Forums » Sci-Fi Roleplay » Thoughts and Wonders All Forsaken. (Destiny RP)

Low growls and distorted screeches crept steadily over the horizon, along with the powder blue glow of a band of traveling stalkers and the amber crackle of lanterns wielded by ravagers. The band of scorn appeared to number just below a dozen though as they noticed the arc energy jolting from Pyre-5, a few deliberate barks could be heard and the unit split - as if to attempt a pincer-style ambush on their prey.

Swinging their flame-filled cauldrons ferociously, the front force of stalkers barrelled forward. Blue mist veered left and right where Stalkers fled to seek cover and to advantageously position themselves. Perhaps most threatening, a chieftain, a Fanatic's Chosen, withdrew momentarily to sneak behind - eager to see light pour from the guardian's neck if his forces succeeded in taking his attention.

He had enough experience with the Scorn to know most of their tactics; the Reavers attacked with flaming censers, the Raiders and Stalkers with ranged as well as melee with the latter, and at least a few Screebs waiting to self-detonate, all following some sort of Chieftain with one of three shielding powers. He loathed the ones with the tethers, but the others were just as annoying.

First, he aimed for the flaming bowls of the Reavers, causing them to erupt in a circle of fire around their former masters. Then, he would point his barrel at the ranged enemies’ heads, most of which exploded with a dark blue streak of corrupted Ether. The Screebs he shot in their backs, causing them to burst before they could reach him. He continued this method until all that was left was supposedly the Chieftain, or a Fanatic’s Chosen.

Scorn body after scorn body dropped, whether in a glorius burst of flame or with a bullet through the skull and the squadron's numbers steadily fell. For the remaining scorn, seeing their comrades die did not cause them to waver, though they too fell just the same.

The chieftain, smirked as he neared his target. Though stealth did not come easily to a towering giant such as himself, he hoped his subordinates had done their jobwell enough to provide him the element of surprise. Now. The moment was now. He burst forward in an attempt to rush and tackle the guardian to the floor. This light-holder seemed too accurate of with his rifle, but how would he fare with a 7 foot combatant weighing down atop him?

He turned just in time, darting away with the Arc as the Chosen slammed his fists into empty ground. He landed a bit away, eye crackling with storm. “So Fikrul sends another pawn to dispose of me,” he taunted, “how pointless it must be to send wave after wave, and yet here I still stand; either he’s becoming lazy or just hasn’t grasped the concept of relative immortals yet, despite being one himself. Come on then, kill me if you can. I’ll be sure to send your pieces over a cliff when I’m done so that your master can’t regain a failed lab rat.”

The Chosen's chest rose and fell with each rapid expulsion of air, a hissing noise accompanying the exhales. Realizing his the movement of his mark he grew irritated and turned sharply to face him. He growled with rancid breath, saliva dripping from his grinning maw. Struggling with his attempt to communicate in a foreign tongue, he declared arrogantly, "You. Property. You. Belong. Them." an entertained rise in intonation finished his speech as he assessed his next choice of move. He was brash but not entirely stupid. This guardian would win in a one on one fight. No. He needed leverage.

With perfect timing, the Scorn overheard the hum of a snore and caught a glimpse of movement in the corner of his eye. A sleeping guardian. Through all of this noise? It did not matter. Perhaps this could help tip the scale.

Faking movement in one direction, the Chosen darted to the small crater, Crona-8 still sleeping. Abruptly he stomped a leg onto her neck to hold her down while he addressed 'the altered one'. "You make trouble other guardians." he grinned looking down at the Hunter who was abruptly awoken, gripping at the leg pressing down on her neck. "You obey or all die. My hand or you hand. All same."

((OoC: Since a lot of Pyre-5's story is a bit of a mystery, I hope his dialogue makes sense. If not let me know and I'll modify.))

“I belong to myself,” he resisted, keeping his words distant, “they may have taken me, but I only follow my own will.” This was technically true, as that was the experiment he had been assigned in that horrid laboratory of Thyrkeon, but even that could be shifted at any time.

He attempted to shoot his head off, but missed just as the undead Fallen slammed his foot on Corona’s throat, throwing the dice his direction. There was very little choice in the matter at that point, and he had no desire to see her die, but did he know about her Ghost? Perhaps, if he didn’t, he could use that leverage to turn the tables once again. He lowered his weapon in a false surrender, temporarily playing along just in case he knew of the way to kill her permanently.

The Scorn reveled in the false surrender, feeling triumphant and stood taller with pride. As he did so, he unintentionally lifted pressure off of Crona. With the relief she took in a large gasp of air and regained her bearings, trying to understand the situation she'd woken up to. As stealthily as she could, she reached around to search for her hand cannon. While her head was still pinned to she floor, her eyes looked up at Pyre and she gave a wink before jerking upward and releasing a shot from beneath him. While the body fell limp, Crona-8 realized, as if in slow motion, her mistake, before the large form came crashing down on her.

Struggling to move the dead weight off her herself, Crona peaked a head out and allowed herself a few seconds recovery before looking up at Pyre, "A friend of yours!? Please tell me you don't have many friends" she whined, adrenaline replacement still coursing through her circuits.

He moved to help her get the corpse from off of her, using what strength he had to lift the heavy undead monstrosity of Fikrul. “I’ve never had real friends,” he mentioned, not recognizing if she was being sarcastic or not, “only allies and enemies; all others stay far from me or try to kill me on sight as you nearly did.” Sirius hovered beside him, his single unblinking red eye analyzing where the weak points were to remove in order to get it off of the Huntress.

A few shots later, at least a few of the limbs were taken away from the cooling body. While it was still hefty, Pyre managed to move it to where she’d be able to escape before being crushed again by its impossible bulk. “You are ok, right,” he asked, more of an investigation than actual concern; it had been long since he’d felt anything but pain and regret.

Crona's heart raced hearing the shots. She squeezed her eyes shut bracing for pain but when none came, she realized his intentioned were not to lay a bullet through her head.

Something about his undertone though put Crona on edge. Something unemotional. Something robotic. A personality to match the vex-imbuements?, she wondered. No. There was a glint of hurt. Nonetheless, she couldn't keep her distrust from swelling, fighting to hide it as she might. She broke eye contact in case he may notice - best case: she was being wise; worst case: she was being an asshole.

"I'm - I'm ok" she spoke, lifting her now free body and dusting at her garments. Her brow furrowed briefly at the stains that had been left. "How long have you - have you been like this then? Even before the..." she struggled for a kind way to put it "enhancements it was like this?"

“It’s been like this since the start,” he sighed, sitting on the Scorn’s corpse, “everyone’s always seen me as a ‘lone wolf’ kind of person, or they just feel intimidated by my presence. Even my Fireteam seems like they’d rather be somewhere else whenever I’m around them. Ever since the ‘upgrade,’ I’ve been having these visions; I’ve seen things forgotten long ago, heard voices from the Deep speaking to me, and I’ve even been forced to watch as the City...”

He stopped talking by that point, letting Sirius interject. “Ever since the tests,” he explained, “we’ve had visions of the City as the Vex desire to have it; metallic structures, a shattered Traveler, the consciousness of every living thing stored and made to fit their designs. It was never easy to know the threat was out there, but to see it...” he closed his eye, then opened it with renewed vigor, “that’s when you realize you knew nothing about what’s out there. We’ve carried that burden ever since, dedicated to putting a stop to that plan at any cost, even at the price of social relations of any kind.”