*Age of Resurgence-Konat-Arc 1- Heavy Rain

Posts: 2
Joined: 17 Aug 2018, 13:05

*Age of Resurgence-Konat-Arc 1- Heavy Rain

Post by VashyronKoenig » 17 Aug 2018, 13:13

- Age of Resurgence - Arc to be named - 01 -

- Lorn, Vashyron and Seryys -

RP Focus: Scene Setting/Light Combat

No Casualties/injuries

*Awaiting Seryys Bio Auth to properly post live on Mud for posterity sake.

A tyrannical faction has risen to power under a defacto leader on Planet Konat, a local resistance has risen amongst the peoples and they have begun to fight back to take back their homeland. Lorn is a suave Konat agent/swordsman for the resistance under the guise of Kabal Mancha, his name is well known in the hearts of the people he strives to be a champion of, his steed ever present for a quick getaway. Vashyron the Namekian was sent here on a spacepod years ago to joins others in a colonization effort, however the effort failed and he has lived in the wilderness training ever since, he empathizes with the now oppressed peoples and wants to make a difference. Seryys the Bio-Andriod has just come to self-awareness in a very hospitable world and is cunningly tracking down larger more satisying meals, and studying humanoid behaviors.
The town erupts in some disarray possibly setting up a rebuttal by the Oppressors as a display of power, they want to weed out the resistance at whatever cost.
Vashyron chases Lorn after the latter liberates some prisoners, as he can sense his KI Vashyron follows in hopes to train with others of great strength and possibly join this resistance. Seryys also can sense both of their powers and has so far masked his presence, the entity now follows the two in stealth waiting for oppprotunity.


Riding his steed through the sunny, vast green fields of his homestead, the freedom of the open grassland, the smell of the fresh air in the morning, deep sounds of a river flowing down some nearby hills. Nearly like a lucid dream, all these memories of days gone by raced through his mind, bringing a certain peace of spirit and calm to his being.
He quickly snapped out of it as a sudden gust of wind and cold rain splatters across his face. ‘Shit!’, he mutters to himself under his breath, ‘Not the right time for daydreaming.’. Focusing his eyesight, he gleams around the plaza beneath him looking for something. From his vantage point on the side of the beautifully decorated masonry town clocktower, he quickly finds what he was looking for.
Tensing his muscles, his left hand tightening its grip around the rope, his right, unsheathing his rapier from his waist, he waits for the right moment, like an agile feline awaits the right moment to pounce on its prey, one focused strike at the right time. The rain soaking his black cloak and hat, dripping down his back may be bothersome, but it helps him focus, his senses heightened and alert.

The sights and sounds before him seemed like something from a dream. The air smelled of various plants native to this region, combined with could be flesh burning over a fire. Sounds of people talking and laughing, sent a shiver up the spine of the creature watching this from his perch in the heights of a nearby tree.
He scanned his immediate surroundings. On one side, people were walking the streets, performing various tasks. On the other side, in what appeared to be a fortified compound, several men, armed with weapons, worked their way into the courtyard and began to train with each other.
The creature reflexively tensed its muscles, his eyes focusing on the men in the courtyard. He had eaten today, luckily, but the violence stirred something within him. Despite this, he restrained himself to watch, for now, as the men trained. He must be certain to know what his prey is capable of, should he strike. A faint smile formed on the creatures lips as thought about just how bountiful this new world could be.

Finally, the moment arrives. Down in the rainy plaza, grey from the pale morning light, a crowd gathers around the hanging gallows, a rickety dark wooden structure, small stairs on the sides, a platform standing 5 ft high. Four hangman's nooses hang from poles above it, dangling in the wind, like an ill warning to any who would take notice.
A heavy door nearby slams open, two guards walking out followed by four shackled figures, another 4 guards following suit. The group slowly makes its way to the gallows and up the stairs, feet and cloaks splashing on the muddy dirt ground. Looking above them, the Hangman lets out a long sight. ‘Another bunch of fools.’, he tells himself.
Slowly and in silence, the group takes their positions, the guards flanking the shackled figures, as they stand under the nooses, as if having accepted their fates, no attempt to flee crossing their minds. They are but bakers and farmers, common folk that dared speak ill about their ruling Lord, a tyrant without emotions, that taxes the people to starvation, taking by force whatever is not his by right.

For days now the green skinned alien slogged through the unforgiving Konat jungles, with only his thoughts for solace. Hearing the sounds and commotion of the nearby road Vashyron pushes the last frond of foliage from his path and pulls up the hood on his cloak before beginning a quick pace down the cobbled path leading towards the nearby settlement. He pauses momentarily to recognize the welcomed rain now falling in sheets and turning the skirts of the path into a muddy mess.

As this scene is unfolding, more and more people join the crowds, walking in from all around, side streets and alleys, all of them eyes focused on the four figures standing in the middle of the high platform. As he sees the Hangman start setting the nooses around their necks, the crowd slowly starting to clamor, murmurs into whispers, whispers into open words.
Their necks prepared, the ropes tied, the Hangman walks around the platform, coming to a halt besides the release level, his hand resting atop it, head turned to Sargent Guerrera, as if awaiting further instructions. Turning towards the crowd, Guerreras addresses them, yelling with a deep, rough voice, roughened by years of tobacco and drink. ‘Listen up yer lot! I’ve told you time and time again, whoever is found conspiring against M'Lord Meeziala will be considered a traitor and dealt with!’, taking a moment's rest to gather his breath, he continues, ‘Now you have forced my hand, and an example has to be made!’.
As the speech continues, the crowd continues slowly building up, an open insult being shouted here and there, the guards around the plaza starting to feel tense, as it slowly dawns on them that numbers are not on their side. ‘M’Lord Meeziala has brought progress and prosperity about the land, and you dare repay him with ill will?’, the Sargent continues, on a full on a fervorous discourse at this point, much to the discontent of the crowds.
Sensing the moment of action is near, the cloaked stranger takes too fingers to his mouth and blows strongly, a high pitch long reaching sound being made, lost immediately in the background noise of rain and wind heard all around him. Taking some steps back on the ledge to have some head start, he readies himself, awaiting still.
Moments later, a large ripe tomato comes flying from the crowd, hitting the Sargent mid speech just over the right eye, temporarily throwing him off balance, the crowd cheering on the mysterious tosser. High on the tower, he watches and smiles.

The clouds had long since turned grey, the rain pouring from the sky in droves. Nestled in the canopy of the large jungle tree, Seryys was relatively dry as he continued survey the area for any signs of interest. The soldiers had already finished their training and returned to the manor, leaving a bitter taste in Seryys' mouth as he realized his prey had eluded him for now.
The guards that had once been prey, emerged from the manor, accompanied by several more dressed in similar attire. They walked with purpose across the street as they crossed into an alley away and out of view from Seryys, in his perch in the tree.
Seryys gathered himself and prepared to follow the men. After ensuring no one was in the area, he leapt from the confines of the tree and out into the rain-drenched street. Upon reaching the ground, he rolled into a ball to soften to blow of his descent and ran a few more paces before jumping upwards and onto the roof of a nearby building, using the ledges of the building to assist in the ascent.
He scrambled from rooftop to rooftop, attempting to relocate the guards he eagerly wanted to encounter. Several rooftops later, he found more than he hoped; an entire crowd, full of people. Seryys nestled himself behind a smokestack keeping his sights moving quickly around, taking in the scene before him.

Vashyron arrives at the gates of the settlement, now bustling with activity. He weaves his way through the crowd, only making eye contact with a few sullen souls. It's at that moment Vashyron sees the gallows. A larger uncouth man begins addressing the crowd in a intimidating manor. Vashyron quickly comes shoulder to shoulder with the crowd, now amassing with discontent. A strange reddish-fruit is flung from the crowd and hits the pompous man whom was addressing the crowd, Vashyron can only help but smile at the tenacity of these brave men and women in the face of adversity, a trait he has come to admire in all creatures. The situation quickly becomes dire as Vashyron can sense the man's pride must be worth more than the lives dangling from the gallows.

Breaking out in a dash, the figure, unseen in the storm, sprints the length of the tower ceil, jumping off expertly, the rope in his hand stretching to its max, a perfect arc starting as he swings down towards the plaza, right towards the wooden gallows. Embarrassed and furious, Guerreras rapidly grips the top of the release lever and pulls hard, the four figures, now unshackled, immediately starting to fall to their deaths, the noose tightening around their necks, feet dangling without perch, lungs gasping uselessly for air.
‘For Justice and for the People!’, a long, loud shout is heard over the clamor of the crowd, as a figure swings past at high speed, black cloak flowing in the wind, as his rapier precisely slashes across all the stretched ropes, the dangling figures falling to the ground, their hands darting to free their necks of the constraints.
At the sight of this scene, the crowd, already on edge and enraged by Guerreras’ speech, find the motivation to break out against the guards in the area, taking pitchforks and whatever tools of trade they posses against the corrupt town guards that they find, the small battle rapidly spreading through the town.
Reaching the height of the rope swing, the cloaked figure aggily pulls a summersault off before landing on a black steed, just arriving at a sprint from a nearby alley, kicking a guard head first into a nearby water barrel as he lands. ‘You came my dearest friend.’, he whispers to the horse, patting him on the side of the neck foundly, ‘Never doubted it for a moment.’. With this he slashes a large ‘K’ on the backside of the stuck guard, and as he yells ‘Mi nombre is Kabal Mancha, and i will never stop until Justice is done!’ -a distant spanish guitar rift is heard-, he takes off riding down the main street, with several guards running to their horses to pursue.

Analyzing the quickly desperate situation unfolding, Vashyron begins to dart his Jade green eyes to and fro quickly absorbing the surroundings. The pompous man merely adding added complications as he engages the mechanism to the gallows. Vashyron dashes to the front of the wooden structure and springs up to the platform intent to help these falsely condemned. A figure is caught out of the corner of his eye as the hooded man swings and liberates the quickly perishing hanged. Reacting now to the pompous orator Guerrera, Vashyron dodges a slash from the ornate sword, rain drops freeing themselves from the blade and barraging the green skin of Vashyron's focused visage. Vash jumps below to attempt to help the men freed by the swinging savior.
By this point all but the last of the prisoners have freed themselves of the thick braided ropes, bruises and blood marking their necks already from the harrowing experience. He hears a splash and looks over to see the front end of one of Guerrera's men being submerged in a water barrel in an adjacent alley, his exposed lower half is quickly redesigned with an unfamiliar symbol by the hooded figure and his deft blade, then moving quickly and with agility to the barrel chested steed awaiting him at the other end of the alley. Vash sharpens his eyes at the figure now prompting his mount into motion.
The signature he sensed days earlier! Now this close! Vashyron begins at a full sprint towards the alley, body checking a hapless guard into a nearby cart filled with vegetables before entering the alley Vashyron attempts to keep pace with the mounted stranger as he makes his way back to the main street, his shouts unheard over the cacophonous roar of the uprising.

Joy filled his heart like he never knew. The wide-set grin on his face would do him no justice if he attempted to hide it. The scene before him was complete chaos. The people fought each other with such fervor, some of them with steadied purpose. One man swung from a strange jungle vine, and freed several others attached to vines by their necks. Seryys felt a strange twinge in the back of his mind as he watched the man release from the vine and land upon a strange, four-legged beast. The twinge continued as the man spoke, only breaking after he rode the beast down the street.

Seryys loosed himself from his makeshift hideout and jumped again, down into the street. He looked again to the direction the man and beast journeyed, but saw another figure in a quick stride in pursuit of the same figure. Seryys let out a fierce growl that startled several nearby locals and pumped his legs into a full sprint.

Part way into his pursuit, a guard, previously disposed of by the second figure, was recovering from his tumble. He readied his weapon, a long wooden pole, before him and prepared for this strange creature approaching him. Seryys was determined, however, and stopped himself short of the weapons reach. The man tensed his grip on his weapon and took a step backwards, breathing unsteadily as he moved his head over his right shoulder to watch his footing. A moment that would prove his undoing. A grin again crossed Seryys' lips. He was upon the man in an instant, his fists pumping over and over into the mans face and torso. A needle like tip formed on the end of Seryys' tail a split second before the tail came in with fierce purpose to man's chest. Seryys devoured everything that made this man who he was and the body soon fell to the ground with a thud.

Seryys returned his gaze to the direction he was travelling, but found his targets had eluded him. His eyes pointed in apparent disgust, he returned his gaze to his latest target. He hunched over the man as he began to accumulate the smells, taking note of all the scents that might assist him in his search. A moment later, he was in a dead sprint again, in the direction he had originally been pursuing.

To Be Continued in Arc-2

Posts: 160
Joined: 23 Feb 2016, 14:45

Re: Age of Resurgence-Konat-Arc 1- Heavy Rain

Post by thousand » 04 Sep 2018, 16:42

3 Greens and 2 Reds awarded to each!