Music: http://media.putfile.com/Brother-Battle-March

The glaring red light of the sun's final descent bled across the rocky terrain ahead of the trekking unit, casting the land in a harsh fiery gleam. The troops marched in step, their shadows passing along the uneven path like rows of resolute phantoms. Their armor shone in the crimson light like blazing silver, shields on their backs and swords at their sides, rifles resting ready on their shoulders. Ranks of Eskatonic and Avestite theurgists marched with them, their blue and scarlet robes mixing with the brown tabards of the Brother Battle, staffs and flameguns in their grasp.

Up the rugged slopes of the northern Istal mountains they marched, through the summit nexus of the eastern highlands, over the arching precipices above the northeast valley, and across the uplands overlooking the east canyon, until at long last they approached the rendezvous point on the northernmost crest of the Istal mountain range.

Night had fallen hours ago, and the mountain top laid shrouded in darkness. The company's armored ranks glinted faintly in the starlight.

"Stitum!" ordered the Captain with a raised hand, and the unit halted.

One of the Brother Battle sergeants brought a squawker to his mouth and spoke, "Primus has arrived at rendezvous. All Ghost-Runners, report in."

One by one, the company's scouts revealed themselves, appearing from behind rock outcroppings and crevices, their forms shifting colors as they each deactivated their chameleon suits' camouflage systems.

"Ghost-Runner One, reporting in." radioed the first as he approached the unit.

"Ghost-Runner Two, reporting in." replied the next, following.

"Ghost-Runner Three, reporting in." echoed a third, joining the others.

Lieutenant Eduardo's sergeant also spoke into his squawker, "The strike unit has arrived at the rendezvous point. Scryers, report in."

Two more figures materialized from the surrounding rock faces as their chameleon suits reverted from camouflage, radioing in as they moved to regroup with the Manifest Light platoon.

"Scryer One, reporting in." said the first.

"Scryer Two, reporting in." followed the other.

Each came before the sergeant and saluted, before filing into their respective positions within the platoon's ranks.
This message was last edited by the GM at 06:52, Mon 14 Apr 2008.

Their tread was resolute.  From her foxhole, Chance watched.  And thought.  And tried to think less.  War was, despite her record and her rank in the garrison, not her purview.  She was a survivor.  She had to trust that those in charge knew what they were doing.  The alternative was just too depressing to even consider.

It was probably possible to tell that the scouts had been working together, alone, for a long time simply because of how they fell into step.  Ghost Runner One approached the unit.  Then Ghost Runner Two.  Then Ghost Runner Three.  Then, without deviation, without a hint of individuality:

"Ghost Runner Four, reporting in."

The fourth one.  The woman's voice was still just smoke, cool, controlled, despite the fact that the glinting, glimmering ranks could be more than enough of a sign for any nearby symbiot.  Just who was still watching them?
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:57, Mon 14 Apr 2008.

Her troop came to a stop as the scouts reported in briefly and the movement of the Symbiots was confirmed. So far it seemed their own actions had gone unnoticed by their enemy and with any luck it would stay that way until the last possible moment.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:52, Sat 26 Apr 2008.

The Ghost-Runners and Scryers rejoined their respective platoons, filing into the ranks. Harper found her sergeant waiting for her with his characteristic seriousness, but as they exchanged salutes, he gave her a faint, approving nod.

Harper was not one of the Brother Battle, and never would be. She, like many of the conscripts filling the ranks of the Scions of Zhal, had been absorbed into the legion due to the extreme shortages of troops in the regular garrison ever since the Commander withdrew the Regency's forces to attack the al-Malik worlds. With the main bulk of the Regency's legions gone, and the steadily dwindling numbers of their remaining forces in the years since the withdrawal, it was no longer feasible for their remnants to operate independently; they lacked the necessary size, command structure, and support to function as separate legions.

The Brother Battle had their own problems as well. While not having to deal with large withdrawals of troops, they did occasionally suffer casualties. The Scions of Zhal could not simply replace their losses through conscription - it required years of training to become a Combat Brother. Instead, they employed "auxiliary troops" - troops who were not sworn to the Brother Battle Order themselves, but served in their military. With the Stigmata Garrison's severe shortages, many of these auxiliaries came from the remnants of the Regency's legions themselves.

Harper was one of these. Though technically having signed on with the 6th Legion, she and the other recruits had been immediately transferred into the Scions of Zhal as auxiliaries. As such, she had spent her service surrounded by Brother Battle soldiers, theurgists, and officers who shared very little in common with her. It was definitely a departure from the life of a Scraver on Byzantium Secundus. Many of her platoon had regarded her with suspicion and distrust at first - several still did. But over the past year and a half of her service, she had demonstrated certain reliable qualities which had endeared her to some of the Brothers - including her staff sergeant. And it was with this understated respect that he regarded her these days.

The other three Ghost-Runners were directed back into the platoon's ranks. "Ghost-Runner Four," said the sergeant before Harper joined them, "take point."

Lieutenant Eduardo's sergeant selected one of his Scryers and sent him to scout ahead of the unit's position. The Scryer, a clairvoyant Penitent in a chameleon suit, saluted the sergeant and jogged ahead down the eastern slope of the mountain.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:22, Thu 26 Aug 2010.

When her sergeant nodded his approval, her mouth tugged into a half-smile -- easy as kissing, easy as getting killed. Maybe easier. There was no tension in the smile, no jolt of whatever it is you get from kissing or being killed; just humor, just awareness. Take point, he said. "Sir," she replied. Then she saluted, again. Then she said, "Be sharp."

Then she disappeared. Not literally, of course, because she didn't turn her chameleon suit on again until she'd gained some distance from the glimmering, glittering force on whom so much rested just now. The suits didn't run on air, after all. And she was broke.

But she left, and she didn't linger, and she didn't look back.
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:30, Thu 24 Apr 2008.

In the starlit night, Harper was one of the few who could see ahead with any clarity. Her goggles provided an ultraviolet view of the terrain beyond: the mountain crest broke into a downward slope which wound crookedly between the rocky highlands and descended through the foothills toward the lowlands. The lowlands quickly rose into the mountains at the base of the eastern canyon, which separated the Zos coast from the Istal valley. Visible across the lowland stretch was the mouth of the eastern vale that would lead them to the ravine, less than five kilometers from their current position.

The Scryer that the Manifest Light platoon had dispatched came up beside Harper and paused, staring out across the eastern expanse as if caught in some sort of fixed trance. He remained motionless for several moments.

Her gaze flicked from the scene below - the ridge, the lowlands, the ravine - to the Manifest Light Legion's Penitent Scryer.  Another place, another time, and Chance wouldn't be 100% comfortable with the Scryer at her side.  She had her reasons.  They were good ones, too.  But here and now?  Here and now, kooky trance and Hazat superior aside, he was just another person she didn't want to see die -- or worse.  Death is not the worst thing that can occur to man.  And she could imagine, perhaps with more precision than most, what it would feel like to be fixed in place while one's eyes saw something real but else.

The Scryer's eyes refocused and he raised his wrist to speak into his transmitter. "Enemy unit located, proceeding northbound on the east coast, approximately fifty kilometers south of the Zos delta."

Back at the unit, Lieutenant Eduardo's sergeant heard the Scryer's message over his squawker. "Roger, Scryer-One." he answered, then looked to the Lieutenant. "They've reached the coast, estimated fifty kilometers south. They're moving north now."

And that was her cue to be a ghost again -- a movement in the dark.

But first!  some military redundancy.  The Ghost-Runner thumbed her wrist-radio on and echoed the Scryer's information.  Added a colorful epithet.  Then, off-the-record, off-the-radio: "Hey," she said.

That was going to be a question.  The hell are you even doing out here.  The hell aren't you sitting somewhere high-and-dry-and-safe.  But she decided not to voice it like some rookie.  Turned it, instead, into a hey, good luck sort of hey, a hey, thank you for being a filthy freak kind of hey.  Elsewhere: even a Penitent pervert would be eyed askance.  Elsewhere:  theurgists were respected but feared.  Here:  Manifest Light was manifest hope.

Then: "Stick close if you can.  I'll watch your back when you're all sparked out."

There was a lot of ground to cover, and not a lot of time to cover it in.  Chance jogged along the ridge until it was easier to jump a couple of stones and free-fall-tumble-almost-flying-now-it-seemed like down a slope.  The single-minded silence of this was eerie; what were the sounds of a night on Stigmata?

The world's moon, Martyr, was dark in the sky; nowhere to be seen.  The superstitious might have taken this for a sign:  no martyrs would be made tonight.
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:29, Thu 01 May 2008.

The Scryer nodded to Harper's instructions, then pulled his balaclava back over his face and lowered his night-vision goggles over his eyes. With a touch of a button on his wrist-pad, his suit's colors warped and fluctuated until they matched the darkened surroundings and he became part of the terrain. His ghost-like form dashed stealthily down the rocky slope after Harper's, two watery shimmers in the night.

Music: http://media.putfile.com/Onward

"Progredior!" ordered the Captain from the front of the unit.

The company's ranks began marching onward once more, following in the wake of the two advance scouts. With no torches lighting their path, the only telltale guide for each row's steps was the movements of the next row's silhouettes as the unit proceeded all but blindly through the darkness.

Down the steep, uneven slope they treaded, placing their feet carefully on their descent from the high crest. Their footsteps pattered lightly on the rock, each trooper making an effort to step briskly and quietly down the trackless hillside.

Little by little, the unit wound its way lower and lower down the mountain, their night-sighted pathfinders serving as both their eyes and compass.

Steadily they marched between the arching escarpments and stratified rock walls of the descending slope, down along the zigzagging foothills at the base of the mountain, across the rolling plains and knolls of the Istal lowlands, and up through the wide gaping mouth of the vale in the east canyon, drawing closer and closer to their destination as they disappeared into the winding channel in the canyon's rift.

Less than a kilometer from their destination, the company halted suddenly. Lieutenant Eduardo could not discern the cause of their abrupt stop, but she could just make out the Captain's voice from the front of the unit, his words barely audible in the silence.

"Roger, Command. Primus is standing by. Awaiting confirmation from recon units."

Then Lieutenant Eduardo heard the Captain's voice once more, this time over her squawker on the lieutenants' shared channel.

"Attention all units. Command has informed that they have reason to suspect our force may be entering trapped ground. We have been instructed to halt our advance until we have confirmed the area is clear. Lieutenants Baurus, Quintus, and Ferris, dispatch all Ghost-Runners to search the area and report any findings. Form two squads - send one to the north ridge, the other to the south. Lieutenant Eduardo, send a team of theurgists to assist both groups. Each team is to report clear zones upon positive confirmation. We have less than fifteen minutes before the enemy reaches the east end of the ravine. Move out."

"Roger, Captain." answered the company's lieutenants in rapid succession.

Each platoon hurriedly assembled their Ghost-Runners and formed scouting units, which proceeded swiftly up to the north and south ridges of the ravine to search for Symbiot-planted booby-traps.

Meanwhile, Private Harper had reached the ravine several minutes ahead of the unit, and was proceeding to scout out the southern ridge when she received a transmission from her sergeant.

"Ghost-Runner Four, we've just received warning from Command that the ravine is suspected to be a trapped zone. Proceed with extreme caution and report any suspicious findings immediately. Confirm all cleared areas, over."

The transmission made Chance take pause. For a moment. Then her mouth curved.

Was a pity no one was around to see it. And if they had been, well, they probably wouldn't've had a clue anyway. As far as wry smiles go, it was a masterpiece; not just wry, understand, but also wearily amused. Not really sharp, either -- faint, like seaspray, just a little of it, and how the kiss of something so cool could be welcome on a certain kind of day but also sting. What with the salt.

Low, into the radio: "Really.  And just who told Command that, eh?  The whole - "

The whole goddamned world is a trapped zone.  But Chance didn't say that.  Instead, Chance turned her gaze toward the other ridge for a second.  Even though she'd paused, she didn't stop looking around.  She didn't stop looking at the stones and the rocks as if any shadow, every shadow, was on the other guy's side.  Because any shadow, every shadow, could've been on the other guy's side.

Chance squinted, as if that would bring anything and everything that was dangerous into sharp relief, as if it would turn the world into one of those visual games where it only took a certain way of looking, and then suddenly the shape of hidden things and secret became plain to the naked eye.

"Hey.  More details or're we batblind and echo-y?  Over."

Chance palmed a couple of stones.  The whole goddamned world was a trapped zone and a trap.  With that in mind, Chance kept an eye out for anything that looked suspicious, or worse -- felt, in the pit of her stomach and the marrow of her bones, dangerous.  When, and if, she found any such thing, she'd investigate it further.

She liked a challenge.  It would've been a challenge to lay traps along the ravine, so it fit that it would be something of a challenge to find the traps without actually setting them off -- or setting them off when she was near enough to be felled by them.

"No further details at this time, Ghost-Runner Four." Came the sergeant's reply on Harper's squawker.

Within moments, squads were dispatched to either ridge of the ravine, composed of scouts and Manifest Light theurgists. The whispered prayers of the theurgists' rites were scarcely audible as each team fanned out to cover ground.

Meanwhile, Private Harper investigated her area of the south ridge for all the usual signs - raised mounds in the ground where spore-pods could be buried, long weeds or masses of fungi on the rocks, fertile soil, anything the Symbiots might use to plant a trap.

But strangely enough, she encountered no such indicators. No traps sprang as she crept along the rocks and traversed her zone. No apprehensive feelings flooded her senses to warn of impending danger. In fact, the area appeared quite bare and ordinary.

"North zone one clear." announced one of the Ghost-Runners over the channel within a minute of the search.

"South zone one clear." reported another soon after.

Another minute passed.

"North zone two clear." confirmed another.

"South zone two clear." followed a fourth.

And another minute.

"North zone three clear."

"South zone three clear."

One by one, various teams within each squad reported their cleared zones, until after nearly five minutes of searching, Harper heard the north squad leader's confirmation over the channel.

"North ridge is clear."

"Roger, north squad." came the reply.

Then she heard her sergeant over the radio, "South squad, report."

"Zones one through five cleared." answered the south squad leader. "Awaiting confirmation on zone six."

Silence returned as the squad waited for Harper's report.
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:17, Fri 20 June 2008.

They waited another second, maybe two, before Chance replied. False starts, double checking tech that was likely to explode -- she understood that. But if Command, as mighty and powerful and chalk full o' voodoo as any organization she'd ever been acquainted with, thought there was a trap, surely there'd be something?

The fourth Ghost-Runner crouched at the very edge of the ridge and contemplated the cliff-face. Were there caves? Were there fliers inside, full of doom and poison, just waiting for the clomp of heavy Brother Battle troops frolicking aboveground?

"All looks as tight as a grayface's ass. Over."
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:52, Mon 23 June 2008.

"Roger, Ghost-Runner Four." answered the squad leader. Then after a moment, his confirmation was issued over the channel, "South ridge is clear."

"Roger, south squad." answered the Sergeant. "Maintain your position until further instructed."

"Roger." the squad leader replied.

Back at the unit, a moment passed while confirmations were reported to the Captain. Then the Captain raised his squawker and spoke, just audibly enough for Lieutenant Eduardo to overhear, "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."

Then they waited.

A moment passed. Then the Captain's voice was heard again from the front of the unit.

"Roger, Command. Primus is proceeding to intercept."

With a raised arm, the Captain signaled the company to advance. The unit resumed their march sharply, their lines moving as one as they proceeded quickly toward the interception point of the ravine.

"North and south squads, we are cleared to proceed." came the Sergeant's voice over Harper's squawker. "Move into position and await our arrival."

"Roger. Moving into position." answered each squad's leader in quick succession.

"Ghost-Runner Four," the Sergeant went on, "resume surveillance of the enemy's movements and report updates on their location and bearing, over."

"Will do, Sergeant," Chance replied.

Her gaze went to the skies; scanned them.  Then the scout, on a whim, knelt even closer to the ground, and put her ear to it.  Listened hard.  Then she clicked off her radio, and pushed on.

Chance was a woman of her word.  Such as it was.  When she wasn't lying.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:42, Tue 24 Mar 2009.

Music: http://media.putfile.com/Arrival-at-Mark

Within minutes, the company's bulk marched into view around the ravine's bend and advanced steadily through the winding channel to the interception point.

"Primus arriving at mark, prepare to regroup." came the Sergeant's lowered voice over the radio.

"Confirmed." replied each squad leader.

From their obscured perches atop the ravine's ridges, the scout teams watched as the unit finally arrived and bifurcated to ascend the north and south slopes of the ravine.

Up on her elevated perch, Harper surveyed the coast through her macrobinoculars, scanning for signs of the Symbiot cavalry. She soon spotted them - heading straight north across the southeast delta. At the speed they were going, she estimated they would reach the east mouth of the ravine within five minutes.

Once all units had regrouped, the Captain signaled sharply toward each zone and teams rushed swiftly and stealthily to take their positions. Lieutenants directed their platoons, sergeants distributed fire-teams to tactical areas along each ridge, and sharpshooters and theurgists rapidly set up defensible lines of fire.
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:15, Tue 06 Jan 2009.

Chance activated the radio at her wrist again.  She was, perhaps surprisingly, completely calm; she'd almost always been real calm before a take, during the wait, back before.  The waiting could be fun.  Well, the waiting wasn't usually fun here...

Quiet, then, into her wrist:  "The targets are heading North 'cross the South East Delta--straaaaaight as a Hawkwood's pecker and just as true."  If she got even one of those Brother Battles to blush, even once, she'd consider her life well-lived.  "I'd say about five minutes until.  Over."

Alejandra took a moment to absorb the situation and reflect upon the information given to her at the briefing before they left. It would take too long and spread them too thin to try and send anyone around the back of the column to channel the symbiots forward so they would just have to rely on the creatures not to turn tail.

"Sergeant, divide off a third of our platoon to join the other flanking units. We will keep the rest back ready to move in and block the end of the ravine. Get everyone to take cover out of line of sight until we need to move."
With any luck they could hold the symbiots under the fire of the units along the ridge and gain cover from their comrades on higher ground.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:05, Tue 06 Jan 2009.

"Roger, Ghost-Runner Four." came the Brother Battle sergeant's reply over Harper's squawker.

Meanwhile, Lieutenant Eduardo directed her sergeant over her radio as the Primus' units took up positions along each ridge.

"Roger, lieutenant." answered Eduardo's sergeant.

The Manifest Light units quickly repositioned themselves to form up with the rest of the company's fire-teams. Theurgists and psychics rushed to join Brother Battle troops and took cover on both flanks of the ravine. The lieutenant's reserve units concealed themselves atop the ravine's ridges and prepared for ambush. In a matter of minutes, all teams were in position and ready to strike.

"All units, stand by." came the Primus Captain's voice over the radio.

"Standing by." echoed each team's leader.

All became still. The ravine fell utterly quiet, save for the distant rumbling of the Symbiot cavalry's riders. Lying secreted in their niches, the strike unit awaited their prey in silence.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:39, Sat 17 Jan 2009.

Alejandra breathed deeply, focusing on their enemy's approach. Everything was in place and they would do their damned hardest to make it work. Not one of her dervishes would go down easily and she tried not to think about how many would go down. It was no use worrying about it now.

All around her in silence without the slightest whipser people would be praying. 'Let me through this one', 'Make it quick', or the more dedicated prayers with lines for mercy and triumph. There was only one thing Alejandra wanted, and not the whole army of Symbiots would keep her from her brother.
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:30, Thu 29 Jan 2009.

Music: http://www.houndbite.com/?houndbite=8364

In the still night, the distant trampling of the Symbiot cavalry drew gradually nearer. Through her macrobinoculars, Harper observed the beasts as they progressed steadily north across the east delta, farther and farther up the coast toward the eastern mouth of the ravine nestled in the delta's valley. In moments the Symbiots would reach the canyon's entrance and head down the ravine into their trap. The air was tense with anticipation.

Soldiers looked on into the darkness with stoic conviction, swords and shields grasped tightly in readiness. Marksmen trained their sights on the ground below, zeroing in their focus. Theurgists prepared themselves with prayers and meditations.

Lieutenant Eduardo's Scryers monitored the east delta remotely with their farsight powers, casting their vision into the distant areas obstructed by the canyon's peaks. From her position on the southern ridge of the ravine, Eduardo could see nothing but starlit darkness across the canyon. She and her sergeant relied on the Scryers for surveillance.

"Enemy in sight." came the periodic report from one of the Scryers over Eduardo's squawker. "Nearing the ravine."

Moments passed by in silence as the lieutenant and her sergeant listened.

. . .

"Two hundred meters and closing."

All was still now as the unit waited. Everything was riding on this moment.

. . .

"One hundred meters."

Seconds ticked by and tensions mounted...

. . .

Then suddenly --

"Enemy is...passing..." The Scryer's tone was perplexed and disquieted. "Proceeding north...passing the ravine..." The tone grew more and more concerned.

Lieutenant Eduardo's sergeant looked across at her warily as they each heard the report over their squawkers.

. . .

"Enemy has passed the ravine, moving north along the coast. Exiting the delta..."

The lieutenant's sergeant shifted uneasily as he looked to her. Now what? his eyes seemed to ask...

To say it was unexpected was a gross understatement. Was there another route further north that they were going to turn down or had they misinterpreted their destination? Either way they couldn't just sit here doing nothing. It was a waste of time.

"I have to call it in to the other units. Keep an eye on them, they might still turn back."

What were they doing? There was no way they could have known about the ambush, that was the entire point, so the only reason they would move away from the pass was if they had no intention of using it in the first place. They would lose days moving around the canyon and the city would be well defended by then.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:51, Wed 18 Feb 2009.

"Yes, sir." nodded the sergeant. He raised his squawker to speak. "Roger, Scryer One. Maintain surveillance and report all further activity."

"Roger." the Scryer confirmed.

Alejandra sighed, taking a breath and calling in to the Brother Battle captain when the Symbiots failed to change course in those three or four seconds.

"Captain," she paused for a moment for a reply, "Captain, this is Lieutenant Eduardo de Aragon. We have a problem. Acknowledge." Again she waited for a reply before continuing. There would be no point explaining it all if he wasn't listening.

After a moment, the Captain's voice answered through her squawker, "Roger, Lieutenant. What is the situation?"

"My Scryers have called back. The Symbiots are passing the ravine. They are not coming our way." she enunciated the repeated phrase clearly to make sure he caught it over any interference or noise. There would be no battle today, which seemed to be good for them in the long run. She just didn't trust the Symbiots to do what made sense.

A moment passed.

"Roger, Lieutenant." came the Captain's reply, considerably embittered. "Hold your position and maintain surveillance. I will inform Command of the enemy's movements and receive further orders. All units, stand by."

"Standing by." responded the other officers, one after another.

Alejandra waited, letting out a sigh as the tension rapidly escaped. There was a mixture of relief and disappointment in her and amongst her men. The anticipation had built up to the point where battle had been a certainty in their minds. They had been absolutely prepared for it. Now they were stood waiting until they had permission to come in home.

A few minutes later, the Captain's voice came through the radio. "I've just received word from Command. They're deploying the ship to pick us up. All units regroup and prepare for immediate transport."

"Roger." answered each of the Primus' lieutenants.

The fire-teams positioned along the north and south ridges of the ravine began reassembling, making their way down to the ravine's center. Lieutenant Eduardo's theurgists and psychics returned to her unit, forming back up with the platoon.

Then, suddenly, an explosion resounded far off in the distance, and the rattle of artillery fire and canon shots followed shortly after. It came from the southwest...toward the city...

That did not sound anywhere near good, no matter how one tried to twist it. The lieutenant pulled her macrobinoculars and brought them up to her eyes, fixing her gaze in the direction of the noise.
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:47, Tue 03 Mar 2009.

Music: http://www.soundlantern.com/Up...ndPage.do?ToId=35783

As Eduardo raised her macrobinoculars to her eyes, the magnification system zoomed in toward the southwest, enhancing the image several times until the capitol city came into focus.

And then she saw the source of the disturbance: fashes of light and bursts of fire lit the night sky around the Cathedral, as the rattle of artillery and blasts of turret-fire continued.

Zooming in farther, she recognized the bloated, monstrous shapes of two Symbiot drop-ships closing on the Cathedral, while several enemy fighters circled above, blasting the Cathedral's walls on all sides. Despite ground-to-air fire, one of the drop-ships breached the perimeter and hovered directly above the ground units.

As she zoomed in closer on the drop-ship, she saw the beast-craft open its massive jaws and out jumped platoons of Symbiot paratroopers, who descended upon the ground units with guns blazing.

The other drop-ship proceeded to circle round to the perimeter's rear as Symbiot fighters strafed and concentrated fire on the Cathedral's guns.

The Cathedral's defenses were visibly weakened. Eduardo estimated roughly one battalion was holding off the attack - half of the regiment's original number. If the second drop-ship succeeded in deploying its troops, the Cathedral's forces would be pinned on both sides with at least equal numbers assaulting them. She was no General, but she had seen enough combat to know that didn't spell good odds for the Cathedral's defense.

And out here, fifteen kilometers from the city, their strike unit was powerless to intercede. It would take hours for them to march back to the city on foot, and the battle would be long over by then. All they could do was hope air transport arrived in time to carry them back to the Cathedral.

But she did not see the Cathedral's assault lander taking off...
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:40, Mon 23 Mar 2009.

Damn them. How had they managed that? She hated to sit idle but...if they left they could only afford clean-up support to the survivors and re-fortify the outpost at best. At worst they'd be walking into a throng of Symbiots. The fastest they could get there was the airlift. If it came. She hated to do nothing but...

"Captain," she said into her squawker, "Lieutenant Eduardo de Aragon. We have a new problem."
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:41, Thu 12 Mar 2009.

"We hear it." answered the Captain. "Where is the battle, Lieutenant?"

"It's the Cathedral. I can see two visible dropships and fighters in the air. They've got troops inside the wall," she replied, continuing to watch what she could make out of the battle. This was not good at all. Even despite her attempts to concentrate on the matter at hand it kept coming back to her; what if the Cathedral fell? What would they do if they were left stranded out here?
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:18, Tue 17 Mar 2009.

There were several moments of pause. Then the Captain's answer came through briskly, "There's no response from Command, the signal's dead. Their communications must be down. Lieutenant, what about the transport? Can you see the ship?"

"No, Captain. I can't see it." She scanned away from the city briefly, trying to determine if perhaps the transport had already departed. Maybe it had, maybe they could get there quickly enough to assist. Maybe they were stuck here.
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:18, Tue 17 Mar 2009.

Eduardo's macrobinoculars scanned the night sky from north to south, but there was no sign of the Cathedral's assault lander anywhere.

"Maintain surveillance, Lieutenant." answered the Captain through her squawker. "What's the status of the battle?"

The order to regroup had caught Chance by surprise, but didn't slow her down, not yet.  She'd lost sight of the cavalry as they'd passed the canyon, into the ravine, and they hadn't come out again yet.  They should've.  After she'd got a glimpse, then, hey, then she'd hurry back.  She was just doing her imperative job:  Resume surveillance of enemy's movements and report updates.

At least, until the first explosion in the distance.  Chance made herself a little flatter against the ground.  Was arrested, in the middle of a gesture.  She turned her head in that direction and raised her macrobinoculars.  Adjusted for distance.  Adjusted for clarity.  Adjusted for -

A pause.  Her hands went still.  Then she said, very quietly:  "Fuck."  Pronounced, even more quietly, but with a real lyrical sort've precision:  "Spike my ribs-right with a Decados' poisonstiffed hole-frog and fraggelate the reverencin' techmuckery fungshit out of every dyin' dimbulb of 'em."

Her shoulders became a line of tension; she forced them easy and swung the macrobinoculars in the general direction of the symbiot cavalriy's projected path.  There did not appear to be much point in radioing her sergeant to say, 'We are so torked.  We are so spikin' torked our eyes're lightin' up.'  So she did not.

Instead, she pressed the button of her wrist-radio with her chin and said:  "Ghost-Runner Four," a brief pause.  The pause would say worlds to anyone who'd worked with Chance for an extended period of time.  To anyone who'd begun to know how she worked, how she presented herself.  "En route back."  A beat.  Her tone was practical.  "The city.  You see it?  Doesn't look like we should expect on help for gettin' over to help 'em.  Still want me to RB?  Thinkin' we've been strayhooked by anglerglow, but I don't know."

i.e., instead of continue following the Symbiot cavalry who were looking more and more like a lure.  Hell, at least she wasn't in charge.

There was another moment of dead air, her breath held.  Then:  " - over."
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:56, Tue 24 Mar 2009.

"Negative, Ghost-Runner Four," responded Harper's sergeant, "hold your position. What do you see?"

Chance exhaled quietly.  Her voice was cool, but that belied the way her stomach clenched as she reported:  "Walls're lit up at the Cathedral.  Two monster-wombs.  Lots've Wasps buzzin' round.  Lots."  A beat.  "Walls're breached.  The other MW headin' for the back, practically untouched.  They've dropped green on the ground."  Chance couldn't bring herself to say 'over.'  "Copy?"
This message was last edited by the player at 01:38, Wed 25 Mar 2009.

"Copy, Ghost-Runner Four." replied the sergeant. "Maintain surveillance and status reports. Ghost-Runners One, Two, and Three, regroup."

"Roger." answered one of the scouts. "Ghost-Runner One regrouping."

"Ghost-Runner Two regrouping." responded another.

"Ghost-Runner Three regrouping." replied the third.

"It's not good, Captain. There are Symbiot fighters in the air. I can only see one friendly battalion. One. Over." 'Not good' had to be a pin-up of understatements. They had so few options out here but if the Cathedral fell they were just as lost as the stronghold itself. No, she took a deep breath, time to think and to let the Captain worry about all this.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:45, Sat 28 Mar 2009.

"Roger, Lieutenant." replied the Captain. "How many fighters?"

Alejandra counted once, twice. They were fast moving but they could only move so fast and she was sure of her tally when she delivered it. "Eight. Eight fighters, Captain." She held herself back from asking him anything. If he had any instructions he'd give them. What was there they could do anyway?
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:50, Thu 16 Apr 2009.

"Eight..." responded the Captain with concern. "No wonder the ship hasn't deployed. With that many fighters swarming over them, they'll be unable to clear takeoff without air support. Lieutenant, what about the starport? They should be scrambling fighters by now."

Again her eyes scanned the sky above the cathedral and across to the starport. It was a mass of smoke and fighters above but there in the midst of it...
"Yes! Air support is incoming. The starport is active. They have air support, Captain."
Well that was something at least. Maybe they'd scrape through after all.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:10, Wed 29 Apr 2009.

"Roger, Lieutenant." replied the Captain. "Keep me informed of any developments."

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

Just when it looked as if the battle at the Cathedral was hopeless, two fighter jets launched from the 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.

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

With two Wasps downed and six remaining, the Symbiot fighters re-coordinated their assault - two focusing pursuit on the jets, and the other four resuming their attack on the Cathedral's guns. Straining to intercept the Wasps attacking the Cathedral while simultaneously evading those chasing their tails, the two fighter jets began to become overwhelmed. The Symbiots stopped falling for the same tricks and began countering the jets' maneuvers, swooping from side to side and switching targets when the jets tried to lead them into their own lines of fire.

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

Meanwhile, on the ground, the battle took a sudden turn for the worse. The first drop-ship deployed a huge, ferocious, multi-limbed monstrosity that looked like a cross between a gigantic arachnoid 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 and began snaring the troops with its pincers and tentacles, and devouring them whole with its multi-jawed mouths.

Within minutes, the ground troops were so overwhelmed fending off the monstrous beast that the remaining Symbiot paratroopers finally broke through to the Cathedral and began pouring into its smashed windows in hordes. The gunners were still occupied trying to shoot down the Wasp fighters and nearby drop-ship, and keep the other drop-ship from breaching their perimeter. Overhead the jets desperately dodged the Wasps on their tails while trying to divert the others from blasting the Cathedral's remaining turrets.

Within another few minutes, the strained efforts of both fighter jets to disrupt the Wasps' assault on the Cathedral while outnumbered and outgunned, had become daunting enough that the Wasps finally succeeded in shooting one of them down. Without its wing-man's support the other maneuvered more and more desperately, valiantly stalling the Symbiots' assault for almost a full minute longer before the Wasps' shots finally hit it and sent it crashing down in a burst of flames.

Music: http://www.onmvoice.com/play/6289

Having annihilated their opposition, the six Wasps recommenced their assault - but just then, the Cathedral's canopy opened and The Valkyrie, Claudius' assault lander, rose out of the fortress at long last. The ship took the Symbiot fighters by surprise, chasing them down as it circled above the Cathedral at high speed. As they saw the General's flagship coming to their aid, the Brother Battle began singing an ancient Demoleyan war-chant while they fought, galvanizing their ranks with emboldened faith.

Targeting one of the Wasps as it rocketed through the air, the Brother Battle flagship opened fire with its plasma canons and blew the Symbiot craft to bits, its charred husk plummeting down outside the Cathedral. Then the ship pursued another of the fighters, doggedly chasing its tail and blasting it until its burning corpse crashed down near the other's.

The remaining four Wasps broke off their attack on the Cathedral and began concentrating their fire on Claudius' ship. The Valkyrie took evasive action, outmaneuvering the Wasps and blasting the first Symbiot drop-ship with repeated plasma bolts, which even its thick, reflective carapace could not sustain. Its fume-jets destroyed and gaseous air-sacks decimated, the hulking beast-ship began to lose its elevation, its nose tipping downward uncontrollably as its massive bulk descended upon the huge arachnoid monster below and crushed it beneath its smoldering wreckage. The troops cheered victoriously as they rushed to finish off the pinned monstrosity.

The four remaining Symbiot Wasp fighters tightened their pursuit of Claudius' ship, flanking the craft on all sides at close range and concentrating fire on its energy shields. Lifting up, the ship led the fighters away from the Cathedral and began heading toward the starport. But the Wasps swarmed around the ship at point-blank range, coordinating their attacks and maneuvers to block off the path to the starport, and began herding the craft farther and farther upward toward the heavens. The Symbiot fighters chased and herded the vessel doggedly as it tried to shake them off its tail, unable to go anywhere but up...and up...and up...

Eventually the specks of The Valkyrie and the Wasps were so distant that they'd be exiting Stigmata's atmosphere soon. Zooming in at maximum magnification with her macrobinoculars, Lieutenant Eduardo could scarcely make out several other specks in the night sky flying toward Claudius' fleeing vessel...

Watching intently, Alejandra passed on details of the battle piece by piece as they occurred. First when the fighters took flight, their triumphs, their fall, then the rise of The Valkyrie, the drop-ship being shot down, and Claudius' escape upward into the heavens.

"There's... more ships, moving to intercept, but it's too high. I can't tell what they are."
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:42, Sun 14 June 2009.

"Roger that, Lieutenant." came the Captain's reply over her squawker. "We've waited here long enough. At that altitude, there's no telling when the ship will make it back to pick us up. We need to reestablish communications and find out how we can assist. There's a disused observation post not far from here en route to the city. We might be able to radio the Cathedral from there. All units, regroup and prepare to move out."

The other lieutenants confirmed the Captain's orders.

The voice of Private Harper's sergeant came over her squawker, "Ghost-Runners, the unit is preparing to move out and proceed to the nearest observation post to reestablish communications with Command. Ghost-Runners One, Two, and Three - prepare to move out. Ghost-Runner Four, regroup and take point. Over."

Alejandra in her turn had the command passed to her troops, gathering them into marching order. Her prayers followed The Valkyrie in its flight as well as the ongoing plight of the Cathedral's defenders. It was not enough to cheer on from the hillside but their only options were to wait out the battle or be collected by the now departed ship. No, they needed to regroup and form a plan.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:05, Thu 23 July 2009.

Harper had demonstrated certain reliable qualities which had endeared her to some of the Brothers - including her staff sergeant. Then there were certain reliable qualities Harper had demonstrated which may or may not have endeared her to some of the Brothers. This, then - her readiness; her quickness. Harper had trained her macrobinoculars on the surrounding terrain, her mouth just above the telltale light of her squawker, adjusting for distance -- and, by the time her sergeant had gotten to "proceed to the nearest observation post", Harper was already locating herself relative to said post, and gearing up to go on ahead.

He had said, "Ghost-Runners One, Two, and Three - prepare - ", and Harper, having made sure all of her gear was attached, smirked, then mouthed, 'Ghost-Runner Four, regroup and take point' - at the same time that her sergeant said it. "Didn't even need psychic powers," she murmured, and her voice was a ghost, murmuring to herself, to the desert, to nobody at all.

Then she pressed her squawker to life and said, "I glow up when I hear those words coming from your reverencing mouth, Sergeant Festus, Sir." The Byzantium Secundus accent came out: thick, thickening; then dissipated for the more serious: "Already sharp. Over."

And Harper started to do just that. She picked a route that was easy for her, with an emphasis on quick. If the rest of them were coming -- and where would they go? -- she'd have to keep a route in mind for them as well, and check that out too. Quickness seemed to be key, though. After choosing a route, she kept her fellow Ghost-Runners in the loop, relayed the appropriate information, and tried not to stare too hard at the skies...

...or flinch at the sound of the city burning.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:46, Sat 28 Aug 2010.