Hello all, today I had too much tea and felt like writing (does it have that effect on anyone else? :o ) so here it is. I'm not going to tell you anything ahead of time because I would like pure comments, I think the setting is pretty self explanitory in the context, but if you want to know, Warmachine is a miniatures game made by
Privateer Press that I like alot. Warmachine is the war simulation minatures game which is based in the Iron Kingdoms d20 setting. Without further adue, looking forward to your criticism. :)
The wind howled and rain poured down from the sky. It was not unlike most days for Cygnar – the stormy weather. One would think being out in this weather miserable, the slosh of mud, the drench of downpour, the air filled with germs determined to riddle the senses. But not this man, if he could be called that. For him there was no rain, no squinting to barely see what the street lamps struggled to reveal. It would have posed a problem if this man saw with his eyes normally, but it’s been long since to even remember the last time he has wondered if he even was part of this species. Since his revelation that all there is in the world is pain and suffering, the only truth he’s believed in is battle. When the only two extremes are life and death, what else is there than to hone yourself for the inevitable?
To see past a few feet would have normally been impossible, the rain being so thick that the alley was in almost complete darkness. Feeling somehow the time approaching, the black clad man raises his arms in an awkward horizontal fashion, so that if anyone could even see him, they would have no doubt he was from the wilds and wonder why there was no fire before him that he was dancing around. But after doing so, he stretched them back again, flexing his whole body along with the motion so that every muscle tensed and every joint popped. The feeling of complete relaxation even among this treacherous weather was exhilarating. His body then moved so that his arm slowly raised his sword before himself, his mind’s eye tracing the exact muscles all the way down his arm and even beyond his sword point.
His sword hand’s grip relaxed once more as it fell back along his side as he tuned back into his more outward senses. The wind and rain still howled about the alley, but was but a footnote. What would seem almost as familiar by any other man was what this man saw. Waves crashing about in his vision looked almost unmistakable for fleets of water being tossed about by the wind, but to this man, who knew full well what it was, did not mistake it for the petty vision of man. What he saw was looking past the images of the physical realm, silly things such as corporeal and somatic objects. What he saw was the very flow and ripples the objects projected into the next realm. Interlaced with the rhythmic flow the rain and wind made, patterns of them crashing into buildings and the cobble street and the similar yet somehow very different ripples of rats scurrying in and around the piles of trash along the sides of the alley not made up of windows or doors.
Finally there was that familiar pang in his mind; his prey neared. Though he knew exactly where his prey was, he did not turn to face him and was confident in his own hiding place. The mastery of his plan almost made him chuckle, and a maniacal grin crossed his fair yet determined face in his invisible hiding spot. The prey neared, and stopped not too far away from the hunter and cowered slightly, looking around and over his shoulder. Fear or panic was obvious on his face, though his mortal eyes betrayed him as he saw nothing and straitened up. His lungs obviously inflated by the rise in his chest, preceding a sigh that never happened.
His body jerked into a locked position as his eyes fixed on a form emerging from the darkness. In the dark and the poor lighting the form could not be completely recognized but even the light that did strike it was soaked into the figure’s darkness. The figure steadily moved forward, until the light finally shown at least partly on his face and body, though the revelation did not bring comfort.
“Who… Who are you?” The man stuttered, now visibly shivering with fright. But finally his body straitened up and face became determined with the revelation. An assassin. “I’m not scared of you!” The main raised his arm and pointed at the figure who still only stared back at him with that blood-thirsty grin. “Nobody shall kill me, not even you!” The man got his confidence back, though his pathetic threat belied his fear. Finally he ran from the assassin to the buildings on the other side from him and screamed. “Hey, what am I paying you for, you dogs?!”
Watching the prey, the assassin felt the heated pump of his prey’s heart. Not that it mattered; his prey could not be considered a combatant in any circle. Controlling the mood of your enemy is just as important as battlefield control, and the hunter, in this instance, was already winning. Still facing his prey, his eyes shifted to the building next to the one his prey had is back to, where a low rumble was slowly getting stronger.
The prey was shivering again, quickly looking between the figure across the street and the building next to him. His body jittered along with the rumbling from inside the building, his fingers taping each other faster and faster in conjunction with the gaining roar. The sound seemed at its peak as it stopped gaining in volume, and finally there was a loud crashing sound as the wall but paces away from the man crumbled into dust and rubble praying out into the street. In the dim light of the alley half a dozen figures emerged from the gaping hole of the building dwarfed by a single larger being. Yet in the darkness certain parts of it could be easily identifiable as unique features. A glowing stack at the pinnacle of its body revealed it as having a smokestack which belched steam and twin slits in its head glowing bright from the energy of its heart fire. The figure across the street never moved, indeed the assassin didn’t even seem to breathe.
“Ha! Ha-ha! Shake now, you spit! We shall demolish you now!” The quarry pointed once again at the assassin, and still visibly shook. Only now it seemed by looking at his face he wasn’t fearful, but going mad by the obvious calmness of this hunter. Here he was staring into the face of a steamjack and half a dozen men and didn’t seem to flinch. The man paused again hoping to get some sort of reaction but the assassin seemed unshakable. “Get… Get him, men!”
The employed sell swords from inside the building made up a crescent shape behind the steamjack facing the assassin, the left-most one wearing the most and nicest equipment, obviously being the leader of the others. He pointed at the assassin yet looked at the steamjack and yelled, “Charge!”
The steamjack made a grinding noise, stepped forward slightly, and stopped, making more grinding noises. “Wh - I said Charge!”
Again the steamjack made a grinding noise and only stepped forward stopping short of its intended purpose once more. Finally the assassin made his first move in the encounter since simply walking out into the light. “So…Sergeant. You succeeded?”
The leader of the gang’s eyes opened wide, finally discovering his steamjack has been tampered with. The parts themselves cost a fortune, not to mention the stolen warjack parts to make it combat capable, and the cost of having them installed filled the gang leader with rage and indignation. Yet sanity still ruled him, and he looked about angrily for who tampered with his prize position. Not only now will he loose his prized position, his employer, and this job, but probably his life. The gang leader went even more livid when the person spoke up in answer to the assassin.
“Sure did, boss’o!”
The voice came from the gang boss’ right, and his eyes followed. Indeed the last person in the formation was not in a battle stance, but was calmly standing there fiddling with something in his hands. The gang boss’ rage finally boiled over when he finally recognized the object as a mechanist’s wrench. He then turned back the other way to the other sell swords and pointed at the traitor in their group. “Charge! Kill him!”
Launching their bodies forward in a strong zealous motivation, the first three sell swords from the left charged the last one in the formation, their confidence shattered along with the usefulness of their trump card. The closest sell sword’s killing stroke fell short of the fourth sell sword, who promptly turned about and felled the next to reach the last in line, who now faced the advancing mercenaries with a gleeful grin on his face while still fingering his wrench.
A short outburst of laughter escaped the second traitor as his last swing swung around to normal position. He then resumed his fighting stance, now facing where the other sell swords came from then relaxed and knowing already that the last sell sword to charge would run away.
From watching the events take place the senses of those remaining fell back upon themselves once more, yet were once again conveniently interrupted. Rumbling from the steamjack began to increase, beyond any normal level. Finally the last sell sword lost the grip on his sword in fear and ran back between two close buildings as the rumbling reached what anyone could determine as critical levels. The steamjack erupted in the mixed components that made up its body; parts of iron and steel flew in all directions but were inconsequential to the devastating explosion of fire filling the alleyway with a flash of light and increasing high above the buildings.
A smolder and pile of body parts were all that was left of the hulking steamjack, yet still gave light to the surrounding rain and once-again advancing assassin, looking perfectly calm among the ensued carnage. The prey cowered on the ground which glowed with the flashing lights of the burning corpse several yards away and somehow knew to look up. The assassin stood before him, with a serious, unmoving face which looked down on him and a sword-wielding hand which did not move and the query fell over backwards with his hand up to deflect any blows. Through the words of the assassin, the prey mumbled crazily as if a madman in fear of what might befall him.
“Hear this, criminal. I am not an assassin in which you think as I am not paid, but a vigilante of my own free will here to enact justice. Pay for your sins and be gone.”
The man still sat sprawled on the ground staring before himself dazed from what had taken place. The supposed assassin left him to ponder what he had said. “How could I pay for my sins if he has left?” He thought to himself as his mutterings became more coherent. But the answer was easy as people suddenly appearing all around, who were equally baffled about what events could have possibly ensued here in their absence.
The man quit thinking all together as another man stood over him. He even quit muttering as he knew finally how his fate was sealed. “Sir, over here! There is somebody over here!”
A moment later there was more sound of armor clanking together as another man stood over him with a long halberd that rose into the sky. “I know who this is. Manacle him, and lets drag him off.” The Captain of the Corvis City Watch said.