NationStates Jolt Archive

In the distance the sun slowly raised bringing light and warmth to the land even as a strong breeze cooled the air down and carried the scent of the sea with it from the south.

The approaching winter was in the air and plants and tree’s that were one a lush green now formed a symphony of colors together; brown, red, yellow and orange leafs filled the forest tree’s and ground in the distance and winter flowers were slowly raising from between the discoloring grass.

Yet the most striking feature was the pristine white sand that gave this area its name. Running through the wide ravine and even a little around it and the river.
The sand was a beautiful sight to behold and while it was unable to nourish any plants it had been attributed with ceremonial purposes by the three Great Tribes Azerran for centuries.

Yet not all the sand was white today. Lying cradled like a broken child’s body in its mothers arms so laid the shattered and ripped body of a commercial jet inside the ravine. The heat of flames scorched the sand in to blackened glass and shards of metal and glass from windows lay scattered throughout the ravine, some directly around the plane and others carried down the river that ran through the ravine.

Dozens of bodies lay dead in and around the plane; flames mutilated their bodies beyond recognition. The more fortunate ones having died during the crash itself rather then consumed by the flames as they were trapped in their seats.

Incredible as it might have seemed, there were those who survived the disaster and managed to escape the burning wreck in time before the flames consumed everything inside and directly around the plane.

Most didn’t know what happened to the plane and why it crashed, they were but people who had come to the nation of Azerran for a vacation or work and were now ready to go home, but a few might have recognized the shock that went through the plane before it began to crash. A few might have seen the approaching missile before it struck the tail of the plane and spelled its end.

((OOC: This is probably a tried and true recipe for getting people into a RP; a crashed plane and survivors must find their way to safety. In this case however the plane has been deliberately shot down and it crashed into a piece of land that is in a near state of perpetual conflict.

Information: Azerran is a nation without a central government. Instead it’s primarily divided between Grass-Walker tribe in the north, the Thorn Crowned Rose tribe to the east and finally the Falling Tree leaf tribe from the west. None of these tribes like each other particularly but are able to refrain from all out war with each other, rather limiting armed conflict to certain points to prevent the nation from going down into a state of oblivion.

The Rose and Leaf tribes carry a particular grudge against each other and while the two connect only of a few geographic points all of these are in a near state of perpetual siege.
The White Sand Ravine is one of the most contested area’s between these two tribes and both claim it to be sacred and that it has to remain untouched by any and all ‘heathens’ on penalty of death.

I hope people will be interested in participating in this RP as it will be a good way for me to begin showing the dynamics between the tribes of Azerran. Not to mention just have a fun game. :)

The blurry image of a beach vacation gave way to a gristly scene... The crimson setting sun was replaced by a flaming wreck of a plane. The sprakling Carribian waters turned out to be a river, mottled with bits of metal & glass. The only thing that remained was the white sand... Mark Scotts spat a clod of it from his mouth. His beach scene was just the after effect of being thrown from the crashing jet.

Slowly, he moved around a bit, yet not getting up... Good, nothing was broken. Bodies where scattered around, as was the luggage... Scotts located his own bag, singed but not overly damaged, in a bramble thicket several feet from where he awoke. With some difficulty, he managed to tear open the thick nylon weave around the melted zipper & access the contents:

A box of Ritz crackers, slightly smashed
Jeans
T-Shirts
Jif Peanut Butter
Canteen/Cup
Guns & Ammo Magazine, July 2004
Berretta 92FS, three magazines
Gerber Explorer/Surivial knife
20mm Camera
Film
Cell Phone (no service)
Raider's Baseball Cap

On his person, Scotts had little more than the clothing on his back, his wallet, his car keys, a pack of Marlbaro 100's, and a Zippo lighter...

'Just fuckin' great... This is the last time I use that damn 'Cheap Tickets' thing... They're gonna hear from my ass, assuming I get to a damn law office...'

Scotts was about 6'1", and around 210 lbs. A former US Army sergeant, with dark hair & green eyes, he was unmarried. Nobody would miss him, or start an inquiry as to where he'd disappeared to. He had some basic survivial skills, but nothing special. Grimly, he set to the task of rummaging through the other suitcases & duffel bags. As an afterthought, he shoved his old Beretta into the waistband of his jeans. The knife he clipped to his belt. Scotts was the paranoid sort that never went anywhere unarmed. His left pocket carried the two spare magazines for his handgun, while his right was empty. The contents where in his suitcase with the rest of the stuff he couldn't use to defend himself...

"Hello?"

He shouted, unsure if anyone else had survived. No answer. He shrugged, then set to work prying open another burned suitcase...

"Would you like anything to eat, miss?" A steward said calmly as she stopped her cart of food near a young girls seat. "No thanks, I'm fine for..." said the girl, who was busy looking out of her window watching the horizon. The plane briefly rumbled as the fasten seatbelt sign quickly blinked, but the girl didn't worry at all since turbulance was common over Azerran. She put on her seat bealt as told and went back to the horizon when the plane rumbled violently and began descending quickly, at which point she blacked out...

Her body lay sprawled over the sand just a few feet away from the remains of an old man as Maiya Alvanos opened her eyes to the blazing inferno that was the plane wreck. It was the worst imaginable: bodies, blood, fire, metal, and items of daily life spread out over the pristine ravine with clear blue water from the river and the sparkling white sand while the sun was setting beyond the tail of the plane. Her body was fine except for minor scrapes and bruises throughout her body until she sat up and felt a surge of pain in her right thigh.

Maiya quickly fell back and began to cry and scream as the pain got more intense. She ran her hand down her leg until she found what was causing all the pain; a sharp piece of metal had been lodged in her thigh. The girl than began yelling for help as she there was no way she could help herself.

-----------
Character Information: Maiya Alvanos is a twenty-two year old college student that comes from a wealthy family from the nation of Korinthos. She is 5'2", 105 pounds, has brown eyes, tanned skin, and black hair. Being the daughter of Angelo Alvanos, a real estate mogul, Maiya was worth plenty of millions and was very well-known in her small nation because of her social life. She is very dependent and can't look out for herself, and if her friends and family would depict her in a plane crash, they'd all say she'd be the first to die.

((OOC: Thanks for joining in Mercenary Soldiers and Korinthos! I didn't expect so swift a reply from anyone let alone such nicely done posts. :D ))

The Falling Leaf Tree warriors prided themselves on their independence and strength. Their ability to make decisions on their own without having to wait for confirmation after confirmation unlike the 'Thorn-whores' from the east.

But standing in the face of his cursing and red faced Brigand leader, Twelfth warrior Marchel wondered if perhaps he should have been a bit more patient with his actions.

"Blood and ashes! Marchel have you lost your mind? What in the name of all that is holy possessed you too shoot down a plane without my permission!?" Hands clenched tightly into fists behind his back, Brigand Leader Darius could barely restrain himself from backhanding the youth across his face.

"Brigand-leader... This is a no fly zone and the plane didn't respond to our communications, I thought..."

"You are NOT here to think! You are here to do as I say. For all we know that was a Walker transport plane, we don't need those wheat eaters to start fighting here as well." Turning his back to the young man, Darius gritted his teeth in frustration. He didn't belief it was a plane from the third Great Tribe, they had no reason to come here at all, but he simply didn't like it when new members of his squad dared to take actions without his express approval.

"Harm, have my men prepare themselves for transport and make sure the rovers are in good condition. And for your sake..." He turned around again and faced Marchel, his eyes seeming to drill in the young man's skull. "... You had best pray that you shot down a Thorn-whore plane there. Because otherwise you will be spending the rest of your career digging latrines for the harlots that follow our men."

Leaving a shaking Twelfth warrior behind, Brigand leader Darius walked off to his tent as the rest of the thirteen men strong group began to break down their small travel camp.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Colin Shimmerglade Imbridge groaned before breaking out into a coughing fit and raising his head out of the puddle of water it layed in. Gasping for breath between coughs the man tried to wipe the muddy water from his eyes.

His body ached with pain and was umcomfortable warm and he couldn't for the life of him remember why until he managed to crack one of his eyes open and spot the body laying next to him, severed neatly in half at the hips.

"Seven preserve me..." Whispering in horror he tried desperatly to take his eyes of what had once been an attractive young girl yet no matter how much he tried he just couldn't until his stomach took over control and he threw up in the puddle of water his head laid in just moments before.

...

Minutes passed before Colin could get up and stand on his feet without collapsing. Bodies were everywhere around him and almost seemed to form a mockery of what they were like in life. The worst perhaps the body of a man who looked perfectly alright save for the almost hidden metal shard that had dug it's way into his body, cellphone clutched tightly still in his hand.

The bodies were the only thing Colin could focus on, he didn't see any of the luggage, didn't think of his own belongings he didn't even realise someone called out so mesmerised was he by the horrors around him untill he was finally ripped free by the sound of a woman's scream.

"Hold on!" He shouted out, a part of him feeling rediculous at his own words yet completely unsure what else to say. He half-ran half stumbled his way throughout the wreckage filled area untill he spotted a young woman crying in pain.

Worry overtook the man and he quickly went towards her, kneeling down beside her as he looked her over, the piece of metal escaping his attention the first two times until he finally spotted it, a worried frown showing on his face.

"Hold... Hold still. I think I can remove it. It doesn't look that big. Well ofcourse it feels big I imagine I certainly wouldn't wan... Sorry. Uhm, hold still, alright? I can't promise this won't hurt." And silently he thought to himself whether he could really remove the piece of metal.
Any thoughts whether removing the metal might be more harmfull then keeping it there didn't enter his mind at all as he carefully grabbed the metal piece with one of his hands as he placed the other one on her leg, not yet pulling both in fear of what would happen if he failed or if she wasn't ready
yet.

((Colin Shimmerglade Imbridge is a native Azerran. A member of the Thorn Crowned Rose bearer tribe. Around the forty years of age he is a normal civilian, never even having served the standard four years in the army. He is 5,8 feet tall and rather thin. Normally he is more balanced and put togheter and relaxed but having never been exposed to something like this before the man is very worried. Naturally he will be the closest thing as a guide the group shall have.))

Maiya continued to lie on the sand, sobbing from the immense pain in her thigh. The young girl also began to take in the horrible stench of the dead bodies as she turned over onto her side, lessening the pain. She could see a man ripping through the contents of some baggage while another stumbled around as if he was drunk, and than she continued to remember the horrible moments before the crash of the plane and before she blacked out.

Screams where heard throughout the plane as the cart that previously passed her went flying by as the plane leveled momentarily, until it plummeted leaving everyone aware that the plane was going to crash. Everything became hazy and soon Maiya found herself back in reality...


A few moments later a large figure towered over her as a light evening breeze swept by. He slowly knelt down beside her as he began to speak... "Still... it look... big... of course... I certainly... wan... still, alright?" were the only words she took in. "Huh?" she said with a confused look on her face, until he put his hand on the metal piece. "NO! Don't take it out!!! Isn't there some kind of alternative? Please... can't you maybe find some umm... umm... Anaesthetic?" She said frantically.

Almost stumbling back in surprise at the woman's sudden outburts, Colin rapidly blinked his eyes and looked around at her request before realising where he was.

"Uh... I don't think they keep anastethics in the plane. If there were I think they would have burned away." He bit his lower lip in frustration, he really didn't want to cause her any more pain but he coudn't imagine leaving a piece of metal inside her leg would be any better.

"Look, uhm, that thing has to come out and if you leave it in it will only do more damage and keep causing you pain. Taking it out wouldn't feel any better, it probably would be worse, but after that at least you will be able to walk and the pain SHOULD grow less after a while."

How the hell he should know any of that Colin didn't know, the worst he ever suffered was a bruised rib. So he could any say what seemed to be logical to him.

'But how can anyone be logical in a situation like this?' The nagging thought managed to bubble up in his mind before fading again leaving the middle-aged man feeling only less confident.

Scotts' concentration was disturbed by the yelping of a young woman whom he'd somehow overlooked...

'Just my luck...'

With a grunt he heaved the half-opened suitcase onto his shoulder & proceeded towards her. He stopped abruptly as the man next to her came into view...

'0/2... Man, my skills have slacked... If he'd been a tango I'd be bleeding out on top of this frickin' LL Bean bag...'

The ex-soldier dropped the luggage with a spray of fine white sand...

"Calm down, dammit... You're gonna wake the rest of those unfortunate sons of bitches with your yowling..."

Mark looked to the man kneeling next to her...

"This your wife?"

"My wife?" Colin looked up in surprise, his hands letting go of the woman's leg and the piece of metal as the man spoke up?

"How can she be my wife? She's nearly half my age.... I just saw here like this with..." He pointed at the metal piece with more anger then he could have thought to muster. Anger not at a person but the situation, the woman's wound, the dead people... "This in her leg... You wouldn't happen to have anything to lessen the pain so we can remove it, would you? No ofcourse no, why would anyone bring stuff like that along with them on a plane trip."

Scotts shurgged as he unbuckled his belt, handing the thick leather to the woman...

"Bite down on that while we work this sonuvabitch out..."

His right hand tapped the grip of the knife thoughtfully...

"Would you rather we yanked it out, or cut around it a bit so it'll slide free? Niether one's gonna be any less painful than the other. Your call."

As he spoke he looked around for something he could dull the pain with, or at least use as a disinfectant. Drawing the short-bladed Gerber he slid the well-worn blade through the cloth around the zipper, whose handle had disappeared during the crash. There was nothing useful in it beyond a bunch of ladie's clothing. As an afterthought, the former sergeant searched the body of an older man in a buisness suit, finding what he was looking for: A flask, half-filled with bourbon. Scotts unscrewed the lid & took a quick sip...

"Poor bastard had some good taste..."

He muttered as he returned to the man & woman, offering the latter the flask...

"Take a few hits of that, it outta dull the pain. Don't drink all of it, though. We'll need some for disinfectant."

OOC: Hey, can I still join?

((OOC: Ofcourse you can still join. As long as the group is at the wreckage any survivors can still show up))

Shocked as Colin was, he handled the sight of the stranger 'stealing' from the death man with more calmness then anything before so far. Catching the scent of the bourbon he nodded as it was handed to the woman.

"That might work, yes. And then the when it's out you will feel better in no time." 'Not likely... But any positive thoughts might help feel the poor girl better.'

Wiping some sweat away from his forehead, Colin focused his eyes on the sharp knife and then at the face of the man handling it. "You have experience with things like this? ... The wound that is, not the crash. Heh." A short laugh... Well that had to be good, right?

Maiya turned on her back, loosening the pressure that was placed on her other leg. She looked back up at him with some frusteration as he tried to explain that it would be a better solution to take out the metal shard, but he wasn't very convincing making her even more worried about her injury.

"What if the pain continues? Will I bleed to death and die?"

Maiya than turned attention to the man who was making his way over to them. The way he dropped the suitcase and looked at her made him seem like a barberic army cadet from the nations far away from Korinthos.

"Don't tell me to calm down when I've got a fucking airplane part stuck up my thigh! And I am not his wife, how would you even consider it?!" She yelled right after the other man also denied it.

The man shrugged as he gave her his belt, which she could tell was cheap leather. She bit down on it hard as she looked back at the two men...

"YRGINGDUWHT?!" She said unknowing no one could understand her because of the belt. She realized it when one of the men looked back at her, and she spit it out and repeated what she was saying. "What if you slowly pull it out, wouldn't the pain be less severe?!"

The man than handed her the flask, and even though she was still not willing for him to yank it out, she took some sips of the Bourbon...

Shaking his head adamantly, Colin gave the young woman a symphathetic look. "Taking it out slowly won't be better. You remember band aids and how it feels taking them off slowly compared to fast? It would be less pleasant in this case."

Suddenly a thought occured to him and Colin spoke to the new comer again. "She will need something to band the wound won't she? I could give one of my shirts sleeves I bought it from a military shop at my town. There supposed to be designed in case there were no medical supplies and to help stop bleeding. Not sure if that's real, but at least it's something, right?"

Viktor Popov lifted his face out of the dirt, and memories flashed by his eyes...

The screaming...

The crash...

Himself stumbling a little ways from the plane and collapsing...

He sat up, suddenly aware of the acute pain in his arm, a chunk of metal was embedded in it, the shards were encrusted with dried blood, his blood.

"Gotta get those out of there..."

He reached over with his good arm and pulled, bolts of pain shot through his arm to every part of his body, and then the metal came out. He ripped part of his shirt and tied a makeshift bandage around his arm with a good deal of difficulty.

Once the task was done, he looked around and saw the melted remains of his suitcase.

"Oh... bloody hell..."

Popov was a criminal, a rather infamous one at that, with a rap sheet nearly the length of a battleship. He was carrying a large amount of money, destined for crime lords in Haven, and now it was gone, and he was a dead man.

"Now lets see here, I've got a pack of chips, my pistols, 2 magazines of ammo, and a pack of cigarettes... I'm in some deep shit..." he thought.

With a groan, he picked himself up and dusted off his long coat. He was a tall, muscular man of about 6 foot and three inches. In addition to the black trenchcoat he was wearing, and his record, he could be quite intimidating.

He looked over at the other survivors, he had noticed them before, you didn't get long in his line of work if you didn't notice things quickly.

He walked over to where they were congregated around a woman with a belt in her mouth and a large piece of metal stuck in her leg. He came up behind them and watched with quiet curiosity while lighting up a cigarette...

Scotts shrugged at the man's comment, it was almost funny...

"Do I look like a doctor? Anyway, does it matter, considering the circumstances?"

The former soldier flipped the knife around deftly, so he'd have more control. Slowly, he made a small incision at the top of the shrapnel, then carefully slid it free. He made a motion for her to hand him his belt, then dumped the last of the bourbon onto the wound. He thought about wrapping the belt around her leg, he pulled it as tight as it would go to create a turnicate...

'Problem solved...'

Scotts wiped his knife on his jean leg before replacing it in its sheath. Thoughtfully, he rubbed his chin, made rough by the three-day beard he currently wore... After some consideration, he pulled a cotton shirt from the bag he'd just opened & wrapped it around the wound, then he applied the belt in the aforementioned fashion. Oddly, it reminded him of digging shrapnel out of a private's leg back in Bagdad...

"I'd like to say 'good as new', but it ain't. At least it won't hurt as much..."

It was time for some stress relief... Mark lit up one of his 100's. He'd need to ration them from now on...

"By the way, the name's Mark Scotts..."

He cut the sentence short as he took another drag on his cigarette...