Most Dangerous Game: Content

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Bone2pick
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Re: Most Dangerous Game: Content

Post by Bone2pick » Tue Jul 09, 2013 7:44 pm

“I knew you’d get me killed one day. I guess I was hoping it wouldn’t come this soon.”

Zaknyrr looked up from the controls of his Venom and fixed a patronizing glare at Vekin. The Dracon had always brought along two of his longest serving warriors on previous hunts, and this time was no exception. Today he would be joined by Vekin and O’hax, the pair currently making expeditious work of strapping down their Splinter Rifles to the anti-grav craft’s wings. O’hax had undoubtedly heard the remarks of his nearby partner, but he continued with his duties without pause. Zaknyrr determined a response was in order.

“You suspect my life will be threatened?”

Vekin formed a tired smile at the question. His long black braided locks of hair fanned away from his head like a vulture’s nest, and a thin mustache of the same color rested on top his upper lip. He shook his head and then continued with his Dracon.

“I suspect our lives will most definitely be threatened. And honestly, I can't say that our arrival here has been completely unforseen.”

Zaknyrr snorted in disapproval at his warrior’s blunt statement. Vekin, like so many times in their shared past, was once again proving to be tasteless at the worst possible moment. The Dracon constricted his neck in agitation, displaying the ornate spider web tattoo that wrapped around it. After a moment of dead air passed between them he finally locked eyes with his warrior and spoke.

“Even if your presumption proves true, it will be my neck in the noose and not yours.”

Vekin dropped eye contact from his superior and spit into his right palm. He rolled the saliva over his fingers and then used the fluid to straighten his mustache. Apparently he decided to not leave it at that.

“Pardon my correction sire, but you and I both know that’s not how it works. They wouldn’t dream of leaving witnesses to a Kabal purge.”

O’hax had stopped tinkering with his weaponry after those ominous words. Zaknyrr felt the weight of his warrior’s scrutinizing eyes. Both underlings were sharing the same feeling of dread simultaneously. It was as uncomfortable and as unfamiliar to the Dracon as prison shackles. Zaknyrr let slip a feint hiss with his next exhale and then steadied his hands against the grips of his weapons. The next question, of course, came from Vekin.

“Could you at least tell us if you have a plan for any of this?”

A glint of spirit sparked near the corners of the Dracon’s almond eyes as he mulled over his warrior’s question. Then came a toothy smile followed by a sharp reply.

“And spoil a perfectly good surprise?”
Space Marines excel at warfare because they were designed to excel at everything.

-Primarch Roboute Guilliman

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Re: Most Dangerous Game: Content

Post by Carnifex160 » Tue Jul 09, 2013 8:55 pm

Do you notice it, Ultramarine?

Be gone.

Your control over me slips further away from you; I am more and more a part of you by the minute. But do you feel its presence?

I feel nothing’s presence save the power of the almighty Emperor watching over me.

Do you now? You do not feel the eyes of fate gazing over this world? Do you not recognize destiny for what it is?

There is no fate for me other than eternal servitude in the name of the Emperor.

Servitude? Or is it slavery?

I serve Him by choice, purging this galaxy from the alien, mutant, and heretic.

Truly, you are foolish to believe that…

What is your point, you foul thing…

There is another on this planet, Ultramarine. You feel it, you cannot deny. You feel the roiling
schemes of fate deciding over another of your kin.


Another Space Marine is upon this planet?

I know not, Ultramarine, fate is a fickle thing… but, what is the saying you use… ah, ‘As the Emperor wills it…’


Severus could feel himself slowly returning to the material world. His eyes slid open wearily and all the fatigue of the previous few hours slowly returned. His rest in the tree had been uncomfortable and short-lived, but it would have to do for now. It wouldn’t be safe to rest much longer. He could already hear the sounds of anti-grav vehicles making their way through the jungle. It wouldn’t be long until the xenos-scum would find him.

As he gazed out into the canopy, he couldn’t help but feel there was a darker motive following its own agenda on this death world, but couldn’t tell what it was.

Was it fate, like the voice had said? No, the Emperor had power over everyone’s destiny. But was their truly another Astartes in this jungle? No, there couldn’t be. Whatever it was in his head preached him blasphemous things and anything that spoke such profanities was not worth listening to.

Seeing that the Slaughter Swines had gone, Severus began his descent down the tree. Reaching the base, he drew his combat blade. Whatever darkness that resided on this planet, Severus vowed would be uncovered and eradicated in the name of the Emperor.

There is nothing to fear in the dark but yourself, Space Marine...

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Re: Most Dangerous Game: Content

Post by easycompany » Wed Jul 10, 2013 11:46 am

When the chime sounded, Allan ran towards the jungle with the others. Due to the amount of prisoners, it was nearly impossible to be on your own. He started with a group of at least 50 people. Slowly they were picked off or changed direction and after a few hours, he found himself alone. He continued to walk thinking the further away from the landing zone he could get, the better.

Ahead of him, he saw two guardsmen and what Allan thought must have been a Space Marine due to the size of him. Even in all of his travels, Karlsson had never seen an angel of death. Unsure whether he could trust them or not he decided he would try and follow them until he made up his mind...
Curahee!

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Re: Most Dangerous Game: Content

Post by jackmrnorris94 » Fri Jul 12, 2013 2:25 am

Race: Human
Actual Name: Kenneth Patel
Nickname: Ken
Class: Amateur Merchant Marine
Faction: Imperial, member of the cargo vessel STAR QUEEN
Age: 26
Goal:Make it back to his home planet of Alacrita and have a swim in the lake near his childhood home
Religious Views: Imperial Creed
Political views: Constitutional Monarchist
Default attitude: Easy going, reasonable yet prideful, strong constitution.
Likes: Being able to take time out of his day to relax, being outdoors, to draw.
Dislikes: Confining spaces, awkwardness in others, feeling as if he is being disrespected by his perceived social equals.
Quirks: Carries a broken watch in his pocket for no reason other then it makes him feel comfortable.
Intelligence: Rational thinker, basically trained in CQC, tends to over think minor things.
Fears: Death, to the point where he'll do most anything in his power to avoid it.
Strengths: A good marksman, outdoors man and craftsman having been raised on a farm. Very charismatic and able to get along with most anyone he chooses.
Weaknesses: Has displayed himself headstrong in combat situations both simulated and real. Places a lot of trust in those who he deems fit. Can be indecisive.
Armour: Dark gray battle uniform, service cap, and a badge of the Alacrita merchant marine.
Weapons: Combat knife
Possessions on Person: Broken watch, picture of his girl back home.
Hair: Was shaved but now a short dirty blonde
Eyes: Green
Distinguishing Features: Some missing teeth on his right side, crooked nose and smile.
Racial Features: Human

Biography: As a young boy, Ken worked on the farm of his family along with his two brothers and father. But as Ken aged he felt that there must be more to the world then just this simple life. He decided that he'd follow in his father's footsteps and join the Merchant Marine of Alacrita, hoping to see more of the world. Leaving when he was twenty one for basic training and then eventually a six Terran year tour, seeing the world was exactly what he did. He crossed paths with xenos, visited beautiful hive worlds and some of the most remote death worlds, formed a strong bond with his comrades, and enjoyed a generally peaceful and bloodless service.

That was until they were boarded by Dark Eldar. Kenneth's commander quickly organized a defense, but as they met the boarding party, it was a continues and hasty fighting retreat back towards the bridge. Quickly more and more of his unit fell victim to the lighting quick sacking of the ship. Eventually being separated from his comrades, Ken decided that he'd stand his ground in a doorway, seeing no other way out.

Balancing his aim down the hall he waited for the invaders, until in the blink of an eye one had appeared down range, and before Ken was able to fire, only arm's length away. Desperate to best his foe, Ken charged head first into his enemy, but was only cast aside by a strong left hook, forcing him against the bulkhead, and to lose a few of his teeth. Still conscious, Kenneth drew his side arm and emptied it point black into the Xeno's chest, and to his dismay, saw it had only scratched it's armor. The Eldar let out a dull laugh and then delivered a knock out blow.

The next thing Kenneth knew he was on the Xeno ship in chains, and only through his will was he able to maintain his sanity and focus. Before long he found himself being sent down to a world called Shauth, and what awaits him there is uncertain.

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Re: Most Dangerous Game: Content

Post by Bone2pick » Mon Jul 15, 2013 9:57 pm

He traced the footprint with his armored finger. The action created a soothing trance that allowed Zaknyrr’s distracted mind to finally find its focus. They had stopped inside a wide game trail to investigate the clues left by, what the Dracon had estimated, as being half a dozen former slaves on the move. He was off of his Venom and crouched in a deep squat in order to better assess the situation. The impressions of the feet across the mud and wet grass confessed a story. It told the tale of desperate creatures stopping, gathering round, and then leaving a serviceable path in order to trek into the dire and defiant brush. Why the party decided on this course of action couldn’t be known in certainty, but Zaknyrr guessed that the vermin feared their continued route along an obvious pathway would be too easy a trail to follow; a reasonable precaution, but ultimately futile.

O’hax was now a few meters off their path and was running an analysis on a sample of unidentified blood remaining on a dwarf cactus. Zaknyrr’s other warrior, Verik, had moved into the Venom’s cockpit and was fluttering one of his hands over its controls. The veteran was smartly marking this waypoint in case its exact location would be needed in the future. Zaknyrr took a moment to peer down the direction they had just come from. Nothing but trail and green bush stretched out behind them, but the Dracon wasn’t convinced. His instincts hinted that ghosts were coming for him, that they loomed just out of his sight. And just who would these ghosts be, what face would they wear as they clawed at his jugular? His imagination fused with paranoia as it shuffled an assortment of fatal conclusions he might possibly suffer. Thankfully relief soon came in the form of an interruption.

An advisory rune winked into the view of his helm’s display. Zaknyrr swiftly forwarded the message to his warriors who in turn halted their business to scans its information. Vekin spoke first into their group link.

“Unidentified explosion reported, possibly mechanical in nature. The given coordinates of its estimated point of origin put it seventeen klicks away from us.”

O’hax had moved deeper into the jungle as he pursued a trail of spilled blood. The warrior closed out of the rune’s message and scanned his data lens over a suspicious fluid stain that was smeared across the trunk of a hulking tree. The culprit was quickly confirmed as what he had expected, the urine from one of a lesser race. He followed up Vekin’s intel with the only logical next question.

“Sire, are we to keep to the hunt or spy on whatever made such a vulgar commotion?”

Zaknyrr balled an armored gauntlet into an uneasy fist. He knew the ghosts were still there, just beyond his reach. He could feel their hungry breath against the back of his neck. They were waiting for a decision. He sunk his teeth into his black lip once more, and as usual it bled in protest. If only he knew what door the devil was behind. If only he could afford to lose just once. Zaknyrr knew his fear had festered its way into his mind like a cancer, and it was at that moment he smiled to himself. He had always felt the most alive whenever his life balanced along the blade of a knife. How glorious was fear, a drug like no other.

“Vekin, open a script message to our Archon.”

The warrior was a bit taken aback by his Dracon’s command. Vekin had expected an answer to O’hax’s question or at the very least an open debate on what should be the group’s best course of immediate action. Instead Zaknyrr wanted, for unexplained reasons, a written message delivered to the leader of the Kabal. The warrior finally cocked his head in puzzlement and then turned back to the Venom’s control panel. With a flick of Vekin’s wrist he brought up the vehicle’s script screen.

“As you wish sire, what would you have it say?”

Zaknyrr’s reply practically came from over the warrior’s shoulder.

“Nothing, it’s a trap.”

Vekin’s inscription hand held perfectly still while suspended in air as he tried to understand his Dracon’s meaning. What exactly was a trap? The answer came in the form of a poisoned coated sword that slipped expertly through the cracks of Vekin’s segmented armor. The warrior strained to free himself from the murderous weapon but was quickly defeated as he was pressed into the cockpit of the Venom. His arms flailed over the forward shield of the anti-grav craft on impact, his body now pinned between his killer and the vehicle’s armor. Vekin resisted even as the poison defiled his anatomy with insidious speed. He mustered the strength for one final act, and ripped his protective helmet clear of his head. Zaknyrr in turn brought his helm closer to his dying warriors face while he twisted his sword viciously inside his foe for thoroughness. The Dracon purred his final words to his most senior soldier.

“It was always a trap.”
Space Marines excel at warfare because they were designed to excel at everything.

-Primarch Roboute Guilliman

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Re: Most Dangerous Game: Content

Post by Chaos Farseer » Tue Jul 16, 2013 12:54 am

Gelyn squinted into the harsh sunlight as he was literally flung into the crowd of shuddering, directionless prisoners. He stumbled back onto his feet for the first time in cycles. Pressing back into the herd, he took a moment to look around with his own eyes. Behind the jagged black spacecraft and the haze left behind by a Webway portal was a large body of stagnant green liquid. Past that stood a larger mass of green tangled jungle. As he turned towards the direction of the crowd, the jungle began to tower over the crowd. The tall shadows did little to comfort Gelyn, not with the wild screeches of unknown animals nor the stench of rotten flesh he was unfortunately familiar with.

Then a man died. The crowd did little to recognize his death, but Gelyn felt the cold barbed blades stab through his lungs and burst out through his rib cage. It lasted just long enough for him to keel over and gasp for breath. He felt several dark eyes turn towards him, and he tried to stand tall again. Gelyn was still breathing heavily though, and he still was when the death mewls marked the beginning of the game.

The mob surged forward in an instant, leaving behind the few stragglers who were weak or trampled, Gelyn unfortunately among them. He hadn't realized how hungry and weak he was, how he could only stumble forward in the tall weeds when he could once sprint under crystalline trees. He barely made it into the first spiked bushes of the jungle before the dark cousins succumbed to a hunger of their own, unfurling Aether Sails or overcharging twin engines or decapitating the remainders on foot. Gelyn half-tripped, half-dived into a thick bustle of orange pitcher-shaped leaves, throwing up a cloud of buzzing insects which were then scattered by the rush of twisted Eldar pleasure crafts, followed by the plated steps of cackling barely-restrained warriors and the groans of those who had already fallen. Gelyn didn't move a muscle – in fact, he felt no strength to. He didn't move after the dark kin had left, and he didn't shake off the crowding insects or the barbed ten-legged thing which crawled over his back. He sank into the underbrush while he sank into memories of home.

The two of them walked down one of the Craftworld's apex walkways and glanced at the stars. He stood still and followed his master's gaze through faint transparent domes, unwilling to speak. Neither said anything for long beats. Gelyn finally opened his mouth -
“Focus.”
The Dream-Teacher's eyes were closed, his mind already slipping into one of his many faraway memories. Gelyancen let his breath escape between his lips and shared the dream.
“I know what you seek to achieve, young one. I can say little in favor

The two of them pressed up against a meter-thick pane of smooth glass, watching a blue world spin beneath them.
“Isn't it amazing?” she whispered, her breath fogging onto transparent Wraithbone. “Imagine what life must be down there.” Aleanith darted away and jumped back to the controls. The entire vessel spun and dived downwards, through the blue clouds mixed with soft giggles. He watched the speckled fauna race past them as she called out. “Where should we

The two of them rested under a tall tree, its branches fractaling out above them. The large, fluffed ram gave him a gentle nudge, and he rubbed his hand through its tubed fur. He joined in its contentness and lay back against the Wraithbone tree, letting spirit-borne wind breeze by as he settled for a slumber under the soft glow of the crystal dome.
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Re: Most Dangerous Game: Content

Post by Cthulu Mechanicus » Tue Jul 16, 2013 8:44 am

Race: Kroot
Actual Name: Vral Whitehide
Nickname: Vral the Relentless
Class: Kroot Bounty Hunter
Faction: Mercenary
Age: 25
Goal: Survive, accrue glory.
Religious Views: None.
Political views: None.
Default attitude: Cool, calm, methodical. Takes things one step at a time, working towards a greater goal.
Likes/Dislikes: Enjoys combat, a good plan or scheme, and fine food. Dislikes recklessness, stupidity, zealots, and hypocrites.
Quirks: Tendency to rub hands together, unaccustomed to hot climates.
Intelligence: Firm grasp on military strategy, survival techniques, Kroot lore, trap building, and combat.
Fears: Failure, fire.
Strengths: Stealth, melee combat, Traps, guerilla warfare.
Weaknesses: Uncharismatic, tendency to think of other races as inferior until proven otherwise, several old war wounds with a tendency to act up.
Armour: Thick fur and hide armour, several pieces discarded due to the heat.
Weapons: Makeshift knife made of scrap metal.
Possessions on Person: Sliver of metal from Grandfather's arm.
Hair: None, quills are black.
Eyes: Red, a rarity for his lineage.
Distinguishing Features: Pale white skin, multitude of scars.
Racial Features: Kroot are wingless avians with the ability to adapt themselves to almost any situation, by absorbing the genetic material of their prey and passing positive traits on to future generations. Vral's bloodline has adapted themselves for winter combat, with small amounts of antifreeze in their blood, a colour scheme to keep themselves hidden, and an efficient metabolism.

Biography: Vral's oddities set him apart from his peers, as did his cunning intellect. After coming of age, he set off on his own, offering himself as a mercenary for hire, as is his people's tradition. He discovered his aptitude for tracking, and made a name for himself as a bounty hunter. After accepting a contract to track down a smuggler/thief who had stolen a rogue trader's cargo ship, he was captured by the Kabal on a raid, and entered into the hunt.
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Re: Most Dangerous Game: Content

Post by Jason » Tue Jul 16, 2013 12:29 pm

Bruno had not really thought about what was happening, in fact, he was eager to leave the ship. The crowd began to surge, and he watched them all begin to trundle forward with a scared yet eager pace. He walked slowly behind the group, coming to very end of crowd. He watched as some of the stragglers were killed uncaring as he stared back at the corrupted Eldar. The fetid smell of vegetation and moisture filled the void of the ship as the masses of beings had scattered into the dense dew heavy undergrowth, filling his nose as his gas mask was not attached to any respirator. He saw few of the stragglers make it out of the ships holding bay, and he spotted one of their kin, albeit not as all as craven as they tumble out into the orange undergrowth. Bruno had finally gotten to the end of the ships loading ramp at the heckling and cackling of his would be hunters.

"Dead Eyes!" He heard called out behind him as his boots tested the mushy ground beneath him.

His former tormentor and master called after him, laughing maniacally.

"It will be a pleasure to hunt you Dead Eyes, for all the disappointment who have brought me! Though... I wonder... How do you kill a dead man? Hehehehehehehehe" his tormentor pondered aloud.

Bruno stared back at his master, lifting his gas mask from his face staring back at him intensely and replied as the ship began to depart:

"Dead men cannot die until the Emperor says so."

With that, his cackling tormentor adopted an uneasy face as the ship raised itself, send all kinds of organic matter swirling about the landing zone.

Bruno turned to see most of the group had already scattered off into the brush. He passed the orange growth where the Eldar kin had fallen, pausing momentarily before continuing on his path. He could feel the eyes of other bewildered prey following him, and he could hear some of them slowly following him.

He hoped they wouldn't, they wouldn't like where he was going.
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Re: Most Dangerous Game: Content

Post by Bjorn » Tue Jul 16, 2013 5:14 pm

Race: [Imperial guard.]
Actual Name: [Samuel Vimes]
*Nickname: [Stoneface]
Class: [Veteran]
Faction: [Valhallan]
*Age: [33]
*Goal: [Return to Valhalla]
*Religious Views: [The emperor protects.]
*Political views: [The emperor wills it]
Default attitude: [Quiet and aware, but extremely selfish.]
*Likes/Dislikes: [Likes: His home planet, hates space travel and heat.]
*Quirks: [Compulsively checks equipment]
*Intelligence: [Knows a lot about fighting in enclosed spaces, and fighting short range.]
Fears: [Attrition warfare, and being sieged by the enemy although he would never admit to it. Failing the emperor. ]
Strengths: [Short to mid-range combat, ambushing and quick attacks.]
Weaknesses: [Doesn't deal well working alone, doesn't use his initiative much. A better follower than a leader.]
Armour: [Flak armor, his helmet, and his trench coat.]
Weapons:[A knife.]
*Possessions on Person: [ small Ork tooth threaded with string.]
*Hair: [Cut short.]
*Eyes:[Blue]
*Distinguishing Features: [Large scar across his back.]
*Racial Features: [I'm a human.]

Biography: Born on the Ice planet of Valhalla, Vimes grew up witnessing and partaking in the fights between Orks and the population. When the Orks attacked Valhalla, the entire population was forced even deeper underground, refusing to give anymore ground to the Greenskin invaders. Taking up flamers and lasgun, the Valhallans began to reclaim their underground network, forcing the Orks into the frozen wastes above. After being conscripted, Vimes was forced across various worlds where he fought for the Emperor to his fullest. Captured by the Dark Eldar only three weeks ago, he suffered only light torture at their hands, before being taken to the "games".

Samuel was forced from the craft by the crowd, each person being swept forward onto the solid ground like a human wave. The feeling was not unknown to Vimes, as he had fought for the Imperial guard for almost twelve years now. The desire to free himself, and the claustrophobic feeling the crowd created left most people unnerved. However, after almost three weeks at the hands of the Dark Eldar, there was little feeling at all, even if it was a distinct relief at seeing the sunlight again and setting foot on solid land again. Vimes sighed and shifted uneasily as the herd spread wider, before eventually being released into the wild.

Another guardsmen, from a regiment Vimes didn't recognized grabbed his arm and whispered to him.

"I know you have a weapon, I see the outline against your pant leg in your boot. You'd best hand it over."

Vimes sighed, but stayed still. Weighing up his options, he crouched slowly and pulled the knife from his boot, before jabbing it quickly but discreetly into the mans crotch. "Sorry my friend, but this knife does not belong to you." Shrugging his arm away from the guardsmen whose eyes were wide in shock, as his hands moved to his crotch to try and stop the blood which was now forming a small dark stain against his dark brown pants. Forcing his way through the crowd, Samuel sprinted into the forest, knocking others from his path as the "herd" was released and the games began.
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Re: Most Dangerous Game: Content

Post by Chaos Farseer » Mon Jul 22, 2013 2:05 am

(Click for sound)

“Nnnh.”

Gelyn awoke to find himself completely sore. Alien chirping and alien insects filled his ears. He opened an eye, finding his face full of moist granular dirt. Something dripped onto his neck and burned. He knocked over a few green stems and planted his hands, then remembered where he was and stopped moving. Gelyn's mind filled with life – the inneumerable plants sprawling in every direction, the massive trees blocking out the sun, the roaming clouds of insect-like creatures, herds of small animals crawling under jungle canopies, a single massive creature hiding in wait two trees to the side, the wisps of life from mangled corpses, and what he was worried about: a void of life around the closed Webway gate. 'They could be anywhere,' Gelyn thought to himself, since anything further than ten meters was a indecipherable haze of omnipresent life to him. 'How many were there? A hundred? Two hundred?' He hadn't thought about that. He didn't even know what a group of them was called. 'A . . . cable? That can't be right. He didn't want to take any chances, so he crawled through the underbrush, doing his best not to disturb the tiny creatures which rested on the plants around him.

After approximately an hour of slow, tedious, paranoid crawling, Gelyn emerged onto a trail of trampled plants. His felt no other non-native life aside from himself, and his hurried looks confirmed it. He crawled out from under a thorny bush and gingerly got up on his feet. He felt stronger after his rest, and calmer after a lack of contact, but certainly didn't come out unmarked. His skin was covered in acid burns and tiny cuts, as well as jagged four-legged miniscule blood-sucking bugs which he tore off with grimaces of pain. He smelled of those orange plants from before, and no doubt he had spent some time sleeping in their digestive juices. 'How long?' he wondered. The unfamiliar yellow sun barely shined through a leafy jungle canopy. His arms dangled at his sides, but at least he felt the energy to pick them up again.

After a few breaths of the oxygen-rich air, Gelyn took a better look at his surroundings. The trail seemed oddly straight and recent, going straight through patches of orange pitcher-plants and bladed grass when there were clearer areas beside them. The trampled plants still shone as green as the standing ones. Also, there were a pair of bodies. Both human, one male, one female. The male was merely sliced twice through the ribs and decapitated, leaking blood through his gaping neck and acting as food for a mob of more blood-sucking arthropods. The female lay with her legs impossibly tangled and arms bent backwards, her head a sickening fluidic blob. She appeared to be hit by a thousand tiny needles, and was for whatever reason ignored by the clawed leeches. Gelyn stepped over both of them, making sure to avoid further puddles of yellow acid.

Hugging one side of the trail was a single life form writhing in pain. It was vaguely turtle-shaped, with a hard segmented brown shell and space for ten legs, although four were missing on its left side. Its legs clawed across the ground like talons, and the creature clicked and limped with every step. Gelyn picked up the plate-sized arthropod with both hands, trying to avoid its flailing legs. A pair of razor-sharp mandibles popped out the front, snapping at his nose. Four tiny orange eyes looked back at him. Gelyn could feel its pain and fear though his fingers; pain from the hazy creature which tore off its legs and fear of the humanoid in front of it. He took in its fears, and gave it serenity. Gelyn shut his eyes and took calm breaths. The spider-turtle slowed down, and then stopped altogether. He rubbed a finger on the underside of its neck and let its tiny frilled head rest between his fingers. Then he ripped its head off.

Gelyn cried out and dropped the limp creature, clenching his neck with both hands. He fell to his knees and breathed heavily. After a few minutes he calmed down and pried the carcass open with a rock, swatted away some insects and ate.
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Re: Most Dangerous Game: Content

Post by Bone2pick » Mon Jul 22, 2013 12:57 pm

He had heard the commotion behind him. It was too muffled and too faint to be sure of what it was, but the hairs standing up on the back of the warrior’s neck prophesied what it meant. O’hax ever so slowly lifted himself from his tracking stance and turned to face the unnerving disturbance. A curtain of foliage blocked his view of the Venom, his allies, and most likely the source of his dread. His hand pulled the splinter rifle off of his shoulder with a mind of its own as he cautiously moved closer towards the trail. Each step fell silent against the wet grass, and each stride compiled his trepidation. O’hax eventually remembered his combat procedure and attempted communication.

“Dracon Zaknyrr, Vekin, what’s the nature of the trouble?”

The group link remained eerily quiet. O’hax tightened his grip on his rifle as he ducked below an obstructing branch. The final tier of the veiling vegetation was little more than an arm’s length away. Beyond those leaves and vines was the answer to this dark mystery. His instincts buzzed with alarm, but the compulsion to view his now silent allies was even more overwhelming. O’hax was a merciless soldier in the service of a wicked Kabal, and yet in this moment of turmoil he felt more like a child afraid of the dark. Relief may come from retreat, but that was not his design; that was not his destiny. His fate was forward.

Down came the curtain and all was revealed. A body lay spilled across the trail, blood now pooling into nearby footprints. O’hax needed only a fraction of second to recognize the corpse of his former partner Vekin. The two had served together in the same unit for over seventy years. Memories would need to come later as the warrior forced his gaze to search for the victim’s killer. The search was over in the span of a blink, but somehow time managed to grind against the moment as it transformed seconds into minutes. First his eyes locked on the Venom, its position along the trail remained unchanged but its direction was off. Instead of facing deeper down the pathway it was now pointed perfectly in the warrior’s direction. Next his commander came into view. Zaknyrr, officer of the Kabal of the Cutting Web, Dracon of both Vekin and O’hax, was looming inside the Venom’s cockpit. The Dracon’s helm was expressionless as it fixated on the freshly exposed warrior. This was the only possible killer of Vekin, of that O’hax was certain. And finally, if any doubt needed to be erased, O’hax spied Zankyrr’s hands attached to the controls of the Venom’s Splinter Cannon. The weapon’s yawning barrel seemed to swell under the gaze of the forsaken warrior. There was an obligatory split second poured for both soldiers to drink; just enough time for each Eldarith to mentally curse one another. Inevitably the reunion ended in bloodshed.

Adrenalin bolstered his movement and carried O’hax away from the cannon’s lethal spray. The explosive dart to his left side sent him sprawling across the wet jungle floor. His hands scrambled to keep him upright as the shrill sound of vegetation dying cried out behind him. He was deadly quick, moving at a blurring pace compared to the clunky reactions of the lesser races he so often punished. But this was a race he wouldn’t win. It was his hamstring that was the first to suffer an auto-burst of supersonic crystal shards. The wicked ammunition drilled through his kaballite armor as if it were mere wax paper and mangled the flesh and bone hidden underneath. O’hax toppled off balance from the impact but somehow managed to stay on his feet. It was the second burst that ended all of the warrior’s efforts. Again the cannon’s shards found their mark, this time it was along the back and spine of its target. The warrior was tossed into a violent spin, his body twirled disjointedly before it fell to the ground like a discarded child’s doll. On his back, unable to move, he struggled to hold onto his life.

His Dracon approached. The cold eyes of his helmet bored into the helpless figure at his feet. O’hax collected the pooling fluid inside his mouth and sprayed it free in order to speak.

“You fool...Zaknyrr you fool.”

The warrior was forced to stop and grimace from his surging agony. Eventually he recovered enough to continue.

“You betray your last allies, your only hope at surviving your enemies. Are you too mad to see that?”

Zaknyrr nodded his helm and replied back through their group link.

“Maybe you’re right, but I can’t afford to be sane.”
Space Marines excel at warfare because they were designed to excel at everything.

-Primarch Roboute Guilliman

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Tuomir
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Re: Most Dangerous Game: Content

Post by Tuomir » Wed Jul 24, 2013 3:27 pm

"Daddy! Daddy, you're home!"

Petkor smiled as his son rushed towards him. He knelt down to hug the child. A woman appeared from to a doorway, her stomach showing she was late into pregnancy. Petkor got up and hugged her too, but this time tightly and smelled her brown hair.

"How long will you be staying this time? I understand that what you do is to protect us all, but I need you here too... it's difficult enough to rise a child on my own, not to mention two..."

Petkor, still hugging her, sighed.

"A week at most, I'm afraid. A new campaign is starting, and I've been assigned to it. I'm lucky I got a week to spend with my family"

"Welcome home, dear"

"Thanks"

Something was wrong. Petkor shivered. He let go of her wife, and saw her crumble to ashes. He turned around to see his son, but instead saw his apartment ripped open and in ruins, revealing a sky filled with smoke. He screamed and fell to his knees.

Petkor was covered in sweat. He felt something hot against his back. He opened his eyes, and found himself back atop the crashed cargo ship, the metal hull heated by the merciless sun above him and the still lingering fires inside the ship. He sat up, and lighted a lho stick. As he inhaled the smoke, he calmed down. It had been years since he had seen that nightmare.

Home? Stranded on a death world or no, he could never return home.
Rank & Fail

"Tuomir, you're made of win" -ranger
"Tumor is just plain retarted. Tuomir is cooler than that" -jackmrnorris94
"Tuomir has proven his brilliance in this scenario" -The Airman

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Re: Most Dangerous Game: Content

Post by Crusherfex » Fri Aug 09, 2013 9:49 pm

Trooper Michel Sola tripped on a vine, causing both grenades to roll into the foliage next to him. He quickly got on his knees and shoved his hands foolishly into the herbs, searching for the grenades. His worn gloves ripped several times, and his thumb began to bleed. He looked up and called for Sergeant Fillmore to wait. The Guardsmen alerted Rodomus, who immediately stopped but didn't care to look back.

Sola cleaned his thumb and dived back in, quickly finding the first grenade. He carefully fits the grenade in between his belt and his thigh and reached back for the second one.

A snake-like insect shot up Sola's arm, a shrill cry emitting from it's gapping maw. Sola cried out and waved his arm frantically, causing the insect to lose balance. The creature dug its mandibles into Sola's arm, and blood began to roll down his elbow. Fillmore grabbed a nearby twig and began to mercilessly whack at the bug. It eventually unhinged and fell off Sola, it's new target Fillmore. But before it could move, a giant foot crushed it, purple blood splattering everywhere. Rodomus stared down at the two Guardsmen, ever silent.

"Let's move," he said, and turned forward. Rodomus tripped slightly, the grenade flying out from under him. Sola crawled over, clutching his arm, toward the grenade. As he picked it up he noticed a shadow in the distance.

"My Lord!" he shouted. Rodomus turned slowly and boldly took a step forward. Eyes squinting, chainsword grasped, he outstretched his other arm to Sola. Sola gladly tookthe outstretched arm and quickly bounced behind the superhuman.

After a moment, Rodomus loosened his grip on the chainsword. "Come here, Guardsman," he said, looking dead ahead.

A tired, dirty human staggered toward Rodomus and his two followers. He looked up at the Marine nervously before flopping down onto his knee.

"Guardsmen Karlsson at your service, my lord."

"What weapons do you carry?"

"Several explosives and a combat knife, Lord."

Rodomus nodded and turned back forward and began marching forward.

"Sergeant, take rear. Guardsmen, stay behind me."

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