A Country Ablaze [Past RP]

Tue Dec 28, 2010 1:42 am

Song for Post - Gundam 00 OST 1 - Eyes

"This Battle...is a Holy War in the name of God. We shall strike down the infadels who disrespect our traditions and lay waste to the land of God."

Krugis was ablaze. The middle eastern-style city was almost levelled. Armored soldiers ran through buildings, shooting everything that moved...and some things that didn't move. Upon exiting the buildings, there'd be an explosion that'd cause most of the building to collapse. The soldiers were extremely synched up, and each explosion was tied in with the other buildings' explosive charges. However, from the center, the explosions stopped. The Krugis militia had set up a spearhead with the remaining women and children escaping through the rear of the city.

Standing atop a type 210 heavy assault tank, known as Zabanya, was a maroon-haired man. He was wearing a crimson sleeveless shirt and blue pants with a large green stripe going down the center of the legs. Around his neck were the remnants of a scarf, which the desert winds and bullets had ripped to pieces. On his hands were heavy duty gloves. His arm brandished a blue tattoo that looked like fire. His hair was long and untamed. He had a large goatee with some stubble around his face. The tank he stood on had three 120mm cannons stacked on top of one another in a triange fashion. One barrel would fire and the whole system rotated. The tank fired towards the approaching troops, sent by Azadistan which was to the north.

From in front, there was machine gun and pistols firing. Most of the people firing were no older than 10. Beside the tank, there were two larger buildings. These housed the 88mm artillery as well as the snipers, who were armed with .50 caliber anti-armor rifles. Mortars hit the Azadistani soldiers hard, with them returning fire with short-range missile strikes. Helicopters used to run through and do aerial sweeps. However with the KPSA firing surface-to-air missiles, air support was impossible. Even tanks and troop transports could only go so far. The artillery had made a few streets impassable, which would force them to go through buildings and into streets that the KPSA wanted them to go to.

The man atop the tank crossed his arms and laughed. He had no weapon on him, visibly that is. However the tank he was standing on was about the size of a small yacht, making it a very intimidating site. The Type 210 was about thirty years old nowadays but that didn't mean it wasn't powerful. It would take a short-range heavy missile or a couple of heavy tanks to even attempt to get a hole in the armor. Bullets literally bounced off as if they were throwing bouncy balls at it. For defense in close-range, it had about six antipersonel miniguns positioned in rotating slots. It also had an integrated anti-missile system. If that failed, there were interceptor missiles set up in buildings around the city.

The man atop the tank, well his name is Iblis Rakim Al-Kshatriya, smiled wider. He snapped his fingers and a KPSA soldier, about age sixteen, ran to a large building behind the tank. A large mobile missile carrier with a missile on its back rolled out the building, breaking down some walls. The missile had, written in Arabic, "الموت للالظالمين" which meant "Death to the Oppressors." This was a new Azadistani missile. It was stolen about three months prior to this assault, and it was about to be tested. The missile carrier raised the missile into a vertical position. "This is it...SEND THEM TO THE AFTERLIFE! MAY THEIR SOULS BE SAVED BY GOD!"

The missile's thrusters ignited and it slowly shot into the air. At about three miles above Krugis, the panels on the side blew off. Ten smaller missiles extended from the interior. They launched and the main body exploded. The ten missiles then split themselves. They were cluster missiles. Each missile had about 100 shots in them. The missiles then fired the shots onto the city. Each "shot" was about the size of a .45 bullet. However, they had incinderary capabilities. As a shot hit a soldier, they were set on fire immediately. Within ten seconds, there was a blaze in every part of the occupied area. Iblis stood there, watching as the fire burned the oppressors to the ground...

Tue Dec 28, 2010 10:03 pm

"Important" posting music:

No one is our friend now. No one but the Earth.

But even she has grown weary of our presence, as human kind has forsaken her.

We are to fend for ourselves now. No one can save us.

Not God.

Not anyone.

Those "people". They are not your friends.

They may look like you, but they are anything but open.

They have shut their doors to the passion of the Earth eons ago.

They surrendured, and now have grown into these atrocities.

They are no different from the unseen beasts that devour our brethren day in and day out.

Trust not in the fastidious savages known as "people"

Their fulsomeness shall eradicate you, as if you were but a mere lamb.

A Country Ablaze [Past RP] Cooltext492045066

A Country Ablaze [Past RP] Cooltext492045066

Enter the philistine stray fool.

All was null and void, with every possible angle utterly featureless and dark. Nothing could be heard, nor felt nor seen. It was a dead moment in what seemed to be an empty vacuum.Nothing was visible, up close, or from afar. All was a monolithic tone of rayless black. What was this place? It feels so foreign. Was it that? The Bête noire of every scrawny little participant in the great, fear-driven hive known of society? Was it…

Death?

Before the answer could be contrived, the void underwent a slow and painful transition back into another place. At first, this place was indeterminable, in lieu of the high opacity of vision, as well as the luminous waves of varying tones of orange and yellow. A queasy sensation began to emerge from deep within. It was such an irksome feeling that was imperceptible. It was like nothing ever experienced before.

The blank air from the former void would immediately be replaced by a fetid odor of what was most certainly smoke. The raucous stench was enough to singe the puny nostrils that made the horrid decision of breathing in the death-tainted atmosphere. The putridness of the smell must only mean that a covert fate has befouled the vicinity. The beholder of the stench could only imagine what his other senses were to perceive whence induced.

Just as the calmative chorus of crackles and explosions began to become audible, the once bamboozling sight finally cleared into perspective. The blunt destruction and grandiose jig of towering embers was so nightmarishly lucid, it couldn’t be apocryphal, yet the gawker of the scene was still cocksure that it just had to be. Such discord had to be quasi in occurrence. Though it was not, the dubious fool simply refused to speculate the harsh reality of his gruesome situation. It was far from a falsity. Nevertheless, he continued to stare at the hellish scenery long after the initial punctilio of his awakening. How coincidental that it was nearing dead moon to the gate of death, in regards to the nomadic interpretation of time. (That means a day before the Autumnal Equinox.)

The stray nomad had just broke out of his deep state of unconsciousness, slowly propping his left arm against the stained, grimy soil in an attempt to uplift himself from the parched earth. The very instant he exerted some force through his bicep; he would be immediately undertaken by an excruciating amount of searing pain. Quickly retracting his arm back from the intense stinging, he grit his teeth in an attempt to drench the pain away from his limb. After a moment’s worth of receding into the fetal position, he would grip the wrist of his left hand, raising it up as delicately and patiently as possible to be able to inspect it. Upon raising his hand up to the glowing, scarlet sky, he would squint his bloodshot eyes to observe every bit of his arm to observe the depressing news.

His arm was no longer smooth and unscathed in appearance. It had been subject to severe burns from the top of the elbow, to the bottom of the forearm, thanks to being scorched by an explosion that emerged from an artillery round hitting the building next to him. Odds were this, along with the debris that spurt out from multiple directions, contributed to the severe injuries he had.

Propping the opposite hand on the ground, he would push himself up until his torso was at a near straight angle. He could feel even more pain course through his body from his right leg and right ribs. It sundered through his regret that he ever made the choice to satiate his expedience by catching up to the rest of the tribe by going through the city of Krugis. Rather than take the longer, yet safe route around the city, he had to choose the precarious path where death was imminent for all who dare flock towards the Arabic city. He had a good prescience from just gawking at the troops that were advancing from all directions towards the city that it was an utmost foolish decision to try and race through the city. It was but a hostile impasse after all… But he did not want to leave his tribe. He did not want to be left alone, even if he had abundant knowledge on how to be self-responsible. He felt like a sheep separated from the rest of the herd. But now, now he was to face the burden of his ignorant decision.

The nomad’s white turban has been turned into a mix of ashen gray and deep rouge from the open wounds created by the scattered debris. His turban was no longer present on his head, exposing his set of curly, jet black hair to the heated air, its sheen expired thanks to the scorching heat. Looking down at the more tattered portion of his robe, he could see a nasty gash formed on the left side of his calf, pieces of blood glazed stone still lodged into the charred flesh, keeping the wound open. The mere sight of it was grotesque enough to induce vomiting. He knew that it was best that he removed the obtrusive objects in his flesh, or else more damage would be caused thanks to the consistent pumping of blood down his leg. Yet, he dares not further his experience of gut wrenching pain. What a quagmire he has brought himself to.
Slowly bringing his eyes to a close, he breathed gently, in fear that a deep breath would evoke a nasty reaction from the burns on his ribs. Raising his right hand up, he kept it idle in that position for another instant, before swiftly lodging his hand into the wound. In a punctilio, the pain would shoot back up to unbearably high levels, proportionately bringing the nomad to an unrestrained bellow.

“BLLLAAAAAAAAAAAAANGH!!!”

The cry of despair was loud enough echo through the crackling flames and constant fire. Since he was but two city blocks away from Iblis’ current location, the odds of the psychotic barbarian hearing the remnants of his squeal was highly likely. His breathing became more volatile as he dug his fingers deeper into his flesh, the pressure ushering blood to seep out of the dark wound, slowly and steadily drizzling dark grey skin around his wound in straight lines of tainted crimson. Tears escaped the bottom lids of his as they slowly trickled down his ash smothered face, turning the pristine droplets an opaque black. His fingers enveloped the stubborn stones within his wound as he began to pull on them, causing their abrasive texture to grind against the extremely sensitive flesh, causing the pain to rise even further. It was so pitiful to be this debilitated. How easy a missile can reduce a man to a feigned cadaver.
Persevering through the pain, he would finally pull the rocks out of his wound, causing the formerly gaping hole to constrict into a thin line. The task was complete, and the intense pain has passed its heyday. Now was the time to get on his feet. Just as he prepared to regain his composure, the nomad remembered an important article he was carrying with him.

His son.

He was nowhere to be seen in the nearby area. Where could the little one be? He was but 4 cycles (2 years) old. Surly now he couldn’t have continued on his own after the debilitating blast. He must be around here, somewhere. The nomad would peer around his surroundings, until he set his eyes upon a blackened bundle of cotton that sat neatly on a pile of monotone debris. The baby blended almost perfectly with the wreckage of what was once a residency building. The nomad’s firey pupils dilated as he stared in awe. Leaning his torso forward, he would crawl as hard as his body could tolerate, pushing through the relentless pain as he got closer and closer to the baby. The pain felt more numb as he focused more and more on whether or not the child was alive.

Once the distance between the two were closed, the nomad wrapped his right arm around the inky, bundled up baby, pulling his chest close to the nomad’s ear. Surprisingly, he still had a pulse, albeit a weak one. How uncommon it was for a child to survive an indirect missile assault. Still, he had to be brought to safety, lest the little one were to have his lifeline sundered very early. Time was of the essence, and the sine qua non for escape was undivided determination to escaping this fiery landscape.

Bringing himself to a stand, the wounded specter of the nomad began to limp towards the only visible exit to this area, which was, coincidentally, towards Iblis and his gargantuan tank. Literally dragging his right leg, the man leant his torso forward as he panted between each and every jolt of energy used to push his half dead body forward. His eyes were affixed on the exit, and his mined affixed on getting his child out of this place. He knew the manifold odds were against him, but even at his darkest hour, he dare not loose what was left of his composure. He dare not truckle before death right now.

Little did he know, he was to cross paths with a harbinger of death in a short while, if he is to continue his trek.

Mon Jun 27, 2011 8:46 am

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A Country Ablaze [Past RP]

A Country Ablaze [Past RP]

Ræn's attempt at prolix posting.

Re: A Country Ablaze [Past RP]

Re: A Country Ablaze [Past RP]