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Storm
Draconis Combine
Chu-i
Joined: 06-Feb-2002 00:00
Posts: 278
Location: United States
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 Posted: 25-May-2002 13:21 Post subject: The Return (rather long) |
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The fist thud was felt more than heard, and Storm rolled in his sleep, careful to keep from rolling off the narrow cot bolted to the wall of his cell. The second was more violent, rattling the bars and even vibrating the heavy ferrocrete walls. Deep in sleep, his subconscious dredged up an ancient, almost forgotten memory. He and his father had been in a cow camp in Southern Nevada, long ago on Terra. It was common knowledge that not only was the primary bombing range for Nellis Air force Base a scant fifty miles from their camp, but also the much-denied Area 51. Of course it was there. All the locals knew it. How else could a dirt-poor county of only five thousand people afford to support eighteen deputies, all in brand new SUVs?
This particular day they had been riding the winter range, sorting their ranch’s cattle from the neighbors’, and watching a flight of four B-52 bombers circling slowly overhead. It wasn’t long until the cumbersome aircraft vanished to the west, and then the bombs were heard. More felt than heard, actually, as vibrations travelling through the ground, up the horse’s legs, to be felt by the riders. Neither riders or horses were particularly worried. They had been buzzed by B-52 bombers, A-10 Warthogs, and even Apache helicopters in the past. He now vividly recalled the repeated vibrations of the saturation bombings, followed up by a massive shockwave from who-knew-what-size bomb. Stumbling from his cot, he kicked free of the pitiful blanket that was his only cover. The third explosion sent a shockwave through the detention center, and almost tossed him onto the floor. Fully awake, he realized that it was the center being bombed. Outside the small window, he watched booted feet as a squad of WoB troops ran by. There was a muffled whine of an energy weapon, and dirt geysered outside the window. In moments, the sounds grew closer, louder. Whoever it is, they’re inside now. Rescue attempt! Hope flared within him.
There was a crash at the far end of the hall, in the direction of the door leading outside. A squad of guards rushed by his cell door from the opposite end. There were several short bursts of machine gun fire—earsplittingly loud in the confines of the cell block. Then came a thundering crash that deafened him. The shockwave hit him like a hammer. As he staggered back away from the cell door, he realized someone had just unleashed an SRM in the hall. A WoB guard’s rifle clattered down the hall to slide to a stop outside his cell door, tantalizingly out of reach.
Through the smoke he saw a huge figure in black Clan battlearmor, the suit pitted from macine gun fire. He could just make out the red strip on the top of the helmet. It could only be one person. With tears streaming down his face from smoke and sheer joy, he began th shout, “Despain! Despain! Dusty! Over here!”
Turning, the massive elemental extended his suit’s right arm and gripped the door with the heavy battle claw. With a heave he tore the door from it’s hinges and threw it to the floor. With a second swipe of the claw, Depsain tore loose a black canvas bag strapped to his suit’s leg. He tossed it to Storm. Hurridly opening the bag, Storm looked inside. He reached in and pulled out a black uniform. He almost broke into tears again as he caught a glimpse of the rank patch stitched to the right sleeve. Not just any Marauders uniform, the five stripes surrounding the mechwarrior star meant it was his uniform.
Underneath were two other items he thought he would never see again: His remaining .45, and his beloved disruptor, both holsters neatly wrapped in a web belt.
3 Months Later
Along a section of the bar in the War Room are the chairs. Not just any chairs, but the "Regular's Chairs." They belong to the regular inhabitants of the place, and are as near sacrosanct as anything gets on Solaris. The chairs are worn and scratched, both from casual use and the occasional brawl. They are all of heavy, solid wood and look comfortable and inviting. Each is emblazoned with the sigil of their owner; the leaping jaguar for JAG, the flame-maned ghost bear of Delacey, Raven's raven, and Ruger's Lyran fist. When Mordel's was closed for repairs, they were taken with great care, and under heavy guard, down the street to the War Room.
They are not always filled. Their owners may be away on missions, out putting their 'mechs through their paces, or simply sitting somewhere else for a change. No one else is allowed to sit in another's Chair, and visitors are gently directed elsewhere by Lurch, the slow-witted ex-elemental bouncer. An example tonight was the squad of glowering Word of Blake troopers against the far wall. Lurch had already directed them there when they approached the Chairs earlier. A few of them were now ensconsed in the nearest hospital.
But one chair is occupied tonight, and not by it's owner. The chair is an older one, worn and scratched. One can see the wear marks against the left armrest. Marks made by a low-slung sidearm holster. On the back is a silver lightening bolt against a sky blue circle; the mark of Storm, once a faithful regular, now a prisoner these past eighteen months of the Word of Blake. This fact does not help the pair in the corner any, as several regular members cast them suspicious glances. Ravenheart insists, however, that they are on leave, and are being rather free with their cash. Respecting his wishes, they leave the Wobbies alone, barring the occasional straw wrapper spitball arcing out of the darkness.
The stranger sits in Storm's chair comfortably, ignoring the suspicious and hostile glances the regulars cast his way. His face hidden by the hood of his dark gray cloak, he sips his drink slowly. It is obvious no one knows who he is, and unusual that he isn't intimidated by the warriors scattered about. He merely sits quietly, sipping a large mug of root beer. Talen is pulling his shift at the bar tonight, and while saying nothing, the dark looks he shoots Lurch are a clue to everyone that the stranger needs to be moved.
At one point, JAG attempts to reclaim the chair for his lost friend, approaching in his custom elemental battlesuit.
"Sir," he begins, "I think you really should move, before things get ugly."
The stranger turns to face JAG, and quietly whispers a single word. JAG's face turns white, and he slowly backs away. Without speaking to anyone, he leaves the room.
In the corner, Lurch sits, his head hung down as he endures Ruger's glare. His heavy ironwood club rests beside him, forgotten.
"Go do it."
A shake of a massive head.
"Yes. It's your job, now go do it."
Another shake.
Ruger sighs in exasperation. "Lurch, you know the rules. No one sits in the Chairs except their owners. Especially that one. Now go move him."
Lurch hangs his head and shakes it, refusing to move.
Ruger throws his hands in the air. Turning, he approaches the man from behind. "I'm sorry Sir, but you'll have to move."
The stranger says nothing for a while, then without turning his head, replies. "Why?"
"Because that Chair is spoken for, Sir. It belongs to someone. It's a tradition we have."
"Obviously he's not here."
The room goes still and quiet as the gang observes the exchange. In this volatile group, attitude is dealt with immediately and harshly, and the Stranger is showing a surprising amount of gall.
"No sir, he's not," Ruger replies with great patience. "But in honor of his memory, we keep the seat open for him."
He waits for a reaction, and when none occurs, he continues. "Sir, as Second in Command of this establishment it is my duty to--"
"Acting Second," the Stranger interrupts.
"Pardon me?" Ruger asks, his rising head of steam faltering.
"You are Acting Second in Command, are you not?"
"Well, yes."
The Stranger turns to face Ruger. He stands, slowly, his gray eyes meeting Ruger's for the first time. "In that case, you are relieved of duty." To the shock of the other regulars, the normally unflappable Ruger's face pales in sudden recognition. "Oh my---," he stammers. "Who . . . where . . . . how?"
Suddenly, from across the room, one of the WoB troopers makes the connection. "Blake's Holy Blood! It's him! Its--" His cries are cut off as a brilliant green pulse leaps from the man's disruptor. The bolt catches the trooper square in the chest. The man collapses across a table as his partner races for the door. He isn't quick enough as a second bolt of of green energy catches him in the back. The Wobbie collapses to the floor in a soggy heap, limp as severed myomer cables. The other troopers dive behind the table, reaching for their weapons. In a shower of sparks and splinters the stranger shatters the table. The remaining troopers scramble for the door, but the disruptor bolts follow them mercillessly, unerringly. The pulse slam into them, throwing them to the floor, into furniture, against walls.
The cloaked man stalks them like an avatar, steadily, deliberately, he cuts them down one by one. The last attempts to turn and face his attacker. He rushes forward, his combat knife in his hand. With a perfect iai-jutsu strike, the stranger's katana whips from its scabbard, sending the man's head rolling, to thump against the bar.
With a whisper of steel, the stranger shakes the blood from his katana and sheaths it in one fluid motion. He turns to face the rest of the crowd, who have gone completely silent, watching this unreal spectacle. With slow deliberation, the stranger throws off his cloak, and greets the startled onlookers with a triumphant grin. His eyes gleam with an unearthly bright silver light. He speaks, in a voice that echoes like thunder in the suddenly silent room.
"I am Storm," he says calmly. as traces of lightening dance and crackle up and down his arms.
"I have returned."
Then the fierce glare fades suddenly into the rough-and tumble grin they all know so well. "Well, don't just stand there like your gyros are blown! Drinks are on me!"
OOC:
YEEEEESSSSSSSS!!!!! I HAVE RETURNED!! Wooo-hoooooo! The world is my oyster and I'm an otter with a big rock!
It took a long while, but I finally got Internet access. And of course, I had to come home.
Storm
Now, can someone catch me up on all that's happened?
_________________
Storm  "The More that thou sweatest and swearest in training, the less thou bleedest and diest in combat."--Dick Marcinko
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Raven!
Clan Snow Raven
Galaxy Commander
Joined: 04-Feb-2002 00:00
Posts: 1326
Location: United States
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| Posted: 25-May-2002 13:31 Post subject: The Return (rather long) |
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Raven walks in as one of the wobbilies goes for a gun. "HEY! No guns allowed in here!" He shouts and drawing on the skills carefully trained to him by the best Clan Elementals of Clan Snow Raven, Raven places a strong kick against the man's side. He flies back dropping the rifle. Raven turns to lurch who throws him a "Mordelian Crowd Control Unit," sometimes referred to as a Baseball bat, which he applies smartly across the Wobblies face. "Now. Whats all the commotion?"
Looking up he sees Storm! "STORM! YOU MADE IT BACK! ROCK ON MAN ROCK ON!" Raven runs over and gives his friend a hug and then tells Chihawk all of Storm's drinks are on him.
*****
A LOT has been going on  My game is developing nicely, lots of new posters. NEW DESIGN! I don't know if I like it, but I got used to the last board, so i'll get used to this one. Just take time.
Umm... big changes in the Inner Sphere. I was actually thinking of you a while back! I was going to write a story line about it. But you came back maybe I can still write the story line. Look for my latest RP character, Major Mygil.
Anyway glad to have you back! catch up on some of our more interesting posts
Raven!
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Vampire
Free Worlds League
Lieutenant Colonel
Joined: 05-Feb-2002 00:00
Posts: 912
Location: Spain
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| Posted: 25-May-2002 13:41 Post subject: The Return (rather long) |
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Something great is brewing , first Old Dog comes back, and now you!! Another reason for alcoholic celebration!! 
Great to see you again, amigo
_________________
Memento audare semper
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Ronin
ComStar
Colonel
Joined: 05-Feb-2002 00:00
Posts: 907
Location: United States
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| Posted: 25-May-2002 14:57 Post subject: The Return (rather long) |
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Great to have you back, Storm! Among other things, I'm in flight school for my private pilot license, and I'm restarting graduate school after taking a year off to deal with "stuff".
Ronin
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Talen
Capellan Confederation
Sang-shao
Joined: 05-Feb-2002 00:00
Posts: 1269
Location: United States
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| Posted: 25-May-2002 14:58 Post subject: The Return (rather long) |
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As always, Talen watched the action in the room, not getting involved, figuring anyone stupid enough to mess with him will have been dealt with by natural selection, or the leather-clad bodygaurd with the black hair that always seems to be around. She was off tonight, though, as was ICER, so Talen sat and watched. The "stranger" Talen had been giving the bad looks all night was moving in a way that Talen had not seen in months. Only one person moved like that, Storm.
Moments after the WoB troops had been dispatched, Talen movied over to his old friend and smiled.
"It's good to have you back, Storm," Talen said. "I'd buy you a drink, but it looks like Raven is already buying..."
OOC:
DAMN man! Its awesome to see you again! I was begining to wonder about you when Old Dog showed up again! Glad to have you back!
_________________
"Historians exercise great power and some of them know it. They recreate the past, changing it to fit their own interpretations. Thus, they change the future as well." - Leto II
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Ruger
Lyran Alliance
Hauptmann General
Joined: 04-Feb-2002 00:00
Posts: 1863
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| Posted: 25-May-2002 21:49 Post subject: The Return (rather long) |
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Quote:
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On 2002-05-25 13:21, Storm wrote:
Now, can someone catch me up on all that's happened?
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If you mean game wise...I just got off work and don't feel like taking another hour to retype what I did for Old Dog...take a look at the "Like Woof" thread...
If you mean other, it's pretty much same old, same old...except that I'll be closer to 30 than I am to 20 as of tomorrow...
Welcome back man...
Ruger
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