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 Posted: Sun Nov 20, 2005 8:42 am
Really, it was neither Cyr nor Durman's place to speak.
So they didn't.
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Posted: Sun Nov 20, 2005 7:09 pm
"Hey, I've got no complaints." St. Andrew scratched the bridge of his nose idly. Both his hands now rested on his hips, head canted to the side. "We'll pick the boy up and return to Durem."
He grinned. "'sides, I always wanted to see Eskimos."
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Posted: Mon Nov 21, 2005 1:54 pm
And, at that, Albino King dismissed them.
Cyr, Rosalind and Rafe would gather their things and board a cargo plane headed for Durem. The plane would have all of the supplies and equipment that they would need, and, once there, they were to seek out their contact.
St. Andrew, Durman, and Sayaka would, instead, be taking a helicopter to the continent of Guldor. Civilization was sparse in the barren tundra, so they would touch down the chopper at a small airfield a short distance inland, and continue the rest of the distance from there by dogsled. There were more or less precise coordinates for their destination, thanks to global positioning technology and the CII satelite.
(( I cry, because I've been too busy to push this stuff, and it's going quite slow... xp Mi appologies, amigos. ))
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Posted: Sat Dec 03, 2005 4:55 am
God damn. What a horrible place to live this is. I say this as a bystander, looking in on the kind of choices that the person I'm going to be narrating, has made. Jesus Hewlett Christ. it's like the third world, except it has running water, however toxic and opaque. I can see abestos leaking out of that wall, like sand in an hourglass, it's making a small pile.
Speaking of the walls, which are cracked everywhere, not from earthquakes, but from the constant roar made by large somethings moving down the road outside. It rumbles in here at least every half hour, shaking the dust off everything. When you try and turn hot and cold on at the same time, dust shoots out. My refridgerator is warmer than my bed, because it was made with better insulation. He sleeps in there sometimes.
The lights make everything look like it's in sepiatone, and what with all the creaks in the house, it is completley thief-proof. That's saying something in the Yellow District.
The man sighed, and rose from his sleeping position on the floor next to his bed, and, with a smile on his face, proclaimed to the world, as the world was listening,
"I love it here."
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Posted: Tue Dec 06, 2005 6:07 am
CH-CHK
"That's the last of them!" The nearly overly bubbly voice exclaimed, even as the stapler gun was lowered. A deep blue flyer was seen, the markings of a Leviathan and information on the grand opening of the Stadium were detail in it; and all the rest of the hundreds of flyers that had been placed all around Heaven's Gate.
Word was getting out... and the people would come. For pride, for glory, and for the blood. They would all come to that one place that connected them all.
Similarly posted, all around were posters advertising the annual Heaven or Hell tournament, as well as TV spots every now and then. It had finally come to their region and fighters from all across Barton, Durem as well as Latent were flocking. Latent would be the boom town, and the days ahead showed nothing but promise.
Let's rock.
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Posted: Sat May 27, 2006 3:42 pm
((Time to get something moving here, six months is too long, lol))
Charitable Order Work In Heaven's Gate
They came silently, secretly, one at a time, mixing in with the locals of the Yellow District. They spread the worship of Ymir among those mired in poverty. From across the sea comes small shipments of food which are dispersed among the poor to help them suplement their meager rations. Medicine, food, and medical care is given to those who need it free of charge whenever possible, but everything must be done covertly, the crime bosses and corporate lords must not feel the loyalty of their cheap labor threatened.
The reclamation forces are more open to allowing the charities to help the poor, as long as they receive their bribe money. It helps them in two ways, keeps the people happy & fed letting them use less resourses to do so, and lines their pockets directly through bribes. A small, humble, little church to Ymir has been built in a formally yellow section of the green district, where worship services can be held every other day.
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Posted: Sat Sep 30, 2006 12:59 am
The sounds of gangs killing, kids screaming, families starving.
The way its been for weeks now. The way the Yellow District has been since its screwed-over birth.
Tucked away in the grungy corner of a secluded alleyway was the hunched form of a thing covered in rags. The shapeless form moved little, and when it did, sickly coughs pounded whatever was left underneath the grimy flannel. For the twelfth time in five minutes, coughs once again took hold of the Thing, and the dull sheen of an eye managed to find its way from underneath the folds of dirt.
He had been here for months now, although time here seemed to pass differently than in places familiar to him. Places he had left for the pursuit of what he loved more than most things. All-in-all, his mission had ended only in failiure and here was all that was left of the once proud mercenary.
The single eye quickly darted from one end of the alley; a dead-end, to the opposite end of the alley, which opened onto an abandoned street. The dark eye than resumed back to staring towards the small WANTED ad pasted to the wall opposite of him. Quickly scanning the poster for the upteenth time, the lone eye slowly shut and with this small motion, the entirety of the rag-bound man shuddered and slowly rose to its feet. Once fully erect, the figure slightly teetered for a moment and began to walk the direction of the abandoned street. As more coughs racked the thin body, two things ran in a never-ending loop in his mind; 'get some goddamned food and find the 'Ymir'. Get some goddamned foo..'
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Posted: Sat Sep 30, 2006 10:27 am
Zetsumeii the entirety of the rag-bound man shuddered and slowly rose to its feet. Once fully erect, the figure slightly teetered for a moment and began to walk the direction of the abandoned street. As more coughs racked the thin body, two things ran in a never-ending loop in his mind; 'get some goddamned food and find the 'Ymir'. Get some goddamned foo..' The street wasn't entirely abandoned, there was a humble preist of the charitable order. A withered old man in his mid eighties. He was frail with age, and walked slowly with a gnarled walking stick. He saw the rag bound figure approach and felt pity on him. He pulled at his food pouch, his ration of bread and water for the day was inside. For a week now, the order had received no assistance from the other continent, supplies were getting scarce. "Sir," he called, barely able to get his voice above a whisper, "You look badly in need of some food, I have some water and bread in my pouch. Take it."
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Posted: Sat Sep 30, 2006 2:43 pm
A movement of an unseen individual caused the man to start and quickly turn around. The speed of his turn made him dizzy however, and he knew he was far from the condition needed to fight. Noticing the frail senior, his tensed body once turned relaxed again.Old Man "Sir," he called, barely able to get his voice above a whisper, "You look badly in need of some food, I have some water and bread in my pouch. Take it."
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Posted: Sat Sep 30, 2006 3:04 pm
Zetsumeii He remained silent for a moment, yet when he realized the old man was sincere, he extended a thin arm and greedily took the rations without thought. He was nearly about to rip open the package when his eyes once again caught the sight of the frail man. Looking back down at the package, he let it hang limply by his side as he queried in a soft voice, "Why would you do this? Look at yourself. I can manage to steal or kill for what I want, yet you can't do anything to sustain yourself." He extended his hand with the food once again and murmured, "Here. Take it. As much as I hate to say this, you need it more than I do." The old man refused, keeping his arms by his staff, "I am a monk of the charitable order and a worshiper of Ymir, it is my duty to help those that society has cast off. Please partake of my sustenance, anything done to help the suffering is a light for my soul upon the parting that will take it home. If you want, you can follow me, I can manage to put together a meager meal for you at the temple."
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Posted: Sat Sep 30, 2006 4:06 pm
once again letting the small bundle of food drop by his side, the man let the words of the old monk sink in.
'Mabye I'll find out more on this 'Ymir' or whatver..'
Bowing his shrouded head, the man responded to the steadfast response, "Alright then. If it makes you happy, I'll just go ahead and follow you to this place. But lemme warn you, I'm not the guy who sticks around longer than he should."
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Posted: Sun Oct 01, 2006 4:25 pm
He would find himself in a small church, worship services were being held. Everyone was in black robes, bent down in prayer before a picture of Edward Yaits III. Beside that was a picture of General Bakkar in his High Preist Robes. The dour prayers of the church goers where more for the Bakkar, who had been the high priest of the Charitable Order. In this building were depictions of Ymir, who was essentially worshiped as their god. No one paid attention to the old preist as he led his guest to a back room. It was a simple dwelling with a mat serving for a bed, a small writing desk, and a wood burning stove. The old man lit the stove. Water from a jar was poured into a pot to boil for tea and poridge.
"Excuse our mourning," said the old man, offering his guest the only chair, "The order has been beset terrible with misfortune as of late. We have no more supplies to give to the poor since the death of Yaits, the money used to bribe the guards and pay the taxes is drying up, and now news has come to us that our high priest may be dead as well. I thank Ymir my aching bones aren't long for this world. I can feel death coming, I can smell it. It smells like nutmeg."
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Posted: Fri Oct 06, 2006 7:38 pm
'Nutmeg..?'
The scant yet homey room was vaugely appealing to the thin figure, and he shuffled over to a corner of the room and let his body slide down the wall into seated position, completely ignoring the chair. He let the musk of the tea and porridge waft over him, and he felt content. He cleared his throat and responded, "I'll be content with the floor thanks. Seeing as you'll be leaving soon, you might as well be comfortable with the time you have left." Still looking up at the man, he felt for the edges of his tattered hood and pulled it back revealing a man with silvery hair and dark eyes the color of the midnight sky. His skin was pale and drawn tightly across the bones of his face, giving him a perpetual look of hunger, and thus revealed, he looked down at his gloves and began to adjust them.
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Posted: Thu Jul 19, 2007 6:28 pm
"No, I'm sorry, Mr. White isn't taking calls right now." The receptionist spoke calmly into the phone while filing her nails. "If you'd like to leave a message, I can't promise when your call will be returned. Otherwise, I can transfer you to another department."
Despite that it was the middle of the day at the beginning of a work week, neither the chiefs of staff nor the S.O.D. department were taking calls. In fact, the messages had been piling up for the better part of a week with no sign of the President or his staff. She was just a secretary, though, and wasn't privy to all the details about where, when, and why. She was just told that certain members of the staff would be unavailable for a certain period of time, and that the instructions were to say that they weren't taking calls.
No exceptions.
"Very well, sir, please hold while I connect you to Mr. Mitsurugi." The receptionist depressed the small plastic buttons while transferring the call.
No one was in right now... none of the department heads, at least. Wherever it was they had gone to, something big was going to happen...つづく
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Posted: Thu Jan 31, 2008 5:13 pm
Yellow District - A wide intersection somewhere...Scarker knelt on the ground next to the prone figure, his hands glowing a dim white through the effects of a healing spell. The man he was working on seemed to be bleeding profusely from somewhere in his messy, matted hair. "I really am sorry, but you should have known better than to leave yourself so open." The man's only response was a groan. There was quite the crowd gathered around the pair, with a good number passing them by, going about their normal routine. The prone figure's friends finally dragged him off as Scarker finished he work and slung his staff over his shoulder. "This city wouldn't happen to have any decent fighters, would it?" His blind eyes scanned the crowd. It was more a formality than anything as he could already see all of them, but he went through the motion anyway. He had been doing this all day, taking on fights for money. They were never high stakes, and most of the time he didn't bother collecting, but he had made enough to feed himself for the next day or two. It was the only living that he was sure that he could make around here, and since the fights were so easy, he wasn't worried about tiring out, although he did keep hoping for a more worthy opponent. His magesight checked the pocket watch of one of the spectators. "Come on, it's almost sunset. Last chance! Two copper gets you a shot at five, all you have to do is beat me. I'll even let you choose the weapons I use and the win conditions! Any takers?" K'shon, Tsu'kel, and his staff were on a small table, being guarded by a team of grade school rabble-rousers that had been promised a copper each to make sure that the weapons weren't moved from the table. They had an easy job of it, because Scarker was scaring away most of the thieves, but they each considered themselves vital parts of the champion's success and thought it a wonderful excuse to stay and watch him. "Come on, there has to be one person that's willing to try their hand."
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