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Author Topic: Flames, Blades and Wastes  (Read 1204 times)

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Offline Darksquirrel

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Flames, Blades and Wastes
« on: July 16, 2014, 01:47:15 PM »
Please post your replies in the discussion thread, to do so just click on this link

Also, feel free to suggest a better title (I can't really come up with one that's any good).
« Last Edit: July 25, 2014, 01:21:28 PM by Darksquirrel »
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Offline Darksquirrel

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Re: Flames, Blades and Wastes
« Reply #1 on: July 25, 2014, 01:23:12 PM »
Chapter 1
Spoiler
Haendal squeezed the brakes on his bike. The rest of his crew rode up and did the same, assembling into a V-shaped formation. His long reinforced carapace trench coat distinguished him from the rest of the bikers; Most wore various coats and jackets, along with bits and pieces of armour. Shoulder pads and breastplates were common, with bracers, gauntlets and the like. He took a long puff of his cigar, waiting for the dust kicked up by the bikes to settle. They hadn't raided anyone in a long time, but they were starting to run low on supplies as well as morale. Normally officers higher up in the Gundal chain of command would be responsible for resupplying and equipping the biker cohorts, but with most riders far down south on business, Haendal’s lot were forced to fend for themselves. After a while the cloud dispersed and the little village was revealed, glowing in the rising sun. An iron fence surrounded the hamlet, a pitiful defence for a pitiful place. The outer buildings were mostly corroded wood and stone, making the scene even more miserable than the wasteland surrounding it. Haendal removed his sawed-off shotgun from its saddle side holster and dismounted. Signaling for the rest of his boys to draw their weapons, he proceeded to calmly approach the gate. They were armed with an assortment of blades and firearms, enough to make short work of the locals if push came to shove. His sword sheath clattered against his belt with each step and dust was flung up by his steel-toed boots as he walked.

 Two figures could be seen standing behind the fence. One was holding a rifle, while the other what appeared to be a sheet of paper. Eventually Haendal was able to make out details. Both were old men. The first was somewhat portly and encased in plain civil-issue armour. The other was frail and short, wearing tatty red robes. They remained motionless as the biker captain walked up to them.

“Good morning gentlemen” Haendal smiled and exaggerated his body language as he spoke. “It’s a fine little place you have here” He was met with a strong, sour glare.
“Yus it is, an’ it’s goin’ to stay that way” The stout villager responded brashly.
“Well, that’s all up to you. You can let us in and go on living as normal, or you could refuse and... Well, I’m sure you’re fully aware of what we’re capable of. So, what’s it going to be?”. Haendal didn’t want to fight unless it was necessary, he’d rather just take what his men needed and leave. Still, he was happy to slaughter every last one of them if they made a move on him, as it meant keeping his reputation.
 
The other man spoke up in a dry and raspy voice
“ You can’t hurt us, we’re under Imperial protection” he held up the piece of paper to prove his point. It was filled with scribbly writing, except for a stamp of authenticity at the bottom.
“Ah, I see. Where are these protectors of yours?” It took the old man a moment to comprehend the question, after which he muttered
“In the, uh, Hussarian fort to the north.” At that Haendal gave a mocking expression, as if he was impressed, before turning to his men and exclaiming
“Oh dear, these villagers say they are under the Hussar’s protection!” The bikers roared with laughter, some even doubling over, supported by their handlebars. He chuckled and turned back to the village elder. He looked at him condescendingly “The Hussars aren’t here and they haven’t been here for a while, have they?”. The old man just stared at him blankly. He sighed and gestured with his gun “Look, just let us in and I won’t blow either of you apart.” At this the more portly of the two went red and he screwed up his face like a maddened boar.
“Nevar, I’m not goin’ tah’ let scum like you take our people’s dignity. Legia Imperialis!” The armoured villager raised his rifle and fired a round straight into Haendal’s chest, making him stagger. The bullet ricocheted off the breastplate hidden under his carapace-coat and into the fat man’s eye, causing him to fall to his knees and clutch his face in both hands. Haendal sighed a second time
“So much for dignity”. In one fluid motion he stepped back, raised his gun and fired an explosive shell into the gate. The entrance was blown away along with part of the fence, making a gap big enough for three bikes to ride in side by side. The two men were nowhere to be seen, but Haendal doubted he would have to deal with them again. Raising his curved blade he shouted “Come on boys, let’s show these plebs what happens when Gundals are refused their ale!”.

John’s little brother whimpered and hugged his father tightly as another explosion was heard from outside.
“Shh, everything’s gonna be alright son, you’ll see” His father managed to maintain a confident and soothing tone, ignoring the violence and gunfire outside. The smell of burning wood and seared flesh was fresh in their nostrils, and they could feel flames licking the outside of their home. The house was one of the oldest in the village, built back when men first settled the planet with buildings made of powerful alloys, and as such they had nothing to fear from fire. Still, despite being surrounded by walls of astral metal, John had never felt more vulnerable.

 His father’s left hand was gently fumbling the trigger of an old pistol, while his right  covered little Jared’s ear. “John, if they get in... Don’t try and fight. Run out the back with your brother, hide somewhere they won’t expect, okay?”
John nodded slowly, staring into empty space. More screams from outside. “John, look at me. Where could you hide?” John looked up. His eyes were wide with fear.
“But, they’re not going to get in. Are they?” His father breathed in and leaned toward his son. He whispered
“Yes, yes they are son. And when they do, I want you to run and hide. Hide yourself, and hide your brother. Can you do that for me?” Tears welled up in John’s eyes, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and from the man he had always depended on and associated with safety and comfort . His father looked at him expectantly “Can you do that for me, John?”
“Yes dad”. John hugged his father as he leaned back and took his hand off of Jared’s head. Yet more screams from outside.

John winced at the sound of bullets bouncing off the outside of their house, followed by  a loud banging and a gruff, muffled voice.
“Open up!”. He would have heard the sound of burning metal if his ears weren’t already occupied with the sudden increase of blood pumping through his veins. His father leaned in close and whispered even quieter than before
“I love you son.” He kissed him on the forehead, before standing up straight and walking out toward the entrance hall, gun in hand. For a few seconds John’s body and mind were frozen, as it took some time for him to realise what was happening. He slowly got up, gripping his little brother’s hand. Muttering small words of comfort, John led him through a short corridor to the back door of the house. Trying his best to ignore the painful cries and brutal thuds from the other room, he typed in the door’s pass code on a panel to its side. Tears strolling freely down his cheek, John moved cautiously outside, the door closing automatically behind him.

The rising sun made it seem like even the sky was on fire, along with most of the village. A huge plume of thick smoke was rising from the smoldering town, no doubt visible from miles around. John led his brother through the debris around his home, behind the building. Most of the commotion was happening toward the center of the village, no one was nearby to see them creeping between houses. John’s late uncle kept an armoured truck near their home for moving things in and out of the village, covering it with a large cloth sheet to keep it cool. John lifted part of the canopy and let Jared crawl in. Checking that no one had seen them, he followed him.

The inside of the truck stank of oil and grease. It was pitch black, but he could feel his way around the general area. The floor was slick and slimy, his uncle obviously hadn’t taken much care with the aesthetic value of the vehicle. Jared began whimpering again, breathing rapidly. John huddled closer, trying to be the older brother and hush and comfort to him, but to no avail. Soon, John let himself give in and began bawling his eyes out.


« Last Edit: July 26, 2014, 07:13:37 AM by Darksquirrel »
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