious panic filled his face, as he felt his flesh drying out and flaking into nothing more than a husk of blackened flesh. Steam surrounded his body as it transformed from living into a carcass. Like a spider with its prize, Annabell slunk away with her victim, knowing the noise would attract others and a cadaver would only raise suspicion and alert others of their presence.

    Finding a suitable spot to perch herself, the sun to her back and the wind blowing her scent away from the camp, Annabell dropped the mummified being to her feet and allowed the gallons of recovered water (from both the ground and sacrifice) to circle her heels. She stared down at the landing zone, and allowed her gaze to drift up (just as all the others’) at the impending blimp. There was no time to be in a technologically induced awestruck daze. She’d have to ask about things like that next break. Slowly, she sent down trickles of steaming liquid and thinned it out into a fine mist no more than a couple inches from the ground. A gentle rolling fog so low, creeping over boots, would surely be ignored if any gaze was not fixed and waiting for their General to arrive. When had clouds and a small weather mishap ever been considered deadly? In the hands of a skilled artesian, any medium was useful.

    A soft buzzing murmured into her ear, sending goose bumps across Annabell’s skin. It took her a bit to recognize the voice as Kent’s, and remember the strange devices she had been given. A slender pearly hand reached up to touch the mic clipped onto her velvet choker, tapping at the alien equipment until some type of noise crackled into her own ear. “Yes, Sir. Ready and waiting for your order…” she whispered in that all too wispy tone of hers. Her muscles tensed from the flood of adrenaline as she readied herself to act on her master’s slightest whim.

    A shot of a mental starting gun and their little battle had begun. The previously harmless looking fog rapidly changed direction and spiraled up the legs of the troops closest to the landing pad, solidifying into sharp curved corkscrews of ice. The fog that was not used to render the soldiers immobile became ribbons of liquid and began to search out any electrical devices similar to the one her latest victim had possessed. Her range was as limited to her sight and mental grasp, but focusing on unfamiliar objects and generalizing that they needed to be destroyed to ensure a victory, made things far easier. She couldn’t just focus on this wild goose chase, she needed to keep an eye out for her crew and the pair of Burmisan superiors. If she were discovered, there was a fine pocket of time where she was defenseless. Her focus placed on the playing field and her precious streams of aquatic snakes far from her immediate beckoning, she was a sitting duck if she allowed the alchemists to come too close for comfort. If the Captain or General was the one to land the first strike upon her, she didn’t know if she could survive long enough to counter. Truthfully, she didn’t want to find out.


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    Mood: Alert Sanity: Fairly Stable Objective: Imobilize the troops, prevent contact, and keep an eye on the Captain; Stay Alive Company: None Location: West Side of the Burmisan Camp, overlooking the Landing Zone

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...We're distorted but we fit like a glove
Pleasure and pain will walk hand in hand
No place to run take it all day by day
¤ What it takes what it makes let it breathe celebrate ¤


(( OOC: If I need to edit anything just let me know~ I'm still getting back into the swing of things))

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