Difference between revisions of "Snowtalon: Sacred World, Part VI"

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Erilion and Slayvel stood at the plaza under the heavy pelting of rain and dark clouds swirling above their heads, standing vigilant for their next move. Darkveil soldiers stood at the ready. Stealth operatives such as Spectres, the standard Warrior-Servicemen, the Warmongers, Rangers, the explosive-oriented Wreckers, combat mechanics known as Fabricators and feared most of all, the Mutilators - equipped with jump-packs capable of carrying them much distance, and armed with serrated-blade power flails. Slayvel drew his katana and extended his arm, pointing towards what was building on the horizon.

Praetor Garrison was assembling. All five division leaders, with Bouncers, their jetpack troopers, Agents, Ravager heavy-weapons specialists, Recons, and MCWs, mechanized combat warsuits. Venator's mouth curled into her characteristic smirk, while Pilus prepared his arm-mounted rotary rocket launcher. Ballistarius prepared an oversized minigun while Legatus - Campbell - stood at the forefront, a pistol in one hand and a submachinegun in the other. At the far end of the city block, he could see Slayvel at their head, with the katana pointed, yet little more than a blur.

"Fan out. Armour goes around and flanks them from the rear." Ballistarius ordered.

"Remember, Praetors. Unto the crucible of war, do we make peace." Campbell added.

Drake raised his sub-machinegun and fired it in the air. And then, all-out war.

Azala Emberstone overlooked the smelting pots and the vast robotic appliances of the Munitions Factory with a large mace clutched in her hand, the head against the floor. She was a female Flame Tralonian of a most Amazonian physique and impressive-looking armour, decorated with various trophies and a dark purple sash pulled over her chestplate. Gazing at the red holopad in front of her, she began typing something to Tharne.

The scrolling lines of text were sent to him;

They've slain the Slavemaster and Snowtalon is already at the Internment Center.

Tharne replied; Brash and arrogant of them all. I have The Judicator waiting for him at the prison.

Giving some contemplation to this, she slammed in another reply.

How will he hold them off?

He has a gift I have given him, for his service...

"And that's how I survived the purge." Said Skaria, as she led the Tyrian group out of the slave quarry and into the gravtrain station, where one particular train sat idle.

"Crazy," Slicer began. "Judging by those reactions, hahah, I don't think anybody knew Skar had a sister."

Skaria turned sharply to the Ben'haian, startling her slightly, and her eyes bulged, her mouth dropping ajar. "He's alive?!"

Lyn's eyes narrowed and turned to Markus, who gave an equally exasperated expression straight back at her. Sharilyn then spoke, "Probably should have dropped the fact that he's the reason we're here..."

The rebel snow dragoness pinched the bridge of her nose near her snout, shaking her head. "How could I have been so short-sighted..."

Silver Blast waved a finger. "Whatever the case, it does not matter. We head for the Munitions Factory to eliminate Azala and reclaim it for your Partisans."

"Of course." Skaria said, very relieved.

"So we aren't going to tell him now?" White asked with some inquisitiveness.

"No. I think he'll appreciate the surprise." Skaria stated, smiling as she walked in through the large gravtrain. It was atleast twenty or twenty-five feet wide, allowing for a wide berth to enter. The Silver Lance moved in the rear-most carriage while Slicer and White remained in the center-most one, with the Brand sisters at the second-most carriage, and Lyn, Markus and Skaria at the front. After figuring out the controls, the Tralonian partisan managed to get the grav-train in motion.

Out of the corner of his eye, White could notice a shimmer in the light. Huh.

He wasn't entirely sure if he wasn't seeing things or not.

Lyn slumped back against the wall in the front carriage, groaning and rubbing her eyes. "Long day. Hopefully we'll be able to get some well-dese--actually, no, if I say that, we'll get attacked." Skaria looked behind herself, perking a brow.

"I forget humans are not so enduring as we are. Yet despite your physical limits, you do so well on the mental front."

Lyn's face cracked a smile. "I'm a little more than your standard human."

Markus stood nearby, gazing out at the dark clouds circling above Tralonia and the black sky above them as the grav-train finally took off, moving on a giant rail system which suspended it in midair via a skyhook right above the carriages themselves. A flatbed laid in the middle, which the Silver Lance dug in on using magnetizers in the soles of their boots. The gravtrain lurched through the air and lifted them out of the station and off, into the sky, away from the quarry.

"So..." Skaria asked, fidgeting with her fingers.

"We are aware you have many questions." Markus said, at the head of the train.

"I'll explain." Lyn began. "So. Skarius - your brother, as you know - met us in M.A.C.E. about roughly a year ago, before we splintered and formed Tyrian Materials Complex."

"O-kay. So why are you here, then?"

"He's leading the operation here. He was attacked by Slayvel and Erilion a little while ago, stole th--"

"The Crown of Shades. I know." Skaria answered, with a renewed confidence.

"How'd you even know?" Sharilyn tilted her head slightly, in curiosity.

Skaria shook her head. "Tharne's using it for his ascension to demonhood. He wants to bring Tralonia into the Bleak Ones' grasp and consume it. He's gone completely off his nutter."