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Snippet #1853338

located in Kizara, a part of The Chronicles of Kizara, one of the many universes on RPG.

Kizara

The denizens of Kizara have a much bigger role to play within the universe than any of them realize. The events that began here, are to be like the butterfly who flapped its wings and caused a tsunami far, far away.

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"It has been an age, Barrinoth," Astaroth rumbled with a bit of a grin as he jogged into the Forge. He raised an eyebrow when a compartment slid out with his old armor in it. It actually made him laugh. "I can't believe you kept this heap all this time... I don't know what to say... these years have weighed heavily upon me and after all that happened I didn't think I would be welcomed like this. Thank you," he said sincerely as he hastily stripped his shirt off , revealing an angry gash travelling diagonally up his chest and tapering off at his left shoulder.

He fished a small canister with a red cross and the Raven corp. emblem painted on it, then sprayed gel into the wound while grimacing. He let it foam up for a moment before he rummaged around in the shop for something to use as a bandage. After wrapping himself in some rags that looked clean enough (one could never tell in Barrinoth's shop) he muttered a prayer over his armor before donning it.

"Activate please," he muttered, feeling the power pack spin up out of standby mode and fill his armor with a familiar gentle hum. Astaroth took a deep breath as the screen in his helmet went through its boot up process and the sheer weight of the armor gradually vanished as the powered assist servos activated. He braced himself... the computer booted and immediately screamed angry noises at him while flashing an angry face in his view.

*What the FUCK!*

"Ashe, I-"

*Do you know how long I've been stuck in this closet?*

"Uh..."

*I thought you were dead! How DARE you abandon me! And now you just want me to boot up like nothing has changed?*

"Well it's not like I've been philandering with another AI, Ashe."

*Oh, Ashe is broken just leave her to be found by strangers out in the middle of the wilderness, or to be shelter to animals. Am I just a tool to you, Luther?*

"Well..."

*You know what don't answer that.*

"Can this wait, Ashe? There's killing to be done,* he bit his lip while the AI processed. Even if she did lay off, he'd be in for a serious lecture later.

*Fine,* she huffed in that tone that suggested her arms were folded. He could feel her little electronic eyes burning into his forehead... something that was always a little disconcerting. *But this isn't over.*

"Women," he blew a sigh and rolled his eyes.

*What was that?!*

"Uh, nothing. Ashe, prepare yourself for a hard transfer... I have a new body for you, and as beautiful as you are in this one, it is a little ostentatious... it'll do wonders for your figure though," he grinned. She just grumbled a response and he could tell that she was biting her tongue.

Astaroth gathered his weapons, attaching them to all their familiar weapon mounts. His force sword slid into a scabbard behind his waist, a plasma pistol into a holster on his hip, an assortment of grenades, knives, and other dangly bits and of course his trusty storm bolter. He took a deep breath: it actually felt good to be using his old equipment even though he'd developed a preference for the lighter HEV and hard hitting rail guns. Astaroth tromped down the corridors towards the engineering deck, wondering quietly if Ashe would criticize him for carrying too many weapons like she used to and what she would say when she saw his HEV.

In the engine room it was deathly quiet, but quite warm. The temperature gauge in Raikor's helmet notified him that it was more than 100 degrees outside his suit. It was quite dark, and lights flickered eerily, and the aftermath of the recent battle lurked in all the shadows. Now and then a flickering light would reveal a giant armored boot or a splash of blood across the deck or bulkhead. As he stepped farther in, Raikor might notice that the ship's drive core was actually on fire... rather the device itself was not burning, but white flames roiled over the surface of the shields which protected the components, slowly eating away at them... probably also the source of the unusual heat. A presence flitted through the shadows from somewhere in the room, passing behind Raikor and vanishing among the shadows. The air hardly stirred, but it was undeniably there.

"Stop," a voice whispered from everywhere and nowhere. "Come no further. If you come inside, I will be forced to fight you... Too much blood has already been spilled this day, do not add your name to the ones I must mourn."

A figure emerged about 100 yards in front of Raikor, almost seeming to detach from the shadows and move with unearthly grace. It was a woman, though she was quite tall for a girl: probably six feet or more. She had piercing amber eyes with black slitted pupils and a mop of long black hair that tumbled unbound nearly to her waist. She was beautiful, almost as though she had stepped out of a fairy tail with her rich copper toned skin and ruby lips. Her face and arms were still mottled with blood spatters, although it was obvious she'd taken the time to wash most of it away. A sleeveless black dress hugged her svelte curves, and if her hair were not covering it, it would be plain that the back of the dress was an open cut all the way down to the top of her hips. It was buckled about her waist with a plain leather belt upon which a Lance pistol and several daggers were hung. It was slit all the way to her full hips on either side, and hung loosely about her legs, nearly sweeping the floor. She was barefoot, and when she moved, her footfalls made nary a sound. She reached up to flip a stray lock of hair out of her face and over her shoulder, causing the light to strike her nails just so and glint brilliantly for a moment. She had strange tattoos running down the length of her arms from her shoulders, presumably spanning the length of her back as well. If he knew anything about old magic he would recognize the script as ancient draconic, and as a whole the tattoos formed an array which was most likely used in a binding ritual.

"The smell of blood," she mused in a somber voice. "No matter how many times I wash my hands I can't scrub it away," she said, pausing for a moment to gaze at her hands before spearing him with that gaze of hers. Even through his helmet it froze him. While their gazes were locked Raikor was unable to move. "Begone," she commanded. "This room is mine," she informed with authority as she stepped into another shadow and melted away, releasing Raikor from the spell and leaving him with a strong compulsion to leave in a hurry.

The bridge wasn't much better. Quiet yowled and scampered for cover underneath Gabriel's throne as the Exile titan came literal inches from colliding with them, but it wasn't gun impacts that shuddered through the deck plating: the titan wasn't firing. It was the hundreds of fighters screaming past on the very verge of the Parador's shields launching black obelisks from their underside. Each one would fly in an arc, attracted by the ship's gravity until it speared a section of the hull. For a moment it would be still, then start to shudder as it slowly sank, drilling farther inside to disgorge its payload of soldiers. The blackship had vanished in the confusion, obviously content not to be caught in the slugfest between the two giants. After a moment Quiet emerged wide eyed and bushy-tailed and did her best to pretend that little display never happened.

"More fighters!" She warned, and painted several which had swung around on an intercept with the bridge. "Boarding torpedoes inbound, bridge intrusion imminent!" she pointed insistently with a paw at the main view and for a moment looked like she would bolt again.

Just as the torpedoes were about to breach the shields a crimson beam lanced across the view, blotting out the stars for a moment as the flare compensation kicked in and slicing the obelisks neatly in half. Less than a second later the Sabre screamed past, scattering the fighter formation. The Sabre cut and banked up into a roll, sharply twisting back around in a high-G maneuver a gunship shouldn't rightly be able to perform and its array of rail cannons lit up twice rapidly, splashing one of the fighters before he streaked back out of view. The fighter formation swerved wildly to give chase, angrily spewing plasma bolts after him.

*The tally is running, Gabriel. We charge on a 'per item' basis at very friendly rates,* Leo informed in a serious voice.

*He's joking,* Mau corrected.

*Shush! He doesn't need to know that! Uh... is this thing still on? Oh! Well would you look at the time and just look at how busy we are, no time to chat, too much overlapping fire! Oh no we're being jammed!* He trailed off, filling the channel with a static noise which was obviously fake before cutting his transmission.

Elsewhere, on the Grudge Bearer Elle emerged from her vision surrounded by med-techs, and her sudden movement sent one of the ship's cats leaping in fright. The techs started, but seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief. Immediately there was someone there shooing the other techs away like one does a herd of cats.

"Easy, easy thar lass... m'name is Gray," he informed in a thick border-world accent. He was a short fellow with short gray hair that looked as though he had just rolled out of bed moments ago. His hands were weathered and steady and he locked his blue eyes with hers. A small violet-eyed, pure white cat climbed up on his shoulder, which he seemed to take no notice of. He flashed a pen light briefly into each of her eyes and observed the result.

"Do ya know where y'are, lass? Do ya know th' date? Folla' me finger wit' yer eyes," he instructed, holding up his index finger and moving it about from one side to the other. "Yewer comatose fer nearly an 'our, lass. Lucky one-a th' kitties found ya."

"For the last time, I'm a KASUMI class med-assistant, not a 'kitty,'" the cat on his shoulder glared.

"O' wat's th' difference eh? Yer furry, ya go 'mew mew' an' ya got'cherself four itty-bitty paws, like. Yer a 'kitty' iff'n I damn well say ya are. Alla' this new-fangled tech may as well be a whole lotta hocus-pocus t'me. But don'cha worry yer pretty little head, missy: I'mma surgeon wit' a laser scalpel," he said proudly and grinned. The cat just rolled its eyes.

"Nae why don'cha tell me wha' happened here and we'll get'cha sorted, like. Pay no mind t'this, I may've jumped th'gun a little," he chuckled, and merrily untwisted a morgue tag from her big toe.