+- Discovery Gaming Community (https://discoverygc.com/forums)
+-- Forum: Role-Playing (https://discoverygc.com/forums/forumdisplay.php?fid=9)
+--- Forum: Stories and Biographies (https://discoverygc.com/forums/forumdisplay.php?fid=56)
+--- Thread: Sco's Law (/showthread.php?tid=12490)
Sco's Law - Faidd - 09-26-2008
I was finding it difficult to adequately roleplay the character I had in mind, which was when I noticed that I lacked possibly the most important thing: A background. A three dimensional character who thought without strings. This is the result. If anyone feels I've possibly taken too many liberties with my descriptions or have otherwise broken some forum story etiquette, then I'm contactable by PM and xfire. Critique is always welcome. I hope, if you decide to read it, that you enjoy the first chapter.
Edit: A few grammatical tweaks, correction of my tenses and a general upgrade to the original first chapter.
----------------------------
Now you know the bloody score, it's just another friggin' war,
and we're off in a couple of days, to the blood and smoke and haze.
“The Letter” Mike Subritzky
----------------------------
“Get ready.”
“…erm..”
“What’s wrong? Stop mumbling.”
“No.. its.. but, he’s a Corsair..”
“So what?”
“He- he’s one of us!”
Her eyes caught the sun rapidly as her companion gripped her chest armour, her head tipped backwards in shock. Black iris, creamy white... his eyes locked with hers if only for a moment. In fear she turned, by strength he pulled her back,
“What’s your point?” he demanded; “Does it matter if they are Corsairs? They came to kill, to make us fall or to die themselves, condemned to rot in this barren hole. These were the cards he was dealt, it’s a rough game of poker I call death. It’s not up to me to decide whether he lives or dies. Not God, nor you.”
The familiar sound of broken ribcage echoed as the blade that had hung from his side was now thrust into the man’s chest. A grunt escaped the dead man’s teeth as the jacket he wore slowly dyed red, his hands blue. Tearing the metal blade from its stone as if he were the new king of England, Sco turned from the carcass in dull fashion, contemplating the girl’s thoughts, who now lay with her knees buried in the sand, her head bowed.
“He was only human, Sco.”
“We’re leaving.”
Across the great Steppe, the sun hung in a portrait-like manner above the mountains in the far distance. For much of what the eye can see, there was only desert. Trudging through this dank crystal wasteland of stark loneliness, were two soldiers. Five men lay deceased in their wake. The tallest of the soldiers was Sco. Body much like that of a jackal, darkened and tanned skin, mature and assured; he is without fear or trepidation. Boasting deep and sustained ivory hair, an average height to tower most of the cardamine contaminated Outcasts together with the muscles of a heavily-steroided man, his clan had quickly become paramount warriors of the wastelands. His companion, the slender woman, junior in rank tailed behind, struggling to compare to the great strides made by her senior. Of average height and ample breast, fair haired, blue eyed, not typical of a woman from this region of space. Still, her strength is of little impact and her compassion hinders her ability to do her job, or so she is told.
A distant object caught Sco’s eye. A yurt. Often forgotten by the pilots, more interested in the profits of the artefact trade, many nomadic Corsairs live in these temporary shells. While many turned to cannibalism, products of the historic food shortages of Crete, others find ways to making at least some of the necessary ingredients for a proper diet. It can be very rare to find a child in the wasteland that has grown to be fit and strong; able to work the machines needed to sustain a population. The miracle children who fight the diseases, beasts and marauders are captured and trained as pilots. Those who survive their terms end up in the factories.
The girl watched Sco through the corner of her eye as they trod, an assortment of scars decorated his finely chiselled face. It would be dark before they would reach their destination; with the relative size of Omicron Gamma’s sun, the planet has been long since burnt and roasted; the bodies Sco left in his wake had either been lost in the constant sand storm that blighted the planet, or had simply been reduced to bone. The one thing that separates Sco and his tag along from death in this way is their armour. Still, the two know full well of the dangers of the night; these are beasts that show their horrible hides, the voracious vultures and four eyed monsters; the general population of the dark. Beyond all these dangers, it was the terrible cold that would certainly kill the strongest man on the surface of Crete. Thus, whether these particular nomads would allow them or not, Sco and his partner sought shelter. The yurt, from as far as they could tell, is no different than the thousands that can be found dotted in this region of the planet, one of the few that have not been made completely uninhabitable through internal wars, drought and raiding parties.
“Wait,” Sco commanded. Halting, Sco’s hand finds her shoulder; she turned only to see his back as Sco stood, almost hesitating at the entrance before stepping inside. Shots fired. His blade was heard leaving its holster and the frightened, silent whimpers ended. The corpses were tossed out and Sco’s hand beckoned her inside. It was not clear who fired first, though she had not seen Sco with a gun.
“Not yet.”
“We need a fire, Sco, or we’ll die. This thing won’t protect us from the cold.” The hardened soldier waited as a spark fired from her palms; her eyes catch his as she smiles, a fire is lit at her feet. It is quickly muted with a gust of sand and wind. Neither of the two move, it was to be a cold night. After some time, the silence was broken, “You were a pilot, right? For the Corsairs?” she went unanswered as Sco removed his gloves and turned his back to her, lying on the tough ground,
“What happened to the Ynysdr… Sco?” it would be some time before he answered,
“It’s a long story.”
The cold is often the subject of lyrics in Corsair arias. The years had taught them to bear the heat, to survive against the ravenous beasts and make life somewhat bearable. The cold represented an enemy that even the greatest warrior could not attack or defeat. Nature would be the Corsair’s enemy first and foremost since their arrival on the planet. They spent the night inside the yurt; it was not particularly large in size nor was it warm at all. Sco had suggested using the bodies of the former inhabitants for insulation, though when this was strongly refused by his companion, the two settled for taking their clothing. They had been poor; only a pair of shoes between the couple and child. Laying awake for what seemed an eternity, she often thought the howls of animals had gotten closer. It was still dark when Sco finally awoke; a typical Cretian night lasted well over twelve hours. Earth measurement of time was still common in many regions of the planet, despite it being horribly inaccurate. The two soldiers had kept their armour on throughout the night and wasted no time in leaving. She noticed, almost straight away, that the bodies of the yurt’s former inhabitants had been stripped of their skin, likely by the animals that roamed the surrounding area. She couldn’t help but feel responsible, though Sco showed no sign of remorse or grief over their death other than their rather hasty burial. When asked abut a eulogy, Sco sighed; kicked the last piece of dirt over their remains and thanked them for the shoes.
“How do you justify the deaths of innocents like that, Sco?” this question had been invading her mind since they returned to their long march. She received no answer. The sky began to carry Crete’s usual properties; a blue sky had not been seen in many years - if at all on the planet - at least, no sightings could be confirmed. Reports of such an anomaly were often attributed to a supranational experience, a great omen. Pollution had stained Crete’s atmosphere, the system’s iconic emerald colour seemed just a dark mass to those who had never left the planet’s atmosphere. The tangerine sun penetrated the dark clouds, its heat and colour a familiar experience. Crete’s neighbouring planet would often times provide light in the long darkness. The two soldier’s shadows grew in strength since leaving the yurt as the sun slowly rose upon the horizon. A large orange mass to their front, it pointed the way to their ultimate destination. Partially obscuring the sun were the mountains that marked civilization. While much of the region was flat, burnt and otherwise uninhabited save for the yurts, these mountains provided the smallest amount of shade, enough for hungry and desperate early sleeper ship survivors to inhabit the area. The lights of Saint Malo, while slowly dimming due to the sun’s arrival, were visible from a distance. One of the larger Corsair cities on the planet, it’s a commonplace for thieves, pirates and generally lived up to its expectation as a black market capital. The dominant group of pirates that lived and worked here were the Corsairs. Although the Cretian pirates were strict for a number of years on immigration to Crete it was impossible to police the borders of an entire planet; especially before the introduction of docking rings. Other groups would come seeking a change in lifestyle, from other pirate groups to civilians who took a wrong turn in their search for adventure. While most of the planet’s exports to the Hogosha are commandeered by the ruling Corsairs, a Hogosha ship would sometimes dock to meet with the highest ranks. The Corsair’s limited alliance with the Order brought fresh ex-liberty types to Cretian bars and brothels.
The inferior pirate groups were often viciously oppressed by the elite. Decapitations and horrifyingly brutal attacks were accepted by the majority as ways to cull the rebellions of those who disagreed with the factionalized rule over the planet. The factions ranged from the military wings of pirates primarily operating in the Omegas, to the large criminal families that ruled with an iron fist. One such faction, that had lost significant membership in recent years, was the Ynsydr. A religious movement born from the depression found in Crete’s slums, its roots could be found in the long extinct Catholic religion that once existed on Earth. Its followers faith had been weakened and reduced during the hardships of life on Crete, the Ynsydr were formed from a number of priests hoping to recreate the morals that Catholicism promoted, in order to improve conditions. They were great supporters of the Corsairs rite into adulthood, which consisted of sending pilots to the mysterious hole in the Malvada cloud, through which many never returned. Though little of the ancient religion remained, its stories of faith and determination in the face of hardship were rewritten to appeal and appear relevant to the Cretian population.
Having reached the borders of the city, the shadows of the two soldiers had been reduced to almost nothing. An ominous domed wall towered over all those that stood in awe under its powerful gaze. Built from what seemed to be bones and makeshift cement; the wall stretched for a mile in each direction. The gates immediately to the front of the city were the only entrance to and from the pirate haven. The unbearable heat of the sun as it loomed above the mountains was more than enough reason to quickly enter the city. Guarding the entrances were all manners of guards, their weapons ranged from typical Corsair standard issue to refitted and unstable bounty hunter rifles, held together by a worrying amount of tape, “Don’t forget to tip yer gatesman now will ye, hermanos?”
The giant overbearing wooden doors at the entrance to the city of Saint Malo opened; their small windows serving as ever present watchful eyes for enemies. Sco remarked on the slaves that had been employed to sit in scaffolding behind the doors, the eyes of the city. Godless children. The city offered little in the way of people. The once ‘proud’ pilot’s pit stop had been reduced to little more than a starving outpost. Wild beasts lay half consumed in the streets, all kinds of insects calling them home. It wasn’t difficult to discern exactly why the homeless remained motionless on the dirty ground; they were best left alone. Sco and his companion found their way to a shelter, where upon paying the appropriately expensive toll, they sat.
“Sco…”
“It began right here”
“Tell me everything... From the beginning!”