(Please listen to this track as you read: https://www.youtube.com/watch?...W8&start_radio=1)

At the turn of the 50th century, the Symbiots, a terrifying alien race of parasitic shape-shifters, invaded the Known Worlds. Attacking first at Absolution and then at Daishan and Stigmata, the Symbiots threatened to annihilate all humanity. Whole ecosystems were turned against the humans as the very flora and fauna arose to devour them. Never before had humanity faced such a terrible and overwhelming threat. Only when their defenses mustered an elite force of psychic and theurgic warriors to combat the Symbiots were the invaders finally repelled.

In the late 4900’s, during the peak of the Emperor Wars, Countess Carmetha Decados, the newly appointed Commander of the Imperial Stigmata Garrison, mobilized the Regency fleets and armies defending Stigmata to attack the al-Malik, leaving behind a small guard with no reserve. The Brother Battle contingent and a number of Eskatonic priests were all that was left to defend the planet. The countess’s fleet engaged the al-Malik at Istakhr, Shaprut, Aylon and Criticorum while the rest of the Decados forces invaded Malignatius, which the Li Halan had left poorly defended as they attacked the League world of Rampart. Wars erupted across the Known Worlds as the Houses fought for control of the Empire, leaving planets ravaged and devastated.

Meanwhile, the Symbiots, sensing the weakness in the Regency defensive lines, launched a massive assault. The remaining troops on Stigmata lost years of progress in a month as Symbiot abominations roamed freely over the planet, attacking where and when they chose. Giant living dirigibles sprayed the world with virulent pus which seemed to spread upon touching the ground. Brother Battle fortresses fell as the Symbiots struck, rolling back humanity’s defenders onto the plains of Durem and besieging the military headquarters at Sylan. The siege drew on relentlessly. After months of continuous assault, the Garrison was down to two weeks' rations and nearly out of ammunition. As the rest of the Empire battled for the Imperial Throne, the real fate of humanity rested in the hands of a few...


Stigmata

Darmak Cathedral, Darmak City
Amalthias 6th, 4991


The ruins of the capitol city blazed on the dusky horizon. The once standing Imperial offices and agora structures now lay toppled and littered over the scorched, pitted streets. Charred husks of buildings stood gaping, billows of smoke rising from their twisted, exposed frames. Collapsed architecture of razed temples covered the caving ground, pillars and arches lying crookedly over piles of crumbling masonry. Broken, blackened statues and monuments of Saint J’waltan and his followers lay strewn over the leveled rubble, some cracked and singed, others blasted or eroded beyond recognition. Decimated remnants of Aeon hospices and sanctums smoked in the distance, their cover long since demolished. Leaning silhouettes of abandoned watchtowers broke the glaring skyline, just visible at the edges of the ruined capitol. The remains of the city’s fortified outer walls seemed low and insignificant from here.

Oblate Randwulfe stared out over the sundered cityscape as the cool evening wind blew through his robes and soothed his weathered face. Around him, support teams rushed to erect artillery equipment and ferry ammunition and supplies between posts, while medics frantically tended to the wounded or hauled away the dead. Shouted orders and agonized cries for aid blended together in a continuous bedlam that seemed almost drowned out by the melancholy serenity of the desolate scene before the Brother Battle monk’s weary gaze.

It had been nearly five months since the siege began. The Symbiot armies had flooded across the no-man's land of the southern Istal mountains and overwhelmed the Brother Battle fortresses guarding the capitol. Master Claudius de Moley and Sister Theafana al-Malik had led the warriors and theurges in defending their battlements as best they could, but against the ceaseless onslaught, their forts had fallen, one by one. Word soon came that Sylan had also fallen under attack, and Brother Emerson Long and his men were too occupied holding the eastern front to spare any troops.

And so, within a mere month of the invasion, the Garrison had lost territory that had taken years to gain. Desperate requests for the Regency to send reinforcements from Byzantium Secundus and Tethys went unanswered, as the Regent had promised out the remaining Imperial Legions to serve her own House in the wars. Without any means of holding back the invasion, Master Claudius and his contingent lost more and more ground, until finally the Symbiots fell against the walls of the capitol city itself.

Some had willingly flung themselves at the Symbiots, begging for conversion rather than death. Others, led by Master Claudius and Sister Theafana, had rallied around the central starport, building a defensive line the invaders had so far found hard to breach. Bulwarking their line was the Darmak Cathedral, the Brother Battle's Holy See on Stigmata and their best remaining defense after their main monastery in Sylan. Their line had to hold, or all would be lost – and no one would remember who won the Emperor Wars when the Symbiots broke through to claim all the Known Worlds.

Now, in this brief moment of respite and reflection, as Stigmata’s faded red sun burned low over the wastes on the horizon, Oblate Randwulfe found himself faced with a true challenge to his faith. How far Stigmata had fallen. How far the human race, as a whole, had fallen. Was this to be the Pancreator’s Will?

Meanwhile, Private Ivan Darian had other concerns as he saw to the injured troops, who were taking rest after the recent strike mere hours earlier. There were more wounded than he could administer to himself, and even with his expert cyber-enhanced skills, some would inevitably have to be left to die while others received his aid. That was the arbitrary nature of the universe. The decision of whose lives would be saved was left to him and the few others tending to troops on the Cathedral’s outer grounds. There simply weren’t enough medics to help everyone, and choices had to be made. Wounded men cried for Darian’s help from all sides as he knelt over the writhing victim of an acid burn.

As men’s cries mixed with the constant relay of orders from the few sergeants and corporals to the support teams, Lieutenant Alejandra Matilde Eduardo de Aragon overlooked the vast expanse of Durem’s plains beyond the city. The chilly wind blew through her hair and buffeted her form as her eyes searched the dusk dimmed distance. Somewhere out there was her lost brother, still alive – or so she convinced herself. But would she ever have the chance to find him? Her thoughts were broken suddenly as one of her sergeants addressed her.

"Lieutenant," said the young man curtly from behind, coming to a stop and saluting her quickly, "we’ve just received word from our scouts. The enemy’s forces have regrouped to the south and are making their way northeast toward the coast. How should we proceed?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 09:22, Sun 03 Mar 2019.

If they were heading for the coast they would pass the city. She suspected they were not going to give the city a wide berth, but rather that they were changing the direction of their attack. If they could scatter the group now they might be able to catch them before they were prepared and at least delay their scheme.

If they could.

"How large is their number?" Too much and it would be difficult with the remainder they had. But not impossible. Whilst Esteban needed her she would stalk through hell to get to him.
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:46, Sun 24 Feb 2008.

"Three hundred, estimated, sir." replied the sergeant. "They travel on beast cavalry."
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:12, Sun 06 Apr 2008.

Taking his time to survey the ruined landscape before him he was thankful that the onslaught had ceased. So many lives taken in such a short time and all thanks to the vast number of troops taken from them. The Pancreator must have a plan for them, but was it to cost the toll it had?

Turning from his moment of reflection, he could watch no more, the Brother knew that harder times lay ahead. As always in times of quiet he wished to pray; for the souls of those already slain and for the remaining souls left to endure whatever may come next.

Ivan moved from wounded man to wounded man, performing a quick triage of those nearest him.  He fed his estimates of treatment time, likelihood of survival, and urgency of need into his think machine, and soon had an optimized order of aid.  Function TRIAGE returns::  patient 7; acid burn; allotted time for treatment: 4m,30s. came the message, like a thought put into his brain by someone else.  Pacing quickly over to the screaming soldier, he knelt next to the man and examined the burn.  His normally inexpressive face somehow managed to carry even less emotion than usual as his cyber eye searched for the worst of the burn.  The worm-like tentacle that replaced his left arm moved rapidly above the soldier, providing an additional viewing angle and resolution.  Burn; acid:  use of protective clothing required, esp: gloves.  Remove potentially affected clothing.  Flush area with water, thoroughly.  Apply calcium glucanate gel to all potentially affected areas, instructed his skill programs.  Ivan followed the instructions mechanically, seemingly unaware of the screams of the patient or those of the men not being helped.  After a few moments, the think machine alerted him: Function TRIAGE warning:  remaining time allotment for patient 7: 20s.  He hurriedly finished applying the gel, and told the man "Remain here until instructed otherwise.  Keep as still as possible."  As he spoke, he stood, removed the glove he had put on for the treatment, and dropped it on the ground.  Function TRIAGE returns:  patient 3, shrapnel wound;  Allotted time for treatment: 10m, 20s.  NOTE--possible sampling opportunity.  Ivan stepped briskly towards the next patient...

The man suffering from acid burns, whom Darian's internal think-machine had labeled 'patient 7', merely nodded with tightly shut eyes and gritted teeth as the field medic left him to see to the next wounded soldier. This one, who sat propped against a stack of storage crates, was a bloody mess. He'd apparently done his best to bind his wounds with gauze and torn lengths of cloth from his uniform, but was still bleeding in several places. Open wounds in his torso and extremities revealed shards of some calcium-like debris, likely fragments of a bio-engineered explosive of some sort. Darian's tentacle-mounted probe quickly positioned itself over the trooper's torso at a number of angles to examine the man's injuries:

Function TRIAGE returns:
  "patient 3": shrapnel wound; [T- 00:10:08:47]
  Exterior: multiple epidermal/muscular lacerations; Priority: major abdominal lesion;
  (Calibrating...)

The probe centered itself over the trooper's stomach and extended its hyper-magnification lens, the metallic claws retracting into the end of the tentacle. Readouts fed rapidly through to Darian's internal processor as the electronic eye relayed its findings, simultaneously displaying a superimposed window over his vision of the probe's enhanced view:

[T- 00:10:05:16]
  Interior: intestinal tissue damage; internal bleeding;
  Probability of vital system failure without immediate surgery: 86.43%
  Probability of vital sustainability with immediate surgery: 72.67%
  Function TRIAGE returns: recalculating priority factor for "patient 3"...
  [Alert]: foreign object detected; origin: unknown
  Initializing X-Ray visualization
  (Analyzing...)
  Function TRIAGE returns: update time allotment for "patient 3": [ABORT]
  Function TRIAGE returns: update time allotment for "patient 6": [00:07:38:54]
  Analysis of foreign object: organic spore; status: active, early germination stage
  Function TRIAGE returns: [RECOMMENDED TERMINATION]
  Analysis of object "organic_spore1": probability of contamination: unknown
  Function TRIAGE returns: [RECOMMENDED TERMINATION]
  Probability of successful, non-lethal removal: insufficient data
  Function TRIAGE returns: [RECOMMENDED TERMINATION]
  Probability of successful, lethal removal: insufficient data
  Function TRIAGE returns: [RECOMMENDED TERMINATION]

Darian's internal think-machine continued to flash its suggestions and updates through his neural network as the probe performed its analyses and computations under X-Ray optics. The trooper remained largely motionless in his barely-conscious, weakened state.

Meanwhile, as Lieutenant Eduardo contemplated the information just reported to her, the sergeant awaited her response. "Lieutenant?" he said after a moment with apparent curiosity of her thoughts.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:13, Sun 06 Apr 2008.

The edge of Ivan's mouth twitched ever so slightly as the spore was identified.  It was more emotion than he had shown the victim of the acid burn.  He sent a quick override command to his think machine, and removed a small glass jar from his med pack.

Function TRIAGE returns:
 user override acknowledged:
 update time allotment for "patient 3": [T- 00:15:39:23]
 recalculating priority factors...

Following the instructions given to him by his skill programs, Ivan began his attempt to extract the spore...
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:44, Thu 21 Feb 2008.

The macrobinocular systems in Darian's cyber-optics zoomed in to maximum magnification as he examined the man's abdominal wound on the microscopic level. His tentacle provided an auxiliary view of the wound from its angle as the metal prongs at its end maneuvered a scalpel through the ruptured tissue. Darian's right hand manipulated a set of miniature forceps, cautiously preparing to extract the lodged spore.

Program PHYSICK10 active:
CNIG feed running at 4.01728 Tb/ns
Operational procedure instructions:
  execute scalpel incision y43.9-y116.3...done.
  reposition scalpel 0.0057 degrees x, 0.0024 degrees y, -0.0061 degrees z...done.
  elevate scalpel 3.8426 nm...done.
  shift scalpel 0.4107 nm left...done.
  extend scalpel 0.0083 nm...done.
  (calculating incision arc trajectory...done.)
  execute scalpel incision x26.6-x223.1...done.
  extract calcium fragment with forceps... CORRECT -0.0168 degrees y! ...done.
  reposition scalpel -0.0013 degrees x, -0.0029 degrees y, 0.0081 degrees z...done.
  retract scalpel 1.0335 nm...done.
  shift scalpel 2.6421 nm right...done.
  lower scalpel 5.2173 nm...done.
  extend scalpel 0.1716 nm...done.
  (calculating incision arc trajectory...done.)
  execute scalpel incision z12.8-z174.4...done.
  extract calcium fragment with forceps...done.
  extract calcium fragment with forceps...done.
  extract loose tissue with forceps...done.
  depress tissue with flat edge of scalpel...done.
  (calculating extraction trajectory...done.)
  position forceps at point 38.1267 x, 62.0309 y, -73.1154 z...done.
  depress forceps 0.0013 degrees...done.
  execute extraction of spore...
  CORRECT depression -0.0006 degrees!
  [Alert]: spore activity detected
  CORRECT depression -0.0002 degrees!
  [Alert]: spore ruptured; exposure to unknown contaminants;
  Self-diagnosis: probable Symbiosis infection
  [Alert]: Emergency! Immediate sterilization imperative!
  Known antidotes: None
  [Alert]: Emergency! Immediate sterilization imperative!
  Recommended treatment: incineration/euthanasia
  [Alert]: Emergency! Immediate sterilization imperative!

The spore burst in a puff of dispersed fine particles just as Darian extracted it from the patient's wound, spreading its airborne contaminants over Darian's exposed right hand and face. The extraction was a success - technically. The patient, if he lived, would be one of the few unconverted survivors of Symbiot spore-contamination, provided there were no other hidden spores on his body. Private Darian, on the other hand, appeared to be moments away from both the greatest research opportunity of his scientific career, and every Stigmatan soldier's worst nightmare.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:22, Mon 03 Mar 2008.

Ivan's lips closed tightly, and he exhaled through his nose strongly as he jumped backwards from the cloud.  He moved away as quickly as he could, breathing out through his nose the whole time.  When his lungs could stand it no more, he stopped moving and took in a large breath.  As quickly as he could, he started scrubbing his exposed skin with whatever antiseptics were available to him in his supplies, applying multiple doses in rapid succession.
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:28, Mon 25 Feb 2008.

Three hundred. Providing that not too many were injured she could take just as many to meet them. In that case...
"Gather up as many healthy men as you can find. We can't miss any opportunity they give us."
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:10, Sun 24 Feb 2008.

Watching the bedlam around him Oblate Randwulfe saw how each person coped with the war they were in.

Comrades comforted the dying, others busied themselves with organising those beneath them, some focused on weapon maintenance or shoring up the defences and repairs.

Randwulfe could do very little in times like these. He was no engineer or learned soldier, he wasn't a healer or a great leader. Oblate Randwulfe found a quiet spot amongst the debris and knelt. He began to pray for those around him; it was the one thing besides fighting that he could do.

"Yes, sir." replied the sergeant to the Lieutenant's orders, hurrying off to gather the men.

The bulk of their defenses were clustered round the central starport a few miles east. Less than a thousand were here defending the cathedral, and of those, only a few were Manifest Light troopers under Alejandra's command. She knew she would need more than one platoon if she was going to even the odds against the Symbiot army. That meant supplementing her own Dervish and theurgist units with Brother Battle troops. She would need to gain Master Claudius' permission to take a detachment of his forces with her - and fast.

Meanwhile, Private Darian rapidly applied antiseptics to his exposed skin, his tentacle scrubbing the affected areas of his hand and face as thoroughly as it could. A slight tingling sensation began to spread through his right hand. Then he felt it increase, moving through his wrist and along his forearm. It was like his arm was immersed in an electrostatic field, a million tiny pinpricks sending an intense wave right through to the bone. Soon he felt it in areas of his face as well, his lips and tongue, the roof of his mouth, his throat and nasal passages, all tingling more and more with each passing moment.

And then the tingling turned to burning.

For all his vast knowledge and expertise, Darian was witnessing science fail - just as it always had against the Symbiots. Somewhere in the back of his mind arose the thought that even the great Second Republic, with all their spectacular technology, had resorted to sealing off the world of Chernobog instead of confronting the Symbiots. And only now, in the final moments of his sentience, did this realization at last surface.

He was powerless.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:38, Sat 17 Jan 2009.

[Alert]: Emergency! Immediate sterilization imperative!
As the burning spread, Private Darian's nerve broke.  He let out a scream of terror, and flailed his tentacle uselessly against his burning flesh.  The messages from his think machine flowed unnoticed through his consciousness.
[Alert]: Emergency! Immediate sterilization imperative!
He looked about for some sign of help urgently, and his breathing became very rapid.  He quickly became covered in a cold film of sweat.  He let out another scream.
[Alert]: Emergency! Immediate sterilization imperative!
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:28, Mon 25 Feb 2008.

Darian's screams rose above even the groans and cries for help of the many wounded, and a trooper within earshot rushed over. "What's wrong, Private? What happened?"

"Somethin' got 'im while 'e was helpin' Dax," croaked the nearby soldier recovering from acid burns. "Could be spores..."

The trooper's face suddenly went deathly pale. "Oh no..."

"'E needs help!" shouted the other soldier, shaking the man back to his senses.

"Right!" nodded the trooper, looking back to Darian. "I'll bring a medic! Just hang on!" He turned to dash off.

"Screw that!" hollered the other, just catching the trooper before he disappeared. "Get a theurge! A good one!"

The trooper nodded quickly and ran off as fast as he could.

The yelling of the troopers brought Ivan back to his senses.  A theurge!  Yes! he thought, and sent an override command to his think machine.

[Alert]: Emergency! Immediate sterili-
BREAK
user override acknowledged.

He took a deep breath, thoughts racing.  So close!  Just mere inches!  And now...what?  He queried his think machine for the onset times recorded in previous exposures.  Too short!  Panic threatened to take over again as he waited for the theurge to arrive.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:06, Sun 05 Apr 2009.

Average onset of symbiosis from point of infection: insufficient data
[no records on file]

Querying his think-machine for answers on virtually any topic of surgery or medicine had become so natural for Darian since he became a medic, that he sometimes overlooked the basics - even his advanced skill chips and internal Turing processor were limited to data stored on file. With most information on Stigmata classified, his chips hadn't included detailed autopsies of symbiosis conversions. His think-machine could only supply him with what he'd recorded himself, based on limited observations and hearsay: he had anywhere between minutes and seconds before he'd be fully converted.

As these thoughts raced through his consciousness, the burning in his face and forearm began to gradually crawl over his body - up along his elbow and upper arm, down his neck and up through his scalp, spreading faster by the moment. The analytical portion of his mind imagined the spore's contaminants replicating through his cells, using their nutrients to reproduce and spread to other cells via his bloodstream. The burning sensation he was feeling must have been a result of inflammation caused by his immune system struggling to counter the invading toxins. He suddenly became dizzy and disoriented, the outer world swirling and blurring into an incorporeal fog. Surely his cyber-eyes still functioned properly, but his own neural reception of their transmissions was reeling in a daze. Clipped bits and elements of visual criteria slipped through to his consciousness. Impressions of colors. Depths. Shapes without associations. Motions without objects. Occasional streams of coherent vision. Scattered frames and flickers of images.

At the same time, the more reactionary side of his brain raged against what was happening to him. His sentient mind refused to acknowledge the impending erosion of itself, denying this unwanted reality fiercely from the very core of his being. Deep within the fundamental fiber of his consciousness, his psyche warred stubbornly and futilely in defiance of the transformation seizing him.

His whole body felt strange now. His skin and muscles felt numb. His nerves were on fire. His heartbeat soared. He began to hyperventilate, writhing and thrashing about uncontrollably. Through his blurred, skipping vision, he vaguely made out a red and black robed figure approaching, and a flash of a recognized insignia caught his cyber-eyes - the emblem of the Manifest Light Legion. Other shadows followed behind.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:29, Fri 07 Mar 2008.

Time to put on her best military face and go find Master Claudius. Either the Symbiots were going to take another angle at the city or head past them to another target, but either way their attention wasn't on the walls, or at least not the parts behind them. Enough men and fast enough, and at the very least she could scatter or whittle down the forces on the move.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:47, Fri 07 Mar 2008.

The psychics! he thought.  They've stopped conversions before!

"Help me!" he tried to say to the forms approaching him.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:46, Fri 07 Mar 2008.

A flicker of visual clarity entered Darian's mind amidst the sporadic images filtering from his cyber-eyes. He saw a figure standing before him clad in red and black robes, his face hidden under a ragged mask and cowl. On his breast was borne the star-and-jumpring insignia of the Manifest Light Legion. Beneath it gleamed a pendant bearing the flaming jumpring icon of the Avesti order. As Darian croaked weakly for help, the man's eyes narrowed coldly upon him, silent accusation seething in his gaze. Wordlessly, he shifted stance and leveled a heavy flamegun at the infected cyborg, a spark igniting at the barrel's tip--

"Hold your fire, Inquisitor." commanded a stern, eloquent feminine voice as a hand abruptly pushed the Avestite's gun down with startling strength. The man turned alarmed to face the source of the interference, and then immediately cast down his eyes and bowed his head. "Yes, Sister Theafana."
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:15, Fri 27 Aug 2010.

The Brother Battle Priestess stepped forward, gallant and regal in her ceramsteel battle armor. She wore her dark brown hair loose about her shoulders, accenting her striking Asiatic features.

"We're short on medics as it is. We can't afford to lose the ones we have."

"Yes, Sister."

"Sister Yesrina, see to him."

"Yes, Sister," answered an Arabian-featured woman beside her, who bore both the Manifest Light emblem and the icon of the Eskatonic order on her theurgist's robes. She approached Darian, holding an ornate staff inscribed with arcane runes and ritualistic symbols.

"You men," said Theafana, addressing a nearby trio of Brother Battle soldiers, "hold him. Inquisitor, keep your gun trained on him. If Sister Yesrina's rite fails and he turns, open fire."

"Yes, Sister," replied the Avestite, leveling his flamegun at Darian once more as the Brother Battle troops moved to restrain his limbs and upper body.

Meanwhile, Lieutenant Eduardo de Aragon hurried into the cathedral to find Master Claudius. After being directed by the guards to the rectory, she came to a large conference chamber serving as a War Room, where Master Claudius and two of his Majors were studying a holo-grid display of western Durem with numerous glowing dots and marks on its surface. Claudius turned from the display as Alejandra entered the room.

"What is it, Lieutenant?"

Darian had not put much trust in theurgy in the past, but the situation did a great deal to change his opinion.  He allowed the men to hold him stationary in prepration for the rite.  Through his unsteady vision he eyed the Avestite, but realized that the flame gun was the least of his worries.  In fact, if the flame gun were used, it would be a blessing.  He did his best to turn his focus to the Eskatonic priestess, and did what little he could to cooperate.

Rising from his prayers and quiet solitude Oblate Randwulfe checked his apparel and sought out some honest labour. Letting those skilled with machine and mysticism deal with their own affairs he aided those soldiers and priests left with more menial tasks.

Moving supplies, ferrying the injured to the medics, moving debris and fighting fires. Honest work to cleanse the soul and stoke the Inner Flame.

"Totus-sator, quisnam visum totus res," whispered the theurgist as she waved her staff over Darian, "ostendo sum verum ut meus visum."

She closed her eyes for a moment, and then opened them with a renewed focus, staring unblinkingly through the medic as if looking into some far off place.

"What do you see, Sister?" inquired Sister Theafana gravely, watching Darian. "Are we too late?"

"The taint is deep." answered Yesrina as if partially in a trance, her eyes unshifting. "He hasn't long before he turns."

The Avestite tightened his grip on his flamegun, watching the medic intensely.

"How long?" pressed Theafana.

"Minutes." replied Yesrina, "Perhaps less."

"Can he be helped?"

"There is a chance. It will be difficult."

"Do what must be done." answered Theafana with gravity.

"Yes, Sister." replied Yesrina, waving her staff once more over Darian as she began her rite.

"It is dangerous to attempt it this late." warned the Avestite at Theafana's side, visibly on edge.

"I know." answered Theafana without turning. "But it is in times such as these that the Pancreator tests our faith." Then she added, more softly, "And our hearts."

The Avestite nodded uneasily and returned his focus to the rite.

"Totus-sator, quisnam vigoratus quod purgo totus feculentia ut suum vox sanctimonia, ego precor vos restituo is, vestri parvulus, ut sanctimonia sub vestri pius obtutus."

Sister Yesrina waved her staff slowly before Darian, tracing signs and symbols in the air as she invoked the blessings of the Pancreator. Her soft prayers continued as Theafana looked on silently, clutching the jumpring at the pommel of her sword. Even the Avestite seemed subtly moved by the invocation of the rite.

As the troops held Darian securely, he began to feel his mind swimming. His body was in total upheaval. Chaotically shifting temperatures, violent muscle spasms, and a million unidentifiable sensations wracked his entire form while flashes of powerful and contradicting emotions quaked through his consciousness unbidden. All at once he felt horror, exhilaration, anxiety, elation, rage, ecstasy, and dozens of others too abstract to fathom. Somehow amidst this consuming turmoil, his system miraculously managed to endure and stay functional. But his mind was in no shape to appreciate that fact.

Everything about him - the sense of stability with which he associated his physical form, the psychic makeup of his thoughts and feelings, the self-contained cognizance from which he derived his identity - was coming undone, facet by facet, and transforming into something strange and new on every conceivable level. It was incomprehensible and yet strangely compelling. It was both nightmarish and terrifying, and thrilling on some extra-sensory level of which he was only now acquiring the slightest tenuous awareness. He was on the verge of something new and fascinating, calling him onward. Like being mere inches away from awakening from a lifelong dream to something greater than anything he knew. He didn't even seem to fully care about the Avestite who was now taking aim at him with his flamegun, about to pull the trigger. An epiphany was building to a climax.

And then it dissolved. Gone like a whimsical thought leaving the mind, a dream fading from memory. His natural senses returned. His body felt like his own again, stable and constant. The tumultuous sensations assaulting his system ceased. His emotions felt familiar once more. He was himself. He was Private Ivan Darian, the best physick in the Darmak forces, and Engineer destined for League-wide acclaim. Everything was back to the way it should be. And yet...he couldn't help feeling the slightest pang of loss somewhere on the edge of his consciousness. Something beautiful and enlightening that had been so close, now gone forever. But that was a small and insignificant thought right now.

"It is done." said Sister Yesrina with an exhaled breath.

"Pancreator's mercy..." uttered Sister Theafana softly.

The Avestite, eyes wide with a mixture of amazement and relief, finally lowered his weapon. The troops released their hold on Darian, and he realized how much he had been depending on their support. His legs felt shaky and he began to topple sideways, but one of the tall soldiers gripped his arm and held him up until he could stand on his own. All seemed awed as they looked upon him.

"Are you all right, Private?" asked Theafana sternly, the usual clipped edge returning to her voice.
This message was last edited by the player at 10:46, Thu 13 Mar 2008.

Darian took in a quick breath as his senses returned to him.

self diagnosis:  elevated adrenalin levels, heart rate high, elevated body temperature, stress-related fatigue.  Rest suggested.  Prognosis:  excellent.

The faintest hint of a smile curled the corner of his lips.  He stood up straight, and dusted off his chest with his good arm, while his tentacle did an optical scan of the rest of him.  Survived! he thought to himself, Survived exposure to spore!  His lips curled slightly more.

"The operation appears to have been a success.  Congratulations, Sister.  I thank you for your assistance." he answered formally to the inquiries.  If anyone was expecting gushes of thanks from the odd doctor, they were quite disappointed.  "Now, I believe there are more wounded that need tending.  If you'll excuse me."  He turned away without another word, and headed towards the soldier from whom he had extracted the spore.

function TRIAGE rebooting...
function TRIAGE returns:  patient 3...

This message was last edited by the GM at 21:25, Wed 19 Mar 2008.

She gave the commander an appropriate salute before she spoke, "Master Claudius, Symbiot troops are moving eastward past the city. I mean to intercept them, if I may have loan of some of your men?" Best not sound too arrogant, but equally hold strength behind the plan. She was confident that at the least they could disrupt the creatures' scheme if they acted quickly.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:23, Fri 21 Mar 2008.

"Very good." replied Sister Theafana with an approving nod as Darian resumed his work. She signaled her small entourage and they followed her away.

Meanwhile, the spore-bomb victim was slowly returning to consciousness. He opened his eyes blearily at Darian as the medic tended to his wounds, and a weak smile of gratitude graced his face. Darian's tentacle performed a thorough X-Ray scan of the man's body and detected no additional spores. Amazingly, he would recover, thanks to Darian's bold actions. The soldier recovering from acid burns and a few others nearby regarded Darian silently, as the medic went about his work as if nothing had ever happened.

"How large is their force?" answered Claudius quickly with evident concern. "Have you a projection of their destination?" Both Majors stopped their study of the holo-grid and turned to regard the Lieutenant.

Perhaps she should have been a bit less hasty, but the longer they left it the more units might gather to the column and the closer the Symbiots got to whatever they were aiming for.

"They are three hundred upon beast mounts, sir. They are traveling from the south toward the coast northeast of their current position." She gave no opinion of their ultimate destination.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:21, Fri 21 Mar 2008.

Claudius frowned in contemplation, idly scratching his chin as he stared at the holo-grid in front of him. "They're trying to bypass our perimeter..." he said softly, almost to himself. He remained silent in his thoughts for a moment more.

"Major Terias." he said finally without taking his eyes off the grid.

"Yes, General." answered one of the officers.

"What is the latest report on the status of your Battalion?"

"One hundred ninety seven able men, two hundred one wounded, fifty two casualties, sir."

Claudius nodded slightly. "Major Maradus, what of yours?"

"We have taken no losses, sir." replied the other officer.

Claudius stared intently at the holo-grid for a long moment. Then he turned to address Maradus. "Major, instruct your captains to assemble a detachment of two hundred fifty men and prepare them for an immediate intercept."

"Yes, sir." replied Maradus with a quick salute, before briskly exiting the room.

"Lieutenant," Claudius continued, looking to Alejandra, "radio your scouts to track the enemy's movements and coordinate an advance strike to cut them off. Gather a platoon of your best men to supplement the Major's force, then report back to me."

"Yes General." She gave him another salute and a bow and took her leave to make the arrangements. She had already sent for her men to be gathered so all she need do from there was select the more proficient soldiers and contact the scouts. So the orders went out.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:12, Sun 05 Apr 2009.

Continuing his menial tasks amongst the conscripts and enlisted, Randwulfe was content to be doing something. Even in times of peace there were preparations to be made. Chatting as he did so with the other men and women, he did his best to encourage them and help their morale; words from the Omega Gospels, parables of Zebulon and the Saints and more personal praise and kind words.

He routinely every few minutes quickly scanned the sky in all directions. It was a habit he'd formed after seeing airborne Symbiot troops previously. The ravaging horde didn't just run on all fours but often descended on the unwary like carrion crows and harpies of ancient Urth legend.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:21, Fri 28 Mar 2008.

The sky was clear for now. The half-sun on the horizon lit the dusk well enough to see into the distance, but only just.

One of the Brothers at Randwulfe's side helped him lift a heavy turret support into place as they set up batteries. Nearby Engineers worked to repair damaged artillery and support personnel assisted with salvaging parts. A ways off, Randwulfe spotted his young Apprentice friend Theodore tending to the injured with his healing rites.

With a final heave, the two Brothers hoisted up the turret mount and secured the gun. The Engineers would have to handle things from there. The two had a moment to catch their breaths and take stock of the field around them. As they stood, something caught the other Brother's attention and he motioned for Randwulfe to look.

Around the cathedral's outer grounds, a commotion had begun stirring. Brother Battle sergeants could be seen rounding up troops and reassigning posts. Fire-teams hurriedly left their positions to reform squads and assemble into platoons. Large groups formed up and stood at attention while officers briefed them.

"They're forming a detachment." observed the other Brother pensively. "That's half the First Battalion's forces. Something special must be going on..."

Meanwhile, Lieutenant Eduardo de Aragon's first sergeant hurried to meet her as she returned to the grounds. He saluted her quickly as he stopped in front of her. "The men are assembled and awaiting your orders, sir."

Past the sergeant, the Lieutenant saw her first platoon formed and ready. Her second platoon was still divided around the cathedral's perimeter supplementing the Brother Battle defense units. She had ordered her other sergeant to reallocate fire-teams to compensate for the withdrawal of the first platoon's troops. From her area, she could see one of the Brother Battle captains addressing a full company of troops and issuing orders to his lieutenants.

Her own men were alert and healthy. The Manifest Light units often held the advantage of serving support capacities, exposing them less to direct assault. Among her troops were theurgists of various sects, Ukari psychics from the al-Malik forces, and even some of her own Dervishes. She counted forty seven heads. Her sergeant made forty eight, and her two remote scouts completed the platoon. All men were accounted for.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:37, Sat 17 Jan 2009.

Watching the men assemble, Randwulfe nodded in agreement with the other Brother.

"So it would appear. I think our work here is mostly done, the talents and knowledge of the Engineers and technicians are needed now."

Theodore's ministrations to the injured never ceased to astound Randwulfe. Those blessed with the grace of the Pancreator for their faith were to be cherished, powerful flames in the encroaching dark. He was needed here, no need to disturb him.

"The skies are clear, the rest of these men will soon have this place in as good an order as it can get; perhaps we have a new calling. Something ... a little more direct?"

If he'd been of the Muster Guild he would have been grinning at the prospect of a fight. As it was, Randwulfe felt that his immediate future lay with the group being formed.
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:37, Fri 28 Mar 2008.

"We'd better ask Acolyte Mendias." replied the other Oblate. "It looks like just the First Battalion's forces are grouping."

Randwulfe's company, the Sententia of the regiment's Second Battalion, had been part of the forces most directly hit by the Symbiots' earlier attack. The other two companies of the Battalion, the Tectum and Ferrum, had suffered grievous losses. With over fifty casualties and two hundred wounded, there were less than two hundred able men left in all three companies combined, and of those, many were weary from battle. Randwulfe's tactical knowledge told him their Battalion's forces wouldn't be sent into combat until they'd had a chance to recuperate. But as they watched the other Battalion's forces prepare for deployment, both Brothers seemed to share an unspoken feeling that they belonged there with them.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:48, Sat 29 Mar 2008.

"Then we should find Acolyte Mendias and ask for his wisdom. If the Pancreator wills us to go with them we shall, otherwise we will stay here as required."

Dusting his hands off, he picked up his greatsword that he'd laid on the ground whilst hoisting the turret with the other Oblate.

Randwulfe began searching for the Acolyte's command post to ask him for his orders.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:41, Fri 28 Mar 2008.

Darian finished patching up the man who had only moments before had a symbiot spore embedded in his flesh.  "Rest until ordered otherwise.  You are quite lucky." he said without emotion.  If Darian registered the fact that he too was lucky, he didn't express it.  He stood and began to move towards the next patient indicated by his think machine, but then noticed the forces assembling.

They're going into the field! he thought to himself as his cyber eye zoomed in on the group for closer look.  He sent a delay message to his think machine once more, and moved quickly towards the detachment.

He looked for an officer, and quickly approached and saluted.  "I should like to volunteer for this mission, sir." he said eagerly.  Perhaps a bit too eargerly, considering there were still wounded here awaiting treatment.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:43, Fri 28 Mar 2008.

The Brother Battle lieutenant turned to Darian with a frown. "Shouldn't you be tending the wounded, medic? And report to your commanding sergeant for your orders, not our battalion."

Meanwhile, Randwulfe and the other Oblate found Acolyte Mendias overseeing assignments at the control post. Several other Brothers had gathered as well. Mendias turned to Randwulfe as he approached. "Yes, Oblate, what is it?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:52, Thu 26 Feb 2009.

"Acolyte, we noticed the gathering of men and wanted to volunteer for duty...if you think it wise and wish for us to go with them of course."

He waited for the reply, no doubt be it positive or negative it would be quick in coming.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:56, Fri 28 Mar 2008.

Mendias nodded knowingly. "I understand your eagerness to lend yourselves to battle, Oblates. However, you are needed here to assist with repairing defenses and conducting patrols. Our line will be thinner with the retraction of the First Battalion's troops. Only the Telum company will remain with us, and our own numbers are weakened. We must be the Shield, while our Brothers serve as Lance."

Randwulfe nodded and bowed slightly, showing submission to the Acolyte's wisdom.

"Understood Acolyte, thank you for considering the request, we'll return to assisting those to remain here."

Taking a step back he turned, no doubt the Acolyte would have little time for further pleasentries, so Oblate Randwulfe moved to leave and return to the preparations.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:32, Fri 28 Mar 2008.

Darian frowned at the lieutenant's reply. "Yes, sir." he said curtly, and returned to tending the wounded.  The fools! he thought as he stitched up a shrapnel wound.  My skills are wasted here!  There are plenty of medics without my specialization who could attend to these patients!
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:12, Sat 29 Mar 2008.

The reality, of course, was that the Darmak defenses were short on medics, and there were two hundred men wounded. But Darian was not altogether concerned with reality at times. In the hours since the attack, he had managed to aid nearly four fifths of the wounded in his platoon. Theirs was the hardest hit of the three platoons of the Tectum company, with nineteen dead, twenty seven wounded, and only four able men remaining - himself included in that number.

Of the twenty one men he'd tended thus far, eight could perhaps resume their duties. The rest would need medical leave. Things were never this bad back in the last year, before the invasion. And Darmak wasn't even the main front. Darian could only imagine what things were like for the Sylan garrison presently.

Lieutenant Eduardo de Aragon nodded to her sergeant, looking over the platoon. They were ready. "Radio our scouts and inform them we will be deploying to intercept the enemy's unit." she instructed her sergeant. "We will be supplementing a detachment of the First Battalion's forces. Coordinate a course for advancement with our scouts and brief the men."

"Yes, sir." answered the sergeant, saluting her sharply before hurrying off to carry out his orders. He brought a squawker to his mouth and began relaying commands as he headed back toward the platoon.

Lieutenant Eduardo turned and strode back to the cathedral, taking her own squawker and issuing instructions to her other sergeant. She hurried inside the cathedral's entrance and headed back to the rectory to report to Claudius.

Shortly after her, the Brother Battle detachment's captain and his three lieutenants could be seen leaving their gathered troops and heading inside the cathedral as well. The assembled strike unit waited in formation, stoic and silent.

Meanwhile Private Darian's sergeant approached him as he tended the shrapnel victim, making his regular rounds. "Private, report."
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:53, Thu 26 Feb 2009.

Ivan straightened as the sergeant asked for his report. "Sergeant, our platoon has lost nineteen men. There are twenty seven wounded. We have four able men. Eight of the men I've tended to should be able to return to duty shortly. Thirteen more will require medical leave." The report was given matter-of-factly, despite the grim nature of the numbers. "I can also report a successful operation to remove a Symbiot spore, Sergeant!" Ivan added with a hint of pride. He didn't feel it necessary to elaborate on the fact that he nearly got himself converted in the process. "Still some problems with post-removal containment, but the technique shows promise." Darian paused slightly before changing topics. "Sergeant, I noticed that a detachment is being formed. I would like to volunteer for duty. They will need a decent medic, no doubt."
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:06, Thu 26 Feb 2009.

The Brother Battle sergeant considered Darian's casualty report with a solemn frown, though not directed at him. He nodded slightly in acknowledgment of the grim numbers. Only four able men - Private Darian and himself included. His troubled gaze traveled down to the wounded Brother Darian had been tending. He needed no report to tell him the soldier would bring the count to thirteen in need of medical leave. His eyes moved on to the other six wounded men nearby who had yet to receive aid. Perhaps, if things had been different, he might have commended Darian on successfully bringing over a third of the wounded he'd tended to recovery. But the bleakness of their platoon's losses so overshadowed that accomplishment that the Sergeant merely looked on without reply.

Darian's reporting of a successful spore-extraction did rouse the Sergeant from his thoughts however. He looked to the medic and gave a solid nod of approval. "Yes, so I've been told. Good work, Private. That was a brave thing you did for Private Dax. Thanks be to the Pancreator you were not converted."

He listened to Darian as the medic went on to volunteer for the detachment, arguing that they'd need a skilled medic on their mission. "Indeed they may." he nodded with both an approving and regretful sentiment. "It is commendable of you to volunteer yourself, Private. However there are many more wounded here, and you are this platoon's only medic. I need you to assist what men you can lest we lose even more than we already have. Our men are depending on your expertise. For many of them, you are their only hope of survival. Do not let them down."

He paused for a moment, and then added, "I will confer with Acolyte Vohlan on our platoon's losses and request a reassignment of troops. Do what you can for these men, Private. You may be needed to assist other platoons' wounded soon."

The Sergeant turned and left him once more to resume his operations.

The sun's light was fading around the battlefield. The sky grew dimmer, and the shadows cast over the grounds, longer. It would be dark soon. Time was of the essence.

Music: http://media.putfile.com/Mission-Briefing-48

Inside the cathedral, Lieutenant Eduardo de Aragon and the Primus company's officers convened in the rectory's War Room. Master Claudius gave the floor over to Major Maradus, who proceeded to address the assembled as he stood by the room's central holo-grid display with a pointer.

"Thank you, General." said the Major. "Brothers, as you may know, a small enemy force of three hundred cavalry has regrouped to the south in the lower Istal Mountains and begun advancing northeast toward the coast along this trajectory." He indicated a rendered trajectory-line on the holo-grid which extended from south of the city to a point southeast at several kilometers' distance.

"We believe they mean to bypass our perimeter," he went on as the plotted line continued to track diagonally up the holo-grid past the city's location, "and continue north along the coast to this point," the line halted at a marked point above and slightly to the right of the city, which flashed upon being reached, "directly northeast of the starport. From there, we anticipate their force will attempt to make a surprise strike at the starport's weaker northeastern perimeter." The line extended diagonally down from the flashing mark on the holo-grid to connect with the starport, which flashed brightly once the line reached it.

The Major paced across to the other side of the grid to switch angles. As he did so, the holo-display zoomed in on the area of the starport and nearby terrain, greatly magnifying the image. "There is a weakness in the enemy's plan, however. In order to reach the starport from the northeast coast, the force will have to turn west through a wide delta," he indicated a river inlet from the Zos Sea which channeled into a long, narrow southwestern chasm extending in the direction of the city, "and proceed down this ravine," a trajectory line followed his statements, "until it opens into the mountains fifteen kilometers northeast of the city."

The image zoomed out slightly to include the cathedral's location in the southwestern tip of the capitol. "The Brother Battle strike unit will move on a direct interception course northeast," he went on as a new trajectory line extended upward from the southwestern tip of the city, "and rendezvous with our scouts at this point." The trajectory line met a point just southwest of the ravine's location, which pulsed faintly upon being reached. "From there," the line continued northeast, "the unit will proceed up this path, enter the ravine, and set up hidden strike teams at this location," another marker flashed, "before the enemy passes through. When the Symbiot force crosses the interception point, the strike unit will execute a surprise attack from forward and rear positions, and destroy the enemy's unit while cutting off their means of escape."

The Major turned from the holo-grid to address those gathered. "The strike unit will have the advantage of higher ground and surprise, while the enemy will be confined within the ravine's choke-point with limited mobility. As such, we expect the battle to be swift and decisive, with minimal casualties. Are there any questions or concerns?" The Major waited for the assembled officers to voice any contingencies.

Ivan's tentacle coiled slightly as his request was denied once more, but the sergeant's praise did much to improve the medic's mood.  "Of course, Sergeant," Darian answered curtly.  He then restarted his triage program, and returned to his task of tending the wounded.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:23, Mon 07 Apr 2008.

The Lieutenant shook her head, bringing her eyes up to meet the man's, "It's clear Major." she answered, her hands folded behind her back and her spine held straight. The theory was simple enough. With luck and hope it would stay that way when the plan became reality.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:27, Fri 27 Aug 2010.

"No questions, Major." stated the Primus company's Captain.

Maradus nodded gravely. "Then deploy your units. And may the Pancreator guide your path to victory."

Music: http://www.onmvoice.com/play.php?a=28766

The Brother Battle Captain and his lieutenants each saluted the Major with fists to chests and bowed heads. The Major returned their salute with serious formality. Master Claudius offered a grave nod.

The assembled officers turned and dispersed from the War Room, heading briskly out of the rectory and emerging from the cathedral back to the outer grounds. Their pace quickened as they marched toward the gathered Brother Battle platoons of the Primus company, whose troops stood stoic and ready out on the north expanse of the grounds.

Men looked up from their activities as the officers strode past, watching with silent admiration and envy as their Brothers proceeded to form up for deployment.

Lieutenant Eduardo de Aragon found her Manifest Light platoon waiting at attention, her sergeant standing at the ready before them, prepared to follow her lead.

The Primus' lieutenants fanned out and joined their platoons, directing their troops sharply into tight phalanx formation. Tersely shouted commands echoed distantly across the grounds. The Brothers snapped erect, swiveled on their heels to face the Captain, and stamped their feet in unison signaling their readiness.

The Captain drew his sword and raised it high. "Kotei lo ra'ciin!" he shouted to the assembled company in ancient De Moleyan.

"Kotei lo ra'ciin!" answered the Brothers in unison. Our lives for glory.

The Captain turned about-face and pointed his sword ahead. "Exorior!" he ordered sharply.

The unit began marching forward behind the Captain at his command, moving as a single, synchronized body. At their flanks, troops of the Telum company and others raised their swords in silent salute to those departing on the mission. Able and wounded alike watched in solemn regard as their Brothers marched steadily out of the cathedral grounds, into the fading red light cast on their armored backs by the setting sun.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:49, Sun 12 Sept 2010.

Music: http://www.onmvoice.com/play.php?a=28768

The hour passed quietly as the strike unit marched steadily out of the city, becoming smaller and smaller in the distance until their faint metallic speck finally disappeared into the northern mountains. The sun sank lower beneath the horizon, its dim red glow gradually receding until the last remaining traces of daylight faded completely from the world. Night fell darkly on the cathedral grounds, no glow from the new moon to light the blackness beyond their lanterns. The sky's only illumination was the gently shining glint of the stars.

The evening was peaceful for those out on watch. The warm yellow glow shining through from the cathedral's tall windows cast bright arched patches upon the shadowed grounds. The faint muffled chorus of a nighttime choir eased the tedium of soldiers standing guard in the cold night. Brothers returning from rest came to relieve comrades from their posts, exchanging friendly words as they changed shifts.

Around the perimeter, wounded troops received care from the few medics and theurgists, while earnest companions lent aid where they could. Members of support crews volunteered to share others' workloads. Able men assisted with setting up batteries. Here and there, an Engineer instructed a few troopers in reassembling mounted weapons or repairing damaged machinery. People helped each other. All shared the burden of their tasks together. There was a oneness among the varied ranks and units that transcended military occupations and divisions. Here, in their brotherhood, was the Pancreator's grace revealed. Here, in their camaraderie and friendship, was the spirit of the Holy Flame.

Nearby, Oblate Randwulfe noticed one of the medics tending a victim of severe gouge-wounds, who was struggling uncontrollably, making it difficult for the medic to treat his injuries. He recognized the wounded trooper - Brother Jarel, an Apprentice in his platoon. Jarel was twisting and groaning, shouting at the medic repeatedly. He appeared to be alarmed by the physick's disquieting appearance; the man was a cyborg with a long, clawed tentacle replacing his left arm and cybernetic optics dominating the upper half of his face. Jarel, in his delirium, had apparently mistaken the medic for a Symbiot, and was frantically resisting his attempts to stabilize him.

"Heh, boy's sure puttin' up a fuss, ain't he." muttered one of the nearby auxiliary troops to his mates, several of whom were recovering from injuries.

"Can't say as I blame him." replied another. "That medic gives me the creeps."

"Tell me about it." chimed in a third. "With that slithery tentacle of his..."

"And those eyes!" added yet another, mimicking the bulky cyber-optics with his hands around his eyes like binoculars. "That chrome-head ain't human."

"Soul-dead, more like." added one of the others, wrapped in gauze and bandages, who received nods of agreement from his companions. "How 'bout you, Devan?" he called to one of the other troops, who was sitting silently nearby, cleaning out a rifle. "What do you make of that cyber-creep?"

Devan did not respond, continuing to clean his firearm.

"Yo, Dev'!" the other soldier called again. "Whaddaya think of that freak, Darian, eh? Is he Avestite-bait or what?"

Again, Devan gave no reply.

"Dev...?" the other persisted.

Another moment passed in silence.

"He fixed you up, didn't he?" replied Devan finally, not bothering to look at the other man as he cleaned his weapon.

The other's expression fell suddenly, and he looked back in Darian's direction with a twinge of guilt in his eyes. After a quiet moment, he let out a resigned sigh and nodded. "Yeah..."
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:06, Sun 12 Sept 2010.

He understood the men's concerns and fears. His own theological knowledge said that this medic should indeed be Soul-Dead. A pathetic and tragic creature who had debased his flesh and smothered his Inner Flame with steel and technology.

Still, he was apparently a swift and accomplished physician. Certain tolerances could be observed on the front. He moved to the cyborg attending Apprentice Jarel and knelt beside him, trying to meet the gaze of the injured Brother.

"Apprentice Jarel, don't fight this ... man ... He's tending to your wounds. You have nothing to fear, you're surrounded by your own men. He's a medic of some apparent skill so let him work or you'll be no good to the order or the Pan Creator if you're not on the frontline with us."
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:43, Wed 16 Apr 2008.

Ivan struggled with the resisting soldier.  Even injured and near death, most of the men here were more than a match for the slight-of-frame medic in physical terms.  And of course, his 'training' didn't cover this particular aspect of treatment.  It was hardly the first time he had gotten this reaction, of course.  Largely useless instructions from his think machine scrolled by in his mind.


CORRECTION:
Injection point: x=+.31 y=-.17 z=+3.14
Suggest that patient remain still.
CORRECTION:
Injection point: x=+1.62 y=+4.73 z=+.27
Suggest that patient remain still.
CORRECTION:
Injection point: x=-5.01 y=-2.91 z=-3.91
Suggest that patient remain still.


Darian largely ignored the messages as he aimed his needle for the indicated spot.  "As your physcian...I must recommend...keeping still." he said through grunts.

When Oblate Randwulfe approached, one of Ivan's eyes spiraled to a new focus on the Brother Battle soldier.  "The patient is non-cooperative." he stated unnecessarily, and turned his attention back to Jarel.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:45, Wed 16 Apr 2008.

Jarel continued to struggle, twisting and gasping for breath. "G-g...get it off me! No! Nooo!"

"Put yourself in his position Physik, he's been fighting Symbiots, he's injured and someone who's almost more metal than man is tending to him. Deal with his wounds, I'll calm him...."

He fixed Jarel's gaze as best he could and clasped one of his hands in his;

"Apprentice Jarel, you know me; Oblate Randwulfe. Pray with me, Brother. You're in safe hands here, I'd not let harm come to you. Watch me and remember your teachings..."

If snapping Jarel into a more Brotherly mindset didn't work then sheer physical power would have to suffice; but best to try and calm the soul first to allow the medic time to tend the flesh.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:47, Sun 20 Apr 2008.

Jarel's senses seemed to clear slightly as the Oblate held his hand and spoke to him. "R-...Randwulfe?..." His breathing slowed a little as he cast his gaze about him. "I..."

For the first time, it seemed, he realized his situation as he looked down on his mauled body - and the medic tending his wounds. He winced in both pain and understanding, and his panic gradually gave way to weary sobriety. "Forgive me, Brother... Mine eyes didst not see aright..."

The correction message stopped scrolling by Ivan's vision, and he was able to make the necessary injection.  In moments Jarel's wounds were tended.  "With rest your wounds should heal within weeks.  Avoid heavy exertion, and notify a medic if you feel your health declining." he advised mechanically.

Private Darian then turned to Randwulfe.  "I thank you for your assistance, Oblate." he said, with less emotion than one might expect.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:00, Tue 22 Apr 2008.

"Yes Jarel, it is I. Hold still, let the medic work on you."

He watched the medic working and felt distinctly uneasy around the cyborg. Such a creature he wasn't used to.

Checking the insignia the medic wore, Randwulfe nodded;

"Thank you for tending to a Brother's wounds, Private."
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:20, Tue 22 Apr 2008.

Jarel nodded with weary gratitude in response to Darian's instructions, and said no more.

"Darian," came a voice behind the medic. It was one of the privates in his platoon - one of only two besides himself that hadn't suffered any injuries. "Serg' is callin' us to meet." He jerked his head in one direction and hurried off with several other troops.

Darian nodded formally to Randwulfe, then turned and headed off in the indicated direction.
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:59, Thu 24 Apr 2008.

At the Tectum company's command post, the active members of Darian's platoon assembled before their sergeant - all eleven of them. The rest of the platoon's survivors were crippled or incapacitated, and had been relieved from duty to be tended in the cathedral's infirmary. Besides the sergeant and himself, Darian counted two able men and eight wounded - each of them having been tended by him personally. The men stood at attention, some with bandages wrapped around their arms and torsos, others with less obvious injuries. Ash-smeared faces and dirty uniforms were their common features.

Nearby, the other two Tectum platoons could be seen reporting to their own sergeants with similarly reduced numbers. Darian estimated the entire Tectum company to be fewer than fifty active men combined now. Ahead, the Ferrum company's platoons were also seen assembling - and they looked not much larger than a hundred themselves. It was rare that the full extent of a regiment's casualties were brought so sharply into focus. Of all the companies in the second battalion, only the Sententia had avoided suffering such grievous losses - and even they hadn't remained completely unscathed from what Darian had observed.

"At ease, men." said the Brother Battle sergeant finally. The troops slumped visibly, several still exhausted from the earlier battle.

"As you are all aware, the Tectum has taken serious losses today. As such, our platoons lack the necessary resources to continue operating independently."

Some of the men cursed under their breath. They knew what was coming.

"Effective immediately, the Tectum's platoons will be merging with those of the Ferrum company. Our platoon will be supplementing the Ferrum's third. You will report to Sergeant Erendos first, and myself second. I expect each of you to show him the same respect you have given me."

The sergeant let out a silent breath, his chest and shoulders sinking. His face revealed more than his tone. Slowly his gaze panned over the faces of his men, meeting each of their eyes from one to the next. His eyes met Darian's last. Then he nodded very slightly to all of them. "Dismissed."

The men muttered amongst one another as they departed to report to their new sergeant. An unfamiliar superior in an unfamiliar platoon.

"Whole goddamned company absorbed..." mumbled one to his mates.

"So much for the Tectum..." answered another.

Their voices trailed off.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:53, Sun 28 Dec 2008.

Though his emotions were as unreadable as ever, Darian did not share his platoon-mates' disappointment.  Transfer to another company meant improved chances of getting to the front.  And that meant better chances for collecting samples.

He altered a few small files in his think machine which reminded him of who he reported to, and other such military details that tended just to distract him from his work.

He followed the others out after they were dismissed, already forming plans for future experiements.

"One moment, Private." said the sergeant as Darian turned to leave.

The sergeant produced an envelope from his robes and handed it to him. Upon opening it, Darian found a formal Certificate of Promotion written to his name.

"In recognition of loyal service and commendable performance of duties, you are hereby being promoted to Private First Class. You can purchase your stripe at any time from the quartermaster."

The certificate cited Darian's new rank and benefits, and was authorized by the Captain's signature.

"As PFC, you will be issued medical instruments and supplies beyond your previous quota. You are now salaried at Level Two and are assigned personal quarters. Congratulations, Private."

It would be the last staffing command the sergeant would issue under his previous supervisory capacity.

A tiny hint of a smile appeared at the edges of Darian's lips.  A subtle display of emotion by most standards, but far more than he usually exhibited.  "Thank you, Sergeant.  I shall do my best to live up to your expectations."  His tone was formal, but sincere.

New instruments?! the medic thought to himself with excitement. Personal quarters?!  The situation is certainly improving!  He quickly fed this information into his think machine, and set it to determining the optimal suite of supplies and equipment.  Former experiment plans were updated to include additional equipment, and more importantly the privacy of his own quarters.

The hint of a smile became even less subtle as the projects advised by his think machine rolled across his vision.  "It has been a pleasure and an honor working with you, Sergeant," he added, realizing belatedly he should not show too much eagerness at a moment when the rest of the company was so unhappy.  He forced his expression back to a completely neutral one (an unobservant viewer could easily have missed the change), saluted, and waited to be dismissed.
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:33, Wed 30 Apr 2008.

The sergeant returned Darian's salute, holding the gesture for a quiet moment. Then he released it and nodded silently.

Darian returned the nod, then headed off to find his new personal quarters.
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:12, Thu 01 May 2008.

Music: http://www.onmvoice.com/play.php?a=28769

The evening drew on peacefully as the night watch conducted their routines, the bell-tower tolling with each passing hour. Patrols marched quietly by on their rounds while lookouts scanned the darkness from their parapets and sentries stood silent guard at their posts. Here and there a few technical crews worked on repairing artillery as gunners made idle chat amongst one another. All the while, the muted reverberation of organs and the faint resonant tenors and baritones of the Brother Battle's choir emanated from within the cathedral, comforting those out on duty.

Inside the cathedral, the wounded were tended in the infirmary while those off duty took their rest in the barracks. Some of the auxiliary troops played cards, others passed time telling jokes and reminiscing about life back home.

Out on the grounds, Randwulfe watched as the patrols came and went, marching by with steady regularity. No incidents were reported. All was well.

Nearby, Apprentice Theodore was conversing with one of the Manifest Light's Eskatonic theurgists, talking of the similarities and differences between their two sects' theologies. Some of the other Brothers in Randwulfe's platoon gossiped amongst themselves to relieve the tedium.

"Heard thou," said one Oblate to another, "Master Panard of Byzantium Secundus didst save the Temple of Vladimir on Tarsus from disbandment. The Archbishop hath finally retracted all charges of heresy levied 'gainst them."

"In truth," replied the other with surprise, "Panard is a worthy successor. A mere four years as Master, and already such progress. It doth speak most well of him."

"Aye." agreed the first. "Wouldst that he hath such success in the petition to lift the Decree of Exclusion from the Order, that the temple might recruit once again on Byzantium as in centuries past."

"Indeed." replied the other with a lamenting sigh.

Elsewhere, some of the gunners and artillery men spoke of more pressing matters.

"The entire company, absorbed?"

"Aye, the Tectum is no more. Didst thou not see their remnants assembled hours past? Three platoons, and yet numbering scarcely one between them."

"And what of the Ferrum? Didst they lose so many as well?"

"Fewer, but many, aye. A third of their number dead or wounded."

"'Tis a heavy blow. Wouldst that our Brothers out yonder fair better..."

"Needs must we pray that they do, Brother."

They each turned their gaze east toward the Istal mountains, which they could scarcely see in the pitch-black night.
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:10, Sun 12 Sept 2010.

Spending a little time listening to the men around him and the reassuring choral voices from inside, Randwulfe understood their fears but didn't understand much of the politics the Church was involved with; a simple soul, he didn't yet have the experience of such matters to make decisions or even opinions.

Approaching Apprentice Theodore, he waited for a lull in the conversation to interject;

"Apprentice Theodore, the day finds you well I see? An interesting and enlightening conversation you are engaged in it would seem?"

He smiled politely to the Eskatonic; curious sect as they may have been, Randwulfe was certainly curious as to their more learned viewpoints on such matters as the Symbiots and on Theurgy.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:45, Fri 09 May 2008.

Theodore turned to Randwulfe with a slightly sheepish smile.

"Uh, yes, Brother..." he admitted with a faint blush, lowering his eyes in an attempt to conceal his apparent fascination with the Eskatonic Order's philosophies. He cleared his throat a little with obvious embarrassment.

"That is, uh... The Eskaton is a most, um..."

A beat.

"A most...curious faith, in truth."

He raised his eyes and smiled nervously to his superior and friend.

The Eskatonic theurgist merely smiled knowingly.

Meanwhile, inside the cathedral's war room, Master Claudius consulted with his majors and intelligence officers as they analyzed the enemy's movements on the holo-grid.

"What is the enemy's present position?" Claudius inquired as he studied the grid with a pensive frown.

"Coming up on display now, General." replied one of the officers as a nearby Engineer entered data into the holo-grid's console.

On the grid, a large red dot was blinking at the north end of a trajectory-line tracking up the east side of a long canyon running north-and-south along the east coast. With a few punched in entries from the console operator, the dot shifted several inches north on the grid, with a flashing trajectory-segment trailing behind it to mark its progression from its previous position.

"They are proceeding north on the coast as we anticipated." observed Major Maradus.

Claudius' expression remained cast in a dour, contemplative frown, his brow creased tight and eyes narrowed in introspection. "How long before they reach the ravine?" he asked without taking his eyes off the grid.

The console operator punched in some quick commands and relayed the results to the officer standing over him.

"Estimated to arrive within twenty minutes, sir." reported the officer.

"And the strike unit?" asked Claudius.

The officer conferred once more with the operator and then nodded. "Ten minutes from the interception point."

"The unit will be in position for attack before the enemy reaches the delta." said Maradus with distinct satisfaction in his voice.

Claudius remained silent for a drawn moment. He scratched his chin methodically as he studied the grid through his slitted gaze.

"Captain Ludovicus," he said at last, turning finally from the grid to address the Eskatonic intelligence officer, who had been standing quietly by as the others discussed their thoughts, "what are your observations?"

Master Claudius had his own intelligence officers in the Brother Battle, and they were most capable. But as a general, Claudius never settled for capable. He wanted the best. And there were no better authorities on Symbiot methods and tactics than the renowned hero and savant theurgist, Captain Ludovicus Juandaastas of the Manifest Light's elite intelligence division. And that was why Claudius had requested the Manifest Light to station him here, at the Darmak Cathedral, to lead intelligence operations and provide consultation on strategic offensives. His insights were often more reliable than those of his best Brother Battle tacticians, and he had come to trust his input implicitly over the past few months of his assignment at the cathedral.

From where he stood Ludovicus too observed the grid. When asked his opinion he turned to Master Claudius and answered, "The Pancreator's Light seems to have blinded the enemy, General, and we know how bright that Light is... But perhaps I am too cynical...? That is, all of this seems too convenient. I know Darmak's men are quite good, but that the enemy has A. not yet noticed their detection, and/or B. proceeded precisely along the route predicted, is somewhat unsettling. Of course, it is indeed entirely possible that they are unaware that we are aware of them, but some part of me is concerned. I wonder if it might not be possible that while our attention is focused upon them, the enemy is moving on us elsewhere. OR that our strike force are themselves marching into a trap?"

Bowing his head slightly, he went on, "It may well be entirely unnecessary, but it seems to me that we ought to be prepared for all options to the best of our capacity, no? I suggest readying a reserve unit to support the strike force, should they need it."

"But, of course, I do not voice anything that anyone present has not already considered, and I am sure that the Pancreator will see us through whatever is to come."
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:18, Wed 14 May 2008.

Claudius took a moment to consider Ludovicus' words, scratching his chin slightly as he turned to ponder the holo-grid once more.

"Your suspicions accent my own, Captain." he said with a grim edge to his voice. "Indeed, it does seem too...convenient..."

"Perhaps in their haste, our enemies have failed to detect our hidden scouts?" offered Major Maradus. "Their cavalry has not paused to search their surroundings since they began their push for the coast."

"Yes," replied Claudius pensively, "that is just what disturbs me."

Across from the others, Major Terias evaluated the grid's trajectory-lines closely. After a moment of consideration he remarked, "Their topmost priority, it would seem, is speed. The success of their attack depends on their passing through the ravine before they can be intercepted - and on reaching the starport before the northern perimeter can reposition defenses."

"Even so," said Claudius, crossing his arms behind his back as he surveyed the grid, "once detected, the prospects for such a maneuver's success are unlikely. Our forces are in a far better position to reach the ravine before theirs, even with their faster speed. It is a risky gamble they are taking."

"Evidently they have underestimated our speed of recovery from their last attack." ventured Maradus. "To commence an assault on the starport mere hours after striking the cathedral suggests the first attack was meant to weaken our forces - impairing our ability to respond to their main thrust. They likely didn't expect us to dare an intercept with such little forewarning and so few forces to spare."

"That may be," granted Claudius, "but since we have, and they have continued their course despite our actions, there are only two possibilities. Either they are unaware of our movements, or they are prepared for them. And Symbiots are not easily caught unaware."

Claudius' gaze bore through the holo-grid intensely, as if scouring the display for answers. Meanwhile both majors considered the general's words quietly. Their concern, though unspoken, grew steadily more apparent.

After a moment of contemplation, Maradus responded, "If there is a trap waiting for them, what could it be? Our forces still control the regions between Darmak and Sylan."

"The ravine itself, perhaps?" suggested Terias. "The Symbiots are well-known for using terrain to their advantage, especially at night."

"But that would require their already occupying the ravine prior to this maneuver." countered Maradus. "And our reconnaissance teams have confirmed that is not the case. Even if they have laid some sort of hidden traps, would not the Manifest Light's scryers and theurgists detect them in advance, along with any lurking Symbiots?"

Each of them turned their eyes to Ludovicus expectantly.

The captain nodded in agreement, "Lower-level Symbiot forces and the traps they might create may, indeed, be detected by our theurges. Manifest Light theurges and scryers also have the capability to detect dangerous situations prior to their occurrence. My concern, however unlikely it may seem, is that higher-level Symbiot commandos, which have the capability to infiltrate around our monitoring, may have nevertheless already infiltrated and laid traps, which will keep our strike force busy, while permitting the passage of their cavalry. This would explain why the enemy has been so headlong in this movement."
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:34, Tue 27 May 2008.

Claudius frowned grimly as he considered Ludovicus' analysis. "Well then, Captain, if your suspicions are correct, what precautions should our unit take to prevent this?"

"I am unsure there is much we may do besides alerting the strike force to the possibility that the area they will be setting up their ambush within may have already been trapped by the enemy. Such a warning ought to give them a greater potential to avoid any traps there."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:53, Thu 29 May 2008.

"Very well." answered Claudius with a nod. "Major," he said, addressing Maradus, "inform your captain of our concerns and instruct him to hold his advance until his scouts have confirmed the area is clear. All findings are to be reported immediately."

"Yes, general." replied Maradus quickly, hurrying over to a communications terminal and pressing a button as he leaned in to speak.

"Primus, this is Command. We have reason to suspect the enemy may have planted hidden traps in the ravine you are approaching. You are instructed to halt your advance immediately and search the area before proceeding further. Repeat, halt your advance and search the area before proceeding. Report all findings, over."

After a moment, the Primus captain's reply came through the terminal's com-link. "Roger, Command. Primus is standing by. Awaiting confirmation from recon units."

Maradus looked to Claudius, silently awaiting his instructions.

"Now, we wait." said the general, quietly contemplating the holo-grid with a pensive frown.

Minutes passed. Claudius and his majors each watched the holo-grid, pacing back and forth as they waited. From time to time, they exchanged silent glances with each other, and occasionally looked over at Ludovicus.

Then, after five minutes of tense silence, a transmission came through the com.

"Command, this is Primus. Recon units have swept the north and south ridges of the ravine. All zones are clear. Repeat, all zones are clear. Over."

Maradus and Terias each visibly exhaled and looked to the General. Claudius shot Ludovicus a hard glance, his gaze wary and scathing.

"General?" prompted Maradus behind him as they waited for his order.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:34, Thu 19 Feb 2009.

Claudius furrowed his brow and let out a silent breath, not taking his eyes off Ludovicus. "Very well." he answered finally. "Proceed."

Maradus hurried over to the com terminal and pushed a button to open the channel.

"Roger, Primus. You are cleared to proceed. Repeat, you are cleared to proceed."

The major then looked up at Claudius and Ludovicus.

After a moment, the reply came over the com. "Roger, Command. Primus is proceeding to intercept."

Ludovicus had not ignored everyone's glances, but he was careful not to respond to them either. He was confident that he was correct to point out how odd this entire situation was, regardless of how things turned out, and if his concerns turned out to be irrelevant, so be it. Indeed, he hoped they would...

When Primus responded and was given permission to proceed he took a deep breath and turned his attention to the monitor. The wait continued, though it seemed as if their troops would have the opportunity to face the enemy as, Pancreator willing, they had all intended: unexpected and accordingly advantaged. Regardless he felt a nagging doubt about this situation. Perhaps it was simply his ego. He began to repeat one of St. Horace's koans to himself and stared at the map. The map, at least, was passive.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:36, Thu 26 June 2008.

Minutes later, the voice of the Primus' captain came through the com. "Primus has arrived at mark. Moving into position."

Major Maradus turned his eyes to Claudius as he bent near the terminal to reply. "Roger, Primus."

Again he looked to Claudius but the general made no sign of acknowledgment, merely staring hard through the holo-grid with his usual pensive frown.

Maradus bent to speak into the terminal once more. "Report on the enemy's present position, over."
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:15, Thu 19 Feb 2009.

After a few moments, the captain's voice answered through the com, "Enemy force crossing through the southeast delta now. Estimated to arrive at the ravine's east entrance in five minutes, over."

Maradus nodded. "Roger, Primus."

The terminal operator punched in a few entries and the enemy's glowing red marker shifted northward on the holo-grid.

Minutes passed while they waited.

Then...

"Primus is in position." came the captain's voice over the com again. "All units standing by."

"Roger, Primus." replied Maradus. He glanced over at Claudius, who was still contemplating the holo-grid silently.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:17, Thu 19 Feb 2009.

A few more minutes passed.

Then...

"Command, this is Primus." came the captain's voice through the com again in a notably distressed tone. "The enemy is passing the ravine, moving north out of the delta. Repeat, the enemy is passing the ravine. We cannot intercept. Awaiting further orders, over."

Major Maradus shot the general a worried look.

Claudius' fist hit the holo-projector with a loud thump. "DAMN IT!" he shouted, scowling furiously.

Maradus bent to the com terminal to answer the Primus' captain. "Roger, Primus. Stand by."

"Roger." confirmed the captain shortly after. "Standing by."

"The heathens were wise to us!" shouted Claudius.

"That cannot be!" exclaimed Maradus. "Our units were concealed! They had no warning!"

"They didn't need one." countered Claudius. "An open ravine fifteen kilometers from the city? The single avenue through the canyon? The only means of attack from behind? These are Symbiots, Major, not mindless savages. Our enemy is not stupid, and we have grossly underestimated them. In our haste, we've ignored the most basic rule of any conflict - respect thine enemy!" Claudius shook his head, lamenting under his breath as he stared bitterly through the holo-grid. "Too easy. It was too easy..."

"But what attack can they hope to make now?" questioned Maradus. "If they circle round the entire canyon --"

"FOOL!" yelled Claudius, boring his eyes contemptuously through the major. "They have no intention of making an attack, can't you see that! Little wonder that they charged so brazenly past our perimeter with no attempt at discretion. The cravens meant to be detected! They were counting on it! And racing at full speed, giving us no time to think. They banked on us to act rashly, and we played right into their ploy!" His fist hit the holo-projector again hard as he turned back to the display. "Pancreator have mercy on us." he uttered spitefully as his eyes contemplated the grid. "What stupidity! What arrogance! Confound it!"

Maradus considered the general's words deeply, growing more and more uneasy. "A diversion? But from what...?" He exchanged a look with Major Terias, who said nothing.

Both majors turned their eyes to Claudius, awaiting his word.

Then with a thought, the general turned to Captain Ludovicus, meeting his eyes gravely.
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:16, Tue 24 Feb 2009.

Randwulfe couldn't help but smile broadly at Theodore's apprehension.

"Theodore, there's no harm in speaking to other orders of their faith. We all humbly serve the Pancreator. I wish I could join you and speak of our orders' differences, but I feel I should be doing more here."

He looked around pensively, seeking further labours with which to busy himself until orders were issued which he could follow.
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:46, Tue 24 Feb 2009.

The Eskatonic had been staring intently at the map throughout the General's realizations and the ensuing exchange. While he had ceased to repeat the koan, he had also not looked at either major or the General until he was the General's focus. Only then did he slowly look up from the projector. "I would suggest that there are two possibilities:

One - They have, indeed, laid a trap for the strike force we have out there and are now in the process of preparing to spring it upon them -- should they be successful our defenses are certainly diminished.

Two - They are going to attempt an air assault -- given the starport's air defenses it would be suicidal; however, the Cathedral's defenses have been significantly weakened and our attention is entirely focused upon this distant action on the ground rather than on the sky in the immediate vicinity."

Pausing quickly he continued, "With the understanding of matters we now have, I would suggest that the latter is the most likely. The starport is the Body. We are the Shield. Remove the Shield and the Body lies defenseless. And as you have suggested the enemy is likely to be aware that we have weakened our Shield..."

Again pausing quickly so as not to be interrupted, he went on, "The assault lander based at the Cathedral might be used to recover the strike force so that we might better prepare what remains of the Shield to defend itself, and ultimately the Body. Because either the launch of the lander and/or its arrival in the field will alert them to our new understanding of things, we should put things to red alert at all levels immediately, but do so as quietly as possible. It would not be to our advantage to give too much away about our discovery. The longer their attack is delayed, the better for us and if the attack comes sooner rather than later, that we are as prepared as possible for it could be sufficient surprise to assist its rebuff."
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:01, Thu 26 Feb 2009.

Music: http://www.onmvoice.com/play/4838

Claudius turned to Major Terias. "Major, I want all crews to battle-stations Now."

"Yes, sir." answered Terias, hurrying to a terminal.

"Lieutenant," Claudius continued, regarding a nearby officer, "Have the crew ready the ship for takeoff."

"Yes, General." confirmed the officer, rushing to another console.

Then Claudius instructed Maradus, "Inform the strike unit to prepare for immediate transport."

"Yes, sir." answered Maradus.

An alarm sounded throughout the Cathedral's sectors and an order came through the PA system.

"Red alert! All crews to battle-stations! All crews to battle-stations!"

Troops scrambled from their barracks and dashed down the Cathedral's halls, grabbing weapons and ammunition. Calls and orders were shouted in haste as teams rushed to man turrets and set up artillery.

Outside the Cathedral, Manifest Light theurgists searched the night for the source of their disturbance, while psychics tuned in to their heightened senses and stirred apprehensively.

Watchtower lookouts raised scopes to scan the darkened sky. And then one gave the dreaded call:

"SYMBIOOOOOOOOOOOOOOTS!!!"

In the distance flying shapes suddenly became visible, closing fast on the Cathedral's perimeter. Troops scattered and shouted desperately in alarm. And then all at once, they were upon them - two Symbiot drop-ships, accompanied by a flight of eight fighters. The fighters swarmed overhead and one dove low, strafing across and launching a massive fireball directly at the Cathedral's repeater tower.

BOOM!!!

The tower's base exploded in a thunderous blast and the structure collapsed onto the ground teams with a CRASH, sending fragments of scaffolding everywhere.

"General! We've lost communications!" shouted an officer within the Cathedral's War Room.

"Get the wounded onto the ship!" ordered Claudius. "Have my Guard secure the entrance, I don't want anything to break through!"

"Yes, sir!" answered the officer.

"Officers, come with me!" said Claudius as he rushed out the War Room's exit, drawing a blaster. Both majors followed hurriedly, drawing sidearms.

Outside the Cathedral, mayhem ensued as artillery fire trailed the strafing fighters and anti-air turrets targeted the drop-ships. The two bloated, monstrous, dirigible-like crafts separated - one looming toward the defensive line, the other circling toward the Cathedral's rear.

Leading the ground troops, Sister Theafana al-Malik raised her sword skyward and called aloud to the gunners, "Concentrate fire on those drop-ships! Don't let them deploy their troops!"
This message was last edited by the player at 20:12, Sun 05 Apr 2009.

The sudden rush of activity, the cries and the readying of arms; these were the things that allowed Randwulfe to serve the Pancreator in the way he knew best.

His voice finding a moment between the calls of others rallied his remaining Brothers.

"PLATOON! FORM UP ON ME!"

Drawing his broadsword and setting his shield on his arm, he waited for the Brothers he'd lead against any of the taint that managed to get through the hail of fire from the emplaced weapons.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:51, Thu 26 Feb 2009.

When Claudius exited the War Room, Ludovicus followed grabbing his flamegun. Sometimes it is most unfortunate to be correct!, he thought to himself.
This message was last edited by the GM at 09:05, Thu 19 Mar 2009.

Music: http://www.onmvoice.com/play/4839

Randwulfe's platoon assembled swiftly into formation behind him. The frontal ranks armed swords and shields, while the rear trained their rifles skyward on the enemy's approaching drop-ship.

Anti-air units focused barrages of artillery-fire at the monstrous vessel, shells ricocheting off it's thick carapace. The bloated craft returned fire, scattering gelatinous acidic bursts down at the gunners, which quickly ate through their armor.

Then the blimp-like beast-ship opened its massive jaws and hordes of Symbiot paratroopers leapt out, sailing down with larvae-guns blazing at the ground infantry. The Brother Battle troops raised their shields against the raining slugs and fired their lasers up at the descending fly-men, shooting down several of the winged Symbiots.

Then the remaining drop-troops were upon them and the ground battle began. The first wave of Symbiots were greeted with thrusting swords and razor-edged shields as the Brother Battle struck with swift vigor. The paratroopers swarmed about on buzzing wings, slashing with jagged pincer-blades and barbed tentacles as scores more jumped out of the drop-ship above.

Gunners swiveled in their turrets, tracking laser-fire as Symbiot Wasp fighters strafed overhead and spit fire at the Cathedral's guns. The Wasps circled the Cathedral, blasting its walls on all sides and twisting to evade artillery crossfire.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:17, Sun 05 Apr 2009.

Music: http://www.onmvoice.com/play/4840

Leading from the front, Oblate Randwulfe was intent on his men fending off the vile paratroopers descending on them.

The first Symbiot unleashed a hail of organic rounds as it fell, which thudded into Randwulfe's breastplate. He readied his counter and raised his shield, timing the blow so the Symbiot's momentum met his shield strike, stunning the creature.

Then engaging his sword's shocker system, he swiftly dispatched the vermin with a vicious and powerful blow through its shoulder to its opposite hip, his blade emitting an electric spark as it cleaved through the beast's carapace. Its body fell, still twitching from the surge of electricity.

Another of the creatures launched an attack, slashing at Randwulfe with a bladed limb, knocking his shield aside but skittering off his armor. Randwulfe countered, punching forward with the edge of his shield into the creature's face, and the beast faltered.

Seizing the opportunity, Randwulfe brought his sword cleanly across the neck of his foe with a shock of voltage, ending its blasphemous life in one quick strike.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:19, Sun 05 Apr 2009.

Music: http://www.onmvoice.com/play/4841

Inside the Cathedral, Master Claudius and his officers hurried through the towering halls of the rectory as troops rushed past on their way to battle-stations. All around them, alarms and sirens shrilled as shouts filled the air with the call to arms. Brothers raced to the armory for weapons, theurgists prepared their rites, gunners and support crews dashed up the stairwells to man their stations.

The Cathedral's walls shook as aerial firebombings bombarded its exterior battlements and spires, turrets were sundered and gun-towers burst into flames. The great Darmak Cathedral lit the night as it burned, flames soaring higher as the Symbiots blasted its walls on all sides.

Claudius and his men rushed down the arched corridors as sections of the Cathedral's architecture collapsed and electrical systems crackled and shorted out, sending sparks in all directions. Explosions burst inward through the walls and ceiling, scattering debris in their path as they hastened to dodge collapsing masonry. Marble pillars toppled and crashed to the floor, stained glass windows shattered into multicolored shards, statues and altars fell from their sconces and smashed into pieces.

Ahead of them, groups of personnel ferried wounded from the infirmary to the Cathedral's hangar, hauling stretchers and carrying men on their backs. Private Darian passed several teams on his way out of the barracks, having to weed quickly through the rushing crowd.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:22, Sun 05 Apr 2009.

Ivan made his way quickly outside, ready to help any wounded in the initial attack. He moved briskly, but without panic (or any visible emotion, for that matter), and took in the carnage mechanically. As he spotted various wounded men, his triage program began to compile a roster, and an order of treatment...
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:33, Fri 13 Mar 2009.

Music: http://www.onmvoice.com/play/4841

Through the tumult and chaos of the incoming attack, Ludovicus scrambled after Master Claudius and the rest of the Command staff. The only good thing about the shelling the Cathedral was taking was that it meant the Symbiot assault forces were actually somewhere else -- after all, they would not bomb their own forces. As they jogged he mocked himself for these craven thoughts, as the assault would come rather quickly once the bombardment was complete regardless.

It was then that he had a sudden moment of clarity despite everything: if something were to happen to the General, what would result? How would they withstand whatever followed this attack without Master Claudius' brilliant leadership? He would have to be prepared to do whatever it took to ensure that Claudius survived, why else had he survived himself to this point?

These thoughts sped through his mind as they raced toward the hangar and it was just as quickly that Ludovicus mumbled the prayer that invoked the rite of Divine Warning.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:23, Sun 05 Apr 2009.

Music: http://www.onmvoice.com/play/4837

The irises and whites of Ludovicus' eyes turned jet black, like the eyes of Saint Ven Lohji herself, as the vigor of his faith flooded his consciousness. While he knew whatever lay ahead would be no less treacherous, he felt the assurance of the Pancreator's watchful gaze, as if through Him, his own mind was granted some divine cognizance of all impending dangers.

As Claudius and his officers raced past the junction leading to the Cathedral's foyer, the General's elite personal Guard, Absolution's Avengers, took up positions in the entrance hall and barricaded the massive doors.

"Brothers," called out the High Priest, "armor thyselves!"

In unison, the Brother Battle Adepts recited their liturgy and traced signs over their chests, intoning a low resonant hum that rose into a resounding chorus and reverberated throughout the Cathedral's halls. United in faith, fifty Brothers stood stalwart and ready for whatever dared to invade their great fortress.

Through the bedlam of collapsing stone and bursting fire, Master Claudius and the other Command staff hurried toward the towering central atrium which housed the Cathedral's hangar. Within, troops were already loading wounded men onto The Valkyrie, the General's personal warship.

At last, the Command staff reached the hangar and began assisting the other troops with carrying the wounded aboard the ship. One of the ship's crewman rushed over as Claudius and his officers approached.

"General! We have contact with the starport! Air support is on the way!"

"Good." replied Claudius. "Tell them to hold off those fighters until we can take off, and cover us on our way back to port."

"Yes, sir!" answered the crewman, dashing back up the ramp into the ship.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:11, Fri 27 Aug 2010.

As the crewman hustled back to The Valkyrie, Ludovicus approached Claudius. "Sir, if I may, we do not know precisely what will come, but it would be wise, I think, if you permitted me to invoke the rite of Consecrated Body upon you. May I?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:11, Fri 27 Aug 2010.

Claudius turned to the Eskatonic. "Very well, Captain." he replied with a nod. "But make haste. Time is short."

Nodding his head affirmatively, the Eskatonic moved forward and began a prayer in a low voice, calling on Holy assistance. When Claudius bent his head to receive the invocation, he traced a rune with each hand over each of the General's closed eyes. Then, leaving his left hand atop Claudius' head, he traced the Pancreator's jumpcross across the Brother Battle's chest with his right.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:19, Thu 19 Mar 2009.

Music: http://www.onmvoice.com/play/4841

Though his concentration was strained by the constant commotion, haste, and sounds of battle, Ludovicus sustained his focus - barely. As he traced the jumpcross hurriedly over Claudius' chest, he sensed the faintest aura of purity surround the General, a dim emanation of the Pancreator's sanctity. It was thin and scarcely perceptible, but it would have to do. There wasn't time for more.

Claudius nodded quickly to Ludovicus, then hurried up the ramp into the ship. Maradus and Terias were already assisting the groups moving wounded troops aboard.

Meanwhile, Private Darian exited the Cathedral's front entrance just as the guards sealed the doors behind him. As he rushed outside, all around him was the chaos of battle: a monstrous enemy drop-ship was deploying Symbiot paratroopers directly above the Brother Battle platoons, who were already engaged in fierce melee. The rear ranks fired lasers up at the descending Symbiots, while the forward units fought to hold off those that had already landed.

As he scanned the battlefield, Darian spotted his platoon - or what was left of them. A dozen men were crushed under the twisted scaffolding of the Cathedral's collapsed radio tower, crying for help, while others laid strewn about with shrapnel wounds, acid burns, and other gruesome injuries. Some were engulfed in flames as swarming Symbiot fighters spat fireballs at their turrets and gun emplacements. Others writhed helplessly on the ground, trying to extinguish their burning bodies.

The medic had his work cut out for him.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:23, Sun 05 Apr 2009.

As Claudius ascended the ramp into The Valkyrie, Ludovicus took a quick breath and glanced around. Moving quickly, he joined in helping load the wounded aboard the ship.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:12, Fri 27 Aug 2010.

Ivan surveyed the chaos coldly.  He was not immune to the fear of the situation, but simply gave no outward signal of it.  His triage codes quickly calculated the probability of each man surviving, and generated a treatment order.  Those trapped under the collapsed tower might well live, but only if the tower could be lifted.  Darian could not help them with this, so they were relegated to the bottom of the list.

A subroutine identified a near-dead soldier as 30% likely to contain spore, and queried if he should be moved up the queue for possible sampling.  Ivan sent a negative reply, still shaken after his most recent sampling attempt.

As he moved quickly towards the first wounded man on the list, he followed various symbiots within view, zooming in on them with his tentacle camera, recording data for later study.

When he reached the man, he focused his attention on his wounds, doing his best to force thoughts of symbiots out of his head for the moment.
Diagnoses: Shrapnel wound.
  Beginning extraction procedure...

The soldier Darian was tending to was one of the gunners who had been injured in an artillery explosion when a plasma blast ignited his ammunition. Shrapnel fragments had penetrated his armor in places and embedded in his torso and leg, immobilizing him. If he could be made able to walk again, he might still operate a turret effectively, but presently he could do little more than lie propped against the debris of the decimated artillery and feebly bandage his wounds. The Brother Battle nodded weakly in gratitude to Darian as the medic worked on extracting the shrapnel from his bloody torso.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:08, Thu 02 Apr 2009.

::Tell patient to remain calm flashed the message past Darian's field of vision.
"Remain calm," he told the soldier, without looking up from his work.

::Bleeding moderate.
::Likely to increase after extraction.

Darian continued the procedure, focusing intently on the wound itself, and the instructions he needed to follow to deal with it.  It made not thinking about the violence around him easier.

::Apply coagulants.
::Begin suture.

As Darian neared the end of the task, his codes began to recalculate the survival chances of the remaining wounded, move some up the list, and some down.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:50, Sat 04 Apr 2009.

Music: http://www.onmvoice.com/play/4839

As Randwulfe called his platoon up, Fariq's mind awoke and was at once a static mold of perfect concentration. Quickly, he began his work. Fariq muttered below his breath, concentrated, sweating, his pulse beating in his temples. He recited the ritual of the Armor of the Pancreator while grasping the hilt of his sword and pushing it hard against his chest with his left hand, and making four swift gestures in the air in front of him;

_{"...May the Pancreator's Armor protect mine mortal frame 'gainst all that wouldst strike at me..."}

As Fariq spoke, his irises wandered upwards, showing only the milky white that almost shone in the semi-darkness. In the white that was left, in each eye, a bloodied symbol appeared. The white soon became blurred by the blood and the symbol became completely unreadable.

Mere seconds thereafter, when finished, he turned his stare toward the other theurgists, and realized that they were already chanting. Quickly he turned back and cast the Pancreator's blessed Armor upon six of the Brothers up front, six at the rear and six in the center of the platoon.

Hell.

Already they were here, already they were beating on his Brothers. Nature had been tampered with, and now the Pancreator would unleash His Tools to correct its past mistakes. Scanning through the fighting Brothers, Fariq found and focused on Randwulfe's raging silhouette, and unleashed the ritual once again with one last, hard mental push.

For Thine children, for Thine Tools, Your most loyal Tools...

Fariq shouted, with his sword against his heart, this time gesturing in the air furiously;

"May the Pancreator's Armor shield thine mortal frame 'gainst all that wouldst strike at thee!"
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:56, Wed 08 Apr 2009.

Music: http://www.onmvoice.com/play/5027

As Fariq declared the liturgy and signed the final stroke, he felt a rushing surge of absolute resoluteness and defiance well up from the center of his being, channeling the very quintessence of the Divine through his own will and unleashing its full, unmitigated power to protect his chosen Brother.

A blazing manifestation of golden-white light shimmered in the air above Randwulfe's battling form, flaring brilliantly with the unmistakable image of a sword over a ringed cross - the holy icon of the Brother Battle. It seared with white radiance, then faded, leaving its afterimage on the retina.

Just as the rite was completed, a Symbiot paratrooper descended on Randwulfe with a staggeringly forceful slash of a bladed limb. Randwulfe parried with his shield, deflecting part of the blow's force, but the Symbiot's attack struck through his defense - and halted abruptly. An unseen barrier stopped the blow cold before it could so much as scratch the Brother Battle's armor. Randwulfe countered with his shield, ramming the razor-edge into his attacker's chitinous face - wounding the creature but not deterring its aggression.

The Symbiot swung its blade-arm at him again with ferocious strength. Randwulfe attempted to parry with his blade but just missed the strike, and the full force of the blow sliced forward with enough power to cripple him - and hit nothing. Again, some invisible barrier blocked the attack completely before it could even touch the Oblate's armor. Seizing the moment, Randwulfe riposted swiftly with his sword, slashing through the beast's torso with a flash of electricity. The creature collapsed to the ground, its blood pooling beneath it as it died.

In the same instant, another paratrooper was upon him, hacking fiercely with a serrated pincer-arm. Randwulfe parried most of the strike with his blade, the rest impacting the unseen force surrounding him. Riposting quickly, his sword cut through the Symbiot's carapace with an electric spark, severely wounding the creature but not slaying it. The beast struck at him again - just as yet another Symbiot sliced at him simultaneously.

Faced with two attackers, Randwulfe leapt aside, dodging the first's slash while the other's struck harmlessly against his protective force field. In mid-leap, the Brother Battle whirled round, swinging his sword outward with full force across the back of the latter attacker and cleaving through its body in one devastating strike - his blade emitting a shock of voltage as it sliced through the beast's carapace and fried its innards. As he landed, the Symbiot's body broke in two and fell lifeless to the ground behind him.

Fariq was sweating profusely. Small beads of salty water were forming on his forehead as he continued casting the blessings. Only once was his concentration broken like a castle built of ashes - Randwulfe was suddenly attacked by a Symbiot, and only after several long and painstaking seconds did he show that he was handling the situation.

With the stigma burning and bleeding in his eyes, and his hands moving rapidly in the invisible sign of the Brother Battle order, Fariq continued to chant.

"Let the Pancreator's Righteousness guide mine hand unto the True and Rightful Path!" he said, almost as if in a trance.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:20, Fri 08 May 2009.

Music: http://www.onmvoice.com/play/5027

As Fariq chanted and signed the holy sigils in the air before him, he felt a thrum of power overtake his senses, like an unseen force intuitively directing his actions. Suddenly he was filled with an inexplicable confidence and deftness in his hands - he somehow knew with great certainty that any target he fired at he could not miss, as if the Pancreator Himself was there guiding his aim with uncanny accuracy.

Above the fray, Symbiot paratroopers continued to pour out of the gaping maw of the drop-ship while the platoons of the Sententia company battled to keep the enemy from breaking through to the Cathedral.

"Sententia!" called out Sister Theafana, directing with her sword, "Defend the entrance! Crescent Formation!"

Heeding the Brother Battle Priestess' order, Acolyte Vohlan shouted commands and the Sententia's platoons backed swiftly into formation around the Cathedral's entrance. Their forward lines were already engaged in intense melee as the back ranks fired lasers up at the descending paratroopers. Several of the Symbiots took evasive action as they dropped, darting through the air on buzzing wings and returning fire at the ground troops with bursts of acid and expanding webs. Manifest Light theurgists cast streams of fire up at the flying abominations, chanting liturgies and arcane incantations.

All three of the Sententia's platoons were quickly becoming overwhelmed as the Symbiot forces began to outnumber them. Some of the airborne paratroopers evaded the laser crossfire and bolts of flame, fluttering past the ground units toward the Cathedral's sealed doors.

"Stop them!" called Theafana, pointing with her sword. "They must not break through the doors! Hold them off until the General's ship can escape!"

The back ranks trained their rifles on the swooping Symbiots, lighting the sky with crisscrossing laser-beams while the Eskatonics conjured streams of fire from their vestment knives, incinerating several of the flying mutants before they reached the Cathedral's entrance.

Overhead, Symbiot fighters strafed and continued laying waste to the Cathedral's gun emplacements, spouting fireballs and twisting swiftly out of reach of scattering artillery fire.

As swordsmen battled, marksmen fired, and theurgists chanted, the remaining turrets concentrated fire on the two drop-ships. But the living dirigible-like crafts seemed built to resist everything thrown at them - their thick, reflective carapaces deflected shells, refracted lasers, and absorbed fire. It was as if the Symbiots had evolved their constructs to adapt to the very methods once successfully used to thwart them.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:48, Fri 08 May 2009.

Music: http://www.onmvoice.com/play/4839

Fariq wasn't listening to the al-Malik Sister. He already knew what had to be done and that he was doing exactly what was needed. For a brief second, he glanced at the sky of this alien planet that he already regretted he had visited in the first place. Two deep breaths later, he continued his work.

The majority of the Brothers were safe, although their blessings were diminishing. Quickly, Fariq un-shouldered his rifle, murmured a silent prayer and began firing.

3...4...8...11...17...20...

As the energy pulsed through the muzzle, lighting up his face with yellow flashes, Fariq continued shooting the Symbiots that crossed his vision. Heads exploded, torsos were hollowed out with the sudden spray of fusion energy. He was still clicking the trigger when he suddenly realized, eyes blinking, that he was out of power. Still, every shot he had fired was a killing blow. Every shot had ended in an abrupt scream from a damned Symbiot. He allowed himself a breathless, hesitant chuckle before realizing the situation again.

Damn.
He re-shouldered his rifle and concentrated. His right hand raised into the air and began moving slowly. A circle, then a cross inside it, then a sweeping gesture signing three invisible glyphs in the air.

_{"May the Pancreator's Armor shield thine mortal frame 'gainst all that wouldst strike at thee..."} Fariq's voice was a hoarse, hollow tune that only the ones near him could hear this time.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:16, Sun 24 May 2009.

Music: http://www.onmvoice.com/play/4839

As Fariq blessed each soldier in the front row of his platoon, the Symbiots swarmed over the Sententia's ranks, outnumbering them by nearly one third despite Fariq's singlehandedly shooting down a full score of the beasts. The flying insectoids began targeting the Brother Battle theurgists in each platoon, shooting thick, gooey webs at them which engulfed and immobilized them, rendering them unable to perform their rites. Without the theurgists' support and protection, the other troops became forced into a more and more defensive position as they struggled to hold off the Symbiot horde from breaking through to the Cathedral's entrance.

Meanwhile, the gunner whom Private Darian was tending to nodded sternly when the medic instructed him to remain calm. Despite the seriousness of his wounds, the trooper seemed remarkably collected, a testament to the renowned stoicism of the Brother Battle. As Darian extracted the shrapnel from the man's torso and leg, the trooper unholstered his blaster and covered the cyborg's rear, firing at any Symbiots that tried to attack the medic from behind while he performed his work.

Above, Symbiot fighters continued outmaneuvering turret-fire and decimating the Cathedral's numerous guns. Less than a quarter of the Cathedral's ground-to-air defenses remained intact, and most were concentrated on preventing the second enemy drop-ship from breaching the perimeter. So far the ship had been kept at bay, but it was maneuvering steadily closer as defensive firepower began diminishing.

"We can't take much more of this!" Sister Theafana exclaimed to the officers with her as she watched the Symbiot fighters blast their turrets and artillery. "If support doesn't get here soon, there won't be anything left to defend!"
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:13, Sun 31 May 2009.

Darian finished up with the soldier, and spared a second to observe the carnage around him.  He entered a quick command to his think machine to update the list, giving priority to those who would be able to fight on after treatment, and including half his doses of Elixir as available.  He loathed to use up the precious fluid, but realized that the fight was not going well, and anyone able to fight might tip the tide enough to lead to his survival.
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:25, Tue 09 June 2009.

Music: http://www.onmvoice.com/play/4839

Drawing his claymore, Fariq again made three invisible glyphs in the air, all while the stigmatic blood trickled down his chin.

_{"May the Pancreator's Hand rightfully guide mine own 'gainst the Unrighteous!"}

Strengthened in body and spirit, Fariq threw himself into the gory battle with both hands holding his powered sword. As long as the screams were coming from the Symbiots, he was not going to interrupt his mind's focus on the task. His hands were furiously chopping, stabbing and cutting at the flailing Symbiots. It was like cutting grass on the fields of Shaprut.

The one thing that crossed his mind was the spores. For a moment, he got anxious about the splattering Symbiot blood; what if he inhaled it? Or if a drop were to enter his mouth or eye? As he was thinking a heavy blow struck through his defense, but the Pancreator's protection halted the attack miraculously. Without a scratch, Fariq snapped out of dreary thoughts with a reaction that cut through the sinewy Symbiot body.

Without a word, Fariq continued slashing. He had lost count of all the unholy lives that he had hopefully terminated, and for each unholy life he had saved one of his brothers'.

Was... it one of these?
Another thought surfaced suddenly, a thought that he suppressed violently. That very thought spurred the flame inside him to chop more furiously and meticulously; to root out the evil that was in front of him and continued pouring out from the darkness far away.
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:18, Tue 16 June 2009.

Music: http://www.onmvoice.com/play/6274

Just when it looked as if the battle was hopeless, two fighter jets streaked from the city's starport and opened fire on the Symbiot Wasp fighters, forcing them to break off their attack and take evasive action. The garrison fighters engaged the Wasps in an aerial dogfight, intercepting their assault and preventing them from targeting the Cathedral's defenses.

All ten fighters swarmed chaotically about in the night sky, twisting and looping, chasing and evading, and firing at each other's tails aggressively. The garrison fighters coordinated their maneuvers, flying together and arcing apart, luring the Wasps in separate directions and disrupting their formation. Strafing and rolling out of their enemies' lines of fire, the two jets circled back around toward each other, leading the Wasps on their tails into intersecting paths and forcing them to evade their own allies' shots.

The jets' joint tactics confused and disoriented the Wasps' maneuvering more and more until within a minute of the dogfight, the jets shot down one of the Wasps, sending its flaming carcass crashing to the ground outside the Cathedral's walls. The ground troops cheered as they watched the Symbiot craft plummet and burn, boosting their morale in the ongoing ground battle.

"Kotei lo rac'iin!" called Sister Theafana with her sword raised high. Our lives for glory.

"Kotei lo rac'iin!" cried the Brother Battle troops as one.

As Fariq and the other Brothers in the front row waded valiantly through the Symbiot paratroopers with their swords and shields, more and more of the insectoids broke off from the melee, flying up into the air on their buzzing wings and spraying the troops below with bursts of acid and expanding web-nets. Many of the troops stood unscathed by the Symbiots' weapons as the protective blessings bestowed upon them by the theurgists' rites shielded them from all physical harm. Others, whose protections had faded after several of the theurgists were immobilized by the Symbiots' constricting webs, suffered grievous wounds as the sprays of acid ate through their armor and burned into their flesh.

Meanwhile, Private Darian followed the reverse of his internal think-machine's previous priority queue - assisting those troops with the least severe injuries while leaving those with worse wounds to suffer and die. It was perhaps the most heartless and inhumane decision a medic could make, something only a member of the Engineers Guild, notorious for their calculating soullessness, would deign to do. And it worked. Utilizing his surgical skill programs and Elixir injections to best effect, Darian quickly and efficiently tended the least severely injured victims and, one by one, got them on their feet and back into the fight. With more gunners holding off the Symbiots' air assault, fewer and fewer new casualties were taken and the tide of battle gradually began to turn. Somehow, the coldest, most ruthless, most immoral course of action had become the right course of action.

Overhead, weaving and crisscrossing through the air, the two starport jets alternated their fire on another of the Wasps until it, like the first, plunged to the ground in a blazing heap. The troops shouted again and fought their foes with renewed vigor.

"General!" called one of The Valkyrie's crewman inside the ship, "they've shot down another one!"

Claudius nodded approvingly. "Tell them to focus on holding off those fighters as long as they can. They're our only hope to clear takeoff."

"Yes, sir." answered the crewman.

Seeing his plan starting to work, Darian scaled back on his use of the precious Elixir, but continued his reverse-triage treatment strategy.  As fewer new troops were being injured, he was getting further down the list to some of the more injured, more time consuming cases, but he continued to treat minor injuries first to keep as many men in the fight as possible.
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:00, Fri 03 July 2009.

Music: http://www.onmvoice.com/play/6285

While the battle waged on below, the Symbiot drop-ship looming overhead retracted a massive section of its armored underbelly, revealing something moving in the darkness within. As the craft maneuvered itself closer to the ground, several huge, spidery legs crept out of the opening and a gurgling, rattling hiss issued from the ship's interior. And then it emerged - a gigantic, ferocious, multi-limbed monstrosity that appeared to be a cross between a towering arachnid and a thick-shelled scorpion, bristling with spines, writhing tentacles, and a massive stinger-tipped tail. It thudded to the ground with a hissing, screeching roar that shrilled above all other sounds and curdled the blood of all who heard it.

The ranks of the Brother Battle momentarily stood dumbstruck as they stared in horror at the immensity of the mutated beast before them. Rising on its many legs, the titanic scorpion-spider struck out with its pincers and tentacles, snaring whole groups of troops and devouring them whole with its multi-jawed mouths. Its powerful tail whipped about, thrashing through the platoons' rows as it skittered rapidly on its spidery legs. Men's screams filled the air as the abomination crushed them in its coiled tentacles, impaled them with its tail-stinger, and ate them alive.

Faced with the beast's vicious rampage, the troops abruptly abandoned their fight against the Symbiot paratroopers and hastened to surround the raging behemoth, firing their lasers at its bulk from all sides. But their shots seemed unable to penetrate its chitinous exoskeleton, merely burning small marks in its carapace. The few remaining Manifest Light theurgists not trapped in the Symbiots' web-nets chanted incantations, projecting streams of fire from their ritual knives and scorching the monstrous creature's many heads. The theurgists' fire seemed to have better effect on the beast - though it did not sear through its carapace, the flames continued to burn and spread along its body with each blast, causing the creature to writhe and thrash about in a maddened frenzy as its form was set ablaze.

As the troops struggled to fend off the huge beast, Sister Theafana raised her sword toward the Symbiot paratroopers and gestured symbols in the air, reciting a liturgy in Latin. "Palpito pro Totus-Sator Territo Maiestas!"

The Symbiots suddenly froze in their tracks, backing away from the Brother Battle Priestess and the Cathedral's entrance. "I cannot hold them off for much longer, General." said Theafana to her wrist-squawker.

Inside The Valkyrie, Claudius turned to one of his officers. "Lieutenant, how much longer before the wounded are all secured?"

The officer quickly surveyed the troops being loaded onto the ship, then looked back to the General. "Five minutes, Sir."

Claudius nodded and spoke into his squawker. "We'll be ready to takeoff in five minutes, Sister. Hold them off for as long as you can."

Music: http://www.onmvoice.com/play/7541

Suddenly, Ludovicus was struck by a sharp, unnerving awareness of danger, a precognition of impending peril - perhaps half a minute into the future, from somewhere outside the ship. As he traced the sense, he felt its origins...stretching down the main hall from the hangar toward the Cathedral's entrance... The General's personal guard were in defensive position there...but somehow Ludovicus felt as if the danger he sensed would approach despite the guards at the front doors...
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:26, Thu 23 July 2009.

Ludovicus froze when he felt the sudden realization wash over him. Glancing in the direction of The Valkyrie's loading bay, he lowered his head and murmured a prayer seeking the Celestial Sun's further guidance.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:48, Thu 23 July 2009.

As Ludovicus attuned his focus to receive the Pancreator's revelations, everything suddenly became crystal clear in his mind's eye. His thoughts drew sudden connections between variables revolving around the threat he sensed: the danger he perceived originated from the direction of the Cathedral's entrance hall, but the front doors were barricaded and guarded by Absolution's Avengers - the most elite platoon of combat theurgists in the Stigmata Garrison. Therefore, whatever threat was about to invade their sanctum would either have to charge right through the doors and the guards - highly dubious, given the Avengers' powers - or, it would enter via some other means. An image of the hall's towering, reinforced windows flashed in his mind. The Avengers were guarding the wrong place!

Music: http://www.onmvoice.com/play/7543

The realization that the Avengers were wrongly positioned resounded through his very being. Turning to the Master, Ludovicas spoke in a loud, firm voice, "Sir, it is not the doors through which danger comes, but the windows."

Hefting his flamegun, he broke into a determined sprint to the area before the windows. As he moved he switched his flamegun to his other hand and drew his vestment knife - whatever attacked would be met by his petition to the Pancreator for His cleansing flames.

Upon nearing the entrance area, he shouted, "Avengers, it's the windows through which our enemy comes!!!"
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:56, Fri 24 July 2009.

Music: http://www.onmvoice.com/play/7543

"What?" Claudius responded with alarm. Dashing quickly after Ludovicus, the General called behind him to his staff, "Officers, follow me!"

The Command staff raced out of the ship into the hangar and sprinted down the Cathedral's main hall. As they ran, Claudius traced a sword and jumpcross over his breast and uttered a low prayer, "Totus-Sator Loricatus contego meus letalis somes obviam quicumque offendo procul mihi..."

He then repeated the gesture toward Ludovicus' back, murmuring, "Totus-Sator Loricatus contego vestri letalis somes obviam quicumque offendo procul vos..."

When Ludovicus shouted his warning to the guards, their captain quickly acknowledged and issued orders for the men to reposition themselves along the rows of arched, stained-glass windows lining the hall.

"Brothers," called the High Priest captain, "prepare for breach!"
This message was last edited by the player at 02:54, Fri 24 July 2009.

As the monster appeared from the hollows of the Symbiot ship, Fariq forced himself not to give in to the shock. He knew that they had to keep moving, keep battling.

"We must get underneath it! It has to be softer there!" He was determined to find out. Before anyone knew, Fariq started running to try and come close to the huge beast.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:19, Fri 24 July 2009.

When he arrived before the windows, the Eskatonic knew he had a bit of time before they'd be pierced by whatever Symbiot menace was forthcoming. Taking a breath, he remembered that he had not yet cast the Consecrated Body rite on himself as he'd intended to. It was with the Pancreator's blessing that he had the time to do so now. Speaking the prayer he used earlier on the General, he traced the jumpcross of the Pancreator before him, and in so doing sought His protection.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:17, Fri 27 Aug 2010.

The sight of the massive creature held Ivan dumbstruck for a moment. "It's amazi--" he whispered before catching himself. Forgetting the wounded, he quickly set about using his cyber-eye to capture images of the beast for later examination. Using the camera on his tentacle-arm, he zoomed in on various parts of the beast, trying to learn as much as possible as quickly as possible.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:18, Fri 27 Aug 2010.

Fariq realized that he alone would not be able to do anything physical against the newly arrived monster unless they were all protected by His Hands. Quickly, he concentrated on the task of blessing his troops. The morale would be indirectly boosted as he did so. With shaky hands and a pale face, he turned toward the night sky and closed his eyes. Slowly, he began chanting:

"May the Pancreator's Armor shield thine mortal frame 'gainst all that wouldst strike at thee..."

Fariq laid his hands on the first Brother, then repeated the sequence over and over again, as if in a trance. While his hands were drawing signs in the air, his eyes bled as if being stung by an invisible needle. The chant grew louder and louder:

"May the Pancreator's Armor shield thine mortal frame 'gainst all that wouldst strike at thee!!"

Fariq did not stop until as many troops in the front and back rows were shielded and ready to engage the monstrosity in front of them.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:22, Fri 27 Aug 2010.