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Recalling the Pack

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Recalling the Pack

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Soldier_Rain on Sun Dec 10, 2006 11:43 pm

It happened for light-years around Terra, the planet serving as the home of Wing City and Metro City. For those in possession, every speaker, every screen would light up. Similarly, those with enough magical ability -- or at least those that weren't blocking it -- would receive the magical equivalent to a holographic projection a few feet away.

To the ear, a calm, gentle voice came, the tone carrying just a hint of authority, and just a dash more sorrow. To the eyes came the image of a man. He was of moderate height, and his build, from that which could be discerned by the naked eye, was quite average. He sat on a stool -- or perhaps it was a tree stump -- with his arms on his thighs and his head hung, a length of silky auburn hair obscuring his face. A tan, almost white duster adorned with multiple insignias of a military origin covered his form, barely shifting as he spoke. Next to him, learning against some obscure surface out of sight, was a rifle equating half his own height, barrel aside. It was perhaps the most violent looking thing to him.

"Those of you who would fight for Terra," his voice called, "I am Serini Chrono, and I come to you with an apology and an offering. For those of you who might know my face, or worse yet, my name, you likely know what I have done. For those that don't, while I can say that I am not responsible for most that has happened to Wing City, I am severely at fault for much of the destruction and plaguing that has overtaken Metro City, which has taken a direct effect upon the planet."

At this point, he lifted his head, his hair clearing his face to reveal a clean-shaven face, a wiry set of lips, but perhaps most defining, a set of emerald eyes. While the rest of himself spoke of early twenties, his eyes spoke of hundred of years or sorrow and suffering. He continued, "I have recently excised that which caused these atrocities, but it is in no way an excuse. Therefore, I am reforming Soldier, a military organization I was once the proud leader of. We are dedicated to the blending of magic and technology, and I will accept nearly all who wish to fight, so long as you understand this: until Terra is righted, we will be in the planet's service, doing that which is needed to restore balance to this place. If you are viewing this, you have means of communicating me, and you are welcomed to use it."

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Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Ryand-Smith on Mon Dec 11, 2006 9:59 pm

There was a strange pair, walking on the plains of the planet Terra, a giant mechanical wolf, with two massive 40mm guns on top walked, along with a strange girl, the pair seeming to be the oddest pairing on this planet. These people, the girl and the mecha were refugees from Wing city, when back in the city’s prim a mercenary team, they were forced to scrounge around for parts and fuel for the wolf, Sythern. They had meet up with a strange off worlder Ryand, who offered them Jobs in the “Thrantor Foreign Legion� but the y rejected, the both realizing that they would not be able to work tighter..

Kendal had looked at Sythern, as the black colored mech stopped, him feeling Serini’s message. Kendal thought, as she knew what they must do. “We shall join him,� they both thought, but we need a location..� Kendal had a individual thought, a rarity for the collective “I hope… they will not abandon us..� The wolf seemed to agree, as he wailed up loudly to the sky

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Answering the call

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Lord Saladin on Mon Dec 11, 2006 10:45 pm

As he sat, his mind concentrating on naught but the emptiness inside him, a deep meditative calm surrounding him, Ja'rech suddenly felt a strange power streaming into the empty, white walled room.

Instinct told him to block it as he was in such a state of meditation. However, curiosity filled the mans mind now, as his green orbs slowly revealed themselves behind lids of almost pure white, Jared saw a strange illusion.

An apparently shamed man, hiding his face, his voice calm and somewhat soothing to Ja'rech. The voice, in many ways, reminded him of his father, in what seemed a thousand lifetimes ago, his father teaching him the Arts he had now perfected. His father speaking to him of ancient stories to send him asleep. As his mind brought up memories long thought dead, Ja'rech let a single tear fall from his right right eye.

Still the words of the man continued, only half registering with the tall man, was left in his memories for the moment. His tall, well built frame was masked by a long black robe. The hood, usually drawn over his face, now revealed a slight beard and long wavy hair of the deepest jet. Beside him, lay a long, sinuous sword, the hilt a bleached ivory, moulded perfectly for his large hand.

Suddenly the projected image of the shamed man grabbed his conscious attention once more as the projected man raised his head.

As Ja'rech looked at the man, his clean shaven, young face containing the oldest eyes Ja'rech ahd seen in a long time. In those emerald orbs, Ja'rech saw a deep pain hidden, and a great wisdom also.

As the man's voice turned to silence, and the image slowly dispersed, Ja'rech skillfullypulled the entire speech back into his conscience, his Anima quite deftly storing it for later retrieval.

As Ja'rech listened to the words, a broad smile appeared slowly on his face. "At last, a cause worth stirring for." As he spoke out loud, the room was filled with a slightly rough, and yet somehow soothing and calm voice.

Remembering the last words of the image, Ja'rech stood and opened himself up to the powers within him, a light shining in those eyes as slowly his aura became visible, a beautiful white flame flickering around him, Ja'rech would pull the hood of his cloak aver his head once more, hiding his face.

Opening his mind to the world once more, he felt somewhat more alive than he had ever previously done, as far as his memory went, Ja'rech focused his mind specifically on the face of that man.

Allowing his voice to carry he spoke quietly, his mind still focused on that seemingly young man. "I come. Tell me the destination soon."

As his voice once more quieted, Ja'rech picked up his long blade. Placing the blade and scabbard on the buckle designed specifically for the weapon on his left hip, it appeared to disappear under that large, heavy cloak of pure black. Walking out of the building, his heavy arms pushed the door, and he walked away, not shutting the door. Ja'rech had returned from the solitary he had kept himself in for thousands of years.

The silhouette of the man against the horizon as he walked, made him appear almost twice his true size of seven feet and two iches.

Ja'rech had now returned to walk teh world. And he knew he would walk it as a Soldier. Just he way he liked it.

Under the large black hood of teh cloak, across the rugged, bearded face of Ja'rech was a broad grin and his eyes glowed with a gentle hue of silver as he chuckled quietly to himself.

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Tips: 0.00 INK Postby SinfulSoul on Tue Dec 12, 2006 3:47 am

Richard Vega

A behemoth among men stood in the dim light of a concealed apartment in downtown Metro City. His muscular body was immense and evident even through the heavy layers of S.W.A.T grade body armor. A pair of dog tags hung around his neck that dangled on top of the armor. His knee caps and elbows were strapped with armored joint-cuffs that narrowed to a point in the center. He was in fact built head to toe as if his body was designed for Muay Thai combat. A trench coat tipped with red flames rising from the bottom weighed heavily down on top of the weight of the body armor. Inside, the coat was lined in a series of weaponry organized in a similar fashion to the room he stood in. The variety of weaponry carried signified the man's fluency in heavy weapons combat.

The apartment was small, but it was built like a stronghold, personalized by its occupant. The room the man stood in was lit by a single uncovered yellow bulb hanging from a chain in the center of the room. The yellow light reflected off of polished metal all around the room. It caught a reflection off of the silver tags hanging from his neck, shining the name "Richard Vega" for a brief moment. The assortment of weaponry rivaled that of an armory despite the cramped conditions - almost no space was left unused as his conquests over targets continued to increase his collection. All were well maintained and organized by type and size. Massive amounts of ammo were located in thick armored drawers lined in antiballistics material. The only sign of sentiment was a brown bag that rested on top of a crude coffee table next to a worn recliner that sat in the most fortified of corners. In the brown bag were dog tags dating as far back as a generation before his own.

He utilized the latest devices available to him with the same mastery as his weaponry - a sign of dedication and total discipline to his trade. His sunglasses sensed heat, displayed a variety of data in full color with audio, defiled darkness as well as protected against light. Laid over the inside of his left forearm contained the computer that controlled such functions built in with a resident intelligence to automate these features as necessary. Even the red tips that highlighted his short, spiky, black hair were embedded with micro antennas to send and receive signals. Yet he knew all too well the pains of entirely relying on machinery, which is why he had never undergone surgical enhancements - a direct defiance in the name of pride for the truest supreme being, the biological man.

Richard Vega set the XM29 OICW Assault Rifle in an outline reserved specifically for it alone. It was a recent prize from an extremely swift hit and run attack on Metro City's armory, one that he had been planning for months specifically to obtain such a beautiful and powerful weapon. Ammo was cheap and standardized, but the weapon was a fortune itself. He peeled off the fingerless knuckle capped gloves and set them at a specific location on one of the tabletops. It seemed everything had an exact location designated for each item.

Just as he was getting ready to pull off his sunglasses, a message displayed on both lenses showing that a message was being intercepted on multiple wavelengths. Melfina, the resident intelligence, informed him that the signal being sent out was radiating a distance of several light years over almost every channel of communication. It was unusual for anyone to even have the ability to broadcast on such a wide scale, let alone be allowed to do so. His only guess would be that it was some important announcement, and so he tuned in to the most stable signal.

The message for arms caught his attention, but more than that, the face that contrasted youth with wisdom and sorrow. He had seen it before, of that he could almost be sure. A brief moment at a bar somewhere in Metro City, he could only remember it faintly. Those eyes had changed, he would have remembered those green eyes if they were like that. Had they shared a drink? Whiskey maybe? He remembered the gun that faced him, a .50 Caliber Desert Eagle like one of his own. He remembered the weight on the holster it sat in; it was fully loaded and the safety recklessly left off... Or was that on purpose? He intended to use it, he could tell by the way he talked. He could tell he had fired it before, he wasn't afraid to use it. They didn't talk much; money wasn't in the conversation and so it was pointless.

Money... The speech picked at a stone cold history of service in arms that he had trained himself to avoid thinking about. He couldn't resist the calling for long though, it was where he belonged. But the money? He had earned the pride and respect worthy of his experiences to be a veteran by 24. Now at 26 he was in the business for the money to pay the price for perfecting his trade. The prospect interested him nonetheless, so long as it paid. It suited his trade and if there ever was a soldier worthy of being called one, he was it.

The red highlights on his hair moved ever so slightly as Melfina worked. By now Melfina had tracked multiple source points that were open for response. With his command she patched an encrypted signal through with a holographic representation of himself.

""I am Richard Vega, at your service if the pay is right. And be quick, my time is precious.""
Melfina continued monitoring conversation. On the top right corner of Vega's display was a timer that counted down the minimum amount of time required to crack his signal from an outside threat.

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