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Author Topic: McCreary's Planet -- Act IV: The Goddess of War  (Read 120198 times)

19_EgarAlnis

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McCreary's Planet -- Act IV: The Goddess of War
« on: February 09, 2020, 10:51:33 pm »

Don't die on me.

Keep breathing.

Please. Not you too.

A fan lazily cuts the dry air above you as your vision comes to a focus. Every bone in your body aches, and a stitch in your side makes breathing difficult. You make to sit up, but the effort makes your head swim and vision blur, so you remain laying.
Instead, your fingers dig into the rough fabric of the bed beneath you, grasping for purchase against the spins. When they fade, you look around, taking stock of the room around you.

Its a small room, cut from unfinished wood planks, with a single grimy window that leaks in the waning light. The only other furniture is a flat metal table touched with rust and a crude lamp beside the doorway. A jagged shard of metal, the size of your forearm sits on the table. Its tip darkened with crumbling reddish brown.

You suppress a shudder.

Sounds of labor carry through the doorway. You tense, and your body gives a protest.

What's there to be done?



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« Last Edit: November 14, 2020, 12:47:21 am by 19_EgarAlnis »
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Superdorf

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Re: McCreary's Planet
« Reply #1 on: February 10, 2020, 12:16:28 am »

Welcome to the forums! :)

Looks like somebody's had to dig that shard of metal out of our side for us. We're in no condition to do much of anything, so we'll just have to trust out apparent benefactor for now...

Rest.
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19_EgarAlnis

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Re: McCreary's Planet
« Reply #2 on: February 10, 2020, 12:39:04 am »

You sit up, slowly, to ease the ache in your lower back.

A man bustles into the room, carrying a tray. Lanky, with a limp, he seems about middle-aged and hesitates when he notices you. He speaks in a low, placating tone, smiling with a bit of a downturn to his head. Deferential.
"Hey, buddy. How are you feeling? I'm Doc Mitchell. I'm the one who patched you up."

He sets the tray down beside you on the table. On it is a bowl of soup, some water in a cup, bandages, and a soft capsule. He hands you the soup, which you take with both hands with hesitation, and brusquely lifts your shirt above your bandages.

"Keep still- don't want to re-open your stitches, now do you? Be a good lass and eat your soup. Ain't nothing I haven't seen before." With that warning, he starts unraveling your bandages. He reveals a savage gash, wide as a thumb, and about five inches from hip to rib, hastily stitched.

"When they brought you in, I thought for sure you'd be dead by now." His eyes harden as he looks you up and down, hands deftly winding a bandage around your abdomen, "You had a severe skull fracture, more broken bones than whole ones and that shrapnel filling your guts. I couldn't even tell you how much blood you had left."

He gives the bandages a neat little knot, a hard look still in his eyes despite the smile.  The soup smells delicious, like [rosemary] and [thyme] and a host of other earthy, hearty flavors — chunks of [protein] float within, beans and nubs of browned [bacon].

"Can you tell me your name, lass? Any idea how you got into that state?" You shake your head, and Doc Mitchell sighs. "If a name comes to you, let me know, but I bet you have questions."

 


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« Last Edit: February 10, 2020, 01:11:06 am by 19_EgarAlnis »
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Superdorf

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Re: McCreary's Planet
« Reply #3 on: February 10, 2020, 12:57:51 am »

"Lass". We know we're female, at least.

"No questions yet... thank you." Speak careful-like, so's not to hurt ourself with the talking.

We're safe here. No need for fear anymore. Finish eating, then let consciousness slip away for awhile if need be-- we could use the time to heal anyhow.
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ZBridges

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Re: McCreary's Planet
« Reply #4 on: February 10, 2020, 02:08:14 am »

"Lass". We know we're female, at least.

"No questions yet... thank you." Speak careful-like, so's not to hurt ourself with the talking.

We're safe here. No need for fear anymore. Finish eating, then let consciousness slip away for awhile if need be-- we could use the time to heal anyhow.

+1
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King Zultan

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Re: McCreary's Planet
« Reply #5 on: February 10, 2020, 02:12:14 am »

"Lass". We know we're female, at least.

"No questions yet... thank you." Speak careful-like, so's not to hurt ourself with the talking.

We're safe here. No need for fear anymore. Finish eating, then let consciousness slip away for awhile if need be-- we could use the time to heal anyhow.

+1
+1
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The Lawyer opens a briefcase. It's full of lemons, the justice fruit only lawyers may touch.
Make sure not to step on any errant blood stains before we find our LIFE EXTINGUSHER.
but anyway, if you'll excuse me, I need to commit sebbaku.
Quote from: Leodanny
Can I have the sword when you’re done?

19_EgarAlnis

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Re: McCreary's Planet
« Reply #6 on: February 10, 2020, 03:00:55 am »

"She's dead. I already told you. I'll get you your money some other way." Mitchell's voice carries through the thin planks of the inner wall. A shutter hides the window from the night, and something blocks the doorway out, but it's still bright enough to see. You shift upwards, slowly, expecting dizziness.

You turn your head from one side to the other. Then you shake it back and forth. Nothing happens. You run your hands over your arms, expecting the same ache that occurred previously, only to find the soreness gone now.
With a gentle touch, you prod the still clean bandage-- and wince as sharp pain lances through your side.

Everything can't be fixed so quickly, I suppose.

You rise to your feet, inching closer to the wall to catch more of the argument.

"Look, Mitchell...We had a deal. Anybody that can't pay your fees, you send to us. You haven't been sending many folks our way, friend." The other man's voice rises as he finishes.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you wanted me to send you corpses." Mitchell snaps, "How about I send some of your men to you in chains? You never pay the damn fee."
 
The other man is silent, until, "Look, it's late. We're both tired. I'm going to come back tomorrow."

And that's it. The door slams, and you hear only heavy breathing from the next room, followed by something else slamming into the wall. You hear footsteps from the hallway.

What to do?

 


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ZBridges

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Re: McCreary's Planet
« Reply #7 on: February 10, 2020, 03:09:13 am »

Wait.
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19_EgarAlnis

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Re: McCreary's Planet
« Reply #8 on: February 10, 2020, 06:36:34 am »

Mitchell starts when the light of the hallway lamp finally falls on you through the open doorway. The room brightens, but his expression does the opposite. His brown hair is a mess, his clothes crumpled, and a leather holster holds a pistol beneath his armpit. He tries to smile, even as he notices your glance, but it doesn't make it past his eyes.

You both stand in silence.

"You heard at least some of that conversation." While he speaks, he crosses his arms and sighs. His hand rests close to his holster, and he looks politely puzzled, giving you a small smile. "You really shouldn't be alive."

Then he begins to pace, in and out of the room, never really turning his back to you.

"I pulled six inches of solid steel from your guts. Your brain was leaking out of the back of your head, and your bones were in splinters!" His voice rises as he turns on his heels, facing you once again. "Do you know how long it took you to recover from that? Five days!"

His eyes gleam, and his scowl deepens. "This morning? That pill? Five times the dose to knock a two hundred pound raider on his ass! It makes you nap." He spits the word nap like venom.

"So, you know what I want to know? What -are- you? A [demon]? Some kind of [angel]? What the hell happened to you? Why are you here?"

Then, with that question, you notice it. The rambling speech with heavy breath. The hesitation in word choice. The way he keeps his trembling hand beside his gun.

"Well!?"




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« Last Edit: February 10, 2020, 06:49:56 am by 19_EgarAlnis »
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King Zultan

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Re: McCreary's Planet
« Reply #9 on: February 10, 2020, 08:16:57 am »

Tell him the truth that we don't know anything about who we are or our past, also mention the head injury probably killed our memories.
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The Lawyer opens a briefcase. It's full of lemons, the justice fruit only lawyers may touch.
Make sure not to step on any errant blood stains before we find our LIFE EXTINGUSHER.
but anyway, if you'll excuse me, I need to commit sebbaku.
Quote from: Leodanny
Can I have the sword when you’re done?

ZBridges

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Re: McCreary's Planet
« Reply #10 on: February 10, 2020, 06:25:42 pm »

"I did hear that conversation, and I'm grateful for your aid.  Perhaps I can assist you with your situation in return?  It sounds like you could use the help.  Also, let me make this clear, I'm not a threat to you in any way.  I don't wish you ill."
« Last Edit: February 10, 2020, 06:49:04 pm by ZBridges »
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19_EgarAlnis

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Re: McCreary's Planet
« Reply #11 on: February 10, 2020, 07:09:46 pm »

"I wish I knew." You weakly murmur, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. You run your fingers through your hair and over the back of your head. Your short hair is shorn back further there, and for the first time, you realize that you must have an awful haircut right now. But there is no soreness, no tenderness. "I did hear that conversation, and I'm grateful for your aid.  Perhaps I can assist you with your situation in return?  It sounds like you could use the help.  Also, let me make this clear. I'm not a threat to you in any way.  I don't wish you ill."

"Damn right you will," But Mitchell sighs and rubs his face at your answer. He relaxes,  giving a simple nod at the answer, but he still has a hard look in his eyes. He gestures for you to follow and moves back into the main living area. Hesitantly, you wander after. Your first step is a little unsteady, but you regain your balance swiftly.

The small hallway opens up into a general living area, one made of curved, thin metal. A small wooden table with accompanying chairs sits in the corner, the surface covered with dirty dishes and empty bottles. A large bookshelf hides a wall, more books piled on the floor than within its shelves. The titles blur in your vision, before becoming apparent, and a vast majority of them are medical works. On the other side of the room is a cooking station, complete with a small fridge whose compressor labors loudly.  "Take a seat. I still have some soup on the stove."

You do so, settling into the creaking wood without protest. He pulls a spoon off the wall and scoops soup into a thankfully clean bowl, passing it to you without a further word. He settles in across from you, still staring. Eventually, he grabs a green bottle from the table and takes a swig.

The smell of the soup is still divine, and you don't eat it so much as inhale it. You drain the last of the broth and have to stop yourself from licking the bowl, hunger still rolling your stomach.

"I found you on my doorstep. A local farmer dropped you off for me to perform funeral rites. Clean you up and incinerate you. Hell, I nearly did. You were an awful wreck, young lady." He takes a swig, "I wouldn't've known you were still alive if you didn't spit blood in my face."

"After that, I did the best I could for you. Stitched up your side, making you comfortable, doping you up. I waited for you to meet your [creator, maker, Non-Empyeral diety], but you never did."

The man takes another swig from the bottle, alcohol fumes wafting across the table. He rubs the neck of the container, staring at you, "I would've put a bullet in your head if I were younger. Given you mercy, but--" He shakes his head, lapsing into silence.

You stay silent, still taking in the room. A coat rack sits in the corner, hanging with a heavy duster and worn satchel with crooked calligraphy. You blink as the symbols blur, and another imposes itself upon it — a bright red cross. A lamp sitting in the corner illuminates the room, its bulb glowing bright blue.

"I caught up with the farmer after you pulled through the night. Its a small town, and the man was telling everyone about how he found you." Mitchell gives a bitter laugh, "He said you fell from the heavens. He was locking up his [horse, steed, mount] and saw a light in the sky, growing brighter, until it blew up in one of his fields."

"Said it made him find the [creator, maker, non-Empyeral]. He went to the temple to pray for hours after dropping you off. Probably shot his mouth off to the priest while he was it, then went to go forget all about it with some booze."

"I wouldn't have believed it, except by the time I got back, you looked less like a pile of meat in the shape of a girl and more like an actual person."

"You don't remember anything? Anything at all that could answer this?"
When you shake your head, he sighs.  "I'm not one to believe, but seeing you recover is a goddamn miracle. Twenty years of being a doctor, and I ain't see anything like it."

"And now you're up, and walking around and holding conversations that aren't you gurgling blood. And now, we need to talk about my fees. Now, you were naked when you came in, so I'm sure you don't have any money. I've got an awful lot of work around the house I need doing, so you're going to help with that. Nurse work too. Two years ought to pay off what you owe." His eyes are hard and dark, and he states bluntly, "Otherwise, you could go with that slave-broker and work for the [warlord], but I'm sure you wouldn't like that, girl."

Something within you bristles at that, and you sit upright, fixing him with a glare as you snap. "If I'm going to be working with you, don't call me a girl like I'm a child."

He flinches at that, then gives a short laugh. "By the [maker], I thought your spine was broken."

Just then, there's a knock at the door, and Mitchell rises to his feet, walking over to it, the bottle still in hand. He pulls it open-- and flies back into the room, his chest exploding into gore. Mitchell's corpse thuds to the ground, his pistol clattering free beside him.

The sound of the shotgun drives you down to the ground, reverberating through the metal room with a deafening bang. Three men stand in the doorway, clad in dusters, face hidden behind [demon] masks. They look taken aback by your presence and hesitate.

Well then. What's next?



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« Last Edit: February 10, 2020, 07:19:54 pm by 19_EgarAlnis »
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TamerVirus

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Re: McCreary's Planet
« Reply #12 on: February 10, 2020, 07:31:35 pm »

Combat roll.
Grab the gun.
Open fire.
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Superdorf

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Re: McCreary's Planet
« Reply #13 on: February 10, 2020, 07:41:36 pm »

...we just lost every single injury we had.

We ain't human.

Combat roll.
Grab the gun.
Open fire.


+1
Aim for the masks. If we feel any magic angelic powers or whatever coming on, use them.
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19_EgarAlnis

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Re: McCreary's Planet
« Reply #14 on: February 10, 2020, 10:43:51 pm »

The hesitation doesn't last long. You move, diving for the pistol as heat washes over your right side. Pain burns through you, but only an instant before your grip tightens on the handle. You dive to one side as another blast destroys the table and the metal wall with a hail of red hot flechettes.

The other two have slipped their guns out, trying to take aim, but in one smooth motion, you flip the switch on the safety and lift the firearm. Anger, rage, fury, all build within you as you breathe in. When you exhale, a short, halting breath, so does the firearm, and it takes that anger with it. The gun shudders in your hand, the microreactor flaring to life with all the fuel cell can muster

And your anger becomes the sun.

The blast melts away the barrel, the grip, everything up until the trigger-gaurd. They dissolve into the air. And so does the trio of bandits, along with half the house. The books behind you catch fire, along with Mitchell's corpse. The pressure change blows out the windows and sends the fridge through the wall, burning papers flying haphazardly about.

And in the middle of this instantaneous hell-storm, you sit, uneffected.

And there you sit, until it becomes unsafe to do so, the structure collapsing around you. You drag Mitchell out the front, the stitch in your side unbearable as you haul the dead man out the door. His house burns, slowly, at first, then all at once, brightly against the night sky.

It takes you a while to notice that dawn is breaking across the horizon, a rising heat in the air that has nothing to do with the smoldering remains of Doc Mitchell's house. You finally drop the handle of the melted gun, its micro-display flashing bright red symbols of warning.

Mitchell was dead before the blast, his chest turned to mush in an instant by the first shot. You exhale a shaky breath and examine yourself. The second shot winged your shoulder. That was enough to gouge out a chunk of flesh the size of your thumb and singe off some of your hair. It doesn't hurt, however, and is already scabbed over. Your side burns with pain, and blood has bloomed on the bandages. But most pressing of all is how weak you feel. Your stomach constantly growls.

You are -starving-.

Taking stock of your surroundings, a path leads off into the distance, towards some lightly wooded hills in the north. Dry mountains rise far away to the west, and the beginning of a rough sandy plain lies to the south. The house is burnt down, a pile of metal scrap and smoldering lumber. A windmill and a few solar panels lie a few meters away from the wreckage. The fridge lies outside of the ruins, A few meters away from that sits a bulky, man-sized incinerator.

What now?



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