NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: Continuation of the "Reclaimation" thread, which introduced characters and set up development. Read Below:

http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=81823&postdays=0&postorder=asc&start=0

The first Signal was a Strange Interdimensional Disturbance in the North Pacific. The Second Signal was a nuclear explosion in the Cambodian Jungles. The Third Signal has been alerted.

IC:

Hours had passed since the Cambodian Pseudo-explosion at a nuclear scale. It seemed as if the ruse, as clever and noteworthy as it may have been, was a complete failure in the sense that it attracted little, if any, attention that was not local, and went internationally unnoticed. Although this would be chalked up on as Raziel's failed ideas, a rarity at that, there would always be another plan.

"Tis a sad world to not raise a brow during a nuclear blast in such a desolate part of the world," Camael despaired.

"Perhaps sad isn't the proper term," Lucifer said with a devilish grin. "Perhaps they are just preoccupied with their own endevours and have no room to peek outside of their social bubble." It seemed more truth than farce, and was more than enough of a logical explaination to the rest.

"Then we should attract their attention some way else. If danger does not peak their interest, then safety may," Michael suggested.

Raziel left the group and went back into the temple. He was gone for nearly fifteen minutes. He dragged out a large box the size of a man with a dolly lift, and used his bisento as a crowbar in forcing it open. "Nations here are suckers for refugees," He informed the rest. "They will come to our aid if we inform that we are refugees from another country and are being attacked." He wheeled out a strange, rotating machination with a green orb in the middle. The half-truth was somewhat believable. Raziel kneeled down to switch the emergency signal beacon on, which emitted the message encoded in radio waves.


Help! Foreign Refugees Currently Under Attack in Cambodian Temple of Angkor Wat. Immediate Evacuation Assistance Requested.


The green orb shot a large, continuous beam into the atmosphere, attracting the visual attention of the others as Raziel stood up. He reached into the casing and activated a timer for a few hours.

"Why don't we just walk?" Matriel wondered. "The jungle isn't that bad."

"And to where would we go? What friends do you still have?" Samael answered.

Matriel was silent, unanswering to Samael.

"What about the horses?" Jophiel asked.

Raziel looked up for once, "We annot summon the steeds until the physical anchor to this dimensional plane of existence is reestablished."

"And that means...?" Abaddon asked.

"IT means that without Byzantium here, we're pretty much without our. . . luxories," Sandalaphon informed. "Which is why we must discovery the why, research the how, create the what, and make the when as soon as possible."

"Cryptic brother," Metatron acknowledged. "Cryptic."

"Thanks," Sandalaphon said. "Soon I'll be talking like Raziel." He chortled slightly.

"Heaven Forbid," chuckled Zadkiel. "The world needs less know-it-alls with labyrinthian minds."

The men enjoyed a good laugh at the High Priest's cost as he finished working on the signal beacon.

"What will happen if the beacon fails to attract any foreign attention?" Lucifer inquired.

"Then," Gabriel suddenly said. "We can expect the Cambodian authorities to pick us up. They're likely to catch on to a giant light in the jungle pretty quick. I'll give it a few hours."

"Well... as long as its not something bad," Lucifer sneered mischeviously.


Help! Foreign Refugees Currently Under Attack in Cambodian Temple of Angkor Wat. Immediate Evacuation Assistance Requested.


OOC:

These men, 27 total, are in some serious need of someone to pick them up. THe Cambodian Authorities are heading their way, and if they investigate, the Byzantines will surely be sent to prison and death afterwards for multiple accounts of homocide.

#tag# for now...

"Raziel, who were those men whom accosted us in the temple?" Michael wondered.

"Based on their nondescript uuniforms, type of weaponry, swiftness to engage and lack of knowledge, I assume Zackaren sent them," Raziel conjectured.

"I thought he was sort of a friend to you," Rahab said.

"I was too, once," Zane interrupted. "Friendship with Raziel is a rocky journey indeed. What did you do to pis this one off Priest?"

Raziel glared a bit at Zane, then sighed. "Zackaren is an Astral Dragon. He really dislikes it when people play with time-space. He's been keeping a special eye on me for some time now. I think our transportation here might have riled him up a bit, but it's nothing I can't handle with a few moments alone with him."

"Anyone else we should particularly be aware of before we're thrown headfirst into this mess?" Michael again inquired.

"Well, my initial plan is to gain international attention," Raziel answered." Byzantantium was engaged in a couple of strong alliances. One that still may exist is the South Atlantic Treaty Organization. If anyone could immediately help us, it is them."

"I see," nodded Michael. Sandalaphon, Rahab, Jophiel, Matriel, Ramiel, Sachiel, and Israfel seemed further enlightened now.

"You think they'll help us eh?" Jophiel began. "I remember those elves not caring much for our Utopian Socialism. I think that they were jealous that we achieved perfection in society and was able to get it to work."

"Be wary of your pride, Jophiel," Samael insisted.

Iselith was overjoyed. Others of his kind were indeed here! Hope for Elvenkind at last! Perhaps there could be an enormous overflow of forces here. Perhaps he could lead them back to Azeroth and crush the Scourge. Perhaps even the Horde could be driven back! He was excited, but showed nothing but a flush of redness as he went through so many emotions. Hope Indeed!

For now, they waited.


Help! Foreign Refugees From the Lost Byzantine Empire are Currently Under Attack in the Cambodian Temple of Angkor Wat! Immediate Evacuation Assistance is Requested!

--------------------------------------
Knootian fishing trawler ‘Erica’
Gulf of Thailand
--------------------------------------
The rusty, brown-coloured fishing trawler passed through the seas in the Gulf of Thailand, sweeping the seas clean of the fish that were still left. It’s old former Knootian military naval stealth system active. So far, they had managed to remain one step ahead of the crude NPC Cambodian government. The Cambodians never liked foreigners fishing in their waters without authorisation.

It was all-quiet on the bridge of the trawler. The only nearby sound was coming from the airconditioner that continuously hummed to keep the heat away. Behind the ship’s bridge the engines hummed synchronously.

The silence was disturbed as the radio crackled:
… [crackle] efugees … yzantine Empire are Currently [crackle] … Temple of Angkor Wat! Immediate Evacuation Assistance [crackling]

One of the sailors darted to the radio to readjust it and increase the reception. “Ma’am, that’s an S.O.S.”, he concluded.
“I had figured that, Joachim”, replied a woman’s voice. Captain Verdam listened to the repeating message, and was puzzled. “Byzantium?!”, thought but they… vanished… long ago. It didn’t take long for the fisherwoman to decide what to do: “Joachim, reply to them. Let’s see if this radio of theirs also has a receiver. Just don’t give out our purpose or location.”

Minutes later, Joachims voice sounded in the ether:
This is the vessel ‘Erica’. We received your S.O.S. please confirm your identities, over.

The sun was beginning to set. THe Beacon couldn't receive any incoming messages. It would only transmit it's location and the message in it's radio waves.

"The authorities are coming," Raziel said softly.

The area had been abandoned, and it was on national news of the suspicious activities at the temple. Reports of highly armed figures allowed the nation to suspect something of an invasion or rebel force using the temple as a place of demonstration or new HQ to plan operations to topple the government. As such, an infantry regiment was sent to secure the temple and regain it.

"Listen, I want the Order to leave and find help. My brothers, we should handle this by ourselves," Sandalaphon suggested. "Bryce, we trust you to lead them true."

The Aged Half-Elf nodded, "We'll do our best." The Cleric looked at the Elven Ranger, the Human Necromancer, the Fey'ri Channeler, the Barbarian Warrior, and the Iksar Monk....It was a task.

"Come lads, let us hide in the forest," Iselith said, easily usurping control in a moment's notice. Zane seemed to smile broadly with an inner meaning known only to him, and his eyes, like blackened suns of swarming flares, brightening a bit with a quickly fading yellow tint.

As the six whisked themselves to safety, Israfel peered over to Rahab, "Are you totally confident that they'll be of any help?"

The Russian Admiral laughed, "They're more than we are right now. Just have confidence in our agents."

It would take only a few more minutes until the 21 High Celestialists were surrounded by Cambodian Troops. They were ordered to all drop their weapons, which they promply did, and surrender. Giving each other eye-contact and nodding was the only communication that went between them, as they were loaded into a two vans, and skidded off towards the capitol prison.

"Sir! There's something quite odd you should see here! There's dead people in the temple!"

"How many?"

"I don't know...there's a lot of pieces though. They seemed heavily armed. It could have been a paramilitary warground."

"My God..who are these people."

---------------------------------------------

Nazgel sneered, his reptilian scales camoflaging the lizard in the foliage. "They won't stand a chance if we leap in there. I could have three heads under my belt before they fired off a shot."

"Don't be a fool you overgrown iguana. You're shot already, remember?" Charon scolded. "For a monk, you're awfully foolhardy."

Iselith loaded an arrow into his bow, "Someone know anything about this land at all?"

Bryce nodded, "I know a bit.."

Iselith grinned, "Then lead us to water, good cleric. I'll take care of the rest."

"There seems to be an entire floor built under Angkor Wat, filled with labyrinthine corridors. We've found the remains of over fifty corpses, most outfitted with expensive weaponry. We've found shreds of Kevlar and P90 Submachine guns, with lots of bullets. The investigation has concluded that this could have been a trap for these men, as many of these previously unknown corridors had rooms with broken in coffins. All of them ere empty. So far, we’ve yet to find any survivor or witness to the event. Those twenty men are the only ones who know what happened, and I’m sure that they’re responsible,” the investigator said to the commanding officer as a full military search began in the temple. “This new level will cause a riot in the archeological and religious communities worldwide.”

The commanding officer rubbed his chin, “What monsters could do such a thing? Why would they stay here and wait for us to find them? They’re lucky we didn’t shoot them on sight. They surrendered passively though. I can’t help but wonder their reasons.”

“Well Sir, we found some type of machine that was emitting radio waves. Some sort of S.O.S. beacon. It gave out this location. Perhaps they were waiting for someone.”

“Did you shut it off?”

“Aye Sir.”

“Take it in for evidence. Make sure those vans are protected too. The last thing we need is one of those freaks getting loose in the jungle.”

------------------------------------------------------------------

The Vans could only reasonably sit 10 prisoners inside the armored holding cell. The twenty-one of them had to overload a single one. Sandalaphon, Gabriel, Raphael, Melchizedak, Rahab, Israfel, Samael, Ramiel, Zadkiel, Ariel, and Abaddon were in the first, while Metatron, Raziel, Camael, Sachiel, Lucifer, Matriel, Jophiel, Michael, Uriel, and Azrael were in the second. A couple tanks and a few trucks of infantry surrounded the vans as they headed southeast.


Van 1:

Sandalaphon sighed a bit, his hands cupping his chin. The bumps over the dirt trails toward Siemreab disturbed him every step of the way. He wondered what Raziel’s plan was now, or if he truly had one at all. Things were not going as he thought ever since it started. Everything had gone wrong. Sandalaphon doubted it was worth doing this. The only reason he allowed it to happen was the forgotten Congo base in the Isle of Plagues. ‘Those poor men,’ Sandalaphon wept mentally, thinking about the 18 monks stranded in the forests of Africa.

“So are we breaking out of this or not,” Samael asked. “I’m sure Abaddon is more than enough to give us some lee-way.”

Rahab laughed a bit, “And how does he fare against the tanks bordering our passage comrade? He’d be blown to smithereens. It’s best to wait for now. The worst that can happen is we suddenly stop over a bridge and they choose to shoot us.”

Zadkiel grinned, “They didn’t even cuff us or anything. Odd that they trusted us so.”

“Don’t think it will stay that way. We stepped in here on our own will. They don’t yet realize who we are,” Gabriel reassured the Knight.

“Hey Melchiah, how long do you think it is ‘til we stop?” Sandalaphon asked wistfully.

The old man stroked his beard, “’Tis a long travel to the capitol, ‘tis long indeed. Rest my brothers, by the sun will rise in that city, so shall the doors be opened, as they close to another day.”

“That’s not too long I suppose,” Zadkiel suggested. “We swam longer than that.”

Van 2:

The carriage was over-stuffed with eleven bodies. Had they not been so calm, it could have been quite chaotic.

“They shut down the beacon,” Raziel said. “I saw it as we loaded ourselves in.”

“So what now, priest-boy,” Lucifer wondered.

“Well. Try to get some rest. They’ll take us to Phnom Penh, and put us on trial for those agents. Things will get very very interesting.”

Camael perked up, “and how are we to explain poor Ariel? How do you know they won’t just shoot him because he looks different? Human beings are like that, you know as well as me. They’ll see him as a monster and try to shoot him. They’ll most likely be killed in the ordeal, but they’ll still try.”

Raziel answered, “Trust me, it’s an impossibility.”

“Do you think those six will be enough to make it out?” Jophiel questioned.

“It’s quite the crack-up team you’ve assembled Raziel. I do not believe they’re ready. They lack the modern equipment and know-how to navigate a modern world,” Metatron believed.

“This I’ve realized,” Raziel concurred. “However, it took some time, but I was able to sneak in a 7th. He’ll make a difference.”

“You truly believe this?”

“Have faith, brother,” Raziel grinned. “It’s our only true ability right now.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bryce lead them through the dirt trails in the midst of the jungles of Cambodia to the Provincial Capitol of Siemraeb. The city was the first modern spectacle most of them had ever seen. As they stepped onto the streets, Bryce turned to say, “No don’t draw attention toward your---never mind.” The Half-Elf then sighed. It would truly be harder than it seemed.

Traversing through the squalor-filled slums provided as much cover as one could hope to get in such a city, especially as armed and armored as Procul was, and he was not much of a runner. Cambodian children were amazed at first, before frightened mothers ran to draw them protectively to their bosoms. Bryce would oftentimes attempt to console them that the six meant no harm, but Iselith assured him that it would mean little difference.

It was almost dark when they reached the city of Siemraeb. Zane was the first to suggest that they say the night in the slums. He was beginning to feel rather sleepy. Charon realized that this meant that Zane needed to speak to his Elder Master, something he could only do in dreams. The sneering Necromancer stubbornly agreed on the matter of rest. Bryce would not consent to breaking into a slum house to squat, which would have been the safest solution. Nazgel would be the first to spot a run-down, dilapidated inn. It wasn’t a unanimous vote to stay there, but it didn’t matter.

Upon seeing the lizard humanoid, the Innkeeper directed them to a reserved room for them. This both excited and bewildered the six. However, upon entering, the door was slammed open by a monstrous being.

http://www.imagestation.com/picture/sraid63/p545852c12c1b990b3c0cfc56e9e3aa28/fc093ada.jpg

“Well Hell’s Bells Boys. Sit ‘yer asses in and have a cold one. We’ve been waitin’ all day for you lame-asses!”

It was a huge lizard, more than eight feet tall easy. H was Hairless, except for the goatee that he fashioned. He wore only slacks, as his feet, like a tyrannosaurus-rex, were quite unfitting for shoes. The thing was barrel-chested, and breaking of muscle. A long, nearly 15 foot, dragon-like tail burst from the back of his pants, and his maw was long and filled with sharp teeth, yet cracked open with a 8” cigar firmly implanted inside, billowing out smoke. Two belts crossed his chest, filled with grenades and clips of munitions, and another one was wrapped around his waist, as the button of his pants had snapped off, probably from putting them on, and had many amazing tools and equipment. The mighty scaled being was a Grackle Tooth.

“Uhh…Hi,” Iselith squeaked. “The innkeeper dir—“

“I know what the hell that slanty-eyed fella said Elf-boy. Now come on in, less ya’ let the bugs out, and Crinchex there might get hungry. I’d rather him eat the bugs than you,” said the large being, and shoved them in one by one, stopping at Procul. “Damn whitey, you sure are big aren’t ya’?”

Procul nodded. “The Barbarian Tribes of Mount Arreat grew to be a true warrior race.”

The Grackle Tooth laughed, “Yada yada yada. It’s all bullshit to me son. Just close the door.”

Inside the room were two more beings. One was a complete albino human character with a strong build on him. He was also shirtless, and seemed to be working on pipe bombs. There was a large tattoo of a double-tailed scorpion on his chest facing down, with the tails wrapping around the curves of his pectoral muscles. When he turned, there was a second tattoo of a dragon wrapping around his spine to his neck. On top of his head, however, was the most significant one: a tattoo of a tarantula spider, its eight legs drawn along his face, and the fangs cutting into his eyes. This was his namesake, and why most would call him ‘Spider’ from his most distinguishing tattoo. He wore black pants that were baggy in the legs, and tough black boots that were experienced in battle. His eyes were darkened in, and the ashtray nearby had extinguished cigarettes which seemed to be self-rolled, and too thick to hold tobacco leaves.

The third was truly inhuman. A mutant man with a hyena-like face, doing ammo-checks for the multitude of firearms that filled the room. There were over 30 guns lining the walls, and this furred humanoid, looking very strong, yet very agile, was making sure that each weapon would be fit for war. He was slimmer than the other two, and carried a feral nature. He counted in a language none of them knew. He also wore a very hard armor carapace on his chest of a material unknown to the six. The rest of him was decorated in a very tribal manner, with the flowing skirt, bracelets, and beaded braids in his thick mane of hair. He growled a bit after the Grackle Tooth’s comment. He was the one named Crinchex of the Pervic Clan.

http://www.imagestation.com/picture/sraid100/p00f9d1f50264d0a51bc64429b8ac31c0/f9e5df35.jpg

As Bryce, Iselith, Zane, Charon, Procul, and Nazgel sat down, a bit disturbed and freaked out, the Grackle Tooth resumed his work of checking a large shoulder mounted-turret machine. Zane was the first to speak up. “Excuse me, but who the hell are you people and what the hell are you doing?”

The being placed the weapon down, “I’m Gackt, over there’s my friend Spider,” he said, and the white man nodded. “This here’s Crinchex. We were told of your guys’ situation by some fella named Raz. He promised us quite the bundle if we made sure you fellas didn’t done get yourselves blown up ‘cause you’re not that smart when it comes to his modern day bullshit.”

The Albino laughed. “He gets this idea that a bunch of figures from times past can make it through a present world with just the magic they have. You guys probably won’t make it out of this shithole. So he brings three beings from the future to help you.”

“And what the hell are you?” Zane asked again.

Gackt was the first to answer, “They all my species Grackle Tooth. I never really minded at all. We do have such pretty smiles. I prefer Gackt though.”

“I’m a Psi-Stalker. I’m like humans, and kind of like a vampire as well. I eat magic energy from killing those whom have the ability to cast it. I’m a hunter and demolitions expert, but I can throw down just as well,” said Spider. “I used to be trained as an officer in the military ‘til I went AWOL and joined up with Gackt here.”

“Furball there’s what they call a Simvan. They’re monster riders and tamers. He won’t speak much, but he’s more than an expert in the wilderness. He’s faster’n all hell too,” Gackt informed.

“So what are we doing here?” Iselith asked. “We could go right now then.”

“Calm down Elf-boy,” Gackt assured. “We’re not ready yet. Get yourselves some sleep. I need to work the twinks out of this Rapid-Fire LAWS in case we meet some toughies. This sucker can empty out 20 Rockets in 15 seconds with the right finger.”

“It’s quite amazing weaponry, how far into the future are you?” Charon asked.

“No one really knows,” Spider replied. “I’d give it 500 years or so. Which is still about 1000 more than you guys.” The Psi-Stalker chuckled.

“I suppose we take Gackt’s advise and rest. I’m sure they won’t deter from their contract,” Bryce said.

“Fo’ shizzle my elfizzle,” the Grackle Tooth said. “The beds are to your left.”

When the six had gone to bed, Crinchex, Spider, and Gackt looked at each other.

“Man…what a bunch of freaks.”

Within the swarming Void of Death was the Lord of Dreams and Nightmares trapped, its insanity-inducing body in a perma-state of Death during its Stasis. Yet, there were a select few whom had the taint to consume its thesis and join with it, preparing for a reawakening when chaos shall once more fuel existence in eternal Darkness. Zane was indeed one of these chosen. Every week he would be stripped from this Plane and thrown into the void to communicate with his benefactor. This is why he wouldn't wake up when the others were ready to leave.

"Is he dead?" Spider asked, slightly from hunger.

"Depends," said Charon. "He hasn't been alive in a while."

"Eych," the Psi-Stalker snorted. "The carrion is yours then Necromancer." Spider knew he had to protect the mortals, but he also knew that unless there was a large quantity of magic in this world, his natural instincts would take over, and he would surely slaughter the necromancer, and maybe the elves too if it got bad. He teetered between self-control and his animalistic survival instinct.

Bryce and Crinchex had left in the early morning, as both of them were quite used to getting up at Dawn. The two had then woken the others a few hours later, save Zane who was in deep comatos, and Gackt, who was found passed out by four empty bottles of rice wine. They had gone grocery shopping, finding much in the ways of pig fat, chicken eggs, fresh fruit, and rice. Bryce was a wonderful cook, and remembered fondly of the days of waking Raziel and the original Order of Thrones every morning with breakfast. He enjoyed making meals, as cooking was indeed a passion to the cleric, one he did extremely well with half a millenia of experience. Crinchex, however, was a hunter. He would wake up early and take his cross-bow and find anything he could to hunt and devour raw. Simvan like he never acquired much of a taste for cooked food. Like true warriors, they would eat their conquered. To his people, that was the greatest honor possible for your opponent. The hyena-man took this concept deeply, as did every other of his race.

Bacon, scrambled eggs, fresh rice, oranges and bananas rose forth a loving aroma that woke up the others. Bryce always made sure to make more than needed, as after they ate, he donated the rest to their keepers. Crinchex, a carnivourous species, had haggled his way to purchasing a plucked, uncooked, chicken, and feasted into it vigorously, his teeth breaking bone and cartilidge.

At around noon, Gackt woke up with a serious headache. This was, of course, quite common, every single morning. The huge lizard creature rose up, groaning, as he stumbled upon the dining procession. "Any coffee?" Gackt muttered.

"I couldn't find any at the slum market. Just produce and meat," Bryce informed.

Gackt just moaned a bit. "OOoh, and one more thing. There's some ship named 'Erica' that responded to your telegram. I heard it on the shortwave late last night. I think...it could have been a hallucination. I saw some pretty fucked up shit."

"Sober up buddy. That booze is gonna kill you," Spider insisted. Then again, Spider wasn't one to talk at all anyway. Gackt and Spider met in a bar, became friends in a bar, and have since used bars to do everything. It was a tough life to live inside a bottle. Even worse was the climb out.

"Yeah well....It's been a hell of a life so far. Just give me some time and I'll be ready to leave. We need to head south to the Tanle and flow down toward Vietnam. South Vietnam should be able to take us straight out toward sea. I'll see about getting some more radio equipment to send a message out," Gackt planned.

At 1 p.m., everyone had packed out and left the building, Procul had to carry the still comatos Zane. Gackt put on a poncho and a cowboy hat, as well as some custom made leather boots with spurs in some outrageous disguise manuever. "As long as I keep the hat down, people will think I'm a Texan," he said. It somehow worked, though when questioned about the 15 foot tail swinging around, Gackt would respond by knocking the person out. It soon became an issue about weight, and the hundreds of pounds of gear and weaponry the Fellowship of the Nine held would eventually weigh them all down and stop them in their journey. To this end, Spider requested that they steal a truck. Bryce, Iselith, Procul, and Crinchex were opposed to such an ordeal.

"That's fine," Spider said. "We don't need you for it anyway." He grinned and looked at Gackt. "Just give us five minutes."

The Grackle Tooth and Psi-Stalker dropped there gear and trotted off towards the higher density of the Urban Areas of Siemraeb. Some loud sounds of cannon fire and a single explosion later, screams were heard, and gunfire lit up. An army truck drove screeching out, with Gackt in the Bed and Spider driving like a maniac. The truck screeched to a halt, and Gackt went out, throwing weaponry and equipment in the back.

"How the hell did you--" Iselith started to ask, but was cut off by the Albino mutant.

"No time to talk, just hop in and get ready to duck!"

Crinchex got into the passenger's seat with Spider as Gackt began to set up a tripod to place one of his many heavy weapons upon it.

"I am beginning to doubt Raziel's intelligence on the matters of choosing the personnel for his covert dossiers," Bryce observed.

"Yeah..what-the-fuck-ever dude," Gackt grinned. "Just don't get shot ok? You're worth 16% of the total package."

"Lovely," quoth the Cleric.

With that, the truck rushed out of the Cambodian city of Siemraeb.

-----------------------------------------
Knootian fishing trawler ‘Erica’
Gulf of Thailand
-----------------------------------------

The Knootians waited and waited, but no reply came. Ill-equipped to deal with the situation (well, any situation other then fishing and evading the coastguard) They took a peek at the charts… “no Knootian vessels nearby”, concluded the navigator. “Allied vessels…”, he took a peek, “Well, there are PLENTY of Ruhrians around. What they are doing near Burma I don’t know but it sure is big.”
The captains soft voice penetrated the room, “how about this vessel over here?”

A multiple-medium transmission was sent over to the South China Sea, to the Ruhrian navy vessel RNS Nightwake. The stealth vessel with two helicopters quickly intercepted the transmission, which included the emergency call and some triangulating that the Erica had done.

“Please help these people”; pleaded Captain Verdam via vidlink and radio. “We can’t, but if they truly are from the Byzantine Empire then this could be a very important finding!”

To be in the right spot in the right time is one virtue that only few enjoy, especially if it is to help a friend or ally. The RNS Nightwake, a Victorian Class stealth missile destroyer, was heading to the Ruhrian rearming base on Palawan island. The vessel was, however, leaving the Thailand territorial waters, cruising 40 miles off the coast of Cambodia when the message was intercepted. There were no specifics in the message, only that helicopter assistance was required. The captain decided wether or not to assist the Knootians.

Captain Valderez lowered his hand from his chin, "Lieutenant Kyo, respond."

Two Seahawks traveling to given coordinates. ETA 30 mins. The Vessel is moving to position mark twelve-four-five-eleven-niner..

The hanger bay opened after the order was given. One after another, the Seahawks rolled out infront of the rear Missile deck and took off, the trip was short but several were needed. The maximum occupancy of the helicopter was limited by the ASW weaponry placed onboard. Four trips were made to pick up the refugees. The question was, what was going to happen after they got back to the ship?

The Coordinates led to the Temple of Angkor Wat, where a large Cambodian Force had already secured the area. Several tanks and infantry units were filling through the air. The "refugees" had already been taken to the capital for the trial.

If the helicopters were making themselves a bit too noticable in the temple area, they would surely be flagged down ot risk being fired upon. If any questions would be asked about the Byzantine survivors, they'd be denied knowledge of such things. The commanding officer would merely explain that they had found a new excavation area below the temple, and were using the military to make sure it was safe.

No information regarding the beacon or the dead bodies or the Byzantine Celestialists would be given.

The mounted rail gun sounded like an anti-aircraft cannon when it fired from the bed of the truck. Forty rounds burst out of the electromagnetic drivee system, expelling them into the engine of the pursuing vehicle, filled with Cambodian infantry, firing at the truck with their assault rifles. The slug of ammunition blew through the front gating of the truck, tearing the engine to pieces. Parts of the rail gun bursts slid through the driver, blood splattering on the insides of the windshield as his body fell limp. The passenger truck veered to the left and toppled down. Those who didn't leap out were crushed as the vehicle crashed, exploding as the gas tank ignited seconds later.

The chase had been going on for three hours now. That was the twelth vehicle Gackt had taken out. Spider had been shot through his right shoulder, and Bryce was nursing another wound on Iselith's side, right above his right hip. The windows of their truck were shatters, and several bullet holes on each side made it quite the eyesore. Gackt began reloading the NG-202 Rail gun.

"Is that the last one?" Bryce said, very worried.

"I don't know. I think we've lost them for now," Gackt said. His poncho was filled with bullet holes from the masses that fired on him. His thick armored skin, however, proved to be highly resistant to the standardized ballistics. "How is everyone?"

Iselith was cringing, Bryce was applying pressure to his wound. The Bleeding had stopped half an hour ago when Bryce channeled his clerical energies to remove the bullet and regenerate him, but his fading power couldn't stop the bleeding for some reason, and he had to use a make-shift bandage. The Elf growled with pain at a wound that he'd never felt before. Guns were foreign to him, but it felt like the most powerful arrow in the world. Arrows Iselith had been used to, those and axes. He'd been previously wounded by three arrows and six throwing axes in his life, each leaving deep scars over his chest. Those had been healed by magical means and rough medical means. This was something else entirely. “Iselith is hurt badly,” Bryce said, wiping the tears from the elf’s eyes. The ranger tried not to cry out from the pain, but he couldn’t help it.

Meanwhile, blood was streaming down Spider’s shoulder and back like a red web. Spider had been shot at, but bullets were extremely archaic in his time. He was tough though to get over the fact that a steaming wedge of steel was stuck inside his arm and rubbing against his scapula. However, he slowed down and stopped the truck, his left hand going over his right shoulder, his fingers gathering ichor stains. The Psi-Stalker growled a bit. “I’m hit, but it’s nothing too bad,” he told Gackt. Charon had been holding up his buckler in a crouched position to fiend off from bullets. The Daemon-Bone crafting had proven to be quite useful in fending off the bullets. Procul’s tough magical armor did likewise, his giant gaultlets guarding his albino face.

The gas tank was only a quarter-full now. It’d only have another 90 minutes max before running out. They were on the outskirts of Kampong Thum, another Cambodian Provincial Capitol. From there, they could turn south and head to Phnom Penh, the national capitol, or keep going to South Vietnam, toward the Mekong Delta, and seek a plane to another nation. Spider stopped the truck after driving it into a section of forest.

”She’s not gonna do it for us Gackt,” Spider said, still clutching his bleeding wound. “We’re gonna hafta do another raid. It won’t be pretty.”

Crinchex loaded his crossbow and began to forage, easily slipping out of sight into the wilderness.

“If we do something, we better do it quick. It’s afternoon now, and the sun is starting to set,” Gackt, who had become growing into quite the leadership position.

Bryce padded Iselith’s side once more, and stepped off the truck and went to Spider. “Let me take a look at that,” the half-elf said. The cleric placed his palm over the bullet wound, his hand pressing against it, which made the mutant growl in pain. “Envinyanta!” He chanted, using a mystic power-word. Blue energy courses through his arm from his chest, and like ethereal tendrils, wrapped around Spider’s shoulder, bathing it in a divine healing magick. The Bullet fell out, and Spider’s white-flesh just remain, still stained with blood of a wound that didn’t exist. Astonished, Bryce whispered, “It worked…”

Spider nodded, “Y’know.. You might be more useful than you look Elf.”

Oh crap, that's right next door!

TAG!!!

(oh crap... they've got nukes now...)

[ooc]
Nuevo Kowloon's REALLY close to the Cambodia/Laos/Thailand/Vietnam area. (come on, our Capital's named [i]Nha Tranh)
They're going to see a mushroom cloud, and get the entirely wrong idea about what's going on...

Oh crap, that's right next door!

TAG!!!

(oh crap... they've got nukes now...)

[ooc]
Nuevo Kowloon's REALLY close to the Cambodia/Laos/Thailand/Vietnam area. (come on, our Capital's named [i]Nha Tranh)
They're going to see a mushroom cloud, and get the entirely wrong idea about what's going on...

Which would be a great idea to check out. THere's a third thread for the Court Case for the 21 Men you can get into as well, if you choose not to get into this one.

http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?p=2642720&highlight=#2642720 Thread III

I'll check it out tomorrow-I'm running up on shutdown time right now. This'll be my last post of the night.

The Mushroom Cloud was visible from the Northwestern District capital of Binh-Hoa, and for the people of the District, it was an image from old nightmares of the China War (mid-1950's through 1962), and new nightmares from the Aust/Elvindom conflict.

Within hours, the Militia was assembling on its own- and panicked messages were all over the communications frequencies.

Fear.

Fear, and Ancient memories of an era when the Great Powers used Southeast Asia as a proxy-killing ground.

The Cambodians were insisting that the weapon was not theirs, and were calling on an Alliance that had been defunct for fifty years-since the Americans had abandoned South-East Asia to Soviet and Chinese puppets in the 1970s, and their only Commonwealth had been atom-bombed and bio-warfared into forty years of isolation.

"We can't, Chi, the Treaty with the League says we have to hold off-no Military Adventurism or we lose their protection." Chancellor Amanda Ngo said quietly.
Her Secretary of the Army shook his head, "We're not going to war-the Cambodians have invited us..."
She laughed sarcastically, "Which one? Last count had Sihanouk's government competing with five others including the Khmer Rouge for who actually runs the country-we've been invited by one faction, how many will see that as an aggressive act? We have to wait, and see."
Chi frowned, and glowered at his Chancellor. "Your Mother wouldn't have hesitated..."
Amanda snarled at him, "She sent those boys to die without preparation! Mother wanted to be a big noise on the International scene-I just want our people to SURVIVE, now that we are no longer protected by the Quarantine."

Chi pushed it, "That was almost ten years ago, Chancellor, since then, your Military Reforms have-"

Amanda shook her head, "No... not yet. You may alert the Second Regiment, and you may send a small team to investigate-and that's all, Investigate this... I will not risk another war without being prepared, and I will not risk starting a war-find out what is going on, then we can re-open this subject."

Chi Nguyen walked out of the Chancery, into the sunlight of the Nha-Tranh afternoon, looking as worried as his Chancellor felt.

.::TAG::.
TAG for the LoD.

OOC: Musical Theme for Thread: Death Corp Interrogation (http://www.vgmusic.com/music/console/sony/ps1/fftcorps.mid)

The cans reached Phnom Penh, the national capitol of Cambodia. 48 Infantry surrounded the vans when the doors opened and the High Celestialists walked out. The soldiers were ordered specifically not to touch them, as the men were regarded as dangerous and the chances of an apprehender being injured, if not killed, was too great a risk to take. Armed with AK-47 Assault Carbine rifles, the armed Cambodians formed a tunnel directly into the maximum security Prison. Each was shown an individual cell, locked in dark isolation. Yet, the construction wasn't soundproof, so they took to communication in a language the Cambodian guards couldn't understand.

"When do you think they'll figure it out?" Michael asked in a comedic manner toward Raziel's cell.

The High Priest hit the wall in a playful manner, it made no noise upon impact. He sighed, rubbing his shoulder. "I surmise that things will begin to get really confusing for our asian friends here within the next couple of hours. They won't have us roast here long. My explosion is finally beginning to take effect on the International Community, just with adverse effects. They'll want an open-and-shut case, so there may not be much of a jury."

"I suppose that means I won't be seeing my lawyer," Lucifer said facetiously. "Hmph..Habeus Corpus my ass."

"You think they had any surveillane measures that may have recorded us?" Gabriel questioned after a couple moments. "That might have tipped them off a bit somewhat."

"I don't think they'd know what to make of it Gabriel," Raziel answered. "Ariel has been doing an excellant job so far. I hope he can hold outy while the Order of Thrones escapes and gets the wheels rolling."

"So let us bind our time, Brothers of Celestialism. Every hour brings our agents closer to their real destination and our Empire back into this dimension," Zadkiel announced.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Zane awoke, his eyes were filled with blood. Red and black flowed along the cornea, slowly draining into his pupil in a torrent of ichor. Slowly, the whiteness returned unntil normality was reached and vision restored, and just the single tentacled pupil remained. The blue tinted Fey'ri sat up, his cape wrapping around him protectively. Charon was the first to notice.

"You look weak," the Necromancer commented.

Zane stood up, and glanced around. "Why have we stopped, and why are we still in this horrid jungle?"

"We're getting low on fuel. THe truck won't last too long now. It sticks out like an eyesore, and the Cambodian Army is looking for us," Spider informed. "Oh, and good morning sunshine. Have a good dream? I'll have you know I just took a bullet for your sorry ass while you were napping.

"That's great. A pity you're still here." Zane sneered. "A mercenary's life only knows two people: Clients and Targets. Both want you dead."

"Y'know," the Psi-Stalker began. "You got a mouth on ya'."

"Glad you noticed. Did you happen to see my fists as well?" The Elf grinned widely. Two larger-than-normal invisors ripped from his lips.

"I knew something was off about you." Spider exclaimed. "But you're no vampire, else I woulda stabbed you through while you were sleepin'. So what the hell are you?"

"More than you could ever begin to understand," the Elf replied. "You need another vehicle? I'll get you one. Stay here until we return."

"We?"

"Yes. Charon, I will need you to accompany me on this task. It's been too long since last I fed, and I trust you more to know what to do in case I faint."

"Right. Well," Charon said. "Let's be off." The old mage picked up his shield and followed the Elf east.

Crinchex was a hunter. His Simvan people were at home in the Wilderness. Regarded as a 'savage' race, the Simvan are usually shunned, either due to their cannibalism or their rather horrifying appearance. Yet, the Simvan have proven to be very intelligent, and can adapt quickly to nearly any environment and most technology levels with ease. This is how his people have prospered in a world of Magical Apocolypse. Known as Monster Riders, the Simvan Tribes are infamous for taming, training, handling, and domesticating someof the fiercest and most vicious creatures in the world. Raiding has turned most tribes into uncatachable bandit armies as they steal only weapons and armor from military depots to arm themselves to fight the supernatural. Yet, for the last century, a bloody War between the Simvan and Psi-Stalkers has raged. There seems to be disputes over hunting territory, and a heated racial hatred brews between the two species. The kinsmanship between Crinchex of the Pervic Tribe, brother of Zimchex, Chieftain, infamous in the badlands, and the Psi-Stalker known as 'Spider', of whom Crinchex realizes from the markings to actually be an outcast of the Spider Tribe of Stalkers, seems loose at most. Yet if things went well, the two's bond could urhser in an era of unknown peace between their races.

Crinchex relied on a high-tech crossbow gunn as his primary weapon, but carried a few boomerangs and some energy weapons. He was lightly armed, compared to Spider and Gackt, but he was useful nonetheless. The Simvan had wandered off from the group as Gackt worked on the truck. Bryce put a magical strength enhancement on Procul to allow the barbarian to lift the truck for an indefinite amount of time for Gackt to slide under and ploy his mechanical skills. The only other option was to tip it over, and the chasis was damaged enough. Crinchex decided to forage for provisions in the meantime. The hunter had been wandering for a good part of an hour, having garnered over a dozen small game, devouring four whole. He prefered meat raw, and couldn't stand anything cooked.

Crinchex suddenly stopped. This was an odd scent indeed. It reminded him of Calgary. To Crinchex, Calgary was thwe name of the city humans gave that had been controlled by demons for a few centuries. IT hosted a rather large and powerful dimensional rift which spewed thousands of demons a day into the outlaying lands. Crinchex had onced served in a large Simvan Army in his younger days which sieged the mighty city unsuccessfully, which resulted in a three month long war. The Simvan were driven off Eastward with casualties they could not replace, but with every warrior lost, they took three demons with them. Natural wilderness experts, the extermination squads sent out never retuned as the Monster Riders retreated back across the Xiticix Hivelands. Crinchex had never forgotten the strench of demonic energies, but how was he smelling it now? He loaded a series of High-Explosive bolts into his Crossbow gun, and proceeded to track the smell. He was not prepared to see what he witnessed a few minutes later.

A Cambodian Military Base, hidden in the jungles, made for combat and defense for the Provincial Capitol, lay in ruins. Crinchex had never heard the gunfire. The Simvan leapt over the fence. Watch towers had been blown to pieces and collapsed. There were corpses littering the ground, but upon closer inspection, the Simvan found them to be boneless. Crinchex stood up, bending his legs as he walked slowly toward the barracks. He spun around twice, his natural instincts alerting him as fire crackled out and a smoke pillar bellowed outwards. The hunter, kicked open the barracks door. It was dark inside, but he saw perfectly in the night. He turned toward the insides to see dozens of undead skeletons, scraping and clawing against the door of the latrine. The Simvan could hear screaming in some language he didn't quite understand inside. Without hesitation, Crinchex raised the gun, and pulled the trigger. A single bolt flew into the wall and exploded in a massive fireball, engulfing the small horde of skeletons and leaving a large hole in the side of the barracks. The Simvan loaded another bolt, and darted out of the barracks. He couldn't let the humans see him, but he wasn't about to let them die.

"Nice shot," said the Necromancer, clapping sarcastically, as he stepped through a pit of flaming rubble. "But they were on our side. Watch your friendly fire."

"You did this!?" Crinchex growled out uproariously.

"Not all of it, but a nice portion," Charon admitted. "Zane was the mastermind."

No sooner than his name was said did the Fey'ri Elf appear, hovering higher into the air. His hands seemed to turn green and crystalline as a jade-colored gauntlet formed with heinous claws for each finger. The crystals glowed as they filled with the Element of Chaos. When they turned yellow, which was only after a few seconds, Zane thrust his hands forth, and powerful beams of pure chaos erupted from his hands into the Bunker, blasting through the reinforced steel and exploding it into shrapnel. The mad Elf cackled maniacally as the bunker, too, began to glow from the chaotic manifestations and then erupted like a Volcano. Crinchex didn't notice 'til later that there were still people inside.

Zane fluttered down. His cape wrapped around his to shield the sight of his flesh returning to normal. This exercise in fear was exactly what he desired. His channeling had used the emotions from the sight of Charons Necrotic abilities and his own grotesque fighting to devour powerful emotions of fear, hostility, patriotism, horror, defeat, confusion, and death. It was a truly beautiful thing, all the arrays of feelings these creatures had. Channelers like Zane could not exist as well in Elven society due to the strong stoic race, but humans were like twinkies. They were soft on the outside, and creamy on the inside. The Elf seemed to hover as he approached Crinchex. "You can drive these horseless carriages, correct?"

The Simvan nodded, put off from the Elf, but swallowing his own emotions so the lone warrior wouldn't seem afraid. Truthfully, he was terrified on what exactly this creature called 'Zane' was, and exactly how he was able to do what he did. Crinchex feared that the Elf might have made a Pact with a true Elder Demonlord to get such abilities. "I can, somewhat."

"Good," said Zane with a tone of absolute zero. "Do so." His long hand reached out of his black cape to a vehicle garage, where a couple trucks and a single tank still stood unaccosted. A wreckage of another tank was yet to be found by the Simvan where the Necromancer's fiends ripped the crew to a number of pieces that outnumbered their bones. Crinchex walked towards the trucks and jammed the keys, located in the glove compartment, into the ignition. Charon gave close inspection, and did the same to the other truck. Following Crinchex's instruction, Charon was able to aptly operate the vehicle and follow the Simvan back to base camp.

Zane stayed to watch them go. His normally flat expression curved into a devilish smirk. "This world has no idea what Raziel brought to it. I will be the end of this creation."

30 minutes earlier

Ying was a warrant officer in the Provincial base. He had been assigned to administrative duties for the past couple of years. Needless to say, his basic combat training had weaned. He had been stressed out lately due to this rogue paramilitary group that had a fancy fireworks show at the Angkor Wat Temple. Though a large number were caught, a string of occurrences and skirmishes along the road from Saeb Rien towards their direction involving a small, but heavily armed and extremely organized; military terms for actively blowing army shit to scrap heap and getting away with it, force making its way to Phnom Penh. Warrant Officer Ying realized, as did most, that this group was an escaped sect from the paramilitary terrorists. Ying believed that they would either go to the capitol and rescue the others, or find harbor over national borders. Either way, they were bee lining in this direction, but it was unlikely that they’d openly assault a military base. Reports from the pursuit indicated that these men were quite large, indicating that they were foreigners, probably from Russia. Russian forces using secret Ex-Soviet devices and Russian Weaponry. It sounded like a calm explanation to him.

It was almost time for Ying to head to the mess hall for an early dinner when they came. Their dress was indeed something out of this world, like Dungeons & Dragons rejects that lost the ability to differentiate between reality & fantasy. They proceeded to waltz into the base, hopping over the guard rail, until being accosted by two guarding infantry. Ying was called over to translate, as they only spoke English. Ying understood English. This put doubt into his Russian theory at the least. They were both taller than the average Cambodian. The taller one seemed decades younger, but seemed to suffer from a skin condition. He dressed like someone in the British Goth scene or a member of Malice Mizer, with an extravagant bourgeoisie fashion. The other was a bit pale, and old, with white-grey hair. His body seemed to be a grotesque decoration of animal skeletons.

The blue one stepped forward as Ying approached and introduced himself, “Hello, I am Warrant Officer Ying Suikwan. What seems to be the problem?”

“Yes, I believe there is a problem,” the noble-looking one spoke in a low-toned voice. “You see, our vehicle has broken, and we desire one of yours to replace it.”

“The vehicles here belong to the Cambodian military. No civilian use is authorized. Please leave the vicinity,” Ying demanded. It was known that a chase had occurred in Saeb Rien and a passenger truck had been stolen. Ying, however, did not have the authority to have these two men shot. They seemed strangely out of time. Something indeed was not right about them. Ying suddenly had a rush of fear overtake him, and at that moment, the blue one grinned, as if he knew.

“That’s a pity,” he told Ying. The blue one turned slightly as if to leave, but instead produced a string less bow stick , ornately decorated with mystic symbols. Gripping it like a shillelagh, he swung it to club Ying in the side of his skull. Ying lost hearing for a short duration as the bow cracked into his left ear, propelling him to the ground to the side. However, he wasn’t knocked out cold, but seemed physically paralyzed, be it from fear or medical reasons involving his brain’s sudden loss of motor skills.

The other two raised their assault carbines, screaming, but Ying couldn’t make anything out. The world moved in slow motion, only the shrieking of incandescent sound barriers, bouncing his pain between the edges of his skull remained. The older one pointed his fist at one of the infantry, holding the rod of bone as his arm glowed with a blue light. In what have must been a nightmare manifested, a specter appeared, screeching like a banshee, and ripped into the man, tearing out his soul. The other screamed and ran in panic, but the blue one only laughed, gripping the bow and closing his eyes. Three arrows of light and energy formed as the blue one pulled on an invisible string. The arrows released, guiding directly onto their target, thrusting through the guard’s stomach, neck, and chest.

Ying rolled up on his back, clutching the sides of his skull to stop the ringing. He noticed that the blue one’s teeth had been filed, and began to doubt his own sense of reality. Even more so when the two corpses began to convulse and go into seizure as the old man seemed to literally bathe in magenta flames. To Ying’s horror, the very fleshes of the former guards’ were ripped open as their own skeletons rose from their bodies. The animated dead bent down to retrieve the rifles, and turned to the aged one obediently.

“Impressive Charon,” Zane commended. Zane place the Zen Master’s Bow back on his waist belt. His left hand wrapped around his right wrist, and his right hand began to transform into a demonic claw of crystalline green jewels, as if carved from jade. Ying could only stare in absolute horror, inadvertently empowering Zane further as the channeler fed off the emotions, as Zane rose into the air, the cape around the Elf bellowing and twisting around him as his arms spread outwards. He recoiled his right arm back as the crystalline gauntlet began to fill with a luminous liquid; the essence of Chaos. As it filled, Zane’s hand began to glow an eerie Yellow-Green, and then the unthinkable occurred. The Fey’ri hurled his fist forward, and a destructive blast of chaos erupted from his hand, targeting one of the infantry bunkers. The beam ripped through the walls, searing everything inside aflame that it touched as Zane sent a continuous stream of overflowing energy through his natural weapon, until the eventual occurred, and the entire bunker erupted in an explosive force. It was only seconds until the alarm was sounded.

“Now we can clean up,” Zane said as he fluttered down.

Charon gripped his Bone Rod, dangling with necromantic emblems. “This will be too easy.”

Ying lost consciousness.

OOC:

Ugh..this one too