A Soldier's Tale Part 3: The Red Cape

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A Soldier's Tale Part 3: The Red Cape

Post by Phatty » Tue Aug 09, 2011 2:55 pm

part 1: http://www.miniwargaming.com/forum/view ... 19&t=64112

part 2: http://www.miniwargaming.com/forum/view ... 19&t=64460



Brent awoke after feeling a large thud to his head. His eyes squinted as the sun shone directly on his face. It seemed as if his entire body was sore as he vainly tired to move. Both his arms and legs were bound together with twine. Not that it mattered seeing as how a group of 20 or so armed men were walking in step with the wagon he was curled up in. The bump must have been from a hole in the dirt path they were on.

Turning his head and looking through the cage he was in, Brent saw a man in a heavy brown coat at the reins of the low riding wooden wagon he was in. The wagon itself was being pulled by a blade back. It was a grey 3 meter long, 1 meter tall, six legged beast that kind of looked like a large aligator of some kind. It had two long red strips on near the front of that it used for sight. On the tip of its “nose” was an elephant-like trunk that had several sharp claws that it used to grab and tear off vegetation. The blade back got its name from the dozen or so brown razor sharp ridges on its back. Brent recalled from when he was younger how another kid almost died after he tried to sit on one. This particular blade back had several cuts on its meaty legs.

“I was wondering when you would wake up,” Brent was startled by the words of a man who he now just noticed. Corporal Walters was sitting up with his back against the side of the cage. Walters lifted up his arms also bound with twine somewhat he darkly commented, “Could be worse.”

“What happened?” Brent asked as he pushed himself up into a sitting position having still not fully regained all of his senses.

“You mean after that explosion knocked us out?” Walters sarcastically asked, “We were captured, put on this wagon, I woke up, you woke up, and here we are.”

“I was just askin,” Brent replied as he rubbed his eyes. Just then he noticed the foul smell in the air. “What is that smell?!”

“If I had one bet,” Walters said pointing behind Brent, “that would be it.”

Brent bit his tongue from the jolt of pain that came as he turned his head and body to see what was behind him. With widened eyes he took in the sight.

Numerous small shacks were strewn across the area. Some were burning in the noon sun. Others had charred sides will large holes in the walls from what appeared to be explosions. Others were riddled with small holes which Brent assumed were from bullets. Others had blood spattered across them. There were several other piles of smoldering rubble laying between the still standing homes.

As Brent’s wagon rumbled in closer he could see a row of dead bodies individually propped up against wooden stakes surrounding one side of the small village. Many of the corpses were missing a limb or two, few were charred black and as far as he could tell, all had bullet holes in them. A large charred wooden sign above several of them had a message in smeared think blood red letters read:


Pulling into the remains of the village Brent began gagging with every breath. The air was full of the odor of burnt and dead flesh. Brent coughed as thick black smoke filled his lungs. His eyes began to water from the embers in the air and the shear misery he was just carted into. The raider caravan came to a stop in what was left of the town square.

Brent vomited into the middle of his wagon upon the next sight. Raiders wearing cloths over their mouths were carrying the dead villagers to the town square. Many of the lifeless bodies were still dripping blood as they were carried and dropped into a large and growing pile. All the bodies had tattered clothing, charred like the village that use to be their home. Women and children mostly. Some were missing limbs others had large chunks of flesh missing. The buzzing of flies around the gruesome pile was almost enough to drown out the flames raging around the town. Dozens of families slaughtered, for nothing.

Brent and Walters were dragged out of the wagon by a few of the raiders from the caravan. Only then did Brent notice they were wearing the armor of his platoon. All the insignia was either torn off or filed away. I wonder if any of them were the ones who approached me? Their feet dragged against the stained dirt as they were presented before a strange man. Despite being bound, Brent managed to stand on his own as Walters fell to his knees. However, a kick to the back of his already throbbing legs from one of the raiders made him fall to his knees as well.

He was a large muscular man who stood with his arms crossed behind his back. His attire did not seem off from the rest of the bandits in his clan, a heavy dark green jacket and dark brown pants both cover in pockets and dirty from years a roaming the wilderness. He was the only man, save Brent and Walters, who was not wearing a black cloth around his mouth. Instead he wore a royal blue mask. The stoic face the mask portrayed was betrayed by demonic eyes that covered the eyes of the wearer. Four men carrying high powered assault rifles, each wearing slightly less impressive green masks flanked him on both sides. With only the sound of flies and the crunch of gravel filling the air, he slowly strode toward Brent and Walters. He stopped a few meters from the pair.

“Oh Great One,” one of Brent’s captors said bowing slightly before the masked man, “these are the only survivors from our raid on the Corporation camp.”

Silence. The masked man remained statuesque.

“Tell us,” the emotionless voice of one of the guards took Brent off guard, “Why has the Corporation sent a garrison to reinforce this area?”

“We hear it’s nice in these parts this time of the year,” Walters said grimly as he looked around at the burning village.

“Quiet!” shouted another of the masked man’s guards in reply.

“If I’m quiet, then I won’t be able to tell you anything,” Walters replied with a smirk. However, this remark earned Walters a jab from one of the bandits who had dragged them from the wagon.

“If you do not tell us why, we will find a way to persuade you,” said yet a third guard.

Silence yet again filled the air as everyone froze. Brent stared at the black eyes of the masked man and he could almost feel him staring back at him.

After what felt like an eternity, the man with the blue masked jerked his head back and up to the side. Brent’s captors covered his head with a black bag and began to drag him away.


tell me what you think. esp if what the raiders did was too much. ppl want evil so i tried to make them look that way.


im not tryin to necro i just wanted to revise what i wrote a bit
Last edited by Phatty on Tue Nov 22, 2011 8:59 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Re: A Soldier's Tale Part 3: The Red Cape

Post by Zenadirith » Wed Aug 10, 2011 4:47 am

For some reason this reminded me of Tyler's speech about how soap was made in Fight Club. I though it was really good, although I though that the king was going to be much more physically fit, although strong could be up for interpretation.

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Re: A Soldier's Tale Part 3: The Red Cape

Post by Phatty » Wed Nov 23, 2011 10:20 am

edited---- change the look of the bandit leader to something a little more terrifying than before. i may be continuing the story soon


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