1197CE, Northern Shore of the Dead Sea.
Abu Khalif stood uneasily on the shattered, rocky ground; his legs swaying beneath him, from fatigue and injury. His sword hangs in his hand, it tip scraping the blasted earth as he sways gently in the breeze. From the east he hears the approach of horses, many of them, enough to make the pebbles and sand jump and slide from the thunder of their hooves. The riders appear over a hill, their great steeds covered in gleaming barding and their riders encased in the strongest of steel. Abu Khalif raises his sword, its weight temporarily unbalancing him, staggering forward he braces himself, then swings his sword to the ready, preparing to receive the charge from these infidel knights. Around him lie the fallen bodies of friend and foe, the sun cooking their flesh and rotting it to the core. Flies swarm around their eyes and noses, seeking the soft tissue in which to lay their fetid eggs. "Allahu akbar . . ." The horses were not far away now, at any moment the lances would be lowered to pierce his fragile body.
Then, the horses slow and stop, their riders keep their lances pointed to the heavens, the banners of the cross fluttering in the desert breeze. The leader raises his visor, revealing his scarred face. He begins to speak in one of the many the tongues of the infidels, his words not making sense, then comes the voice of a fellow muslim, from somewhere within the riders. "Abu Khalif, stay your blade, we are here as friends, not foe." His blade does not waver, as he contemplates the words of his rival.
"Impossible, you take our land, destroy our cities and slaughter our people. You are no friend of mine." The riders part, and a figure becomes visible, a fellow muslim, a holy man - riding with the enemy, it was not possible. "What trickery is this heathen dogs?"
"No trickery my friend. These people are our allies in these most dire of times. Come, there is much for you to learn."
"How can I trust you? You ride with our enemy. What man would do this?"
"A man who has seen the true enemy. And our enemy is no longer our fellow man."
----
And so it begins...
A Bond of Faith - NEW AND IMPROVED!
Moderator: LadyTevar
-
weemadando
- SMAKIBBFB
- Posts: 19195
- Joined: 2002-07-28 12:30pm
- Contact:
A Bond of Faith - NEW AND IMPROVED!
Last edited by weemadando on 2003-01-19 10:46pm, edited 1 time in total.
I am fascinated.-
weemadando
- SMAKIBBFB
- Posts: 19195
- Joined: 2002-07-28 12:30pm
- Contact:
Abu Khalif lowered his sword, "What enemy cannot be of man?"
"Creatures that the world hides, that god has spawned in anger."
"What? I do not understand your words."
"Come then, and see for yourself, so that you might realise why we ride together."
"See what?"
"The beings that should not walk this earth, yet do." Abu Khalif slumps slightly as the realisation sets in.
"Very well, I shall ride with you to battle, but once battle is done, our alliance shall be no more." The priest translates for the benefit of the crusading knights. With a slight bow the leader of the riders acknowledges Abu's words.
7 days later, nearing the ruins of Nimrud.
"They are here." The riders quickly respond, moving to form a battle line and checking their armour and weapons. Abu Khalif was amazed, 7 days in the sun, riding without rest would usually kill a man, but these men, these infidels had borne the stress and the heat with no complaining. They were driven men, with great faith. Misguided faith, but faith none the less. They would fight - and die for their god without question, as would he.
A shimmering haze, born of the great heat, obscures the great ruins of the city. The line of riders moves towards it, there were thirty of them that he had counted, ten great knights on their barded steeds, fifteen men who rode with them, warrior-servants, squires as he'd heard them called. Then there were the three men, all men of the infidels church, clad in green with an eight pointed cross emblazoned upon it in the red of blood. Their beards grew long and their brows glistened with sweat from the sheepskin that lay beneath their green cloaks. And then there was himself and the cleric, muslims amongst infidels riding to fight an enemy whom he knew nothing about.
"Who are here?"
"The ones whom these men have sworn to fight Abu Khalif, the same ones that you have joined them in the fight against."
"Who are they? For seven days you have been nothing but cryptic."
"Cryptic because had I told you, you would have thought me mad and ridden back to battle."
"So tell me now, if the enemy is so close, surely I have the right to know them!"
"Look . . ." The ruins of the once great city were clearly visible now, the roofs collapsed, the walls shattered, the streets flooded with the desert sand. ". . . There, on the northern wall." Squinting against the sun Abu Khalif searched the northern wall for some sign of the enemy.
"I see noth-" Something moved - and again. A human shape, bounding along the wall with such speed as a man could not possibly summon. "What is that thing?"
"A Daeva, one of many that infests this forsaken place."
"Daeva's?"
"A being of myth, a demon first imagined by the citizens of this land two thousand years ago."
"Demons . . ."
". . . That walk the earth. I know what you are thinking my friend, why does Allah let them live? I myself have asked the same questions, and I have yet to find an answer." The creature leaps from building to building, twenty metres to a jump. Then it stops, and issues a terrifying howl. Beneath them their horses rear and stomp, fearing confrontation with this beast. Then, suddenly there are hundreds of the fiends, bounding across the rooves of the city. As one they come to a stop and stare at the line of riders. Their visage hidden by the silhouetting sun, but their outline unmistakably human.
". . . et regnum et potestas et gloria in saecula." The three in green finish speaking their prayer. The line of knights cross themselves and lower their visors.
"Charge!" As one the line rides forth, lances held ready to kill the unholy fiends. Abu Khalif draws his sword, preparing to scythe through the ranks of the creatures, who now spill from the rooftops and onto the sand before the city. He could see them clearly now, strange beings, shaped like a man, but clearly not human. Their skin was dark, almost an ash-grey, but with bright points of white ivory emerging from their joints. Their head was crowned with these strange tusks too, and as they ran with the loping motion of the lesser apes spikes on their backs became clear too.
The battle is met with a catastrophic sound of snapping wood, rending flesh, cracking bones and the piercing howl of the creatures. One leaps forth and envelopes a squire, tearing him from the saddle and landing behind the line of horses. Within seconds his screaming ends as the spray of gore and blood from the frenzied ripping of the creature begins. The knights had smashed through the ranks of the Daeva's leaving little but trampled bodies and pierced corpses in their wake. Quickly they discard their broken lances and draw their swords, wheeling their horses to attack again. The Daeva's were quick to learn however, choosing to retreat into the ruined city, howling at the men from the rooftops, luring them in with their maddening cries.
"Dismount!" shouts Abu Khalif as he swings from the saddle and onto the sand, swinging his sword at one of the straggling creatures. As the sword bites into the creatures flesh a spurt of black blood comes from the wound, the sword continuing on its gruesome path, slicing the creatures arm from its body. No more blood comes from the wound - the creature seemingly unaffected by it turns to lash out at Abu with its long claws. Blocking the attack with his blade, Abu kicks at the fiend to gain space for another strike. Before he can move his blade the Daeva rakes its clawed feet across his chest, backflipping away onto the rooftop. Abu reaches across his chest to feel for his wounds. Nothing, the mail of his shirt must have stopped the claws of the fiend. Perhaps men could fight these creatures after all.
The knights form up, swords a the ready and begin to walk into the shaded streets of the dead city. Far ahead down the street is an open square, bordered by the statues of the human headed lions that the Assyrians idolised. That square would be the safest place to fight in this city, our swords are of little value in such narrow streets. A Daeva drops from the roof above, its elbow spike driving into Abu's arm. With a shriek it pulls out the spike, glistening in the red blood of man, only to have its triumphant shout cut short by the slash of a knights sword. The black blood again clotting almost instantly on the stump of the neck as the fiends corpse topples forward.
The group rushes forward, desperate to reach the relative safety of the square, the wound on his arm forgotten as the adrenaline clouds his pain. Breaking once more into the hot sun, the warriors form a loose circle in the middle of the sandy square, each man standing ready. Eager to fight the fiends in the name of their god. With a horrific creeping slowness the rooves around the square are slowly covered by the horde of Daevas. Then with amazing speed the Daeva's are upon them, biting, swiping, ripping. The men fight back, with steel against flesh, but the numbers of the enemy seem too great. Slowly the circle grows smaller as men fall, the sand underfoot stained red by the blood of men, with spatters of black amongst the red from the fallen demons. Abu Khalif's curved blade carves a silvered pattern in the air before him, punctuated by spurts of the dark ooze that forms the blood of the vile beasts. Next to him one of the green clad priests strikes beast after beast with his sword, its gleam hidden by the layers of black that adorn its blade. The cleric to his left fights with his sword, his old wirey form struggling in the pressure of battle. With a final hit the cleric dispatches one of the fiends, just as another tears his head from his body with its great clawed hands. Striking the beast that holds the foul trophy aloft with his sword Khalif mutters the prayer for the dead under his breath as he continues to fight.
It seemed hopeless now, only seven men left standing, with atleast a hundred of the Daevas still advancing upon them. His blade felt as heavy as a man, and his clothes were torn and sodden with so much blood, but still he fought. Not wishing to die at the hands of such foul beasts as these. The knights chanted as they fought, led by the only remaining priest of their number. The prayers seeming to infuriate the demons that assailed them. Abu struck at another of the creatures, opening its chest with a mighty blow, out the corner of his eye he saw another, leaping towards him with its claws ready to bring death to him.
Its body slams into his own, tumbling him to the ground, but its claw do not tear at him, its teeth do not attack his flesh. Pushing its body off his own he sees an arrow protruding from its back. Without warning a hissing fills the air as arrows fly into the pack of beasts, culling their number without mercy. Looking to the source of the arrows Abu see's a line of men, dressed in furs, with their great curved bows delivering death to the Daeva horde. Mongols. But why here? How could they have known?
Abu collapses to the ground, his body lapsing into blissful unconciousness, as the knights and the mongols walk towards each other in the square, weapons sheathed, hands extended for greeting.
"Creatures that the world hides, that god has spawned in anger."
"What? I do not understand your words."
"Come then, and see for yourself, so that you might realise why we ride together."
"See what?"
"The beings that should not walk this earth, yet do." Abu Khalif slumps slightly as the realisation sets in.
"Very well, I shall ride with you to battle, but once battle is done, our alliance shall be no more." The priest translates for the benefit of the crusading knights. With a slight bow the leader of the riders acknowledges Abu's words.
7 days later, nearing the ruins of Nimrud.
"They are here." The riders quickly respond, moving to form a battle line and checking their armour and weapons. Abu Khalif was amazed, 7 days in the sun, riding without rest would usually kill a man, but these men, these infidels had borne the stress and the heat with no complaining. They were driven men, with great faith. Misguided faith, but faith none the less. They would fight - and die for their god without question, as would he.
A shimmering haze, born of the great heat, obscures the great ruins of the city. The line of riders moves towards it, there were thirty of them that he had counted, ten great knights on their barded steeds, fifteen men who rode with them, warrior-servants, squires as he'd heard them called. Then there were the three men, all men of the infidels church, clad in green with an eight pointed cross emblazoned upon it in the red of blood. Their beards grew long and their brows glistened with sweat from the sheepskin that lay beneath their green cloaks. And then there was himself and the cleric, muslims amongst infidels riding to fight an enemy whom he knew nothing about.
"Who are here?"
"The ones whom these men have sworn to fight Abu Khalif, the same ones that you have joined them in the fight against."
"Who are they? For seven days you have been nothing but cryptic."
"Cryptic because had I told you, you would have thought me mad and ridden back to battle."
"So tell me now, if the enemy is so close, surely I have the right to know them!"
"Look . . ." The ruins of the once great city were clearly visible now, the roofs collapsed, the walls shattered, the streets flooded with the desert sand. ". . . There, on the northern wall." Squinting against the sun Abu Khalif searched the northern wall for some sign of the enemy.
"I see noth-" Something moved - and again. A human shape, bounding along the wall with such speed as a man could not possibly summon. "What is that thing?"
"A Daeva, one of many that infests this forsaken place."
"Daeva's?"
"A being of myth, a demon first imagined by the citizens of this land two thousand years ago."
"Demons . . ."
". . . That walk the earth. I know what you are thinking my friend, why does Allah let them live? I myself have asked the same questions, and I have yet to find an answer." The creature leaps from building to building, twenty metres to a jump. Then it stops, and issues a terrifying howl. Beneath them their horses rear and stomp, fearing confrontation with this beast. Then, suddenly there are hundreds of the fiends, bounding across the rooves of the city. As one they come to a stop and stare at the line of riders. Their visage hidden by the silhouetting sun, but their outline unmistakably human.
". . . et regnum et potestas et gloria in saecula." The three in green finish speaking their prayer. The line of knights cross themselves and lower their visors.
"Charge!" As one the line rides forth, lances held ready to kill the unholy fiends. Abu Khalif draws his sword, preparing to scythe through the ranks of the creatures, who now spill from the rooftops and onto the sand before the city. He could see them clearly now, strange beings, shaped like a man, but clearly not human. Their skin was dark, almost an ash-grey, but with bright points of white ivory emerging from their joints. Their head was crowned with these strange tusks too, and as they ran with the loping motion of the lesser apes spikes on their backs became clear too.
The battle is met with a catastrophic sound of snapping wood, rending flesh, cracking bones and the piercing howl of the creatures. One leaps forth and envelopes a squire, tearing him from the saddle and landing behind the line of horses. Within seconds his screaming ends as the spray of gore and blood from the frenzied ripping of the creature begins. The knights had smashed through the ranks of the Daeva's leaving little but trampled bodies and pierced corpses in their wake. Quickly they discard their broken lances and draw their swords, wheeling their horses to attack again. The Daeva's were quick to learn however, choosing to retreat into the ruined city, howling at the men from the rooftops, luring them in with their maddening cries.
"Dismount!" shouts Abu Khalif as he swings from the saddle and onto the sand, swinging his sword at one of the straggling creatures. As the sword bites into the creatures flesh a spurt of black blood comes from the wound, the sword continuing on its gruesome path, slicing the creatures arm from its body. No more blood comes from the wound - the creature seemingly unaffected by it turns to lash out at Abu with its long claws. Blocking the attack with his blade, Abu kicks at the fiend to gain space for another strike. Before he can move his blade the Daeva rakes its clawed feet across his chest, backflipping away onto the rooftop. Abu reaches across his chest to feel for his wounds. Nothing, the mail of his shirt must have stopped the claws of the fiend. Perhaps men could fight these creatures after all.
The knights form up, swords a the ready and begin to walk into the shaded streets of the dead city. Far ahead down the street is an open square, bordered by the statues of the human headed lions that the Assyrians idolised. That square would be the safest place to fight in this city, our swords are of little value in such narrow streets. A Daeva drops from the roof above, its elbow spike driving into Abu's arm. With a shriek it pulls out the spike, glistening in the red blood of man, only to have its triumphant shout cut short by the slash of a knights sword. The black blood again clotting almost instantly on the stump of the neck as the fiends corpse topples forward.
The group rushes forward, desperate to reach the relative safety of the square, the wound on his arm forgotten as the adrenaline clouds his pain. Breaking once more into the hot sun, the warriors form a loose circle in the middle of the sandy square, each man standing ready. Eager to fight the fiends in the name of their god. With a horrific creeping slowness the rooves around the square are slowly covered by the horde of Daevas. Then with amazing speed the Daeva's are upon them, biting, swiping, ripping. The men fight back, with steel against flesh, but the numbers of the enemy seem too great. Slowly the circle grows smaller as men fall, the sand underfoot stained red by the blood of men, with spatters of black amongst the red from the fallen demons. Abu Khalif's curved blade carves a silvered pattern in the air before him, punctuated by spurts of the dark ooze that forms the blood of the vile beasts. Next to him one of the green clad priests strikes beast after beast with his sword, its gleam hidden by the layers of black that adorn its blade. The cleric to his left fights with his sword, his old wirey form struggling in the pressure of battle. With a final hit the cleric dispatches one of the fiends, just as another tears his head from his body with its great clawed hands. Striking the beast that holds the foul trophy aloft with his sword Khalif mutters the prayer for the dead under his breath as he continues to fight.
It seemed hopeless now, only seven men left standing, with atleast a hundred of the Daevas still advancing upon them. His blade felt as heavy as a man, and his clothes were torn and sodden with so much blood, but still he fought. Not wishing to die at the hands of such foul beasts as these. The knights chanted as they fought, led by the only remaining priest of their number. The prayers seeming to infuriate the demons that assailed them. Abu struck at another of the creatures, opening its chest with a mighty blow, out the corner of his eye he saw another, leaping towards him with its claws ready to bring death to him.
Its body slams into his own, tumbling him to the ground, but its claw do not tear at him, its teeth do not attack his flesh. Pushing its body off his own he sees an arrow protruding from its back. Without warning a hissing fills the air as arrows fly into the pack of beasts, culling their number without mercy. Looking to the source of the arrows Abu see's a line of men, dressed in furs, with their great curved bows delivering death to the Daeva horde. Mongols. But why here? How could they have known?
Abu collapses to the ground, his body lapsing into blissful unconciousness, as the knights and the mongols walk towards each other in the square, weapons sheathed, hands extended for greeting.
-
weemadando
- SMAKIBBFB
- Posts: 19195
- Joined: 2002-07-28 12:30pm
- Contact:
-
Dalton
- For Those About to Rock We Salute You
- Posts: 22637
- Joined: 2002-07-03 06:16pm
- Location: New York, the Fuck You State
- Contact:
Engrossing. Nice way to keep the readers' interest regarding the Daevas.
To Absent Friends
"y = mx + bro" - Surlethe
"You try THAT shit again, kid, and I will mod you. I will
mod you so hard, you'll wish I were Dalton." - Lagmonster
May the way of the Hero lead to the Triforce.
-
haas mark
- Official SD.Net Insomniac
- Posts: 16533
- Joined: 2002-09-11 04:29pm
- Location: Wouldn't you like to know?
- Contact:
Wow. Like I said in IM, I would be glad, and intrigued, to read more of this. I hope to see more coming. If you'd like, I can nitpick, proofread, etc. 
My specialty.
My specialty.Robert-Conway.com | lunar sun | TotalEnigma.net
Hot Pants à la Zaia | BotM Lord Monkey Mod OOK!
SDNC | WG | GDC | ACPATHNTDWATGODW | GALE | ISARMA | CotK: [mew]
Formerly verilon
R.I.P. Eddie Guerrero, 09 October 1967 - 13 November 2005
Hot Pants à la Zaia | BotM Lord Monkey Mod OOK!
SDNC | WG | GDC | ACPATHNTDWATGODW | GALE | ISARMA | CotK: [mew]
Formerly verilon
R.I.P. Eddie Guerrero, 09 October 1967 - 13 November 2005
-
weemadando
- SMAKIBBFB
- Posts: 19195
- Joined: 2002-07-28 12:30pm
- Contact:
September 2003, Vienna - Austria.
The room was cavernous, with hundreds of shelves of books filling its spaces. Great tomes and tiny manuscripts, from the most ancient papyrus to the latest CD archives. At the entry to the room a long table lay covered in books, laptops and sheets of notepaper. Hunched over one of the books was a man who's appearance suited his surrounds, a dirty, scuffed brown suit, with wire rimmed glasses. He was the care-taker of this archive and all its works. But by no means was he an ordinary librarian. This archive simply did not exist, not on any tourist map, or in an academic register. Its books, journals and writings were hidden from the pages of history, just like the events that they documented. Outside its grand doors stood two armed guards, beyond them another locked door, beyond that, more armed guards. Beyond that, a rather non-descript shopfront, a deli run by a rather delightful russian immigrant, in reality a former spetznaz commando. Noone suspected a thing, because noone had a reason to be suspect. But the library hidden deep within Vienna held the keys to many of the mysteries of the world.
The care-taker of the library was also an expert on the history of the library and of its texts. He could cite from memory the most amazing facts that the world would never know. The group that had founded the library had disbanded in the early 1800's after they were sure that their mission had been accomplished. But, in order to keep the knowledge safe, they had founded this library and guaranteed its safety. Within its walls were many secrets, secrets of creatures that were thought to have died long ago.
Ice Station 239, based on the Isle of Novaya Zemiya, Russia.
"Are those samples ready yet?"
"Not yet, we still haven't finished crating the fifth batch. By the time we get that done it'll be dinner."
"Well, we're about to hit the fifth layer, it can't be long now, we should be seeing results." The ice cave surrounded the two men, beside them others rushed back and forth with equipment or wooden crates.
"Look, the sponsors of this expedition budgeted for three months! We're already a month beyond schedule and I don't fancy our chances if we don't get out of here before October."
"Tell them to give us another fortnight, by then we should have collected all the samples that they want. And if it turns out to be how we thought then they'll make an order of magnitude more money than they ever expended on us." A shout comes from further down the tunnel.
Rushing into the main room the two men are awestruck by what they see. "What the hell, there isn't meant to be a cave here, it wasn't showing up on our soundings."
"Well, it is here." Walking into its mouth past the ice drilling equipment he points to marks on the walls.
"Look at that, almost looks man-made, like a crude cave-painting or something."
"Shit! Then this whole expedition is going to get replaced by a bunch of goddamn academics debating ancient man. How deep in the ice are we anyway? I thought we'd passed the 2 million years point."
"We did, but that could possibly have been glacial shift or similar. Either that or we're looking at a whole new theory of evolution." Pulling out his torch one of the men steps into the cave entrance, shining the beam around, searching for further signs of primitive life. "I've got bones here, lots of 'em and they look old. I mean ancient." He picks one up and examines it in the beam. "Shit. Come here! Have a look at this." People gather round, "See these marks here, grazes on the bone. Thats from a scraping tool. Someone lived here a long, long time ago. Someone with tool making abilities. Ladies and gentlemen, we are about to make history."
Vienna - Austria.
The first reports had just appeared on his screens. Mobile phone intercepts from the Ice Station to their home base in the US. Then came the modem transmissions, photos and descriptions of the cave that they had found. The librarian hung his head as suddenly the transmission ended. The "signal lost" alert flashing on the screen. It was almost certain what had happened, the location, the description of the cave and its contents. The photo's had merely confirmed it. The loss of signal made for a beyond positive identification. He calls up the info onscreen.
Common name: Troll (Scandinavian Mythos) - Possible [but doubtful] biological links to Yeti (Central Asian Mythos) - Wendigo (North American Mythos).
Primary Habitat: Scandinavia and Northern Europe.
Last Sighting: 20km West of Murmansk, June 2nd, 1921 - unconfirmed, no evidence found.
Last Kill: Karasjok, Norway, March 15th, 1732 - Norwegian irregulars and Inquisition squad, heavy casualties sustained.
The page continued with detailed biological descriptions as well as where bodies and other physical evidence was stored. The caretaker lifted one of the phones on the desk. "I need a team assembled . . . no, we don't need to reconvene the council . . . its only a minor incident . . . a troll . . . far northern Russia . . . can you keep a lid on it at your end . . . excellent . . . I'll have a briefing ready when they arrive."
The room was cavernous, with hundreds of shelves of books filling its spaces. Great tomes and tiny manuscripts, from the most ancient papyrus to the latest CD archives. At the entry to the room a long table lay covered in books, laptops and sheets of notepaper. Hunched over one of the books was a man who's appearance suited his surrounds, a dirty, scuffed brown suit, with wire rimmed glasses. He was the care-taker of this archive and all its works. But by no means was he an ordinary librarian. This archive simply did not exist, not on any tourist map, or in an academic register. Its books, journals and writings were hidden from the pages of history, just like the events that they documented. Outside its grand doors stood two armed guards, beyond them another locked door, beyond that, more armed guards. Beyond that, a rather non-descript shopfront, a deli run by a rather delightful russian immigrant, in reality a former spetznaz commando. Noone suspected a thing, because noone had a reason to be suspect. But the library hidden deep within Vienna held the keys to many of the mysteries of the world.
The care-taker of the library was also an expert on the history of the library and of its texts. He could cite from memory the most amazing facts that the world would never know. The group that had founded the library had disbanded in the early 1800's after they were sure that their mission had been accomplished. But, in order to keep the knowledge safe, they had founded this library and guaranteed its safety. Within its walls were many secrets, secrets of creatures that were thought to have died long ago.
Ice Station 239, based on the Isle of Novaya Zemiya, Russia.
"Are those samples ready yet?"
"Not yet, we still haven't finished crating the fifth batch. By the time we get that done it'll be dinner."
"Well, we're about to hit the fifth layer, it can't be long now, we should be seeing results." The ice cave surrounded the two men, beside them others rushed back and forth with equipment or wooden crates.
"Look, the sponsors of this expedition budgeted for three months! We're already a month beyond schedule and I don't fancy our chances if we don't get out of here before October."
"Tell them to give us another fortnight, by then we should have collected all the samples that they want. And if it turns out to be how we thought then they'll make an order of magnitude more money than they ever expended on us." A shout comes from further down the tunnel.
Rushing into the main room the two men are awestruck by what they see. "What the hell, there isn't meant to be a cave here, it wasn't showing up on our soundings."
"Well, it is here." Walking into its mouth past the ice drilling equipment he points to marks on the walls.
"Look at that, almost looks man-made, like a crude cave-painting or something."
"Shit! Then this whole expedition is going to get replaced by a bunch of goddamn academics debating ancient man. How deep in the ice are we anyway? I thought we'd passed the 2 million years point."
"We did, but that could possibly have been glacial shift or similar. Either that or we're looking at a whole new theory of evolution." Pulling out his torch one of the men steps into the cave entrance, shining the beam around, searching for further signs of primitive life. "I've got bones here, lots of 'em and they look old. I mean ancient." He picks one up and examines it in the beam. "Shit. Come here! Have a look at this." People gather round, "See these marks here, grazes on the bone. Thats from a scraping tool. Someone lived here a long, long time ago. Someone with tool making abilities. Ladies and gentlemen, we are about to make history."
Vienna - Austria.
The first reports had just appeared on his screens. Mobile phone intercepts from the Ice Station to their home base in the US. Then came the modem transmissions, photos and descriptions of the cave that they had found. The librarian hung his head as suddenly the transmission ended. The "signal lost" alert flashing on the screen. It was almost certain what had happened, the location, the description of the cave and its contents. The photo's had merely confirmed it. The loss of signal made for a beyond positive identification. He calls up the info onscreen.
Common name: Troll (Scandinavian Mythos) - Possible [but doubtful] biological links to Yeti (Central Asian Mythos) - Wendigo (North American Mythos).
Primary Habitat: Scandinavia and Northern Europe.
Last Sighting: 20km West of Murmansk, June 2nd, 1921 - unconfirmed, no evidence found.
Last Kill: Karasjok, Norway, March 15th, 1732 - Norwegian irregulars and Inquisition squad, heavy casualties sustained.
The page continued with detailed biological descriptions as well as where bodies and other physical evidence was stored. The caretaker lifted one of the phones on the desk. "I need a team assembled . . . no, we don't need to reconvene the council . . . its only a minor incident . . . a troll . . . far northern Russia . . . can you keep a lid on it at your end . . . excellent . . . I'll have a briefing ready when they arrive."
-
Mr Flibble
- Psychic Penguin
- Posts: 845
- Joined: 2002-12-11 01:49am
- Location: Wentworth, Australia
-
weemadando
- SMAKIBBFB
- Posts: 19195
- Joined: 2002-07-28 12:30pm
- Contact:
Another chapter of "A Bond of Faith"
Novaya Zemiya, Russia - 42 Hours later.
The helicopter moved steadily over the frozen lands below, each member of the team making their preparations. Going over their own rituals and mantras. The Russian government had been told to tell the Russian military to ignore the helicopter. Obviously someone had done their job well, because the moment any of the air defense radars touched upon the helicopter they were turned off. The operators sitting by their blacked out consoles counting the seconds until the object that noone wished to know about left their airspace. Not that it would have mattered, the CH-47 had been 'acquired' years ago from the American military. Its airframe number was officially registered as lost in a training excercise. Along with its pilot and all members of the mixed unit special forces team it was transporting to an excercise.
Since then it had been refitted nearly every year with the latest equipment and technology. Its pilots kept at the highest skill levels through intensive training. The team carried in its back, kept at a higher level yet by the most intensive training of all. Amongst the twelve men seven different languages were spoken. But english was the language that they used to communicate. They were the finest soldiers that the world could offer.
Vienna, Austria - 26 hours earlier.
The screens showed the ruins of the ice station. The snow had reclaimed the shattered tents and smashed equipment. "Your target is likely a troll. Full details on the target will follow. Your mission - eliminate any present creatures and ensure that all evidence is destroyed. I repeat. Eliminate any present creatures and ensure that all evidence is destroyed."
"The survey team?" The voice was accented with a heavy Japanese accent.
"It is unlikely that you will encounter any survivors. Though if any are found, your primary mission takes precedence - the destruction of ALL evidence. The zoology division would like to request that the body of the creature be exfiltrated with you, for further study."
The images of the camp was replaced with a picture of monstrous figure on a mortuary slab.
"This is our good friend the Scandinavian Alpine Troll. A full grown specimen stands well over five metres tall and can weight up to five hundred kilograms. And not much of that is fat. Their hides are roughly the same strength as good quality steel. They can lift and throw a man nearly twenty metres. They are carnivores, subsisting on a diet of mainly reindeer flesh. However, humans present very easy and as such, very tempting prey for them. Human expansion into Scandinavia and the north forced them further from their regular food sources so attacks on humans became more prevalent. This was the case until roughly 600CE when a concerted effort was made by several of the Scandinavian tribes to exterminate them. This succeeded for the most part and only a few scattered trolls remained. The problem is that these creatures are effectively immortal and can hibernate for indefinate periods, so occassionally some poor fool stumbles across them, and well, you get the idea." The librarian brought up another picture. A close up of the trolls face, vaguely humanoid, but with much sharper features and a pebbly skin.
"Trolls have excellent vision and even better senses of smell. From the studies provided by the zoology division, we believe that they possess eyes that are capable of seeing the spectrum from visible light to very high end IR. This means that they have excellent night vision and can determine heat sources with ease, especially when contrasted against the landscape in which they live. Their sense of smell is capable of detecting human scents at a range of four kilometres. Their auditory senses are somewhat lacking however. But, with their other senses, it is debatable as to whether it was even really neccessary for their survival."
"They have an amazing biological trait working for them. Regeneration. They are capable of healing at a rate nearly unmatched amongst life on earth. They are however, incapable of regenerating wounds from flame or other burns. As such, we recommend the use of fire as your primary weapon on this mission. Commander for this mission is Robert Jones, 2i/c is Toji Nakamoto. Your flight departs in four hours. The armoury is open. Any last questions?"
Novaya Zemiya, Russia.
There hadn't been. Briefings were always thorough and the amount of surplus info loaded onto their laptops to read on the flight more than covered any questions the men may have had. Each had picked their weapons for the mission. Some had taken shotguns, others assault rifles, several had taken flamethrowers, hoping to prey on the weakness of the beast. Each also took their own selection of pistols, most opting for something rather hefty, given the trolls armour-like skin. Grenades were carefully stowed in pockets on their camoflaged vests. Their heads sheathed in nomex balaclavas, multispectrum googles sitting on their forheads. Three of them were chanting in latin at one end of the choppers interior. They had been chosen from the Swiss Guards, some may have mistaken this as a political decision, but the organisation had no reason to play political games. This was a purely utilitarian choice.
"Five minutes." came the voice over the intercom. The last checks were being made. Were the magazines inserted correctly? Safeties on? Magazine pouches clipped shut? Did the maglite on the barrel still work? Batteries in the goggles at full? So many things to check, but with practiced precision each of the men went over their equipment one final time. The crew chief walked back down the centre of the helicopter, checking everyone as he went past. Once the team was on the ground he'd give them overwatch from the orbiting heli.
"Two minutes." Everyone in the helicopter was saying some prayer, some silently, some aloud. Jones calls through the teams headsets, "Everyone, stand to. Move to exit positions. Clean dismount, straight to your positions. If we are jumped a the start, this is going to be a really short mission." The team was bunched infront of them all of them staring at the ramp, their weapons ready, their legs bent, ready to spring out of the chopper and into the snow.
"One minute - no sign of activity on the surface. Lowering ramp - hold on, coming around." The chinook swept in low over the camp, stirring the ripped fabric of the tents and sending the newly fallen snow into the air. The crew chief hangs his head out the rear ramp, "5 metres, 4 metres, 3 metres, 2 metres, 1 metre. DOWN! Go!" The team surge off the ramp and into the snow, immediately scrambling to positions to form an arc around the choppers ramp, their weapons trained outwards. "Last check! All clear, no kit left! Get airborne!"
With a blast of wind the chinook lifts away from the ground as the crew chief rushes to his M2 mounted just behind the cockpit. The helicopter begins a slow counter clockwise orbit. A tiny ball turret beneath its nose scanning back and forth. The images from its many lenses feeding to the co-pilots visor. "Nothing, surface is still clear."
Their splotchy white camoflage made them nearly invisible in the snow, but they knew it would do them little good against the amazing vision of the beast. "Nakamoto, take Weisz, Morley and Ibrahim. Set up a cordon on that drill site, I don't want anything coming out of there. Everyone else, with me, make a line, we're sweeping the camp." Quickly everyone followed their orders, with the precision of people who had been doing their jobs for many, many years. The line moved forward, each mans weapon tucked tightly into their shoulder, their heads swivelling, searching for any sign of life amongst the ruins of the camp. "Pelican, this is Jones, any thermal discrepancies?"
"Not a one. The surface is cold." With a quick gesture to the squad Jones' restarts the motion of the line.
"Got a body." The voice was whispered even over the radio. It was Birkenhamph, Jones looks over to where the German crouches, inspecting the body. Quickly he jogs over. "Jesus," the body was a mess. Most of the legs had been removed as had the arms. The head was caved in on one side. "Any ID?"
"Graham Taft. One of the geologists." Birkenhamph was holding up a small plastic ID card. It was stamped with a barcode, no doubt some access pass from somewhere.
"OK, mark the body. We'll continue our sweep. Any sign of any intact equipment?"
"All of the stuff that I've seen is fried. Crushed or just fucked up from the snow." The line begins moving again. They cross the camp, then return, searching for anything they might have missed. There was nothing. Just the one body and lots and lots of smashed and broken equipment.
"Toji, anything there?"
"Nothing, its all quiet."
"OK, hold position, we're coming to you. Pelican, make sure that nothing fucking sneaks up on us, we're counting on you."
"Sure thing Jones. Have fun down the rabbit hole."
Vienna, Austria.
The librarian picked up the phone. "It would appear that we may need to convene the council after all . . . Yes, this is a secure line, not even the luddites over at ECHELON know about this line . . . Why? . . . Because my friend, whoever sent those geologists there knew damn well what they were going to find . . . Yes I'm sure of this . . . Just organise the meeting, I'll present my case there."
Novaya Zemiya, Russia.
"Goggles." The men all lowered their goggles into position. They were the latest in technology, combining light amplification, IR spectrum imaging and thermal imaging into a small enough package to fit into a set of albeit chunky goggles. The tiny processors within compiled the cross-spectrum image into a single image which was then shown to the wearer. They allowed for unprecedented visual perception in nearly every situation. "Flamers at the front. Ibrahim, Sanchez - stay here and cover the surface, keep in contact with Pelican. Everyone else, form up, stay attentive. Take no risks." They move forward into the ice cave formed by the survey team, picking their way past dropped equipment and smashed lamps. "Got a lot of blood up here. Looks like the poor bastards have been dragged down here."
"Opening ahead, looks like this is cave."
"I see it. Everyone, weapons ready. Morley, Price - you're cut off, right here. Weisz, keep that flamer prepped, you're point." The column moves on again, past the ancient bones in the cave entrance. Strange markings on the wall seem to form primitive images. Suddenly a hand is in the air, its fist clenched. Every man freezes on the spot, slowly they sink into crouches all keeping their weapons trained on the tunnel ahead of them. "Report." comes the hissed call through the radio.
"I hear something ahead, could be our target."
"Fibreoptics." One of the men opens a pouch on his chest and moves towards the front of the group. As he moves he begins to unfurl the long black cable. Slowly he pushes it forward along the ground, twisting and turning its head, looking for the source of the noise. Slowly a cavern comes into view. "Why hasn't it smelt us yet."
"It might be sleeping, it could be eating. It might have smelt us and be laying in ambush."
"Very reassuring."
"Got something. Bodies, lots of bodies. No sign of the troll - wait, there he is. He's feeding."
"Any other way out of that cavern that you can see?"
"Looks to be an exit on the farside, but its too dark to tell without raising the IR emissions to a level that the troll might notice. It might just be a recess in the cave wall."
"Can't take that chance, and we can't take the chance that it might flee deeper into the cave system. OK, we're going to try and lure it to the surface and then hit it. Morley, Price - we're coming to you. Ibrahim, Sanchez, get set. Pelican, get your gun covering the cave entrance."
"How are we going to lure it?"
"Give it some bait."
"Like what?"
"Me to be precise. OK, fall back to the surface, keep it tight and keep it quiet. I want an arc around the exit, but for gods-sake, when it comes out make sure it doesn't get back in." The team leaves, with only Jones staying in place. He knew he was fast, but he wasn't sure how fast a troll could move, he was hoping that the confines of the cave would slow it down enough for him to get the hell out. He checks his weapon, a G3, not wonderful for the tight quarters, but it had the stopping, no - the slowing power that he most definately wanted right now. He creeps down the passage further until the snorts and grating of the trolls feeding were easily audible. "Get set!" Lunging out with a sidestep he snaps his weapon upwards, the troll centred in his sights begins to turn. He squeezes the trigger, releasing a three round the burst. And then another. The troll staggers slightly and then begins charging, enraged toward the tunnel. Jones turns tail and runs, his boots crunching against the thin layer of snow that has drifted down and settled on the ice. The booming footsteps and unearthly howl of the troll following him sends adrenaline pumping through his body.
There, the cave exit. "COMING THROUGH!" He bursts into the dark night of the surface. The crew-chief pulls back the charging handle on his M2, loading the first of the 200 SLAP rounds in his box magazine. "He's right behind me!" he shouts as he slides into the prone position, his rifle aimed directly at the exit. The massive form stumbles out the exit and stretches to its full height and unleashes a great roar. "Fire!" Muzzle flares illuminate the night, then two huge lances of flame arc towards the creature. From the chopper a stream of heavy armour piercing rounds slam into the beast. As abruptly as it started the barrage ends. The troll tumbles forward, its body a mess of burns and bullet wounds. "Is it down?"
"Looks down to me!"
"White phos!" Several of the men draw grenades from their pouches, pulling the pins and throwing them at the massive prone form. The erupt with a blossom of brilliant light, the extreme heat of their explosion ignites the trolls flesh.
"Looks like zoologies gonna be pissed with us."
"Definately. OK, everyone, get your shit sorted, we're going to sweep the cave system. What the fu- SECOND TARGET! SECOND TARGET!"
The helicopter moved steadily over the frozen lands below, each member of the team making their preparations. Going over their own rituals and mantras. The Russian government had been told to tell the Russian military to ignore the helicopter. Obviously someone had done their job well, because the moment any of the air defense radars touched upon the helicopter they were turned off. The operators sitting by their blacked out consoles counting the seconds until the object that noone wished to know about left their airspace. Not that it would have mattered, the CH-47 had been 'acquired' years ago from the American military. Its airframe number was officially registered as lost in a training excercise. Along with its pilot and all members of the mixed unit special forces team it was transporting to an excercise.
Since then it had been refitted nearly every year with the latest equipment and technology. Its pilots kept at the highest skill levels through intensive training. The team carried in its back, kept at a higher level yet by the most intensive training of all. Amongst the twelve men seven different languages were spoken. But english was the language that they used to communicate. They were the finest soldiers that the world could offer.
Vienna, Austria - 26 hours earlier.
The screens showed the ruins of the ice station. The snow had reclaimed the shattered tents and smashed equipment. "Your target is likely a troll. Full details on the target will follow. Your mission - eliminate any present creatures and ensure that all evidence is destroyed. I repeat. Eliminate any present creatures and ensure that all evidence is destroyed."
"The survey team?" The voice was accented with a heavy Japanese accent.
"It is unlikely that you will encounter any survivors. Though if any are found, your primary mission takes precedence - the destruction of ALL evidence. The zoology division would like to request that the body of the creature be exfiltrated with you, for further study."
The images of the camp was replaced with a picture of monstrous figure on a mortuary slab.
"This is our good friend the Scandinavian Alpine Troll. A full grown specimen stands well over five metres tall and can weight up to five hundred kilograms. And not much of that is fat. Their hides are roughly the same strength as good quality steel. They can lift and throw a man nearly twenty metres. They are carnivores, subsisting on a diet of mainly reindeer flesh. However, humans present very easy and as such, very tempting prey for them. Human expansion into Scandinavia and the north forced them further from their regular food sources so attacks on humans became more prevalent. This was the case until roughly 600CE when a concerted effort was made by several of the Scandinavian tribes to exterminate them. This succeeded for the most part and only a few scattered trolls remained. The problem is that these creatures are effectively immortal and can hibernate for indefinate periods, so occassionally some poor fool stumbles across them, and well, you get the idea." The librarian brought up another picture. A close up of the trolls face, vaguely humanoid, but with much sharper features and a pebbly skin.
"Trolls have excellent vision and even better senses of smell. From the studies provided by the zoology division, we believe that they possess eyes that are capable of seeing the spectrum from visible light to very high end IR. This means that they have excellent night vision and can determine heat sources with ease, especially when contrasted against the landscape in which they live. Their sense of smell is capable of detecting human scents at a range of four kilometres. Their auditory senses are somewhat lacking however. But, with their other senses, it is debatable as to whether it was even really neccessary for their survival."
"They have an amazing biological trait working for them. Regeneration. They are capable of healing at a rate nearly unmatched amongst life on earth. They are however, incapable of regenerating wounds from flame or other burns. As such, we recommend the use of fire as your primary weapon on this mission. Commander for this mission is Robert Jones, 2i/c is Toji Nakamoto. Your flight departs in four hours. The armoury is open. Any last questions?"
Novaya Zemiya, Russia.
There hadn't been. Briefings were always thorough and the amount of surplus info loaded onto their laptops to read on the flight more than covered any questions the men may have had. Each had picked their weapons for the mission. Some had taken shotguns, others assault rifles, several had taken flamethrowers, hoping to prey on the weakness of the beast. Each also took their own selection of pistols, most opting for something rather hefty, given the trolls armour-like skin. Grenades were carefully stowed in pockets on their camoflaged vests. Their heads sheathed in nomex balaclavas, multispectrum googles sitting on their forheads. Three of them were chanting in latin at one end of the choppers interior. They had been chosen from the Swiss Guards, some may have mistaken this as a political decision, but the organisation had no reason to play political games. This was a purely utilitarian choice.
"Five minutes." came the voice over the intercom. The last checks were being made. Were the magazines inserted correctly? Safeties on? Magazine pouches clipped shut? Did the maglite on the barrel still work? Batteries in the goggles at full? So many things to check, but with practiced precision each of the men went over their equipment one final time. The crew chief walked back down the centre of the helicopter, checking everyone as he went past. Once the team was on the ground he'd give them overwatch from the orbiting heli.
"Two minutes." Everyone in the helicopter was saying some prayer, some silently, some aloud. Jones calls through the teams headsets, "Everyone, stand to. Move to exit positions. Clean dismount, straight to your positions. If we are jumped a the start, this is going to be a really short mission." The team was bunched infront of them all of them staring at the ramp, their weapons ready, their legs bent, ready to spring out of the chopper and into the snow.
"One minute - no sign of activity on the surface. Lowering ramp - hold on, coming around." The chinook swept in low over the camp, stirring the ripped fabric of the tents and sending the newly fallen snow into the air. The crew chief hangs his head out the rear ramp, "5 metres, 4 metres, 3 metres, 2 metres, 1 metre. DOWN! Go!" The team surge off the ramp and into the snow, immediately scrambling to positions to form an arc around the choppers ramp, their weapons trained outwards. "Last check! All clear, no kit left! Get airborne!"
With a blast of wind the chinook lifts away from the ground as the crew chief rushes to his M2 mounted just behind the cockpit. The helicopter begins a slow counter clockwise orbit. A tiny ball turret beneath its nose scanning back and forth. The images from its many lenses feeding to the co-pilots visor. "Nothing, surface is still clear."
Their splotchy white camoflage made them nearly invisible in the snow, but they knew it would do them little good against the amazing vision of the beast. "Nakamoto, take Weisz, Morley and Ibrahim. Set up a cordon on that drill site, I don't want anything coming out of there. Everyone else, with me, make a line, we're sweeping the camp." Quickly everyone followed their orders, with the precision of people who had been doing their jobs for many, many years. The line moved forward, each mans weapon tucked tightly into their shoulder, their heads swivelling, searching for any sign of life amongst the ruins of the camp. "Pelican, this is Jones, any thermal discrepancies?"
"Not a one. The surface is cold." With a quick gesture to the squad Jones' restarts the motion of the line.
"Got a body." The voice was whispered even over the radio. It was Birkenhamph, Jones looks over to where the German crouches, inspecting the body. Quickly he jogs over. "Jesus," the body was a mess. Most of the legs had been removed as had the arms. The head was caved in on one side. "Any ID?"
"Graham Taft. One of the geologists." Birkenhamph was holding up a small plastic ID card. It was stamped with a barcode, no doubt some access pass from somewhere.
"OK, mark the body. We'll continue our sweep. Any sign of any intact equipment?"
"All of the stuff that I've seen is fried. Crushed or just fucked up from the snow." The line begins moving again. They cross the camp, then return, searching for anything they might have missed. There was nothing. Just the one body and lots and lots of smashed and broken equipment.
"Toji, anything there?"
"Nothing, its all quiet."
"OK, hold position, we're coming to you. Pelican, make sure that nothing fucking sneaks up on us, we're counting on you."
"Sure thing Jones. Have fun down the rabbit hole."
Vienna, Austria.
The librarian picked up the phone. "It would appear that we may need to convene the council after all . . . Yes, this is a secure line, not even the luddites over at ECHELON know about this line . . . Why? . . . Because my friend, whoever sent those geologists there knew damn well what they were going to find . . . Yes I'm sure of this . . . Just organise the meeting, I'll present my case there."
Novaya Zemiya, Russia.
"Goggles." The men all lowered their goggles into position. They were the latest in technology, combining light amplification, IR spectrum imaging and thermal imaging into a small enough package to fit into a set of albeit chunky goggles. The tiny processors within compiled the cross-spectrum image into a single image which was then shown to the wearer. They allowed for unprecedented visual perception in nearly every situation. "Flamers at the front. Ibrahim, Sanchez - stay here and cover the surface, keep in contact with Pelican. Everyone else, form up, stay attentive. Take no risks." They move forward into the ice cave formed by the survey team, picking their way past dropped equipment and smashed lamps. "Got a lot of blood up here. Looks like the poor bastards have been dragged down here."
"Opening ahead, looks like this is cave."
"I see it. Everyone, weapons ready. Morley, Price - you're cut off, right here. Weisz, keep that flamer prepped, you're point." The column moves on again, past the ancient bones in the cave entrance. Strange markings on the wall seem to form primitive images. Suddenly a hand is in the air, its fist clenched. Every man freezes on the spot, slowly they sink into crouches all keeping their weapons trained on the tunnel ahead of them. "Report." comes the hissed call through the radio.
"I hear something ahead, could be our target."
"Fibreoptics." One of the men opens a pouch on his chest and moves towards the front of the group. As he moves he begins to unfurl the long black cable. Slowly he pushes it forward along the ground, twisting and turning its head, looking for the source of the noise. Slowly a cavern comes into view. "Why hasn't it smelt us yet."
"It might be sleeping, it could be eating. It might have smelt us and be laying in ambush."
"Very reassuring."
"Got something. Bodies, lots of bodies. No sign of the troll - wait, there he is. He's feeding."
"Any other way out of that cavern that you can see?"
"Looks to be an exit on the farside, but its too dark to tell without raising the IR emissions to a level that the troll might notice. It might just be a recess in the cave wall."
"Can't take that chance, and we can't take the chance that it might flee deeper into the cave system. OK, we're going to try and lure it to the surface and then hit it. Morley, Price - we're coming to you. Ibrahim, Sanchez, get set. Pelican, get your gun covering the cave entrance."
"How are we going to lure it?"
"Give it some bait."
"Like what?"
"Me to be precise. OK, fall back to the surface, keep it tight and keep it quiet. I want an arc around the exit, but for gods-sake, when it comes out make sure it doesn't get back in." The team leaves, with only Jones staying in place. He knew he was fast, but he wasn't sure how fast a troll could move, he was hoping that the confines of the cave would slow it down enough for him to get the hell out. He checks his weapon, a G3, not wonderful for the tight quarters, but it had the stopping, no - the slowing power that he most definately wanted right now. He creeps down the passage further until the snorts and grating of the trolls feeding were easily audible. "Get set!" Lunging out with a sidestep he snaps his weapon upwards, the troll centred in his sights begins to turn. He squeezes the trigger, releasing a three round the burst. And then another. The troll staggers slightly and then begins charging, enraged toward the tunnel. Jones turns tail and runs, his boots crunching against the thin layer of snow that has drifted down and settled on the ice. The booming footsteps and unearthly howl of the troll following him sends adrenaline pumping through his body.
There, the cave exit. "COMING THROUGH!" He bursts into the dark night of the surface. The crew-chief pulls back the charging handle on his M2, loading the first of the 200 SLAP rounds in his box magazine. "He's right behind me!" he shouts as he slides into the prone position, his rifle aimed directly at the exit. The massive form stumbles out the exit and stretches to its full height and unleashes a great roar. "Fire!" Muzzle flares illuminate the night, then two huge lances of flame arc towards the creature. From the chopper a stream of heavy armour piercing rounds slam into the beast. As abruptly as it started the barrage ends. The troll tumbles forward, its body a mess of burns and bullet wounds. "Is it down?"
"Looks down to me!"
"White phos!" Several of the men draw grenades from their pouches, pulling the pins and throwing them at the massive prone form. The erupt with a blossom of brilliant light, the extreme heat of their explosion ignites the trolls flesh.
"Looks like zoologies gonna be pissed with us."
"Definately. OK, everyone, get your shit sorted, we're going to sweep the cave system. What the fu- SECOND TARGET! SECOND TARGET!"
-
Dalton
- For Those About to Rock We Salute You
- Posts: 22637
- Joined: 2002-07-03 06:16pm
- Location: New York, the Fuck You State
- Contact:
Hmm, hitting Trolls with Flames? Got inspired, eh, Ando? Good shit.
To Absent Friends
"y = mx + bro" - Surlethe
"You try THAT shit again, kid, and I will mod you. I will
mod you so hard, you'll wish I were Dalton." - Lagmonster
May the way of the Hero lead to the Triforce.
-
Sea Skimmer
- Yankee Capitalist Air Pirate
- Posts: 37390
- Joined: 2002-07-03 11:49pm
- Location: Passchendaele City, HAB
What, no Pave Low III or Combat Talon? What kindo f half rate Spec Op team is this if they've only got an MH-47. They do have an MH-47 right, not a basic Chinook!?
"This cult of special forces is as sensible as to form a Royal Corps of Tree Climbers and say that no soldier who does not wear its green hat with a bunch of oak leaves stuck in it should be expected to climb a tree"
— Field Marshal William Slim 1956
— Field Marshal William Slim 1956
-
weemadando
- SMAKIBBFB
- Posts: 19195
- Joined: 2002-07-28 12:30pm
- Contact:
This was meant to be a nice simple mission. And if you read it, the chinook is kitted out with all the latest in fun bits.Sea Skimmer wrote:What, no Pave Low III or Combat Talon? What kindo f half rate Spec Op team is this if they've only got an MH-47. They do have an MH-47 right, not a basic Chinook!?
Plus a chinook blends in much better than either the Pave Low or Combat Talon, it can have civvie markings etc that mean its a lot less distinctive sitting on the tarmac at an airport getting refueled (when it isn't getting a midair refuelling).
Also, this fic is only just getting started and the "organisation" isn't at a high enough level of readiness to really break out the big guns.
-
Sea Skimmer
- Yankee Capitalist Air Pirate
- Posts: 37390
- Joined: 2002-07-03 11:49pm
- Location: Passchendaele City, HAB
Given the ranges involved it would need an in-flight refueling probe and turreted FLIR is a must. At that point your not going to pass it off as a normal Chinook, let alone a civilian version to a semi trained eye. Those two features are what make the MH-47 look significantly different then a CH-47. Might as well grab a factory built MH-47. The US black budget could easily fund an extra one.weemadando wrote:This was meant to be a nice simple mission. And if you read it, the chinook is kitted out with all the latest in fun bits.Sea Skimmer wrote:What, no Pave Low III or Combat Talon? What kindo f half rate Spec Op team is this if they've only got an MH-47. They do have an MH-47 right, not a basic Chinook!?
Plus a chinook blends in much better than either the Pave Low or Combat Talon, it can have civvie markings etc that mean its a lot less distinctive sitting on the tarmac at an airport getting refueled (when it isn't getting a midair refuelling).
Also, this fic is only just getting started and the "organisation" isn't at a high enough level of readiness to really break out the big guns.
"This cult of special forces is as sensible as to form a Royal Corps of Tree Climbers and say that no soldier who does not wear its green hat with a bunch of oak leaves stuck in it should be expected to climb a tree"
— Field Marshal William Slim 1956
— Field Marshal William Slim 1956
-
weemadando
- SMAKIBBFB
- Posts: 19195
- Joined: 2002-07-28 12:30pm
- Contact:
Whoever said anything about the US being the "organization". They just nabbed it from them and covered up its loss. It may as well be a MH-47 with all the kit on it, but it isn't, its better... Anyhow, minor point. I'll fix it up in an edit if you want to be pedantic.Sea Skimmer wrote: Given the ranges involved it would need an in-flight refueling probe and turreted FLIR is a must. At that point your not going to pass it off as a normal Chinook, let alone a civilian version to a semi trained eye. Those two features are what make the MH-47 look significantly different then a CH-47. Might as well grab a factory built MH-47. The US black budget could easily fund an extra one.
-
Sea Skimmer
- Yankee Capitalist Air Pirate
- Posts: 37390
- Joined: 2002-07-03 11:49pm
- Location: Passchendaele City, HAB
The nit picking shall continue!weemadando wrote:Whoever said anything about the US being the "organization". They just nabbed it from them and covered up its loss. It may as well be a MH-47 with all the kit on it, but it isn't, its better... Anyhow, minor point. I'll fix it up in an edit if you want to be pedantic.Sea Skimmer wrote: Given the ranges involved it would need an in-flight refueling probe and turreted FLIR is a must. At that point your not going to pass it off as a normal Chinook, let alone a civilian version to a semi trained eye. Those two features are what make the MH-47 look significantly different then a CH-47. Might as well grab a factory built MH-47. The US black budget could easily fund an extra one.
Not many CH-47 crashes happen; it's proven a very safe aircraft. Having one go down or go missing without a trace from a base is going to attract much unwanted attention if you don't have any form of US support.
Might as well buy a Mi-17 from the Russian air force and fit that out or a Cougar from the French.
"This cult of special forces is as sensible as to form a Royal Corps of Tree Climbers and say that no soldier who does not wear its green hat with a bunch of oak leaves stuck in it should be expected to climb a tree"
— Field Marshal William Slim 1956
— Field Marshal William Slim 1956
-
weemadando
- SMAKIBBFB
- Posts: 19195
- Joined: 2002-07-28 12:30pm
- Contact:
*yawn* Hooray.Sea Skimmer wrote:
The nit picking shall continue!
Who said they don't have US support? I just said that the organisation wasn't the US.Not many CH-47 crashes happen; it's proven a very safe aircraft. Having one go down or go missing without a trace from a base is going to attract much unwanted attention if you don't have any form of US support.
Who says they don't/won't?Might as well buy a Mi-17 from the Russian air force and fit that out or a Cougar from the French.
-
weemadando
- SMAKIBBFB
- Posts: 19195
- Joined: 2002-07-28 12:30pm
- Contact:
New chapter.
Vienna, Austria - 2 weeks later.
"So, Mr Jones, what happened then?" Robert looked around the room. He'd never even seen this room before, now he was sitting in it answering the questions of a collection of men and women none of whom he recognised. His arm was still in a sling and he was taking painkillers regularly just to stay compus. He focused on the one asking most of the questions, there was no doubt about who this man was. A cardinal, a catholic cardinal. His scarlet cloak gave that away, but his eyes gave away nothing. His body gave him several more clues, a scar on the face, the remnants of an immensely strong and fit form, and on the finger a ring. A ring that he was sure he recognised from somewhere. "Mr Jones? Are you going to answer the question?"
"The cave system obviously extended further via the recess in the far wall of the main cavern. And obviously there had been a second troll in there when we made the initial attack. Straight out of the cave mouth it hit Jackson, who was checking the corpse of the first one." Someone brought up a slide of the corpse. It was very nearly bent in half, the entire ribcage shattered and flattened. Jones looks away from the grisly image. "It hit him with a backhanded blow. By now Pelican had -"
"That was the callsign of the helicopter on this mission?"
"Yes. Pelican opened fire, but with minimal effect. This troll was nearly a metre taller and much bulkier than the first one. The rest of the group opened fire with all the weapons we had available and were able to slow it down slightly. Weisz was repriming his flamer when it came at him. Its my guess that it was at this point that Pelican got a headshot. The troll went down for a moment. And I do mean a moment, it would have been on the ground for maybe 2 seconds when it got back up. The entry and exit wounds were still closing up."
"They can regenerate that fast?" The question came from an asian man wearing the orange robes of a Bhuddhist. Another voice butts in, from a frumpy woman in her fifties, an ill fitted pant-suit stretches and hangs on her frame.
"Faster, keep in mind that it would have had to regenerate an amazing amount of highly complicated neural tissue in that time. And by all accounts it retained full motor funtion after the event."
"Yeah, it did. If anything the headshot only pissed it off. But it did give us time to recover. Vanya had brought along an RPO-A and was unslinging that -"
"Mr Jones, most of us here are not military experts and don't know what you are referring to. Please, keep it simple." Robert guessed that the men and women in the room knew more about military technology than he ever would, but felt the need to hide that knowledge for some reason. Still, he had to indulge them.
"Its an older Russian weapon, an incendiary rocket launcher. Very powerful and exceptionally deadly. Unfortunately, it takes a few seconds to get it unslung, shouldered, aimed and fired. Seconds that at the time we just didn't have. After the mission during the final ammo check we found that in that last encounter the eleven of us left has expended nearly one thousand rounds of ammunition. Thats not counting the two hundred round box that Pelican emptied. Zoology confirmed in autopsies that fragments from more than four hundred bullets were embedded in its flesh." Jones closed his eyes and recalled the sight, the multi-spectrum goggles enhancing the images of the night, streams of hot ammunition pulsing through the air, slamming into the target, barely slowing the massive creature. "It had already knocked down Weisz and Ibrahim and gotten to Norton and had picked him up when Vanya fired." Another slide was brought up. It showed a crater of dirty, bloodied ice, the corpse of the troll lay in the centre of it. The skin roasted and charred, its left arm just a stump of burnt bone protruding from the shoulder.
"Norton did not survive?" This question from an African man in a suit.
"No, and no trace of his body was found. It was immolated in the blast. Weisz and Ibrahim are both still in hospital recovering with major internal injuries."
"What did you do then?" The cardinal was asking the questions again.
"We called Pelican in to land, got Weisz and Ibrahim onboard and then went back into the cave."
"Even with your depleted ammo stocks?"
"We were confident that we had enough to continue the mission safely."
"Very well."
Novaya Zemiya, Russia - 2 weeks prior.
"We're going back in!"
"No fucking way - we've got wounded, KIA and we're low on ammo. That cave is a fucking deathtrap and I don't think we can successfully take down another one of those things."
"We've got a mission and we are going to finish it, right now. Register your complaints later." Jones loaded another magazine into his G3 and signalled to the rest of the team to form up. "Toji, we have to do this now. If we hold off and come back later we might have to deal with civvie authorities on site. And I don't like having to do that." The team moves back into the cave, back down the slope, towards the cavern where they first encountered the troll.
"Cavern looks clear. All the bodies are cold."
"Body count?"
"4 short. Thats including the one on the surface."
"Could they have been wholly devoured?"
"Doubtful. These trolls seem to picky in what bits they do and don't eat."
"OK. We push on. Head down that passage. If after 100m its still going we'll pull back and blow the entrance area. Move out." They move on, all of them tense and scared, weapons ready to fire. Each man prepared for every eventuality.
"Cavern ahead. No sound. It looks clear." The men stack up near the entrance to the cavern, then quickly rush in each man covering their arc.
"Clear!" The cavern was fairly small and had no other exit. Thank god.
"Got bodies over here! Four of them. Wait one - One's still hot!"
"Morley, get over here!" Morley scrambles across the room, taking off the heavy trauma pack as he reaches the pile of bodies.
"He looks bad. Multiple fractures in all his limbs, probably a fractured skull as well. No telling what kind of internal injuries he's got." The eyes open.
"Who - who are you?" John's head sags. Why did he have to wake up? He raises his rifle slightly and fires a single shot into the persons chest. Several of the men mutter under their breath. The two surviving Swiss Guards cross themselves.
"Thats fucking it. All the bodies are accounted for. Time to clean up. Take all the bodies into the main cavern. Collect all of the tools and artifacts that you can, the academics will want to play with them. Also remember to recover all personal artifacts from the bodies." Jones begins setting the first of several charges in the lower cavern. These ones would just collapse the cave system, the special gear was still on the chopper. "Birkenhamph, go to Pelican and collect the main charges."
"On the way." By the time Jones reached the main cavern the bodies had been arranged into a single pile. All of them mutilated in some way. Birkenhamph stood next to a large pack. "What's in there?"
"Thermite charges. When they cook off they'll burn through all of the corpses and destroy them completely." He opens the pack and begins arranging the small square foil wrapped blocks on top of the bodies. "Sturmmson, set the conventional charges. 4 metre intervals around the circumference of the room and up the passageway. Make sure you switch all the detonators to remote. Pelican, get set for dust off, we're five minutes away from being finished here."
"I've got all the artifacts, want me to take them to Pelican?"
"Yeah, who's collected the personal items?"
"I have."
"Go with him, get them stowed and hold there, we'll all come to you when we're done." The chamber was empty now except for him and Toji. "Why do we do this job?"
"Because we were given an offer we couldn't refuse."
"There has to be a better reason than that."
"Because we are working to save everyone from what they no longer believe in."
"Why do we keep on hiding it. The world can deal with it."
"The world probably could. But they most definately could not deal with the millenia of deception."
"True enough." John walks out of the chamber with Toji following him. As he reached the surface he looked back down the tunnel. "May they rest in peace. Pelican - are we clear to leave. How are Weisz and Ibrahim doing?"
"They're stable for now, but if you want it to stay that way we better get going, right now. Airspace is clear according to satellites and intel. Get those fucking trolls into the netting and we can get the fuck out of this shithole. We've got a heavy lift transport waiting at Syktyvkar."
"OK. Everyone, you heard it. Lets get this shit over with. Get those trolls in the nets and strung up." He pulls a small remote from his vest pocket, "Stand clear of the cave entrance. Fire in the hole!" For a minute there is no noise.
"Something go wrong?"
"Just letting the thermite do its job." A second button is pressed. A single dull whump sounds as the ground jumps and dust spurts out of the cave entry. "We're ready to go Pelican, everything look good to you?" The crew chief makes an inspection of the netting and the cabling.
"All looks good to me. Lets get the hell out of this place."
"So, Mr Jones, what happened then?" Robert looked around the room. He'd never even seen this room before, now he was sitting in it answering the questions of a collection of men and women none of whom he recognised. His arm was still in a sling and he was taking painkillers regularly just to stay compus. He focused on the one asking most of the questions, there was no doubt about who this man was. A cardinal, a catholic cardinal. His scarlet cloak gave that away, but his eyes gave away nothing. His body gave him several more clues, a scar on the face, the remnants of an immensely strong and fit form, and on the finger a ring. A ring that he was sure he recognised from somewhere. "Mr Jones? Are you going to answer the question?"
"The cave system obviously extended further via the recess in the far wall of the main cavern. And obviously there had been a second troll in there when we made the initial attack. Straight out of the cave mouth it hit Jackson, who was checking the corpse of the first one." Someone brought up a slide of the corpse. It was very nearly bent in half, the entire ribcage shattered and flattened. Jones looks away from the grisly image. "It hit him with a backhanded blow. By now Pelican had -"
"That was the callsign of the helicopter on this mission?"
"Yes. Pelican opened fire, but with minimal effect. This troll was nearly a metre taller and much bulkier than the first one. The rest of the group opened fire with all the weapons we had available and were able to slow it down slightly. Weisz was repriming his flamer when it came at him. Its my guess that it was at this point that Pelican got a headshot. The troll went down for a moment. And I do mean a moment, it would have been on the ground for maybe 2 seconds when it got back up. The entry and exit wounds were still closing up."
"They can regenerate that fast?" The question came from an asian man wearing the orange robes of a Bhuddhist. Another voice butts in, from a frumpy woman in her fifties, an ill fitted pant-suit stretches and hangs on her frame.
"Faster, keep in mind that it would have had to regenerate an amazing amount of highly complicated neural tissue in that time. And by all accounts it retained full motor funtion after the event."
"Yeah, it did. If anything the headshot only pissed it off. But it did give us time to recover. Vanya had brought along an RPO-A and was unslinging that -"
"Mr Jones, most of us here are not military experts and don't know what you are referring to. Please, keep it simple." Robert guessed that the men and women in the room knew more about military technology than he ever would, but felt the need to hide that knowledge for some reason. Still, he had to indulge them.
"Its an older Russian weapon, an incendiary rocket launcher. Very powerful and exceptionally deadly. Unfortunately, it takes a few seconds to get it unslung, shouldered, aimed and fired. Seconds that at the time we just didn't have. After the mission during the final ammo check we found that in that last encounter the eleven of us left has expended nearly one thousand rounds of ammunition. Thats not counting the two hundred round box that Pelican emptied. Zoology confirmed in autopsies that fragments from more than four hundred bullets were embedded in its flesh." Jones closed his eyes and recalled the sight, the multi-spectrum goggles enhancing the images of the night, streams of hot ammunition pulsing through the air, slamming into the target, barely slowing the massive creature. "It had already knocked down Weisz and Ibrahim and gotten to Norton and had picked him up when Vanya fired." Another slide was brought up. It showed a crater of dirty, bloodied ice, the corpse of the troll lay in the centre of it. The skin roasted and charred, its left arm just a stump of burnt bone protruding from the shoulder.
"Norton did not survive?" This question from an African man in a suit.
"No, and no trace of his body was found. It was immolated in the blast. Weisz and Ibrahim are both still in hospital recovering with major internal injuries."
"What did you do then?" The cardinal was asking the questions again.
"We called Pelican in to land, got Weisz and Ibrahim onboard and then went back into the cave."
"Even with your depleted ammo stocks?"
"We were confident that we had enough to continue the mission safely."
"Very well."
Novaya Zemiya, Russia - 2 weeks prior.
"We're going back in!"
"No fucking way - we've got wounded, KIA and we're low on ammo. That cave is a fucking deathtrap and I don't think we can successfully take down another one of those things."
"We've got a mission and we are going to finish it, right now. Register your complaints later." Jones loaded another magazine into his G3 and signalled to the rest of the team to form up. "Toji, we have to do this now. If we hold off and come back later we might have to deal with civvie authorities on site. And I don't like having to do that." The team moves back into the cave, back down the slope, towards the cavern where they first encountered the troll.
"Cavern looks clear. All the bodies are cold."
"Body count?"
"4 short. Thats including the one on the surface."
"Could they have been wholly devoured?"
"Doubtful. These trolls seem to picky in what bits they do and don't eat."
"OK. We push on. Head down that passage. If after 100m its still going we'll pull back and blow the entrance area. Move out." They move on, all of them tense and scared, weapons ready to fire. Each man prepared for every eventuality.
"Cavern ahead. No sound. It looks clear." The men stack up near the entrance to the cavern, then quickly rush in each man covering their arc.
"Clear!" The cavern was fairly small and had no other exit. Thank god.
"Got bodies over here! Four of them. Wait one - One's still hot!"
"Morley, get over here!" Morley scrambles across the room, taking off the heavy trauma pack as he reaches the pile of bodies.
"He looks bad. Multiple fractures in all his limbs, probably a fractured skull as well. No telling what kind of internal injuries he's got." The eyes open.
"Who - who are you?" John's head sags. Why did he have to wake up? He raises his rifle slightly and fires a single shot into the persons chest. Several of the men mutter under their breath. The two surviving Swiss Guards cross themselves.
"Thats fucking it. All the bodies are accounted for. Time to clean up. Take all the bodies into the main cavern. Collect all of the tools and artifacts that you can, the academics will want to play with them. Also remember to recover all personal artifacts from the bodies." Jones begins setting the first of several charges in the lower cavern. These ones would just collapse the cave system, the special gear was still on the chopper. "Birkenhamph, go to Pelican and collect the main charges."
"On the way." By the time Jones reached the main cavern the bodies had been arranged into a single pile. All of them mutilated in some way. Birkenhamph stood next to a large pack. "What's in there?"
"Thermite charges. When they cook off they'll burn through all of the corpses and destroy them completely." He opens the pack and begins arranging the small square foil wrapped blocks on top of the bodies. "Sturmmson, set the conventional charges. 4 metre intervals around the circumference of the room and up the passageway. Make sure you switch all the detonators to remote. Pelican, get set for dust off, we're five minutes away from being finished here."
"I've got all the artifacts, want me to take them to Pelican?"
"Yeah, who's collected the personal items?"
"I have."
"Go with him, get them stowed and hold there, we'll all come to you when we're done." The chamber was empty now except for him and Toji. "Why do we do this job?"
"Because we were given an offer we couldn't refuse."
"There has to be a better reason than that."
"Because we are working to save everyone from what they no longer believe in."
"Why do we keep on hiding it. The world can deal with it."
"The world probably could. But they most definately could not deal with the millenia of deception."
"True enough." John walks out of the chamber with Toji following him. As he reached the surface he looked back down the tunnel. "May they rest in peace. Pelican - are we clear to leave. How are Weisz and Ibrahim doing?"
"They're stable for now, but if you want it to stay that way we better get going, right now. Airspace is clear according to satellites and intel. Get those fucking trolls into the netting and we can get the fuck out of this shithole. We've got a heavy lift transport waiting at Syktyvkar."
"OK. Everyone, you heard it. Lets get this shit over with. Get those trolls in the nets and strung up." He pulls a small remote from his vest pocket, "Stand clear of the cave entrance. Fire in the hole!" For a minute there is no noise.
"Something go wrong?"
"Just letting the thermite do its job." A second button is pressed. A single dull whump sounds as the ground jumps and dust spurts out of the cave entry. "We're ready to go Pelican, everything look good to you?" The crew chief makes an inspection of the netting and the cabling.
"All looks good to me. Lets get the hell out of this place."
-
Einhander Sn0m4n
- Insane Railgunner
- Posts: 18630
- Joined: 2002-10-01 05:51am
- Location: Louisiana... or Dagobah. You know, where Yoda lives.
-
weemadando
- SMAKIBBFB
- Posts: 19195
- Joined: 2002-07-28 12:30pm
- Contact:
New Chapter
Vienna, Austria.
"You believe that your findings are correct?"
"Without a doubt, I had no less than four teams investigate the company that sent the expedition. Its a front, when they arrived at the offices of the company the entire floor was empty. Phone lines disconnected, no furniture - nothing. Yet the day before it was a regular and by all accounts, busy, office. The survey team met with the contractors on two occasions. We tried following that lead but hit a wall. We also tried tracing the transmissions from the survey site to no avail. This is without mentioning having our computers go through the past 2 years of satellite surveillance one the office buildings area trying to compile a data portfolio on any suspicious activity. This was also used to track vehicles, none of which led anywhere. Employment records for the dummy-corp are gone. We don't know who these people are, who they were or what their objectives are. But, it is reasonable to assume that they are aware of the same secrets that we have been keeping.
"It is your belief that this is the work of another group? One opposed to us?"
"I don't believe that they are opposed to us. Its my belief that this group is possibly not even aware of our existance. However I believe that we should initiate all protocols neccessary for the protection of our interests."
"Are you suggesting a return to a laissez-faire policy?"
"No, I am suggesting that we may well be facing a threat unlike any for the past millenia. it is imperative that we survive and keep the secrets secret."
"Then the council must take a vote. Please leave the room." The libranian stands, bows to the council and exits. In the hallway sits Jones, looking around at the grand wooden panelling, fluted columns and the immense oil paintings by the great masters of the era.
"Whats happening in there?"
"The council is deciding upon a course of action."
"Just who are those people. I mean, some of them looked like politicians, others military types, but most of them seemed to be from religious groups."
"You've answered your own question."
"What, you're saying that this operation is run by religious factions?"
"Not by factions. By the majority. Every major religion on earth is represented in that room, either in person or by proxy. Not to mention representatives from other walks of life who have proven themselves."
"How is this possible?"
"You've seen the creatures you fight, what sane man would not ally himself against them?"
"True, but surely you knwo the history of this place - these people."
"Yes, but you do not need to."
"Boy have I heard a lot of that in my career."
"In time you might lea-" The door to the council chamber opens and the librarian re-enters. "Have you finished your deliberations?" In the corridor Robert see's the two men approaching. These men were professionals without a doubt, their suits tailored to cover the arsenal under them, both of them moving with the grace and subtlety of a big cat, but without standing out. Definately bad news these two. As they approach Robert begins to shift his feet to a better position should he need to move. Without any warning and with amazing speed one of the men draws a pistol and fires at him. Looking down he see's where the impact is, dead centre mass, a small plume protrudes from his chest. A goddamn tranq dart...
Unknown location. Local time 0542.
"Your endurance is quite remarkable Mr Jones. We did not expect you to wake for another few hours." Robert shakes his head slightly, trying to clear the clouds from his vision.
"Who are you?"
"You don't recognise me?" Jones' forces his eyes to focus, catching a glimpse of brilliant scarlet.
"The cardinal?"
"Yes. You are among friends here, you needn't worry about yourself. Your team is in the back, still asleep from the same dart, despite the fact that they were all hit before you."
"Why all the secrecy?" Jones becomes aware of a dull thumping. "Are we airborne?"
"Yes we are airborne. And why all the secrecy? To protect one of the greatest secrets of all. We should be just in time..." Everyone onboard the massive helicopter moves to one side and stares intently out the window.
"What the hell is that?" On a pinnacle of rock in the middle of the ocean stands a massive castle, its grey stone walls built with unnerving precision. Its massive gatehouse opening onto a perilous path down to a natural dock at the base of the rock spire.
"Carbonek." Says a voice in awe, the bhuddist monk staring out the window continues, "No matter how many times I see it, it still remains awesome."
"Carbonek? What the hell is Carbonek?"
"One of the great myths of the world, a name of one of the Celtic otherworlds."
"Who the hell built this, and how?"
"That we cannot answer, but it has been here since at least 500CE, when Lancelot was granted a vision of the grail within."
"What?"
"Carbonek is the final resting place of the holy grail. And many other artifacts that the world has written of as tales."
"You believe that your findings are correct?"
"Without a doubt, I had no less than four teams investigate the company that sent the expedition. Its a front, when they arrived at the offices of the company the entire floor was empty. Phone lines disconnected, no furniture - nothing. Yet the day before it was a regular and by all accounts, busy, office. The survey team met with the contractors on two occasions. We tried following that lead but hit a wall. We also tried tracing the transmissions from the survey site to no avail. This is without mentioning having our computers go through the past 2 years of satellite surveillance one the office buildings area trying to compile a data portfolio on any suspicious activity. This was also used to track vehicles, none of which led anywhere. Employment records for the dummy-corp are gone. We don't know who these people are, who they were or what their objectives are. But, it is reasonable to assume that they are aware of the same secrets that we have been keeping.
"It is your belief that this is the work of another group? One opposed to us?"
"I don't believe that they are opposed to us. Its my belief that this group is possibly not even aware of our existance. However I believe that we should initiate all protocols neccessary for the protection of our interests."
"Are you suggesting a return to a laissez-faire policy?"
"No, I am suggesting that we may well be facing a threat unlike any for the past millenia. it is imperative that we survive and keep the secrets secret."
"Then the council must take a vote. Please leave the room." The libranian stands, bows to the council and exits. In the hallway sits Jones, looking around at the grand wooden panelling, fluted columns and the immense oil paintings by the great masters of the era.
"Whats happening in there?"
"The council is deciding upon a course of action."
"Just who are those people. I mean, some of them looked like politicians, others military types, but most of them seemed to be from religious groups."
"You've answered your own question."
"What, you're saying that this operation is run by religious factions?"
"Not by factions. By the majority. Every major religion on earth is represented in that room, either in person or by proxy. Not to mention representatives from other walks of life who have proven themselves."
"How is this possible?"
"You've seen the creatures you fight, what sane man would not ally himself against them?"
"True, but surely you knwo the history of this place - these people."
"Yes, but you do not need to."
"Boy have I heard a lot of that in my career."
"In time you might lea-" The door to the council chamber opens and the librarian re-enters. "Have you finished your deliberations?" In the corridor Robert see's the two men approaching. These men were professionals without a doubt, their suits tailored to cover the arsenal under them, both of them moving with the grace and subtlety of a big cat, but without standing out. Definately bad news these two. As they approach Robert begins to shift his feet to a better position should he need to move. Without any warning and with amazing speed one of the men draws a pistol and fires at him. Looking down he see's where the impact is, dead centre mass, a small plume protrudes from his chest. A goddamn tranq dart...
Unknown location. Local time 0542.
"Your endurance is quite remarkable Mr Jones. We did not expect you to wake for another few hours." Robert shakes his head slightly, trying to clear the clouds from his vision.
"Who are you?"
"You don't recognise me?" Jones' forces his eyes to focus, catching a glimpse of brilliant scarlet.
"The cardinal?"
"Yes. You are among friends here, you needn't worry about yourself. Your team is in the back, still asleep from the same dart, despite the fact that they were all hit before you."
"Why all the secrecy?" Jones becomes aware of a dull thumping. "Are we airborne?"
"Yes we are airborne. And why all the secrecy? To protect one of the greatest secrets of all. We should be just in time..." Everyone onboard the massive helicopter moves to one side and stares intently out the window.
"What the hell is that?" On a pinnacle of rock in the middle of the ocean stands a massive castle, its grey stone walls built with unnerving precision. Its massive gatehouse opening onto a perilous path down to a natural dock at the base of the rock spire.
"Carbonek." Says a voice in awe, the bhuddist monk staring out the window continues, "No matter how many times I see it, it still remains awesome."
"Carbonek? What the hell is Carbonek?"
"One of the great myths of the world, a name of one of the Celtic otherworlds."
"Who the hell built this, and how?"
"That we cannot answer, but it has been here since at least 500CE, when Lancelot was granted a vision of the grail within."
"What?"
"Carbonek is the final resting place of the holy grail. And many other artifacts that the world has written of as tales."
-
weemadando
- SMAKIBBFB
- Posts: 19195
- Joined: 2002-07-28 12:30pm
- Contact:
-
Crayz9000
- Sith Apprentice
- Posts: 7329
- Joined: 2002-07-03 06:39pm
- Location: Improbably superpositioned
- Contact:
OK, it's a nice story, but there's one thing that's really bugging me: you're constantly switching from past to present tense and back again. You either stick to one or the other, but you don't use both.
Most fiction is written in the past tense, and scripts are typically written in the present tense. As you're writing it from the third-person perspective, I would recommend converting it purely to past tense.
Most fiction is written in the past tense, and scripts are typically written in the present tense. As you're writing it from the third-person perspective, I would recommend converting it purely to past tense.
A Tribute to Stupidity: The Robert Scott Anderson Archive (currently offline)
John Hansen - Slightly Insane Bounty Hunter - ASVS Vets' Assoc. Class of 2000
HAB Cryptanalyst | WG - Intergalactic Alliance and Spoof Author | BotM | Cybertron | SCEF
John Hansen - Slightly Insane Bounty Hunter - ASVS Vets' Assoc. Class of 2000
HAB Cryptanalyst | WG - Intergalactic Alliance and Spoof Author | BotM | Cybertron | SCEF
-
weemadando
- SMAKIBBFB
- Posts: 19195
- Joined: 2002-07-28 12:30pm
- Contact:
Sorry, but I've been writing while at work at the cafe, meaning that I get interrupted regularly and forget how I was writing before.Crayz9000 wrote:OK, it's a nice story, but there's one thing that's really bugging me: you're constantly switching from past to present tense and back again. You either stick to one or the other, but you don't use both.
Most fiction is written in the past tense, and scripts are typically written in the present tense. As you're writing it from the third-person perspective, I would recommend converting it purely to past tense.
I'll get a nit-picker to go over it and then repost a cleaned up version.
-
weemadando
- SMAKIBBFB
- Posts: 19195
- Joined: 2002-07-28 12:30pm
- Contact:
Just a quick chapter to get y'all back into the feel of this...
Unknown Location - Local time: 0612
Within Carbonek timed seemed to slow to a stop, though no staff could be seen the halls were as immaculate as the moment they had been built. Grand mosaics and paintings seemed unaged, furniture from all ages of man remained pristine. "How is this all possible?"
"Just wait young one, you are yet to see the truly amazing." With a sweeping motion the cardinal pushed open a huge oak door and the hallway filled with light from the room beyond.
Boston, United States of America
The door to the final room was opened and two of the men entered, their pistols held ready. It was empty. Like all of the others. Nothing here. Nothing at all. "Control, this is Eight. The top floor is clear, and empty."
"Copy that Eight. Return to vehicles."
"Roger." The men holster their pistols and pull their coats back into place, concealing the weapons. They walk back down the stairs of the brownstone office building, joining more of their number and into a collection of taxis waiting outside. As they exit three men enter the building, carrying large aluminium briefcases. The front doors of the building are sealed from the inside as they enter and they begin the process of attempting to collect forensic evidence of the previous occupants. On the footpath outside, the rest of humanity continues to walk past, oblivious to these events, and to the dangers that lurk unseen.
Vienna, Austria
"So there was nothing in the building in Boston either?" The librarian leans back in his heavy leather chair.
"Not a trace of them, forensic teams are looking now, but I don't like our chances."
"I was sure that we'd beat them to that site. There were so many blinds and blanks along the way to it - I skipped them ALL hoping to nail them at the source."
"Is it possible that they anticipated that?"
"Possible - yes. But I feel that its unlikely. The layers of deception concealing it were too numerous for it to have been yet another ploy. I fear that we mightn't locate the hydra until another of its heads appears."
"I still don't understand their motives for this though. I can think of far better ways of initiating a new campaign than butchering a few geologists in the Arctic."
"That was a test. Quite clearly so. I think it will be quite a while before we see a new campaign. But we must be extra vigilant in the mean time. I want to deploy two teams, one to Washington and one to Strausberg. Lets see if we can ruffle some feathers."
Near Nimrud, Iraq - Local time 1520
The convoy rolled onwards towards Mosul, the soldiers alert for ambush, they had lost too many of their number for complacancy to be an option. "Wounded on the road!" Comes a shout from the lead HMMWV. Two men dismount and move carefully towards the bloodied figure as the rest of the convoy slows to a halt, was this just another trick, or was the man in trouble? The two soldiers in desert camo arrive at the man, one kneels and begins checking him while the other rapidly scouts looking for any trace of explosives or an ambush. Behind them the turret of a Bradley swings back and forth, its multitude of electronic imagery providing an enhanced view of the area. "Looks like an animal attack of some sort. He's pretty bad, get a stretcher up here."
"Area appears to be clear, not an ambush. Where the hell did this guy come from?"
"Got footprints coming in from the north-east, looks like he walked... Shit, look at his feet. He must have walked - what, 20 miles for them to look like that?"
"Ran more like, they're ripped up pretty well. But I'm more worried about these claw marks. Whatever got him, its gotta be big, maybe a lion or another big cat." An officer arrives with the stretcher bearers.
"What the hells going on here men?" The officer looks at the claw wounds, "What the fuck?"
"We're thinking big cat sir. Shouldn't be a threat to us, but it might scare the shit out of the locals."
"OK, I'll get a report out, but damnit, get him loaded up and this convoy moving again before something really dangerous notices us stopped here - like four guys with RPGs."
Unknown Location - Local time: 0612
Within Carbonek timed seemed to slow to a stop, though no staff could be seen the halls were as immaculate as the moment they had been built. Grand mosaics and paintings seemed unaged, furniture from all ages of man remained pristine. "How is this all possible?"
"Just wait young one, you are yet to see the truly amazing." With a sweeping motion the cardinal pushed open a huge oak door and the hallway filled with light from the room beyond.
Boston, United States of America
The door to the final room was opened and two of the men entered, their pistols held ready. It was empty. Like all of the others. Nothing here. Nothing at all. "Control, this is Eight. The top floor is clear, and empty."
"Copy that Eight. Return to vehicles."
"Roger." The men holster their pistols and pull their coats back into place, concealing the weapons. They walk back down the stairs of the brownstone office building, joining more of their number and into a collection of taxis waiting outside. As they exit three men enter the building, carrying large aluminium briefcases. The front doors of the building are sealed from the inside as they enter and they begin the process of attempting to collect forensic evidence of the previous occupants. On the footpath outside, the rest of humanity continues to walk past, oblivious to these events, and to the dangers that lurk unseen.
Vienna, Austria
"So there was nothing in the building in Boston either?" The librarian leans back in his heavy leather chair.
"Not a trace of them, forensic teams are looking now, but I don't like our chances."
"I was sure that we'd beat them to that site. There were so many blinds and blanks along the way to it - I skipped them ALL hoping to nail them at the source."
"Is it possible that they anticipated that?"
"Possible - yes. But I feel that its unlikely. The layers of deception concealing it were too numerous for it to have been yet another ploy. I fear that we mightn't locate the hydra until another of its heads appears."
"I still don't understand their motives for this though. I can think of far better ways of initiating a new campaign than butchering a few geologists in the Arctic."
"That was a test. Quite clearly so. I think it will be quite a while before we see a new campaign. But we must be extra vigilant in the mean time. I want to deploy two teams, one to Washington and one to Strausberg. Lets see if we can ruffle some feathers."
Near Nimrud, Iraq - Local time 1520
The convoy rolled onwards towards Mosul, the soldiers alert for ambush, they had lost too many of their number for complacancy to be an option. "Wounded on the road!" Comes a shout from the lead HMMWV. Two men dismount and move carefully towards the bloodied figure as the rest of the convoy slows to a halt, was this just another trick, or was the man in trouble? The two soldiers in desert camo arrive at the man, one kneels and begins checking him while the other rapidly scouts looking for any trace of explosives or an ambush. Behind them the turret of a Bradley swings back and forth, its multitude of electronic imagery providing an enhanced view of the area. "Looks like an animal attack of some sort. He's pretty bad, get a stretcher up here."
"Area appears to be clear, not an ambush. Where the hell did this guy come from?"
"Got footprints coming in from the north-east, looks like he walked... Shit, look at his feet. He must have walked - what, 20 miles for them to look like that?"
"Ran more like, they're ripped up pretty well. But I'm more worried about these claw marks. Whatever got him, its gotta be big, maybe a lion or another big cat." An officer arrives with the stretcher bearers.
"What the hells going on here men?" The officer looks at the claw wounds, "What the fuck?"
"We're thinking big cat sir. Shouldn't be a threat to us, but it might scare the shit out of the locals."
"OK, I'll get a report out, but damnit, get him loaded up and this convoy moving again before something really dangerous notices us stopped here - like four guys with RPGs."