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MISSION: World War III: Peace and the Pestilence of RIOTE {4}

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Post by Guest on Fri Jun 01, 2012 10:15 am

"TODAY WE SHALL MEET THE PUNY COWARDS OF ESPARIA OVER THE HIGH SEAS, MY BROTHERS OF WAR! AND WE SHALL BRING UPON THEM THE WRATH OF MIGHTY ODIN, CRUSHING THEM AND THEIR SHIPS WITH OUR WEAPONS. MAY THE BLOOD ON YOUR BLADES NEVER DRY! WITH SWORDS IN THE WIND, ATTACK WITH NEVER-ENDING POWER!" Siegfried stroked his beard as the sailor did as he said, and, well, made haste towards the Esparian fleet. That was good. But as per traditional Lokhyn customs, Siegfried roared in response feedback to his own son's rallying speech.

"SEVEN OUT OF TEN, EINHERJAR," He calculated and conveyed to the man, nodding sagely. "ADMIRABLE EFFORT. WE SHALL MAKE A JARL OF YOU YET!" Then, his son threw himself overboard, landing on solid water where a splash should have resounded... he wasn't entirely sure he understood how that alchemy worked, or maybe whether his pain meds were just acting in and he was hallucinating again.

Either way, Valdis, Thunderbutt, and his son quickly departed after some more shouting at Murinyo, and the ship carved along towards the Esparian fleet. Soon, however, Siegfried noted something; ONE OF HIS COMMANDS HAD BEEN IGNORED. The harpoon was yet UN-MANNED. A disgrace to any Lokhyn fleet was an unmanned harpoon. By Odin, this was DEFINITELY coming up at the next Lokhyn council meeting. Along with those sweet-ass harpoon turrets he was totally planning on top of the taverns, for goring the occasional wild albatross in winter.

"THE HARPOON," Siegfried boomed. "IT IS STILL YET UNMANNED," He exclaimed, puffing his chest out and waving his hammer around a little. A brief moment of stewing on the matter. "I, JARL SIEGFRIED EGIL, SHALT REMEDY THIS. WORRY NOT, FELLOW LOKHYN! THE HARPOON SHALL BE MANNED, BY A MAN, OF MANLY STEAD." Yeah... pain meds were definitely kicking in. He flexed a little, and then leapt from plank to plank overdramatically, almost giving the appearance that a 7'7 old man was, yes, bouncing along a giant modernised Lokhyn longboat, and, yes, it was in order to reach a harpoon.

The comical display, however, was soon over, and Siegfried was at the helm once more, caressing the trigger and railings of the armor-piercing harpoon cannon with calloused fingers, on one hand organic and the other artificial. OH, HOW HE REMEMBERED THIS ONE. "BESSIE... IT HAS BEEN A LONG TIME," He was naught but a young, spry bean of a Lokhyn when he had last taken up this harpoon, the one aboard the helm of the Fenrir. "LONG AGO, WE HAD ONCE BEEN UNITED, AND OUR AIM WAS TRUER THAN NO HEATHEN RIFLE," He swooned, almost slumping himself over the cannon and falling upon it, pressing his cheek into the cold metal. "WE WERE A MORE PERFECT MARRIAGE THAN I AND MY WIFE, BUT DON'T TELL HER OF OUR GLORIOUS AND MURDEROUS AFFAIR," He continued to boom, Lokhyn soldiers and archers looking on from above and scratching their head.

"BUT NO MORE, TOO UNFORTUNATELY!" His eyes narrowed, and Siegfried finally regained posture. "IN A TIME OF SKEWED RESPONSIBILITY, WHERE MEDICATION IS TAKEN AND SMOKED THROUGH A PIPE, AND THE YOUTH OF TODAY ARE BROKEN..." He continued, growling to the sky. "I TAKE UP THE HELM OF OL' BESSIE THE HARPOON CANNON ONCE MORE!" One final shout as he aligned the sights with the hull of an Esparian ship with a dashing eighty-seven-year-old grin.


Plunk. The end of the harpoon was launched with an entirely unspectacular sound, whistling through the air and carving along it as the projectile jettisoned towards the Esparian flagship. It tore into the wall of the deck with ease, and as it did so, almost a whole mile away, Siegfried pulled another trigger, extending claws to allow it to grip, somewhat like a grappling hook. Another switch flicked, and the steel tether line reeled back, before pulling taut with an inappropriate doing.

The waves crashed against the hull of the Fenrir. Well, Bessie's aim had certainly been good. The old man scratched the base of his bald cranium, and eyed the tether slowly, looking from his hands, artificial AND organic, to the cannon, to the tether, to Einherjar, now a speck on the horizon... then to his hammer, and finally back to the tether in the most confusing of orders. "A-HA!" Finally, it hit him.

"HOLD UP THE FLEET, YONDER LOKHYN," Siegfried roared an order, before grasping the steel tether and clipping Ragnarok to his back, making sure the 'rope', and his would-be trapeze line, was affixed firmly. "I GO NOW TO FOLLOW MY SON, AND TO KILL MANY ESPARIANS FOR GLORY," Badly-worded, but, hey, it was functional enough.

With a series of Amestrian-body-builder like stretches, Siegfried grasped the tether once more, and made an impressive display of acrobatics as he swung around it and pulled himself not to cling to the bottom of it... but to walk atop it. One foot in front of the other, he began with a steady creep towards the boat as younger Lokhyn watched in awe. Then, he picked up the pace, and turned the creep to a walk, then the walk to a jog.

Siegfried glanced down at his son with a beefy grin below his whitened moustache. "EXCELLENT," He commented. He loved it. The wind was whipping his face, the water specking his beard, and every second he spent upon the line, every second more he risked falling off and undoubtedly plummeting to his doom in the icy Gelemortian depths. But, hey, fuck it, it was fun.

The jog picked up speed and caused the line to buck up and down, Siegfried also making odd thwunk sounds across the tether with every foot he slammed down, somehow still running. However, all of this paled in hilarity to the fact that he soon began... to sing. Lokhyn notes thundered out across the horizon as the man's hoarse voice proclaimed a song heralding his arrival, and forewarning the Esparians of his affinity for 80s pop.



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(ENS DIEGO) Siegfried Egil -> Lokhyyn fleet and their larger ships (Valdis, Einjerher something both noted by NPCs and Vasco)

Post by Guest on Fri Jun 01, 2012 5:42 pm



There was suspiciously no fleet boats intercepting the Lokhyyn, rather the fleet wasn't in fact a static thing as the Gelemortians seem to assume, but taking on perfectly synchronized formations which happen to be distinct from one another. Loose and separate with skirmishing tactics involved, moving at high speeds as to dodge any incoming RPGs which are COMPLETELY stupid from the naval point of view of the average Esparian Marine. Naturally, the naval cannons of ENS Diego kept blowing, only for Vasco to notice a tiny little annoyance in the camera. By tiny, as in quite tiny indeed. Despite having been bombarded by a few shells from the Gelemortian yacht, with some damage on the deck rather than the hull itself, most notably some bed rooms and the library in the ship were disabled. It was a bit of a mess, but it was soon remedied by the brave Dunstan the mercenary's efforts, they no longer had to worry about the Yacht's focused fire.

Some Gelemortians actually have the balls to in fact attack his fleet. This can't be right, there are NO CHEESE EATING SURRENDERING MONKEYS THAT BRAVE TO ATTACK ALONE. This doesn't make sense, Vasco magnified the cameras on top of the command tower only to find one particular aspect. Gelemortians don't have beards, they certainly don't sail on stupid looking boats, AND they CERTAINLY don't attack head on. They are cowards, they attack in huge numbers, and in droves like lemmings coming for the slaughter to their own death. This person was bearded much like an Esparian except he was a gringo. This man was no Gelemortian, and Vasco just so happened to catch sight of whom he was. Which is to say nobody really special for him to actually know. Ah well, he is the enemy, and he is helping out the Gelemortians, so this MUST have been some mercenary or some immigrant.

"Hrm..." There was a thud, the harpoon pierced the deck wall from the side facing the Gelemortian fleet, not the ship's hull. Ah well, nobody cares about the deck. Vasco quickly contemplated upon this and whispered to a fellow aide, before rousing his hand in a spin as he glimpsed upon whom is actually bringing himself closer to the hull, "Men! Prepare to open fire on that huge land bear if he gets on board! RAPIDO! RAPIDO!"

A few Marines on board ran out on the overlooking balcony with a sniper rifle as Vasco grabbed an Obsidian edge Machete and a sheathe for it, attaching those to his belt as he sheathed the bladed weapon. He rushed down the deck in time with an M1 Garand at hand. The ship was thundering with large explosions facing the longship, and they could very easily utilize the Cretan made Phalanx CIWS on board... BUT, Vasco had other designs in mind!

Braver than Wolfgang, Vasco ran up next to the harpoon, and saw a giant walrus hanging and heaving himself closer and closer like a maddened rabid la chupacabra thirsty for blood. His eyes were deranged, and he was barking some mad and unintelligible tongue which the Esparian otherwise thought not highly of. But with legendary accuracy renowned for every Esparian, the man was defenseless on the rope, and Vasco simply unloaded a full clip of the M1 Garand on the central body mass several times. The Lokhyyn roared in defiance and kept heaving even closer and closer in a faster pace, but Vasco did not persist either, for his was the great courage in the face of adversity that he gained from Rouen. He had killed many more men, his hands stained in blood, and though governing the country is one thing, Allende good in dishing out death was his OTHER specialty. His firing squad should know.

He pressed a stripped clip into the M1 Garand after it made the distinctive 'PING' sound, unloading even more bullets, but the chief wasn't even satisfied with dying just yet. This was a cruelty, either for how the Chief persisted towards Vasco, or how Vasco is harassing an elderly. But what is one elderly when he ordered teenagers to death? HAH! He laughs at such futile display of rebellion against fate. His gunshots silenced by the large cannons blowing overhead, Vasco was quite deafened by such powerful shots still bombarding the Prism with trajectories aimed at it, and the snipers aiming down their scope at Bronze's main body and unloading their ammunition on the Alchemist heathen.

But Vasco just stopped shooting. The Lokhyyn Chief was inspired by this perhaps for him to be much closer than before, almost to Vasco, only for one tiny detail missed out. Did Vasco stop firing at the Lokhyyn because he lost confidence of his chances of killing this giant? Or was it something else? That was answered by Vasco's maddened murderous grin as his eyes widened with a sadistic glee, waving his hand in a "good bye" to the Lokhyyn Chief in a jovial manner.

"Adiós, tonto el culo~" Vasco chimed cheerfully, just what could he have been that improved his mood? Just what was it? WHAT?!

The cannon that was reserved for ambushes was aiming directly at the Lokhyyn chief, a large piece of naval artillery, aimed. Directly. At. The. Lokhyyn. Chief! The caliber could easily size up to the large man in particular and even claim him whole. The Chief gritted his teeth, for the clan leader to be killed by an Esparian, a foreign dog that has beset the Gelemortian fleet with a paltry few Esparian ships, against all odds, they fight. Two forces, the Lokhyyn frigate against the Esparian floating fortress.

"FUEGO!" Vasco screamed out.


This coincided with a THWACK! And a thud.

The cannon tore the Jarl of the Lokhyyn people with a gaping hole in him, or rather, he was pulverized completely by such an explosive shell aimed directly at him. Scattering what remained of the proud Lokhyyn Chief in what amounts to complete overkill. A few Esparian marines could be heard wondering why didn't Vasco just shoot the Lokhyyn Chief's head? He could have just ended this without a hassle... and even then, Vasco side-stepped the hammer that landed on the deck and cracked some of the finer wood groundwork. It was the Lokhyyn Chief's warhammer thrown from such a distance as the sea came to claim the man. He sunk below to Davy Jones's locker in several gory pieces, in a way, getting the Lokhyyn funeral entitled to all that whom die in battle.


((Means Siegfried is officially dead. If anyone contests this, I have gotten permission to slay him, henceforth, RESPECT THE PECKING ORDER.))

That thwack earlier? Vasco successfully sliced the harpoon rope with the sharpest material known to man. The obsidian edge. It cut through such powerful wires with such ease as it slipped back and slapped the sea. Vasco sheathed the machete and kept in mind to get the hammer hung up as a trophy.

With nothing more keeping Vasco on board, and rather unscathed from the experience, the Marines viewed him in awe. For who knew the Presidenté was this outright ballsy? This bold as to fight the gringo head on? And a large one too? He could've ordered ANY of the other Marines to do the job for him, but Vasco foolishly put his life at risk on board. Ducking below the deck halfwall that ensures nobody topples down accidentally, it provided cover from any incoming fire as Vasco would calmly make a crouch sprint towards the stairway to his overwatch tower.

An Esparian watching this battle from the top of the tower deck with a keen eye and photographic memory, a Marine Admiral by the name of Halconojo, would tell himself this.

"This man... this gringo... I could tell he suffered about two hundred and seventy five wounds, ALL are on his torso's front and his arm included, for him to go on like this means he is quite monstrous, but I noticed something particular. There was not a single scratch on his proud back, or on his whole life as a Jarl, the scar of running away. El Presidenté may not realize this, but he perhaps slew the Lokhyyn Chief himself. A people mistreated and conquered by those Monarchist scumbag Gelemortian as it goes. Were it the times of the past, we would have gladly fought them with anticipation as our most beloved foes, the bravest among them all... but now... even if he went to Valhalla, Sovngarde or whatever it is called... this is disgraceful." He appraised, quite world-wise he was, for he knew quite a few things about the Gelemortians, "I shall compose a poem about the sad charge of the Lokhyyn Jarl, his defiant charge. The Lokhyyn are a noble people, but there is one thing I cannot stand... how they would bow to their conquerors like she-kittens licking out of an ant's hand! A race of cowards that exploit others, and as ANY OF YOU KNOW! ESPARIA FROWNS ON ANY WEAKNESS LIKE THIS! LET IT BE KNOWN THAT WE SHALL FIGHT THESE COWARDS WHOM DESPITE GREATER NUMBERS, ARE UNDERWHELMING IN PERFORMANCE! REMEMBER MEN! THE PRESIDENTÉ KILLED THIS POWERFUL MAN! LET US PROVE OURSELVES THE PRIDE OF ESPARIA AND HER MILITARY!"

"HAROO! HAROO! HAROO!" The men on the flagship suddenly got confidence, driven up to great bravery worthy of the Samaaltaan conquerors of the past. The great far-sighted Samaaltaan warriors! Esparia still burns with their bravery and courage!

The naval barrage suddenly ceased on the Prism, given the amount of condensed accurate fire they poured on that ship already at this point, it would be safe to switch off, they switched the sights easily to the Lokhyyn fleet, specifically their largest ships. At such a range, it combined firepower with one CIWS as the rest were kept on reserve, and several of the large dual cannons as well, deploying armor piercing rounds in particular at the Lokhyyn largest ship. The rotary cannon began to blanket the Lokhyyn ships, the powerful rounds ripping any Lokhyyn foolish enough to defy it into many pieces. Vasco was just in time that he got into his command deck to watch the spectacle. Nodding to Halconojo as he has done just as he wanted at those pathetic Lokhyyn fleet. One distorting thing was a lack of Esparian fleet for them to intercept in their vicinity, most speeding away not out of retreat, but merely skirmishing. Not even going at a straight line, they are popping the Lokhyyn on board like animals, sniping them as if this were a hunt. Depopulating the ships as if it were a forest to be cleared out. Though they have yet or rather lacked the orders to handle Valdis and Einherjer in particular. Though they could very well handle them, but otherwise were disgruntled and hot tempered over what's happening. Those primitive apes as seen by the Esparians, lost in time just as much as the Gelemortians not having any distinct protection on motor boats, were being dropped like flies from the Esparians on more better protected ships.

"Red Masque, let's see what you can do! Now is your time to shine on these filthy dogs!" He told this to himself in the privacy and confines of his ship, before picking up the microphone again to turn it on, setting it to the loudest settings given how the sequenced blasts of constant barrages the ENS Diego made sure to keep up "platoon firing", one shot while the other reloaded so that there is a constant barrage going on. The ship keeping up its remarkable speed in particular, "MARINES OF GELEMORTÉ! A RING OF STEEL SURROUNDS YOUR ROTTEN FLEET! WE WILL CRUSH ALL WHO DARE RESIST THE MIGHT OF THE REPUBLICAN NAVY! ABANDON YOUR POSTS! ABANDON YOUR SHIPS! ABANDON. ALL. HOPE!"

Vasco took a moment to ask Halconojo if he knew the man whom Vasco just battled, and when told of the news, Vasco gave the most devious smile, before getting back to his microphone, "THE LOKHYYN PUPPET SIEGFRIED IS DEAD! AND SO IS WOLFGANG!" He receives a head, a random feminine looking head rather from some pale female prisoner, and slapped an Esparian Marine to run out with it, it looked passable enough for the rather effeminate (in Esparian opinion) impersonation of Wolfgang, "HE HAS BEEN SLAIN! FOR IT IS I! VASCO SANTO PEDRO MOTHERFUCKIN' ALLENDE WHO SLEW THE SHE-MALE OF A QUEEN THAT FANCIES HERSELF A KING! VIVA LA REPUBLICA! VIVA LA ESPARIA!" With that said, Vasco smugly laid the microphone down. This sounded like the sort of thing Kuvalda's Ivanka would probably say, and by Gelemortian spit, was Ivanka quite an orator.

At this point, the Esparian Marine who presented the similar-looking head which looks like the King of Gelemorté yet is not, is sighted by any Esparian marines that took a quick look at it with their telescopes. Suddenly, morale skyrocketed as determination, spirit, and vigor bordered towards even greater heights before. The men suddenly burnt with a passion of a thousand Esparian lions, for how could they let the Presidenté out do them? This hasn't become a battle for Esparians, but a competition at this point! They didn't know any better that Wolfgang still lived, but believed in his death all the same.


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Re: MISSION: World War III: Peace and the Pestilence of RIOTE {4}

Post by Guest on Fri Jun 01, 2012 10:14 pm

This was an interesting thing, learning to prepare a shot against the rolling waves of the open ocean. And it didn't help that as yet, Nayeli had nothing to fire at. But the opportunity soon presented itself in terms of three small ships. Miguel's order were simple: kill the men aboard while leaving the ships and uniforms intact. It was definitely easy enough, until the ships broke rank. Miguel chose to follow the single ship and turned the ship, causing Nayeli to lose her balance. She stumbled and hit hard against the rail; luckily none of her arrows were removed from her quiver. She gritted her teeth, ignoring the sudden throbbing in her thighs and chest. Pain was for the weak. She managed to right herself as Miguel shouted frantically at the man who was joining her in the sniper role. Something was happening on the other ship that was mostly likely bad for them.

And her assumptions were proven correct as a large rocket was released at their boat. She felt the boat slow and suddenly, water rose from the deep and into the sky in front of Nayeli. She stumbled again and let a curse slip from her lips. Damn these modern weapons! Her ears were ringing and even as the water settled, Miguel had the ship moving again. As Nayeli once again righted herself she heard a gunshot go off near her, followed by Martez's giddy voice, through the haze of ringing. Another voice emerged through the haze in her ears, becoming clearer as the ringing settled down.

"Nayeli, take them out now! Don't let them load that RPG again!"

RPG, eh? She assumed that was where that giant rocket had come from. The two men remaining on the boat were attempting to move closer to that area. Nayeli blocked all noise from her mind, letting herself feel the up and down movements of the boat on the water. Her eyes closed as she reached into her quiver, feeling at the feathers. The wind was with them, shifting slightly to the right. The feathers she gently ran her fingers over were slightly coarse. She let a faint smile drift across her lips. Green. Just what she needed. She pulled the arrow and placed the arrow against her bow. Her eyes snapped open as she saw her two targets. They noticed they weren't being shot at right away and began to stand. One was almost at the RPG, the other remaining close to the steering apparatus of the ship. She gauged for the wind, inhaling a full breath as she drew the string back to its limit. As she exhaled, the shot was released and sailed across the open sea to land in the shoulder of the man loading the RPG. In quick succession Nayeli had released a second arrow, catching the final man on the boat in his neck. She watched them both crumble down, knowing they would be quite dead shortly. The poison on her arrows would paralyze them first. Yet in preparation for this battle she had carefully dipped the arrows multiple times, increasing the potency. So the paralysis would very quickly turn into the most serious paralysis... death. She glanced over at Martez, raising an eyebrow as if to say “THAT is who you shoot.”

However there was very little time for any type of competition to form. Andino had started to engage the ships behind them. Nayeli ran down the ship, causing her tether to stretch almost taut. She waited as Miguel turned the ship to face their new foes. Nayeli stood firmly on one side, Martez on the other. There was some damage sustained to the ships from the machine gun fire but in what seemed like seconds, the enemy was all down. They know had three ships at their disposal. Miguel directed Andino to captain one Gelemortian ship, taking two with him. Martez was directed to be the sharpshooter on another with two others. Miguel and Nayeli climbed with a third man onto the last ship, leaving Miguel's own ship sparsely crewed. That ship began to make the move back towards the Esparian fleet. Nayeli curled her lip but donned a uniform, helping to tuck away the dead bodies. Due to her dark skin, Nayeli was directed to an area of the boat that was not easily visible. She was forced to duck down, her quiver stocked overfull as she had to leave the trunk behind. She would wait patiently as Miguel and the others directed the ship amongst the Gelemortian fleet. Then it would be time for the “traitors” to turn on their “own” people.


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The Ocean and Stuff; VASCO, Vasco's SHIP, SIEGFRIED'S corpse-chunks

Post by Guest on Sat Jun 02, 2012 3:30 pm

Pudding... In the face again. How rude! Ah, no matter. He was busy falling ships of Esparia. But three ships in, he saw his father fire the harpoon. Ah, what a proud, strong man... Einherjar idolized his father. Placed him on a pedestal. For no mere mortal could walk along a harpoon's line like that; the man was a god among men. The day he found his place in Valhalla was the day Thor lost a match of wrestling, the day forty-thousand of Valhalla's einherjar, the warriors he was named for, were slain in glorious battle by a single man, a man that was not a man, but far more powerful. Haha... But he didn't think the old man would die any time soon. His father had a lot of life left in him. He should live for a few dozen more years yet; should...

For it was at that moment that Einherjar heard the Esparian shouts of the man called Vasco, and saw a cannon tear through Siegfried's powerful frame; a man of bloody war gone in a single blow. He dropped into the sea. He'd stood on one spot too long, his alchemy couldn't keep him there. Water on his face was no mere water, but the tears of a man whom watched his father die before his eyes. Standing back to his feet on the rippling liquid, it was hard, but he accomplished it. He then moved towards the ENS Diego. No, he didn't pace himself like before. This was a madman's run. A charge, Heathen Hammer high over his head.

A longboat approached, and a man aboard prepared to go into battle with Einherjar. Shoving the boat aside, he cast the man a glare of purest rage. "NO! THAT MAN IS MINE TO KILL, AND MINE ALONE. BY THE HAND OF ODIN, HIS BLOOD SHALL BE UPON MY HAMMER, LEST I FALL IN BATTLE! ALLENDE IS MINE." The boat halted progress. Nobody would interrupt. The Lokhyn had many codes of war, and among them the most steadfast, most respected law was that should a man choose his enemy, no other man could touch him until the Lokhyn holding claim was slain, or the enemy was slain. As Einherjar had claimed the head of Vasco ALlende, no other should touch the man.

He picked up pace. A professional athelete, he once had been, speed was of no concern to him, as it came second nature to charge akin to a rhinoceros. He soon came close enough to the ship that Vasco, had he not walked off in a pansy-like manner, could clearly see him. "ALLEEEEEENDEEEEE! MY NAME IS EINHERJAR FENRIR EGIL THORSON, ELDEST SON OF SIEGFRIED EGIL ODINSON, HIMSELF THE SON OF ONE GARTH EGIL ODINSON, THE LAST KING OF LOKHEIM BEFORE THE GELEMORTIANS CAPTURED OUR MIGHTY LANDS. YOU KILLED MY FATHER, YOU SNIVELLING COWARD OF A HUSK OF A MAN; PREPARE TO DIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIE!!!!"

(~(Play ME for BAWSSNESS. o.o Do eet nao! D<

He'd already taken a bullet to the chest. Several, by the time his speech ended, actually. He was thankfully now out of range of the cannons, which couldn't fire straight down the hull. And he slammed his hammer into the hull, vibrations reverbrating throughout the vessel. He heard a few men, in the engine rooms, fall over as if stricken by an earthquake. Meanwhile, he'd dented the hull.

Rapidly, he grapsed the dent in hand, slammed his hammer back into the side of the ship, and made his ascent. As he neared the top, grasped the ankle of a poorsoldier, hurling him overboard. Taking his position along the edge, he slammed his hammer into another man, shattering his skull and splaying gore onto the ship's edge.Seeing the cannon that had fallen his father, he charged it, tearing through anyone in his way, and taking enemy bullets with no care. His helm on, his head was thoroughly guarded against all but the strongest of ammunition, and his chest was draped in both traditional sealskin tunic and bronze armor, but also a kevlar vest underneath. Even so, what bullets struck him through his armor were shrugged off, in his rage. He would feel the pain later, but not at the present, for only revenge was on his mind.

He kicked the cannon. A mighty kick from a mighty man, it nearly fell the machinery right then and there. A second kick cast it into the sea as he turned to Vasco's former position again, bloody death in his eyes of stormy blue. And he saw there, on the deck, near him, his father's hammer. Vasco hadn't yet gotten it, though he new he'd wanted it. All fire was now oon Einherjar,from where he stood, at least. Slowly reaching down, he grasped the weapon, equal in weight to his own, the Heathen Hammer of Lokheim. Taking one to each hand, he struck down every man near him, speed and skill in mind. "VAAAAAAAAAASCOOOOOOOO." A roar loud enough for all to hear. He heard tales of Murinyo's death from the ship's deck, but oddly enough, didn't seem to buy it. Rather, had he cared at all right now, he wouldn't have believed it. As it is, the thoughts didn't hit his mind. "COME AND FIGHT ME LIKE A MAN! MAN TO MAN, COWARD! ORDER YOUR MEN ASIDE AND WE SHALL FIGHT TO THE DEATH; OTHERWISE, I SHALL SLAY EVERY MAN ABOARD THIS SHIP UNTIL YOUR HEAD IS IN MY HANDS, COLD EYES STARING INTO MY OWN!" And now to wait for Vasco to respond, as bullets still struck at him, thankfully having the bad luck not to have stricken any organs, which would have potentially slain this beast of a man.

(~(Niko, might I proposition to ye, good sir, that ye NOT kill Einy? :3 I plan him to be shot nearly to death, but to survive. xD I won't kill Vasco of course, as that'd be unsportsman-like. But I shall have Einy dragged off the ship before either of the two die. xD Also, vasco may decline his offer for a one on one fight, if you so choose.)~)


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On the ENS Diego, Observing the Prism, the Lokhyn ships, and finally Einherjar

Post by Guest on Sat Jun 02, 2012 6:48 pm

The battle was amusing. That was all this one had to say in his mind. He had kept silent and observed, as commanded by his master and his boss, Vasco Allende. El Presidente usually did not trouble his diplomat to handle these affairs, since he preferred to take care of things himself.

All that could be said was that the plan was moving favorably for them, the decoy fleet had served their initial purposes. Now, the men were in position, while the sacrificial pawns remained at their posts, killed off. Not a large loss, they were but simple engineers and mechanics, and not terribly good ones too. That, and considering their poor handling of firearms and overall pathetic marksmanship, they could hardly be called true 'Esparians.'

No, their deaths merely served to pave the road forward. The unending path to inevitable victory.

Now, as Vasco commanded, the main fleet of Esparia commenced their attack after observing how the Gelemortians ... pardon, the cheese-eating surrender monkeys, responded to the decoy fleet. Which was to say, utterly predictable. Surely, the fools SHOULD have noticed that these fleets (though not drifting in tight formation) were in a set of three orderly rows? And that they stopped before an expanse of water, intentionally?

Apparently not.

The Gelemortian ship that took the brunt of the damage and the first to be boarded by the strike teams that had ridden (and soon disembarked from) the decoy vessels was one that had lights upon it. Giant spotlights of a sort. Purely coincidental that the moment those spotlights begin shining at whatever it was shining at, the decoy vessels dramatically lost number. A little too convenient, that Vasco ordered a good portion of the main fleet to open fire specifically on THAT ship, and also commanded the snipers to open fire.

While Wolfgang Murinyo was babbling about the radios, Ranza Falkazar ... no, the Red Masque had to supplement his boss's orders. After all, this was a battle they MUST win, so why not go all out? The command was simply, passed down from the leadership to all the Esparians who had guns in their hands or at their sides.

'Fire at will'

Gelemortian mortality increased by several times over the moment that the Esparians ceased holding back their firepower. After all, this was the land where owning a gun was a rite to adulthood, and efficiently using it was a mark of a man. The small vessels of the Gelemortians, with RPG-wielders ... 'Sledgehammers' they were called. Almost in an instant, the ones that had foolishly moved too far forward, into the Esparin gunmen's firing range, were picked off with relative ease. Boats were soon left sitting about, devoid of living crew due to a case of being slaughtered by brutally efficient riflemen. And their RPGs? Visible from quite a distance, so the main fleet (already splitting apart and making sure to maintain distance from vessel to vessel) could easily avoid them so as to not take direct hits.

That wasn't even counting the fact that some of the Sledgehammers had rammed into the mines as well, which usually meant spectacular explosions to go with the foolish men's deaths.

But, no. The crowning achievement right now was first the death of the Prism. Again, the first ship to be boarded by the Esparian commandos, expert of infiltration and systematic annhilation. These men would be aboard all Gelemortian ships, undetected, and slowly ravaging the crew before sabotaging the ships and rendering them useless.

But in the ship that had been assaulted first's case, things were slightly different. Heavy concentrated cannonfire and bullet storms had effectively cleaned off the deck of any life, or if there was any life, rendered it to the point of near-death. Barrages of explosions, metal and utter contempt from the Esparians were enough to disable most of its active weapons systems AND took out those odd spotlights (which had only served to make it a bigger target before).

That, and not including the fact that it had entered the minefield as well and suffered multiple hull ruptures meant it was a guarantee that the Prism was an utterly useless vessel at the time and doomed to sink. But why not speed up the process?

Esparian commandos and special forces members were skilled in insertion to enemy territory, in this case a vessel, and throwing it into disarray, in this case more explosives needed to take down a whole city block. They had received the training necessary, had the experience to insure success, and always had the appropriate funding for ALL of their gear.

What that equalled to was a particularly dark smile behind the expressionless marble-like mask he had on his face, from which he gazed out at that ship which Vasco seemed to intent on destroying. Well, it was going to sink anyway, but better to take of things permanently than permit any survivors, no? A dead Gelemortian meant an unhappy Gelemortian family somewhere else. And the more unhappy Gelemortian families there were, the more wounds they could throw salt in later after the battle was done.

His left thumb calmly pressed into a switch.

And the holidays had come early to Esparian territory, for the Prism was turned into a skyward-flying raging inferno of absolute devastation. The sheer concussive force of the combined explosives blew back the resting waters that had been about the ship in rather large waves, while metal was heated and shot into the sky, later to rain down as a molten rain. That's not to say there weren't survivors. The few lifeboats managed to get lucky and only get capsized as opposed to incinerated due to having moved far away. Still, the Prism was no more than flotsam in the Azurian Sea, it's crew either now adrift or dead.

That left the Lokhyyn to take care off before they silenced Wolfgang for good.

They ran into a similar problem that the Sledgehammers did. Mines ... and riflemen. Before the Raider-like people aiding Gelemorte could effectively reach the main fleet, they either had their ships blow up from the floating (and shallow submerged) mines or lost a decent amount of their crew from skilled long-ranged combatants taking their sweet time in killing them. Now, the decoy fleet wasn't as lucky, but that was their purpose. The Lokhyyn vessels had drawn forth only to butcher the non-Esparians aboard them, for the commandos, who truly counted to the grand 300 that Vasco had brought as opposed to those blind stormtroopers that graduated fresh out of the academy of evi- ... ahem ... Curse Cretan movies. Curse them to heck.

But, a few Lokhyyn had managed to do stranger things. Such as board or even sink ships of their decoy fleet. That was mildly annoying.

What happened next was a series of events Ranza used to express his malcontent to the situation. First, all remaining ships in the decoy fleet suddenly took off. It had taken a bit of time to rig the ships to behave like this, it seems ... as the Ambassador calmly examines the pocketwatch he had stolen off a Gelemortian captain in a battle in the past. Two minutes and thirty-four seconds late. Far too long. Things had to be efficient and accurate to within a minute at least, or else it could have fallen apart.

Fortunately, this time around, things went perfectly. The small vessels of the decoy fleet, with no crew left, had charged forward, overheating their engines to sail forward (while also other means of propulsion, borrowed from Aerugese designs that they had managed to collect over the years helped to) ... or rather soar forward, cleanly ramming and some even managing to pierce through the hulls of the Gelemortian ships, the ones that were actually worth something rather than those sledgehammers. No, those got crushed if they were in the way, and even if the Esparian ship ate RPG shots, they were still flying like mad, reaching their destination in so rapid a pace, that evasion was impossible.

However, not all the ships managed to do this, only a handful of the intended did so. The Prism, now sunk, had taken out a fair number of them (well, it was just a theory on Ranza's part that Alchemy was in play and that it had come from that ship with the spotlights. It was still just TOO coincidental, although he had no evidence besides his paranoia)

Also, funnily enough, apparently one of their saboteurs had gotten on Wolfgang's yacht ... which so happened to meet one of the Esparian super-charging decoy vessels. The collision was not pretty, and the two ships are still trying to sail forward into each other. That meant, the time was now.

After all, what good were decoy ships if they couldn't be used as weapons?

The whole panel's worth of switches were calmly deployed, one for each remaining vessel (admittedly, not as many as he would've liked, but ah well). The explosions were ... not as grand as the one that sank the Prism, but they were still quite a sight as each decoy vessel still intact exploded as brilliant lights, tear holes into the enemy ships or in the case of silly Lokhyyn longboats a little to close to the still stuck ships (having been boarded and wrecked by those barbarians), be entirely consumed by the blast and resulting flames. Why, one of the decoy vessels even had a walrus pushing against it. It was speared to death by a piece of shrapnel (rather a heated iron bar-now-spear), while the little girl sitting atop the ship with a cannon was consumed by the explosion. No confirmation on her death, but her stupidity was what put her on that ship in the first place, and so no tears would be shed.

Ahhhh, explosives. How he loved them so. Really, he might not be as sane as he liked to claim, since he did have a confirmed case of pyromania and a penchant for using explosives to deal with obstacles. But who cares? Those explosives had effectively wiped out about 50 to 60% of the Gelemortian fleet while the Esparian had only lost a third ... and that third was all decoy vessels anyway, so most of their men were still on the main fleet.

Bad choice of formation. Bad choice of allies. Bad choices of weapons. And poor sense! Look at WOlfgang's ship right now, currently has a large gaping hole in it that's slowly being filled with water. The dictator of Gelemorte was in some serious trouble. His larger ships are damaged severely, to the point that they COULD sink, and his smaller ... boats, are losing crewmen faster than you can say "How much wood could Chuck Woods' woodchuck chuck, if Chuck Woods' woodchuck could and would chuck wood? If Chuck Woods' woodchuck could and would chuck wood, how much wood could and would Chuck Woods' woodchuck chuck? Chuck Woods' woodchuck would chuck, he would, as much as he could, and chuck as much wood as any woodchuck would, if a woodchuck could and would chuck wood." ... Bad analogy.

Point is, things were just utterly and totally unbalan-


Oh hell. A Lokhyyn had made it aboard Vasco's ship. JUST AS HE WAS ABOUT TO LEAVE TO JOIN THE FRAY. The good part was that now he DIDN'T need to leave to join the fray. The bad part was that how in the HELL did one of the barbarians come aboard?

The Red Masque (coincidentally wearing a white mask today) rushed over along with the men who were supposed to accompany him so they could go sink the rest of the Gelemortian ships. And were greeted at the sight of the engineers having come above-deck and try to shoot the tall barbarian. Most of them were cursing at him to rocking the ship, or denting the hull, thus condemning them to a life time of torture under Vasco's orders due to letting an enemy 'make a scratch' on it rather than being afraid. BUT THOSE FOOLS WERE INEPT IDIOTS WHO COULDN'T USE GUNS, THAT'S WHY THEY WERE ENGINEERS.

"Take aim" Ranza mutters to anyone who was a better shot than the engineers, and they (being every other person plus another on the deck right now) drew their firearms and had them points at the vital areas of the barbarian. Really, the moment the true Esparians fired, there would be so many bullets impacting the Lokhyyn that they'd have to give him a proper burial at sea since his body would be so mutilated.

But then the savage said something interesting.


The Masque was intrigued. Currently, we was to the fellow's left side, a bit in the back and thus outside of his field of vision. Right now, he had a rifle, imported from Creta (as much of their pretty good weapons were from Cretan designs or straight from Creta) trained at the fellow's head. And as much as he wanted to shoot, he held his fire since he was so amused. In fact, in a short second, while the other Esparians (except the engineers who were still shooting and missing madly), he put away his rifle.

And instead drew a shotgun. Also a Cretan-model, the R870 was part of a large shipment of pump-action shotguns that Esparia had purchased several years ago. Due to shotguns not being entirely favored in his home country, Ranza saw this as an opportunity to acquire a weapon that people rarely used and to which there were many replacements (as well as ammunition for) readily available. He later learned the appropriate technique for wielding this weapon, making him one of the few people in Esparia who had some form of training with every class of firearm ... even stationary cannons.

Right now, things were a standstill with the Lokhyyn who had addressed Vasco. The men weren't sure whether to just shoot the Lokhyyn and get it over with, or rather listen to his insane request since Vasco might be interested.

... How far was he? Not that far? Aye, not that far.

This was one of the rare times he did not listen to Vasco. Nor did he care about Vasco. Because this barbarian was the one who sank three of his precious explosive-ferriers. That meant he ruined the symmetrical formation of his plan. That meant he was a nuisance that had no appreciation for the long and arduous work he had to go through, paper, backroom, and political to get this all set-up. And here he was, demanding that he not get shot so he could duel Vasco, or else he would kill everyone on board.

Fuck. That. A crack sounds, and a blast of smoke as the tight projectile soars out from his barrel. The way he has aimed, and the way the choke was designed, (given the distance), it would embed itself into the savage's side, disperse and rip through his heart before spraying diagonally out of his chest.

"FIRE." he had shouted just as he had shot himself. Even if his shot missed, it was unlikely that the trained dozens of rifles from expert marksmen of Esparia would. Their bullets, immediately discharged even before he finished giving the command, would soar forth. No man, not matter how strong, nor quick, nor powerful, nor tenacious could move quickly enough from standing at rest to avoid a whole onslaught of bullets. Particularly since all the riflemen had guns that held more than a single shot as ammunition, and all were trained to put out all the bullets they hand IN their gun within moments.

So the brave son of Siegfried would be riddled with dozens upon dozens of bullets from the front. While Ranza would simply eject the casing of his first shot with a swift pump, then load the next and fire another burst the impact of which could knock down adult men. Unlike the engineers who were half-drunk, all of these men were sober, and given the universal laws of the cosmos, particularly those concerning inertia, momentum, and forces, their bullets would embed themselves into their target and not be far off their mark. Besides, they have at least fifty guns, and each gun held several bullets, meaning no less than a couple hundred bullets (plus several shotgun shells) were going to strike the barbarian no matter what he did. Unless he could use a shield?

Impossible, there were no corpses around him, the shooters were too far away to be grabbed (and if he lunged he would go on a predictable course straight at a firing person), and the only thing he could have hidden behind, the cannon, was kicked down. He could try to go backwards, but he was already so far deep into enemy territory that it was most likely he would die from being riddled with bullets before he could escape. Could he duck? That wouldn't help, it would take just a split second for the shooters to readjust and make SURE that their bullets hit him. Could he try to get them to shoot each other? Except they practiced formations to avoid shooting each other and were aligned in such a manner to avoid friendly fire and to maximize the effectiveness of the spread of the volley of gunfire that thundered towards the numbskull of a human being. No, their bullets would rip through him, since he had attempted to disregard them, thinking they were nothing but distractions when he wanted to kill Vasco. THAT pissed off Ranza. He could put up with Vasco's annoying habits, the attitudes of other foreign dignitaries who mocked him for his work, the thousands of mad cult-like worshippers to his persona. BUT HE WOULD NOT BE PUT UP WITH BEING TREATED AS SUBSTANDARD BY SOME BARBARIAN. Maybe that's why he had blasted the prick with several shotgun blasts in rapid succession, guaranteeing hits somehow.

Such a brute's bravery would be recorded in the annuls of history. Well, not 'bravery' ... general stupidity is more like it. Forever will Esparians learn this person's name for having charged the Esparian flag ship, taken down some useless engineers and tried challenging the President, Supreme Democratic Leader of Esparia, to a one-on-one duel with the threat of killing his men if he declined. And forever, will his story be told as how depraved the Lokhyyn had become when the tyrannical Gelemortians conquered them and forced them to fight alongside their worthless fleets ... whom were now fleeing after hearing that Wolfgang was dead (unlikely, considering Vasco held up a feminine head) and seeing the Lokhyyn Chief be killed (Confirmed, since cannon fire eradicated his existence).

Well, there was a reason why one of the insults for Gelemortians was 'Cheese-eating surrender monkeys.'


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In the Watah Round 'Sparia; ESPARIAN SHIPS, DUNSTAN, VASCO

Post by Wolfgang Murinyo on Sun Jun 03, 2012 9:34 pm

Hmm... So all his ships were in place, and they were destroying Esparian stuff, eh? WONDERFUL. This was most DEFINITELY not a military fiasco unlike any other seen since the muchly lost 38th war of Esparia and Gelemort. So what better of a time than to fire the ultimate weapon, PROPAGANDA, at Esparia? So he switched on his com link to Esparia's ships, and started to speak. "Ayo, 'Sparian dudes and chicas. Wolfy Murinyo come'in atcha with some news. Your presidente ain't no presidente, he's a dictator kinda guy try'na make youse all listen'a his e'ry word without no questionin. Soes you betta- Hold on a minute, gotta beep." Oh? His engine room? "Yellow?" Oh? OH. OH SNAP. THE ENGINES WERE OFF.

So... In order to fix the engines, he must drop his pants at the bow of the ship? THEN THAT HE WILL DO, POST-HASTE. Not bothering to listen to the rest, he hung up his line, and made a mad dash for the ship's bow. Turning to face opposite the Esparian fleet, he bent down, and dropped his royal trousers, per instruction, allowing a sole brown eye to stare at Esparia's finest naval vessels.




Wait... Something was odd here... OH. IT DIDN'T SOLVE ANYTHING, AND THEY WERE ABOUT TO CRASH. Pulling up his pants, he shouted to anybody who could hear him from the deck. "WE BEEN COMPRIMISED, MENS AND GIRLIES! ABANDOOOOON AAAAAAAAAAAALL SHIIIIIIIIIIPS!! NAMELY, THIS ONE AND NOT THE OTHA OOOOOOOOOOOOONEEEESSSSS!" And as he spoke such, he made a mad run to the ship's port-side, where the Grand Salazaar wasn't too far away. There was some commotion there, but screw it, he had no choice. With a prayer that he may yet survive this war, he dove.

Hitting the water wasn't fun. The Yachet was tall. VERY tall. V2 would have to be a bit shorter. That, or have an emergency diving board, lowered to a better diving height. But after splashing mightily into the waves, jolting his body, he made a mad swim for the Salazaar. It was the hardest he'd ever swum in his life, and he'd swam across a lake before to dodge the police, back in Amestris. Not fun then either.

Soon enough, he'd reached solid wood, the Salazaar, and climbed up to sit on a ridge in the hull, thankfully good enough in size for sitting. He then flipped out his cellular device... Oy, this wouldn't be fun...

"Yo Allende. Tú pescado feo, I have a bone tah pick with youse. Hear me out, kay? You done blewed up e'rything I gots, you ragamuffin turd-monkey. But, given me respect fer yer sabatour guy, I'ma go peaceful-like. So, how about it? A round of tequila, nice civil-like discussion, and everyone goes home with a happy face, ne, my greatest nemesis? Will youse take the extended branch of olives?"

(~(Everybody, final round of posts is approaching. So, yar. o_o Quick mission, this one...)~)


Last edited by Wolfgang Murinyo on Thu Jun 14, 2012 10:28 pm; edited 1 time in total


Wolfgang speaks a native tongue of Amestrian, the Frostdeathian languages of Rouenian (Gelemortian Dialect) and Cerisian, as well as Cretan, Bacunsto and Esparian
Wolfgang Murinyo

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Re: MISSION: World War III: Peace and the Pestilence of RIOTE {4}

Post by Bronze Degan on Mon Jun 04, 2012 2:08 am

"Fire.." What a simple word, yet it held so many meanings and most you never really had to think about. But in that moment Bronze forgot everyone of them...Everyone but one. "Fire" Was an order given to soldiers that brought death and destruction and then and only then did it sink in, he was in fact a soldier, trained to kill. What ever delusions he may have had vanished as he said that one simple word and he took humans lives knowingly for the second time. He watched with a dead eyed stare as more helpless men lost their lives, as more fathers and mothers lost their sons and daughters. He watched the horror he had created, that others like him had created and he could feel his soul grow heavy with the burden of sin. What gave him the right to take some ones life? The orders of a mad king? No his words meant nothing to the higher order of things, for he was but a king of men and had no right to order these meaningless deaths, his soul was stained now, but Wolfgang's was as black as the void of space.

Still he had given his word to that devil of a man, and his word was a bond that could never be broken. So with a heavy heart he continued his alchemical assault and soon enough he lost track of how many lives he may have taken. Suddenly though his part in the battle was cut short. The lights about him where suddenly...Just not there, or at least not recognizable as what they once where. Thankfully his body reacted even as his mind was reeling from the sudden riot of noise and he dove to the deck, and not a second to late, the place directly behind where he had been standing was nothing more then a large raged hole. He started to move then, low to the deck and he watched as the men under his command where ether gunned down or had the same luck as he him self had. Then, suddenly all hell broke loose and it was as if the sky its self was coming down on them. In fact he wasn't entirely sure it WASN'T the sky laying waste to both his men and his ship. The sound of the cannon fire hitting the Prism's hull was akin to the sound of thunder, and the smell of ozone left in the air made Bronze think of a thunder storm...

But n o thunderstorm ate into ships in the same manner as concentrated fire, and to soon the Prism would be nothing but a reef on the bottom of the ocean floor. He was almost glad about that, but for now he had other things to think about and consider like how the hell he was going to get himself and those few others who remained alive//He had to get to the life boats..And he had to do it fast!! "Stay low and move to the life boats!! We are getting the hell out of here!!" So he couldn't stop the bullets....But he could make it nearly impossible for them to get anything resembling a clear shot. So while laying low on the deck, he wove his alchemy and suddenly a wall of pulsing, bright incandescent light sprang up between the Prism and the hail of bullets that fallowed the ships every twitch and move.

He stood slowly then, staying hunched to minimize the target he made as he hurried to the back of the ship, the cannons still pounding away and shaking the ship for all it was worth. Finally he made it and jumped into the nearest undamaged life boat with the ten other men that had managed to make it. As soon as he was in they began to lower it to the water and with the cover of his alchemical lights and the rising steam and smoke coming from his mangled ship Bronze and his remain crew made there way from the battle and back towards what remained of their fleet. As he looked back some minutes later he saw the Prism go up im smoke and flame....But he knew he would see her again...."The Prism will strike back!!"

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Re: MISSION: World War III: Peace and the Pestilence of RIOTE {4}

Post by Guest on Mon Jun 04, 2012 8:09 pm

Aboard the Grand Salaazar
Somewhere in the Azurian Ocean
Nazario (NPC)

"Here, my good brother!" A growl escaped Vito's lips. "Merde." Turning slowly to meet the gaze of the larger man, Vito watched quietly as men stumbled out of the room behind him, suddenly noticing the sound of Esparian voice. Shaking his head and sighing, Vito quickly placed a hand on his chest and stormed past Alvarez, drawing the blades and quickly running them through the flesh of the communications officers that he had previously spared with a soft sigh. This wasn't good. He had no idea about what was going on up there. For all he knew, the Gelemortians could have won, and be on their way back to their foolish country now. Shaking his head and sighing, the man slowly turned backwards and towards Alvarez, the grim look on his face slowly turning into a grin. "You know what I'm thinking?" As his day job, Vito Camillo Reyes was, above all else, a privateer. Skilled in stealing from ships, he was also rather good at piloting them. It was easy enough for him to drive a yacht like this--too easy, in fact. So why not... drive this one back to Esparia? Almost cackling now, Vito quickly turned towards the communications room without a word to Nazario, quickly entering the room and placing his hand onto the machine.

He raised a microphone up to his lips and rapidly changed the frequency to the one for Esparia. "This is the Burial Agency, messaging the ENS Diego. Do you copy, Diego?" Although it took a couple of seconds, a crackling message came through from the other end. "Burial Agency? I need some form of identification." "Los hombres muertos no cuentan cuentos." After checking this out, Vito was met with a reply. "We copy. What can we do for you, sir? It appears that your frequency is coming from an enemy ship. Can you confirm?" "I confirm. I am aboard the Grand Salaazar. Can I get a status on the current situation? Swallowing back some bile, Vito waited on what could or could not have happened up above his position.

"The Gelemortian fleet is all but destroyed. There is only one ship left; the Naval Cannon is primed and ready to fire."

"..." "Sir?"

"Do not fire upon that ship. I will bring it into port myself." Turning away from the machine, Vito heard the last crackled reply of "Roger.", before walking off and leaving behind the machine. Alright. Time to make this happen.

Turning on his heel, a low grin crossed the lips of the Esparian, and he started to run off, leaving Nazario to follow up. This time, he would make his way through the ship quickly, taking corridors that started to seem more and more familiar. He blasted past ship personnel, cutting them down with ease using the six blades and leaving the rest to the larger man that followed onwards. A sharp corner came up on him, and the man jumped up, planted a heavy foot against one wall of the corner, turned his body and pushed again off of the other wall, blasting down the corridor at a speed that would outstrip most humans, even with the added weight on his body. "Bridge, bridge, bridge, bridge, hah!" Turning to face the door, face red and sweating, Vito turned to hear another voice coming up on him. "W-who are you?!" A voice in Gelemortian, huh? Turning to meet the gaze of the rather portly man in uniform, Vito realized that, from the looks of things, this was the Captain. What luck. A low grin crossed his face, and Vito stepped forwards, reaching up and grabbing the face of the Captain without hesitating, pulling backwards and pushing forwards, slamming him down onto the ground, hard. Unconscious, the man was dragged away from the door and hidden in the nearest toilet, Vito removing the man's clothes and replacing his own with a sigh. He wouldn't be able to use any weapons bar his Contender while he was wearing this disguise. He felt so naked. Ah, fuck it.

Picking up the blades from his clothing, Vito started to walk towards the door of the bridge, locking the bathroom from the outside. Stepping through the door, hurried Gelemortian voices turned towards him and started chattering, trying to message someone, anyone, through the damaged communications hub. A grin crossed his lips. "This is your new Captain speaking. We set sail to Esparia. Comprendre?" Although his dialogue wasn't the same exactly, it would still fit the Gelemortian bill. The swords were produced, and the men started to chatter between themselves, debating on whether to try and take this guy on or not. Accepting defeat like the cowardly Gelemortians they were, Vito finally heard Nazario enter the room behind him. Quickly turning to face the man, he nodded sharply. "We set sail for Esparia, and leave when we get there. Whatever Vasco wants to do with the ship is up to him. No coger la atención. You guard the door and make sure nobody comes in." As the ship started to sputter forwards, Vito saw the looks of confusion on the faces of all those on the deck. Yes, you do that... In ten minutes they would be back upon Esparian territory. He felt for those poor Gelemortians.

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Re: MISSION: World War III: Peace and the Pestilence of RIOTE {4}

Post by Valdís Raghild on Tue Jun 05, 2012 11:01 am

Open Waters off the Coast of Esparia and Such, EINHERJAR

HAHA! Cannoneering from atop a ship's cabin had never BEEN so fun! Even if she had yet to actually DO any cannoneering. She was still waiting for a dignified response to her pudding-ship-ransom thingy. Meanwhile, Thunderbutt was atop the ship with her, where he did nothing, as useless as walruses are; nobody wants to be a walrus, you see... And suddenly, below her, on the ocean surface, she saw a friendly-good sight. Twas her sister, Hilda, and her sister's walrus, whom she did not know the name of. Why care about OTHER peoples' walruses!? Thunderbutt and her then dropped from the top of the ship, and were GOING to swim around to find her sister, when...

"HEY HILDA-" BOOOOOOOM. The ship blew up! That wasn't a good thing. Her and Thunderbutt were blwn back by the heat and the force, aand both suffered a few 3rd degree burns, and some 2nd degree burns. PAINFUL, but survivable. Rounding the ship, to discuss this boom with her sister- Oooooh.... The girl called Hilda and her walrus were impaled by a big spear of steel... Youch. Welp, nothing she could do now. "Uh... Seeya in Asgard, sis? Dang, Thunderbutt, that was pretty crazy, won't it? Let's find another ship, this spot's a bit bad for business." So they set off, and as luck had it, they wound up having a good view of the ENS Diego, where Siegfried was stormi-

Oh crap. Siegfried was no longer in the land of the living. Which was, if her calculations were correct, BAD. So as the Fenrir rowed away, avoiding too much enemy fire, a new threat appeared for the Esparians, in the shape of a figure running across the water. It was Einherjar, his stupid self, was recklessly charging at the ship, like a wild animal! In silence, she and Thunderbutt submerged under the depths of the sea and moved, underwater, towards the ENS Diego, undetected, as they were both hidden under the water, and Einherjar was holding all attention. It didn't surprise Valdis, of course, when he was shot so many times he fell overboard. As his body hit the sea, she had Thunderbutt swim just enough to catch his body, as she gripped both her walrus and his two hammers. The duo, with Egil and his weapons in tow, moved rapidly away...


She soon reached a fair distance from any Esparian ship, where a few longboats were to be found, including the Fenrir. It was the Fenrir on which Thunderbutt slapped down his flippers from underwater, startling some Lokhyn, as the large walrus clambered aboard. Valdis quickly rolled Einherjar off Thunderbutt, onto the ship, and spread out, laying on his back. "A knife, someone, a KNIFE!" Partly out of fear, partly respect, a knife WAS brought to her. Setting it down from a moment, she looked at his bronze armor. With both hands, she grasped it at the collar and, with much force, tore it apart, with a grunt and some breath catching. Removing his helm was easier, and then she returned to the knife. Placing it at the collar, she split straight down the leather and the bulletproof vest.

It was no pretty sight; the man had becomje swiss cheese at the hands of the ENTIRE crew of the ENS Diego. "Friggin idiot! I'd slap you if you weren't about to die, you danged fool! SIGURD! ANDERS! Be useful and attend to your brother, idiots! Bandage him and try to keep him stable." Stepping over to two of the rowmen, she tossed them overboard, and as the confused men, both barely past eighteen, stared up at her, cleambering back to the ship, she sat down, grasping both oars they'd previously held, and began rowing not towards Lokheim, but to Aerugo, the closest place she could think of that wasn't Esparia. "HEY EVERYBODY! SIEGFRIED'S DEAD, AND WE'RE FIGHTING A FOOL'S WAR. THE FOOLS ARE MURINYO AND ALLENDE, BY THE WAY. SO C'MON, LET'S KICK ROCKS." Seeing nobody argued with her, the remnants of the Lokhyn who'd come to fight today began to set sail for Aerugo, in order to save Einherjar. In fair time, they hit the shores of Aerugo, where Valdis carried the holey Lokhyn to a hospital, where he was placed in the intensive care unit.

(~(EXIT THREAD, Valdis and Einherjar both. The Lokhyn are no longer in this mission. ._.)~)
Valdís Raghild

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The Grand Salazaar; VITO, VIJAYA, NAZARIO, ETC...

Post by Sec Invidia on Tue Jun 05, 2012 10:01 pm

Hmm... A deadlock, it seems, No force ready for total annihilation, neither the Esparians nor the Gelemortians left their place of hiding. So it was Sec, of course, who took the initiative. Glancing at the fellow tall person, he nodded to her, and cocked his head sideways, symbollizing he was going to check out the enemy situation, and for her to keep a watch on the crew. OR, as he assumed she would do, he was going to do stuff, and she could wait for him to come back, and take full credit for work that wasn't done at all. So he stood up, keeping in a crouched, nearly feral position, and rounded the corner...

Nothing. Nobody was there. He heard voices, yes, but he saw nothing. No enemies, no bloodshed nearby, nothing. Strange. Glancing back to where he'd come, Sec considered going back and telling the crew to resume their positions, that the threat had been eliminated or something, or at least, was no longer present. But as such thoughts crossed his mind, he turned back around to see a man, Esparian. ""W-who are you?!" Stuttering slightly, mainly out of surprise, Sec was then grabbed before he could speak, and then everything was black.


He awoke in a toilet. Most indignified. To make matters worse, he was wearing naught but his boxers. With a sigh, Sec stood, grasping his head. He'd woken a bit earlier than the man had likely expected, but it should be no problem for the man. "Oh, Truth... Laugh away..." Shaking his head, he gave the door a sharp kick, cracking it, and with another, sending it off its hinges. Everyone seemed to have accepted the new captain, from what he saw; yet unnoticed, men bustled around, doing stuff, sailing and all that. Sec placed his hands cautiously behind his head and searched the ship for the man. As luck had it, he found him. "Esparian one, I come in peace. I am unarmed, don't worry, you made sure of that. You captured my ship, I see. Bravo." With a faint smile, he tilted his head towards Vito, still holding his arms in a rather innocent fashion. "Might I have my clothing back, sir? It's a rather old, priceless relic of the first king of Gelemort, you see, my grandfather. I, myself, have no relations to the nation, but the cloth is of my family name, surely you can respect that. And if you could, the rapier and the pistol as well; you can have the rifle, and you can empty the pistol, but both have sentimental value to me.

Otherwise, you can keep the ship, though if at all possible, I'd like it back after this war. Of course, I'm not at liberty for conditions and terms, but it is a mere request. You may also take what you will of the ship, weaponwise, I surrender that to you. And until we dock at your location chosen, I can ensure nobody mutinies. We're all civil humans here, am I correct?
" And hopefully, as Sec's luck normally had it, the man wouldn't shoot him in the face. Hopefully... Oi vey...



Sec knows the following languages, and will occasionally use them!
Rouenian (Gelemortian Dialect), and all of these languages are spoken with a posh Cretan accent.

PLEASE NOTE; Sec is THE tallest human male character on MDA! He is 7'5", or 7'11" with his platform shoes and fedora. Which is really tall! And stuff!

~Avi by Sal
Sec Invidia

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Lokhyn fleet -> Rest of Esparian fleet -> Wolfgang

Post by Guest on Fri Jun 08, 2012 7:43 am

This was rather strange, but yet very much pleasing. In all entirety, Esparia usually musters a fleet large enough to oppose the Gelemortians from the previous leader, the previous one before that, before that, and before that. This whole scheme was a mad gamble by the President, an act of utter bravery. Why was he a coward according to many of those hypocrite Gelemortians? HAH! He laughed at such a notion. Bringing but normal men and women, in whatever context of the term is, at least none of them being Alchemists, and trumping Gelemorté in pure sheer military strength alone without the need for what the Amestrians would term... wunderwaffen. A wonder weapon that borders the wonderful and the mystical but nothing practical in a tactical point of view. These Gelemortians... actually, why did they even CONSIDER invading Esparia or were en route to it with a paltry few soldiers to boot? One would consider an invasion fleet would be larger, and in fact, WHY with outlandish weapons?

For the most part, Vasco knew he will be dubbed a war hero, and will be the darling of Esparian press. A great man that he basically just guaranteed he won't be lynched if he ever left the President's office. Immunity is now with complete popularity, and for the most part, Vasco has grown quite bored of all of this ridiculousness and tactical stupidity the Gelemortians displayed on a whole part. What kind of a moron sends people to attack in melee range with a DAMNED HAMMER!? He despised the stupidity and ineffectiveness of such archaic techniques better off for a different age, and also the idiocy and presumption of the Gelemortians in general.

Though he was amused by how when the big fatass Lokhyn from below, as he watched from the top of the observatory, the Lokhyn thought he can get away by simply falling off the deck. The Esparians had a military doctrine which concerning matters, would be to confirm a kill by blowing someone's head off, ESPECIALLY when there is a tendency of a big land bear that jumps into the ship, falls under the illusion that a hammer has dislodged a cannon, having even BOARDED IT despite heavy fire from the rotary cannons, the Phalanx CIWS, having had come aboard and killed an engineer, AND stood up and was shot several times would leave quite a distinct healthy skepticism in Vasco's mind that the brute is simply not dead. And falling off the deck was... quite cliché. The Esparians had a healthy skepticism of the first Lokhyn they killed, and even when their ranks are somewhat quelled by HIRELINGS and the like, the rest of the soldiers were quite professional and thought that slight vibration was nothing more than the futile attempts of trying to penetrate the ENS Diego's hull, continuing on without fear.

He watched as the cannons pounded the Lokhyn longships, destroying and sinking those given it was firing priorwise, sinking those ships with not much of a hassle given they have not taken much evasive maneuvering besides merely such static maneuvering around. Such a cannon kicked was not even fallen given such a mounting was too thick and powerful to kick off such strong supports given how well built naval artillery tends to be, with such a thing that has fallen to the sea to be nothing at all rather. A paradox in many ways for the Esparian ENS Diego to have NOT shot the Lokhyn with powerful modern weapons.

Nonetheless, the fact he fell over, Vasco would hear the magical words to his ears after such bombardment sunk those idiotic men of antiquated times, aye, for his disappointment and disgust in the Lokhyn boiled at their poor mannerism of seamanship and such juvenile assumptions, for what he heard from his aide would say they are renowned for being sailors, yet were not adequate against Esparia! He could have sent men to chase after the Lokhyn who fell off the deck and sunk to the water as Ranza already riddled him in many bullets, but instead, something prevented Vasco from sending a full underwater team after the Lokhyn and even potentially slay the midget girl they would've found and shot to death. It was Wolfgang.

His proclamation for the saboteur, his earnest pleas, or whichever it was Wolfgang expected made Vasco grin. It all fell into Vasco's alleyway as he thought it would in his mad and wildly chaotic gamble that in spite of all odds, did in fact work. The Esparians were already freaking out over a hysteria of victory, their morale has made them started going crazy as the Marines began firing up into the air, giving cacophonies of great cheers for victory, for Wolfgang has bowed to Esparian might, and acknowledged their valour by offering a surrender in their own tongue. Aye, a Gelemortian would speak Esparian, as opposed to Esparia never having anyone that has spoken once to Gelemorté in their Gelemortian Rouenian dialect. The farthest is perhaps the plain old Rouenian picked up from Esparia's greatest enemy, Rouen.

He picked up the speakerphone of his ship as he cackled discretly to himself, turning it on after getting his good humor out, one to ignore such poppycock the Lokhyn have done quite... under expectations, "MY PROUD ESPARIANS! CEASE FIRE! The Gelemortian mongrel horde have surrendered! PROVIDE AID FOR OUR MEN AND THEIR WOUNDED, CONFISCATE THEIR WEAPONS, AND FERRY THE REST OF THEM TO ANY NEARBY CIVILIAN VESSEL IN THE AREA EN ROUTE TO THEIR PUTRID SNOWY WINTERLAND! FOR TODAY MEN, WE HAVE WON A HEROIC VICTORY!"

Suddenly, at that announcement, there was an even BIGGER cheer to have been greeted by the President's declaration from the Marines, to have won the war with such few men, to have faced Gelemorté's ranks, and to have won despite every reason declared their loss. Gunshots were firing upwards as every Marines started dancing, partying and having a jolly good old time.

"The Republic of Esparia accepts the Ciel Dominion's surrender, a ceasefire is in effect, and any armed forces that are solely part of Gelemorté's military will be treated fairly, with clemency, and will be returned to your shores after treatment and registrations. Any Alchemists found in Gelemorté's ranks are to report to the nearest Inquisitor, for never should power above the scope of mortals be exploited. Gelemortian King Wolfgang, I pity you for what reception you will receive at your homeland for such a massive loss, but I also salute you for giving us a great victory." Halconojo, the sharp eyed Admiral would say on the mic after Vasco handed it to him.

The fleet, quite happy with their victory with great infliction of casualty upon the enemy, and not much of a casualty on their own paltry ranks, were not vengeful as Esparians would normally be in massacring the Gelemortians, but on the contrary, quite satisfied and were happy to follow the President's orders without questions. Not even finding any reason to doubt him anymore despite the fact Wolfgang was alive, there is a good blissful air up high. The boats ceased firing at the Gelemortians in a mad furious slaughter, and pursued instead to pick up any stragglers lest they die.

The ENS Diego turned about, mooring towards Esparia as well to a naval base to dock. And Vasco to disembark at to be back to his beautiful albeit deadly homeland, Esparia. No doubt a conquering hero. Sooner or later, the rest of the fleet will disperse back to the naval base for repairs, and thankfully a few medical ships were nearby to assist in aiding the wounded, as part of the Esparian military regulations.



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The Open Waters

Post by Dunstan Hue on Fri Jun 08, 2012 8:48 am

Dunstan spluttered a salty gasp as he crawled back onto his shaky boat, his breath almost at its last. He looked to his pathetic little snorkel - it was made much more for children at the beach on holiday than for military purposes, but Dunstan flung it aside. No time for that, there was a war to be had. His eyes danced around the boat, every explosive, every firework, every grenade, every bomb, all of them looking appealing to his eye. Finally, though, his hands wrapped around a mortar cannon as a maniac giggle escaped his lips. He aimed extremely carefully, looking to the nearest Gelemorte ship...


"Wait, what?" Dunstan asked as his head peeked up. Unfortunately, so did the mortar cannon, and the shot fired directly upwards right through the blanket roof. The bomb sailed upwards, bringing with it every support on the little wooden boat. The bomber's eye drifted up, then right back down as the water surrounded his knees. He was sinking. "Oh shit!" He yelped, looking around for any floatation device he could find.

The fridge bomb!

Leaping straight onto the metallic tanker, he kicked off his own boat as it plunged into the depths. It took a while for Dunstan's fat load to get balanced, and he wasn't too keen on flipping what was, in fact, one of the largest bombs he had ever built. If it went off, he was dead. He'd need a steady ride home.

"Ummmm... could someone give us a lift?" He called out into the sea, waiting for a reply. "Anyone? You could be a Gelemorte ship for all I care, I'm not that picky right now... hello?"




"I think I've got a rip in my wetsuit..."

Dunstan Hue

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Official Admin post

Post by Reila Tsukino on Thu Jun 14, 2012 12:33 pm


It's been SIX days since someone posted. POST GODDAMMIT or you're going to be booted from the mission entirely and I'll nix this entire thread. Also, start drawing it to a close. NOW.

Thank you,


This is a temporary signature. 8D
Reila Tsukino

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Re: MISSION: World War III: Peace and the Pestilence of RIOTE {4}

Post by Guest on Thu Jun 14, 2012 4:39 pm

Miguel steadied and slowed his ship as they tailed the three captured and now manned Gelemortian boats from a sizable distance. Already having consulted Vasco, the orders and tactics for his crew was quite clear. They were to generate disarray by posing as Gelemortians turning upon their own comrades. Of course, this was Miguel's idea from the beginning, but Vasco's plans seemed far more dangerous for his own crew. It was practically a manner of generating a distraction at the risk of his crew for the opportunity for the rest of the fleet. No, instead he would do something with a bit more precaution. A hit and run tactic. It was a bit of a gamble, but at least there was a clear path to escape for those involved. The plan was fairly simple. One of the three boats was loaded with great deal of explosives covered by a tarp. Escorted by the other two, posing as Gelemortian sailors, they would pilot the explosive laden boat to the side of the hull of a Gelemortian battleship. From there, the two aboard the explosive ship would hop onto one of the other two boats and drive quickly away from the blast radius. Once the explosives detonated and the hull was breached, the two remaining boats would sail around and engage the smaller vessels, using that disguise as fellow Gelemortians to their advantage. Miguel would then sail in to aide them, and whisk them away.

But more or less forced to remain with his own ship, Miguel could only clench his teeth and watch in anticipation through his telescope from afar. The man held his breath as he watched Nayeli and the others sail past other Gelemortian motorboats with their heads bowed and aloof. What was stressful for Miguel to watch must have been absolute solicitude for those actually aboard the ships. If they were found out, they would be killed.

A collective sigh of relief was felt aboard the boat as it seemed the others had managed to slip pass undetected. Now they were just a clear shot away from the target ship. They skated along the side of the steel hull and from what Miguel could see, appeared to have been in the process of prepping the detonation. Tucking his telescope away, Miguel turned to his crew that remained aboard his boat.
"Prep the boat to rush into the target area. As soon as the explosion goes off, we rush in"

Miguel briskly rushed back to the helm as the others shuffled into position. The occasional explosion of an Esparian shell blasting the waters or hull of some Gelemortian ship made Miguel jerk his sight toward where his crew and daughter were, in worry that they may have started, or might have been caught in friendly fire. But each worried check proved that they were still there, though now speeding away from the boat abandoned at the side of the battle ship. They were seconds away from detonation, it seemed. Putting force on the throttle, Miguel accelerated the ship towards the edge of the Gelemortian fleet, ready to arrive and assist the others as soon as humanly possible.

A distant explosion resounded in the distance, and this time it was confirmed to be their own charge. Smoke drifted up from the obliterated wreckage of the detonated boat, obscuring the visibility of the battleship it had damaged. But Miguel could at least catch a glimpse of some signs of damage as they sailed closer. Already he could see the two remaining boats of theirs, filled with three people each, sailing rapidly around the centre of frantic discord, intercepting and shooting down the crews of disoriented motorboats identical to their own. A stray thought crossed Miguel's mind as to how amusing it must have been to see a woman in Gelemortian uniform firing arrows at others on the high seas. Certainly it must have been confusing for the poor Gelemortians that must have thought they were being attacked by their own comrades.

But now was not the time to wonder about such things. Miguel carried little for death or glory. The damage was done and now was the time to escape. Call it cowardice, but Miguel did not care. Leave the blind and foolish courage to a soldier who was not so disillusioned by war. The lives of his crew and daughter were far more important than a pointless victory.

"Fire both torpedoes at the opening in the enemy ship's hull, and then I'm pulling us out of here" shouted Miguel, over the sound of guns, cannons, and explosive dins.
"Aye, Captain"

The muffled jettison of one torpedo after another was hardly audible, for it was simply lightning foreshadowing the thunder behind it. A few seconds passed and the anticipated concussion and ignition of flame devoured the already bleeding side of the battleship. A mortal wound, but there was not time to marvel or watch the ship sink. He wasn't about to stick around for that.
Miguel quickly rerouted his ship and sped towards the waiting forms of the two remaining boats piloted by his crew. In less than a minute, the boats were abandoned and all of his crew had returned safely to his ship, with only a few moderate injuries to a few unlucky soldiers. But that was to be expected. With much haste, Miguel steered his ship away from the chaos that engulfed that plane of sea and hurried off back towards the sanctity of the Esparian fleet.

On the horizon, growing ever more distant, Miguel could see fractions of the Gelemortian armada breaking off and away from the battle. So the enemy had been routed? Vasco must have been estatic. Miguel sighed and rubbed his face wearily after slowing the ship's speed as they approached friendly waters. Thankfully this battle was short and none of his soldiers were killed. But many lives were lost today, Gelemortian and Esparian alike, all to a foolish spat between two egotistical leaders with an unjustifiable hate towards one another's countries. It was sickening, but what could be done about it? The world was a terrible place full of prejudice, hatred and war. This was nothing new. You just had to open your eyes all the way to see it. But once your eyes were open, there was not shutting them. Not even for a second......
But maybe there were still some things worth enjoying in this turbulent existence of his.

"Hey, Nayeli." said the red-haired Esparian softly, his golden eyes focused on the horizon still. "When we reach shore, do you care to join your old man for a drink? We can chat and catch up on lost years and you can tell me about whats going on with your tribe. It'll be fun. What do you say, hija?"



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Re: MISSION: World War III: Peace and the Pestilence of RIOTE {4}

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