exsiliumlogs | MISSION: SALT THE EARTH

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MISSION: SALT THE EARTH

Date & Time: October 17 - October 23
Location: Southwest Russia, 1223 CE
Characters: ALL; tag yourselves in
Summary: The Initiative sends all of the Transports on a mission to fight troops of the Golden Horde.
Warnings: war, violence, npc death (notify a mod if there's cause to add a particular warning!)

It is a warm day when the Transports arrive, a breeze blowing and sparse clouds in the sky. Before them is an expanse of flat land interspersed with some short, rolling hills. There are sparse trees, but for the most part it is grassland. It would be ideal for farming, but has not been utilized as such yet. Several miles in the distance is a small town, and the troops of the Golden Horde have made their camp just outside of it. There are about a thousand soldiers present, and the mission is simple: send a message that this land cannot be claimed. They will do this by defeating these warriors who are feared throughout the medieval world. They will then punctuate this statement by ensuring that this land cannot be farmed for centuries.

It is a small expanse of land that the Initiative has their eyes on, no more than ten miles in diameter. But for some reason, they have deemed it to be of a deep strategic importance.

The Transports arrive in the early morning, escorted by several Initiative officers, whose presence is meant primarily to keep things organized while the actual battle is to be left to the Transports. Under the guidance of these Initiative officers, the first order of business for the Transports is to set up a camp of their own. The battle will commence in the late afternoon, six hours after their initial arrival.

The battle will take place halfway between each side's respective camps. Many of the Mongolians will fall in combat. On the fifth day, the remaining soldiers will retreat, surrendering the area. Once the region has been secured, the second portion of the mission will commense, in which the Initiative will oversee the dispersement of a chemical agent over the land to ensure that no crops may be grown there. It will be harmless to all humans and animal life, and some weeds may even be able to take root, but the grain farming that would have otherwise taken place on this land will not be able to be undertaken. The land outside of this ten mile radius will be unharmed, but this small region will be barren, seen as cursed when the legend of the defeat of the soldiers of the Golden Horde is passed on.

A week after the mission's commencement, the Transports will be sent back to Exsilium. Their mission will have been a success. But the fallout of it will remain to be seen...

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The camp is surprisingly comfortable thanks to the Initiative's technology, giving ample accommodations for the Transports, as well as larger tents to serve as facilities such as a mess hall, a triage center, and a command base. Each sleeping tent is meant for three people, as it is expected that the Transports will share a tent with their room mates from Exsilium's housing facility, but no one is actually enforcing these sleeping assignments.

Considering the size of the camp, it is surprising how quickly it is set up. Each tent takes little more than the press of a button to assemble, and the Transports have several hours to familiarize themselves with the campsite before they are led out to battle.

Once the battle commences, Transports will still be free to come back to the campsite to rest when need be. Those who would prefer not to actively be involved in the fight itself are encouraged to provide support by volunteering in the mess hall or triage center, or even offering advice to the Initiative officers in the command tent.

There are three miles between the Transport's camp site and that of the soldiers of the Golden Horde, and it is halfway between these camps that the battle takes place. These are seasoned soldiers who have been conquering their way across the continent, building an expansive empire. They are widely feared, and an untrained soldier would be no match for them. Many are on horseback, and they rely heavily upon their archers, though they are armed with a number of other weapons as well.

Still, even with their superior numbers, they will not be able to hold up against the Transports for long.

The fighting ends on the fifth day, and then the Transports are expected to return to camp for the following days. Should someone have chosen to wander off beyond the borders of the battlefield, the Initiative will not be able to stop them. But regardless of where they have ventured, no Transport will be able to avoid being returned to Exsilium when the time comes.

The Initiative will seek volunteers to aide in their task of seeding the earth with their strange chemical, but their technology makes the task easy enough to accomplish even without many Transport volunteers.

For those who do not participate in this task, all that is left to do for the remaining days of the mission is to recover from the battle and wait for their return to Exsilium.

[ Artemis frowns as he approaches the body, giving it a considering look before reaching to brace one hand on the man's chest, the other hand wrapping around the shaft of the arrow and pulling it free of where it had been imbedded several inches away from his heart.

It was sloppy work.

He stands upright, using a cloth to wipe the arrow clean before returning it to the sheath slung over his shoulder.

Damn, he had not thought his weapon choice through. If only he hadn't felt so rushed by that woman in the purple robes. Sure, he knew how to use it. More than that, really. By human standards, it would have been considered a darn good shot. But by fey standards, it was sloppy.

He gives the body another considering look before bending down once more, this time to retrieve the sword loosely grasped in the fallen soldier's hand. He tests the weight of it in his hand. It is different from the claymores that he is accustomed to practising with, but he's sure that he can manage the learning curve. He's satisfied to have found one that's not made of pure iron, at the very least. Something about it just seems more inherently satisfying than picking off soldiers from afar, after all. ]

Blaine had known as soon as 'missions' was a sure thing that he wasn't going to do any of the fighting on said 'missions'. Not unless it was life or death for him or his. 'His' being anyone he found himself particularly liking and useful. So he had on one of those aprons that servers wore over clothes he could throw away without any remorse.

"Alright, I guess I'll be useful here giving out food. It's not as bad as soldier rations should be." He looked in a pot. "What'd you think?"

Sinew reinforced recurve bows are very powerful weapons, but advanced as they are they can't match the range and power of gunpowder. Ionae lay on the ground towards the rear of the force of transports, peering down the sights of her rifle. Every couple of seconds, she would fire, and more often than not one of the Mongols would cry and tumble from his horse. Sometimes the horse itself would fall, pinning the rider to the ground, Ionae made no distinction.

She wasn't the best shot in the world by any stretch of the imagination, but the gun felt almost like it was working WITH her to help hit targets. No doubt the effect of whatever strange things the Initiative did to it.

Edited 2012-10-18 01:16 (UTC)

Ionae wandered along with a facemask and sprayer, spreading the Initiative's poison. Some people might be horrified or at least uncomfortable about this, but Ionae mainly just looked bored.

Edited 2012-10-18 01:16 (UTC)

[babydoll was ready for this. she had her sword and her gun this time, and there were no gasses to get in the way. even if the soldiers were on horses, it gave them a big disadvantage -- close combat was hard to maneuver on a horse, and often relied on charges. however, she didn't know what to expect with them, so she kept the options for them open.

she didn't linger to attack when it was time, and she used every one of her powers to her advantage. she dove right in, aiming for those on horseback first. it would be easier to fight if the majority of those with an advantage over most were killed or at least injured -- those on foot would have to wait. so she fought her way through what soldiers were on foot with ease, occasionally having a close call now and again when taken by surprise.

it was easy for her to jump from one of the soldier's shoulders and leap right towards a man on horseback, slicing his head clean off before landing and shooting another soldier in the head.

this wouldn't last forever, she knew that. working with a large amount of people would come in handy, but it didn't mean they would be there to back her up if need be.]

Loki had walked alongside the other soldiers with some reluctance, stopping sometimes to survey the landscape and making himself a generally unremarkable part of the scenery.

There was no love in his heart for the Initiative, which he still felt had stolen him when he was finally prepared to seize Asgard or die trying. With that in his mind, he felt no loyalty to them and decided he had to know all the angles of this situation before he took up arms.

Surely, nobody would notice the magpie flying over the battlefield towards the Camp of the Golden Horde. Just another bird, right?

[Well, at least they've seen fit to make sure she has her equipment, however scant. Elissa takes her time once camp has been set up to clean and repair her armor, making certain it's adequate for the upcoming battle. Her blades are sharpened and she pulls together what few traps and other oddities she's gathered together in the hopes of taking their enemies unaware. There isn't too much time to linger on any one task, not when she's more concerned with the logistics of this plan and the terrain they will be fighting in, but she prepares as best she can.

As the hours count down, she waits outside with her hound at her heels, coated in kaddis paint to protect and identify him when they go to fight. While she looks ready and collected, her hand straying to play with the dog's ears every now and then betrays her excitement and unsettled nerves.]

Edited 2012-10-18 01:37 (UTC)

The first morning in 1223CE for the transports dawned upon a very sleepy looking dragon, lounging almost like a forty foot long cat and drinking coffee out of a barrel. After one long gulp, he peers into the barrel disapprovingly.

"Don't they have anything stronger? I might as well be drinking pondwater. I hate mornings."

Edited 2012-10-18 01:16 (UTC)

A shadow flitted overhead. There was the sound of massive wings beating. Mongols looked upwards and screamed in fear. Some fired arrows, but most of those are deflected shortly before they reached their target by some kind of invisible force.

Then the dragon swooped down and breathed a narrow jet of flame which splashed into a sea of fire when it hits the ground, leaving flailing, smoky thrashing forms, where before had been men and horses.

Edited 2012-10-18 01:15 (UTC)

[So many of these guys are on horses, and Johnny's never ridden a horse a day in his life. He'll have to settle for fighting the other ground troops.

For a while, he watches the battle from afar. You'll find him with a grim expression on his face as he observes. Yeah, sure, he liked to fight. But this is war. This is different from anything he's ever experienced. He's never killed anyone, but he's not against fighting for his life. That's what everyone was here to do, right?

Not long after, he'll head in. He grabs a sabre from a fallen warrior. He's never used a sword before, but hell, he'll figure it out. He new he was fast enough to hold his own.]

Edited 2012-10-18 01:15 (UTC)

Kanaya is easily at the forefront of the fighting, with a whirring chainsaw, a bad case of space racism, and over the course of any given day an increasingly thick spattering of human blood upon her. She makes no pretense of not trying to cut these soldiers into halves or thirds; her goal is to kill them. It's a good thing she wore her work clothes for this battle, because bright red blends in well with her default skirt.

At some points, when she's already made a corpse-clearing of several yards in the thicket of soldiers, she leans back to reapply her lipstick and pick off enemies as best she can with her shotgun. ...which isn't actually very good yet, to the point when you're not unlikely to narrowly miss or actually receive a shot from her.

[Eridan has absolutely no sense of subtlety about him here; he's got a lot of steam to work off and he considers a battlefield the best place to do it. At the moment, he's hovering above both the soldiers below and his fellow transports with a clear white aura about him, outlining his figure above in an almost ethereal manner.

However, the near holy-like appearance of the magic encompassing his form above betrays it's purely destructive nature, as each bolt of energy he rains down upon the opposition below with the use of his wand brutally slaughters it's intended targets, piercing through flesh like a spear in a vile shower of burnt flesh and blood, yet engulfing the remains in a layer of white hot flames, which continues to burn long after the death of their intended victim and spreads a little havoc amongst enemy ranks.

And maybe, if someone's close enough, the lingering flames will get in the way of his allies too.

Luckily, he's an exceptional marksman; the chances of him striking an ally unintentionally are slim to none.]

[If there is a highest point in the camp; be it lookout or just the tallest tent post, Sonic is on top of it and peering out over the horizon. He could probably be called down easily, however. Those ears ARE pretty big.]

[she'd been in combat for a few hours, and she was ready for a break. babydoll was wandering around the campsite slowly, drinking water and letting her heart rate slow down. she was expecting a lot, more than what she was used to, so keeping herself running for a long amount of time was important.

this was going to leave scars for some people, she knew that. war was a horrible thing, even if it was fighting for your life. baby just couldn't let it get to her, it wasn't right. she had to keep it in, and make sure that she did. it wouldn't help her to be so far in that she wouldn't be able to escape.]

[Elissa's been trained to be a rogue, to slip in and to destroy her enemies from behind. But she also knows very well how to stand her ground and fight with strength rather than speed. She opts to do both.

Direct assaults are always more tedious and dangerous, and she sorely misses Shale and Sten at her sides to take some of the heat off of her. But as it turns out, it's easier for her to keep moving and seeking cover from the archers as she goes. It's only when she can get close enough that she slips into the shadows and gets behind her enemies, slitting their throats noiselessly and then moving on. It seems like there's truly no end to them at first, the Transports clearly outnumbered but possibly not outmatched.

It's here that she witnesses her blades at work, her family's sword slicing through a soldier as if he were made of fabric and not flesh. It's a most disturbing sight but one she does not linger on, advancing onto the next enemy and engaging them. Her other sword cleaves through the man's throat and out the other side, making short work of him.

She lingers only long enough among her enemies to pilfer through what they have to see what can be used or to take cover from arrows. Then she's moving back into the fray and among the other Transports.]

Edited 2012-10-18 01:37 (UTC)

Triage center? Ha. Did they have any idea just what exactly running a battlefield hospital entailed? All the technology in the world didn't replace having the damn place set up right.

He'd spent the last hour setting the place up properly and fending off the idiot Initiative people who had no fucking clue what they were doing.

By the end, he'd had a passable psuedo-M*A*S*H unit set up. There were several areas that had been divided by curtains. Wounded would first enter be brought to the triage area. Where nurses and doctors would decide who went to surgery, who could wait, and who was a lost cause. From there, they'd be brought to surgery in order of importance. Then there was recovery. Some would be fine, others, others would be put on a transport back to the future.

Which, was just insane, really. Isn't that a oxymoron of some sort? Back to the future?

Everything was set. There were gallons of orange juice and coffee all ready for when things got hairy and doctors needed the sugar and caffeine.

Margaret would have been proud. He sat back, and waited, and tried to get to know the people he'd be working with for the next few hectic days.

[ooc: OK, I figure we might as well get the actual medical tent shenanigans under one roof? So, yay, here we go. Um, If I were you I'd let your doctor know OOC what you want your injuries to be? For better medical bullshitting LOL.]

[And they sure as hell don't expect this: A four-foot hedgehog [Likely disguised as a small man of strange descent.] running between the advancing guard and directly into their camps in a quick blur, bouncing on tent poles, dodging spears and arrows, hopping on mongol helmets--yes, even the pointy ones--and generally making a complete pest out of himself on purpose.

Haaah, can't hit me! Whups! C'mon, you can do better than that--WHOA! Nice try, buddy!

[What the hell is he doing? Providing a distraction, of course! But for whom? Is it YOU?]

Thanks to his unholy speed, it takes Koltira no time to arrive at the frontlines. He unhooks Byfrost from his back and takes in the approaching army, his face a terrible mask of grim determination. Everything here is familiar to him; the rows of soldiers, their siege weapons, their rallying cries. Koltira has fought in wars--both just and unjust--ever since he could properly handle a weapon.

But it was not until the destruction of Quel'thalas that Koltira truly understood war. The Scourge had ravaged his homeland, and the battles fought to defend it were not glorious. They were massacres, and they left nothing but sorrow and death in their wake. Nothing but shredded bodies, raised for fodder, and a land so decayed and sick that it would likely not recover for centuries.

And Koltira, after he was killed and brought back himself, had helped to sow this devastation. He was a slave who could not disobey, an unliving weapon as much as the sword in his hands. And he performed with such cruel efficiency that his master had given him an epithet.

Deathweaver.

Koltira wades into the ranks of soldiers as though fording a bloody river, striking down any who raise their arms to him. Once he is near the center of the Golden Horde and fully beset on all sides, he grabs the soldier nearest to him by the neck and drives Byfrost deep into the man's gut. The runes inscribed on Byfrost's blade glow a bright, unnatural green as Koltira's plague seeps into the soldier's blood and bones. His victim begins to convulse and choke; blood sprays from his mouth as he heaves violently from the pain of the sickness inside him.

Frightened, the other soldiers back away from Koltira, shrieking to each other; soon, a rain of arrows comes for him. But Koltira doesn't mind that. He's thinking, hard, as he watches this infected soldier gasp in pain, as he listens to the hatefully sweet sound of his rattling, agonized moan. Koltira is continually appalled by the relief battle affords him--by the way it's the only time he feels truly alive.

Then again, he is a monster. This is what he was made for. He has nothing else to offer, not to the Initiative, and not to the transports.

Only this. War.

So Koltira clenches his fists. The unholy power that radiates from Byfrost suddenly spikes, enveloping the area around him in a small radius, coating it with a heavy, pale green mist. The plague is a thread in this man's body now, and Koltira can draw it out, lengthen it, and direct it where he wills. He hisses in rage, partly at the enemy, partly at himself, and in the next few moments he unleashes all the coiled strings he's gathered. The plague strikes soldier after soldier, jumping from one to the next, leaving its torturous seed behind. Those that do not die immediately are wracked with pain unimaginable; many drop their weapons and fall to their knees, their eyes and mouths filling with blood. Their bodies shake as their internal organs rapidly deteriorate, and soon the air around Koltira is filled only with screaming.

He is Deathweaver once again.

[effy was dealing with it, sort of. it was traumatizing and she decided that she really didn't want to be a part of any of it. so what if she had a gun? so what if the others fought for the initiative? she didn't want to, and she wasn't going to.

so she was wandering around the campsite eating a piece of toast and ocassionally making sure no one was wandering back fatally injured. she may not want to fight, but she could at least help out.]

Well, he constantly says he's not a medical doctor, but this is where the Doctor figures he can do the most good, so here he is.

He takes in the arrangement of the place, touching nothing but scrutinising everything carefully nonetheless. He has a few things of his own, mainly scanners and tissue regenerators that he hopes will make things go a little smoothly but otherwise, congrats, Pierce, you have the one incarnation of this who's willing to follow orders.

He can't think of anything to say that wouldn't be trite or cliched, so he simply sits next to the surgeon to wait.

[Indeed, it took Ezio by surprise just how quick it was to set up camp. He'd been far too used to heavily fortified forces traveling by foot and by horse. I fear I will never get used to this.

He's roaming the grounds now, trying to learn the layout of the camp and already planning for the best and quickest routes to and from the battlefields, even between the battles themselves. Should anyone find themselves injured and in need of help, Ezio will be more than glad to take them in, as he has no roommates for his tent.]

Hawk glances over at the newcomer and tried for some small talk.

"I hate this part."

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MISSION: SALT THE EARTH

THE CAMP

THE BATTLEFIELD

THE AFTERMATH

OPEN

Mess Hall

OPEN

OPEN

open!

ADVENTURE HO!

Around the camp (OPEN)

OPEN

OPEN

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[OPEN]

open!

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anywhere ; open

OPEN

Med Tent

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open. (action or prose is fine; this just got too long for tiny text ...)

anywhere ; open

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anywhere | open

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