THE SKY WENT BLACK,

[agogemod]

WHO? Everybody!
WHAT? Agoge's inaugural TDM.
WHEN? The Battle of Hattin, 1187.
ANYTHING ELSE? Violence, as always. Please warn in subject lines for anything beyond physical violence, and move to a personal journal if things go beyond PG-13.

FROM JERUSALEM WITH LOVE;

the horns of hattin, 1187: the holy land

read the jerusalem setting infopage

Your eyes open, and above you is the roof of a tent, a heavy woven material that blocks you from what must be an otherwise glaring heat that is beating down. Near you stands a man - you understand him, but you aren’t sure you are supposed to. Aware as you are that he is speaking Arabic, a trickle of words as he dabs water on your brow, that as you go to reply, you realise, you are speaking Arabic too. Urging you to sit up slowly, and now that you are awake -

“Good, slowly does it. You are meant to have heat stroke. Nothing sudden now. The Commander will explain it to you soon - in here it’s safe, no outsiders can come in. Check your BCE, it will tell you what has happened - ”

As he indicates to the small pack that seems to hold your belongings, he explains: you are in the encampment of Saladin, the greatest commander in all of Islam. He has been fighting the crusading invaders since the death of the Crusader King Baldwin VII. But one of the most important was about to start: you are here, at Hattin, though the enemy hasn’t arrived yet. Not that it means it’s time to rest: this is a war camp. There is much to do. Saladin runs a impressive army, and it wins by its discipline, no idle hands here, and for you, newly awakened to it, there is just as much to do. So enjoy the first few moments of reprieve, there won’t be much of it in the coming days.

MISSION OBJECTIVE

The forces of COST-- allied, today, with the armies of Saladin, though they will never know-- aim to win the day.

This is imperative, because Saladin's victory at Hattin makes his next victory possible: he intends to march on Jerusalem, long held by invading Crusaders, and take his city back. Historically, he wins a Hattin and at Jerusalem. But, the Regency supposes, if they could weaken Saladin in Hattin, perhaps even completely defeat him, he would not be so able to take the city.

Preserve the flow of history. Aid Saladin's army. Defeat the Crusader army at Hattin.

A MESSAGE FROM GROTHIA

>>@CMDR

@ALL I don't have time to explain right now, but the transporters have played havoc on the way in and we think that the - nevermind, the techdacts don't make any sense at the best of times. Your memory has been tampered with, one of the Regency's tricks, no doubt. Price for late intelligence, we didn't know until we made the transfer.

Short of it is, I put you all down as having a bout of heat stroke that knocked you out and that’s the story you need to stick to. Even if you don't want to trust me, you're going to have to follow my instructions if you want to live through the next week. We can do our reintroductions later.

Follow our instructions and we’ll all make it through this with minimal casualties.

Welcome back, soldiers. Good to have you with us again.

WIN THE DAY

MEDICAL

Help build up the army after the Siege of Tiberias.

After this battle, Saladin's forces turn toward Jerusalem, and eventually take it from Crusader control. It's imperative, then, that Saladin's forces are strong, healthy, and most importantly, alive. This is war: there are a larger number of soldiers who are wounded and require medical care to maintain the numbers. Saladin's forces are lucky: their medics are some of the best in the medieval world. But there is constant need for more hands on deck to assist. Whether that’s holding down a soldier to cut off his leg - or dress a wound. Maybe it’s just as simple as a soldier that wakes up from his fever wanting water, there is always something that needs doing.

STEALTH

Sabotage the water supply of the crusaders.

All armies march on their stomach, and in the desert, access to water means life or death. Saladin knows this, and the Crusaders are heading for the largest oasis between Jerusalem and Hattin to replenish their stores. Saladin has placed a line of defense at the oasis to stop the Crusaders. Some truly desperate Crusaders are risking death, attempting to break through the defenses in an attempt to get some water. Your orders are simple: no Crusader should be getting to that water.

STEALTH

You know what else armies need? Sleep. For those brave enough, its been encouraged to try and exhaust those Crusaders. Your orders are vague, leaving plenty of room for creativity: psychologically mess with them, mimic loud animals to wake them up, forcibly introduce these 12th century men to Cyndi Lauper at the top of your lungs. Whatever takes your fancy, just try not wake Saladin’s forces, they still need their beauty sleep. And most importantly: don't get caught.

COMBAT

The Crusaders are here: fight them. Crusaders will in heavy chain mail into battle, often with a padded gambeson underneath them. Aim your weapons for the chinks in the points that quickly immobilize: the throat, armpit, inner elbow, inner thigh, inner knee. You will always want to aim for the veins and joints. This isn't about clean, this is about hard and fast. Battles in the desert are made worse for every hour spent in the gruelly heat.

They fight with heavy sword and shield, and the metal they wear makes them more strongly defended, but also slower; they cannot mount their horses without some help, so if you manage to unhorse a Crusader, they must survive the remainder of the battle on foot. Often if you wounded a horse, it can kill the man riding it.

Medieval warhorses are huge animals that can do serious damage with a single kick; however, by Crusader tradition, many are stallions, which are famously willful difficult to control. Being thrown from one of these horses, especially in armor, is no small thing. This is where by contrast Saladin's army comes into its own. They ride a lighter horse more suited to this kind of warfare, and the cavalry works by spiking in quickly, reigning down an attack, then retreating. The Turks are famous for riding by, and shooting down arrows into foot soldiers before retreating out of range again.

Aside from the knights on their horses, keep an eye on hired mercenaries and others of all classes storming into battle. Watch out for crossbows: a single bolt can punch through thick metal, much less whatever you might be wearing. However, the shots take a great deal of time and strength to load, requiring the user to pull the bolt back while standing on the bow. The weapons are not stealthy, and striking an opponent while they load them is the surest route to victory. More traditional archers are far more difficult to defeat; though their arrows can't cut through metal, they can shoot from much farther away and draw another arrow ten times as fast. Other fighters charge in with cudgels, maces, spears, axes, polearms, and the fervent determination fanaticism brings. Do your fellow soldier on the battlefield a favor: try and take out an archer whenever you can. But for those fielding the arrows, don't stay put, they'll always try and take you out first.

The battle of Hattin is one of the most bloody in the history of the Crusades; famously, it is said that its outcome left the sky black for all the birds hungrily circling the carnage. Your job in this battle is twofold: fight to win, and survive.

COMBAT / STEALTH

Capture Guy D'Lusignan.

History dictates Guy D'Lusignan, current King of Frankish-ruled Jerusalem, is captured by Saracen forces, which later leads to Muslims recapturing Jersusalem from Frankish hands. Help the Saracen war parties ride out, make sure they aren't sabotaged, and attack King Guy's war party. Along with them, you'll find Reynard de Chatillion, another nobleman whose capture will herald a collapse of the Crusader forces. Medieval battle isn't like modern warfare, where soldiers fight on in spite of their leader's capture or death.

A medieval battle ends when one side gives up, or when a leader has been killed or captured. Capturing the heads of an army leads to the immediate death of the battle's morale and will to fight. To win the Battle of Hattin, it is imperative that Guy D'Lusignan and Raynard de Chatillion are captured, as they were in history.

read the jerusalem setting infopage

NAV. NETWORK LOGS OOC PLURK DISCORD

Comments

Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII | FFXV

[113th]

I. Mᴇᴅɪᴄᴀʟ;

[There's not much Regis can do here but at least he elderly king knows the basics of first aid.

Regis is careful as he tends to this fallen solider, his face quite grim with focus as he sterilizes the wound upon the man's leg with a clean cloth and water mixed with herbal oils. While he's honestly not comfortable with his current role here, Regis isn't one to shrink his duties. The old king looks as if he could be a healer of some kind considering how well he blends in here. He was fortunate to find some black robes earlier when he first awoke. It's good that they're black considering how much blood gotten on him earlier.

Playing the role of a doctor isn't for the faint of heart.]

This is a grave injury. [He mutters quietly as he cautiously dabs the wet cloth against the bruised skin.] Infection is certain at this point and soon disease.

[He paces the blood soaked cloth back within the bowl again. The water has become a reddish hue by now, too unclean to be used further. It's this in mind that Regis turns for aid.]

Could you be so kind as to fetch a fresh batch of water?


II.Nᴇᴛᴡᴏʀᴋ

UN: @CXIII

@ALL: Forgive the ignorance on my part but what are we fighting for? There's little to no explanation to be had and yet here we are.

Surely there's others amongst us who know as of why we've been summoned beyond what little has been told. Are we to be just mindless fodder in a war not our own?

What of those who've tasted death? Are they to be reborn anew for the sake of conflict?

I

[riviation]

[ It's arguable that Noctis might be of more assistance elsewhere, but what has come to pass once-- especially tragedy --doesn't leave you feeling very free in wanting to test the will of fate when given a second chance.

Namely, the last conflict the young prince was not by his father's side was also his father's last. Another battle, and especially one that doesn't even involve the fate of their own people, is not one that Noctis is going to allow Regis to wander through alone... outside of Saladin's camp or in it.

He is mostly quiet, hood pulled up on his outer robes (looking at a little bit less like he's an alien in his street clothes), but he is alert and he is aware.

And he is perturbed by the overwhelming amount of slaughter that has occurred on both sides. So, when Regis asks for assistance, Noctis is quick to take on the task to distract his wandering senses.

It's only once he returns and has offered the clean water—complete with an additional unused cloth neatly folded over the edge of the bowl—that he says anything since they have approached this particular soldier.]

Is he going to die? [ Noctis's tone is rather callous considering someone's life is being discussed, but it's actually debatable if that is merely still a spoiled prince's attitude that lacks empathy towards others or he is putting up a wall to contain his shell-shock.

(after all, he is no stranger to almost dying—). ]

ii.

[thingpuncher]

>>@TRENTCOAT

@CXIII wow deep

@CXIII idk about u but im fighting bc i dont want the natives to have all the fun. have u considered that?

@CXIII i mean having fun

@CXIII ever

II; UN: @76

[mylawn]

Make sure everything happens the way it's supposed to. That's my understanding of it, anyway.

I take it you don't remember signing on to this.

lust, fullmetal alchemist.

[fingerbang]

a. medical

[ Even if she had any particular inclination to enter the fray here, there's no question of her being able to disguise herself as a man. There is also no question that Lust has no interest or experience in medicine. She doesn't care about preserving human life – she cares about ending it efficiently, in prodigious amounts – and she's never needed to look after her own. She doesn't want to be here, yet here she is, blood staining the edge of one sleeve as she holds down a man by the shoulders with suspicious strength. This by itself is also not terribly womanly, by the apparent standards, but she is only responding to a request for backup – not one directed at her, to be fair. Still. Once his leg is amputated, she's leaving the tent and practicing with the few, primitive weapons allotted to them.

Unfortunately, her patient is determined to make this hard on them, and has been ever since he caught wind of his prognosis. Really, it serves him right; even Lust can recognize an infection this bad when she sees it, and the festering gash on his shin couldn't possibly have gotten this bad overnight. Maybe fever has set in, and he can't be blamed for the thrashing and raving. She's going to blame him anyway. ]

Do you think he'll live?

[ She looks at the attending medic in question, her gaze steady and genuinely curious. It's all a bit of a mystery to her, really. This place, wherever it is, lacks the technology that allows amputees free reign in her own time. Whoever he was before, the man is useless as a soldier now. Whether he lives or not, what purpose does any of this serve? ]

b. stealth

[ On the brighter side, the full cover is very much her jam. It's one of a few things she misses about the earlier days – following the changes in fashion is required, to remain inconspicuous, but as less coverage becomes the norm keeping her own distinguishing features neatly out of sight has become a bit of a balancing act. This, and the subterfuge itself, is more like it. Under the veil of night (and... the literal veil...), she's quiet, quick, and purposeful, though she makes sure to identify herself to any teammates, the better to avoid any misunderstandings later on.

You might catch her stepping quickly away from a dead body, checking an equally dead body for possessions or clothes she might salvage, or setting something on fire, as you do, but when it comes to slumber-interrupting distractions there's no need for all that work. Literally all she has to do is find wherever they're keeping the most horses, stay hidden nearby, and wait for them to lose their everloving minds. Animals understand better than humans the kind of creature Lust is, and react accordingly if her oppressive presence doesn't move away quickly: they flee, or try to. This is something she normally wouldn't care to air out with the possibility of witnesses, but it would have come up sooner or later, with all the pack animals and war horses about, and it's convenient. Soon, however, she knows that someone will come to check on the increasingly distressed rearing and whinnying, and then she'll have to take care of them, and then someone will come after them, and– ]

I wonder if it wouldn't be easier to kill them, [ she mutters, with the level of consideration applied to debating yourself over whether or not you want to get fries as your side dish, apparently not even considering just cutting the beasts loose. Whether she's just talking about the horses is ambiguous. ]

d. asl haha and then what ;)

UN: @lust

@ALL: What is the last year you remember before you woke here?

You'll forgive me if I've misunderstood the purpose of this connection, I hope, but that's exactly why I'm asking. We can't all be so advanced.

@LITTLEDHAMPIR

[theshadowkissed]

2014. Nothing this as advanced as this chest charm thing, but we have Facebook and iphones.

YELLS || B

[pointedlook]

[ Stealth has its upsides and downsides. Generally though, Arthur enjoys the thrill. It's all a balancing act, one that counts on skill as much as it does chances and percentages of success. But this is what he's good at, this is why Cobb trusted him as his point man for so long. Handling multiple threads of information, making and changing plans on a dime– it's so ingrained anymore that he barely has to think about it.

Besides, causing a distraction should be much easier than extracting information from someone's mind.

Currently, he's sticking to the shadowed outskirts of the camp, intent on spoiling A.) their food supply and B.) their rides. But as he slinks closer to the tied off horses, he sees them already in an irritated state, hooves pawing at the sand uselessly. Seems like someone beat him here. ]

If you mean the horses, that would defeat the purpose of riling the soldiers. [ His voice is quiet as he gets closer, footsteps masked entirely by the sand. ] As for the soldiers, we're not to tamper too evidently. I'm sure you'll get your fill when the slow process of warfare starts.

a.

[trample]

"From this?" Eren asked, shoving an already damp stick into the man's mouth, taking note of the tears welling at the ends of his dark eyes. "Oh, definitely. It's not so bad."

By then he had already taken a knife to the skin of the man's shin and directed another assistant to prepare a tourniquet. "Really, this can take under a minute -- hell, it should be well under a minute if you do everything right." There was lots of blood on his hands by now, but he had made it to the bone. His knife was swapped out for a bone saw, and while it served its purpose, Eren continued to make small talk.

"Even someone like me can figure this out. It's a pretty simple process if you take it step by step." Before he knew it, he had made it through the shin, and all that was left was to come out the other end of the calf. "Just gotta take it easy and keep your cool." A wholly parted leg fell foot-first into a basket. "That's all."

It should be said that during this whole process, there was hardly a reason to talk at all, given that the victim-slash-patient here had been furiously convulsing the whole while, and loudly at that. What little chatting there was to have, likely, would have been drowned out by the rest. Not that it concerned Eren, who promptly tied all the blood vessels with a silk string and sewed the ends of the flesh back together, giving yet another amputee a nice stump to live with. That left only a good handful more to go. The night was shaping up to be a slow one.

"Hey, you did surprisingly good holding him down. The last guy I had managed to slip and lose a finger or two in the middle of it all -- the patient spit the stick out and went at it with...well, I'm sure you get the idea. Think you can do one more?"

d

[rappels]

un: machinehunter
Unless you've heard of the Carja or other tribes, 3040. But I at least feel the same way.
I've used something similar, but I could only really talk to one person. But I guess if we get to use it, we can also use it however we want, right?

B

[hellenization]

B


[Iskandar was not a man who was good at the concept of stealth. He was too big, too loud, too oversized in all ways for it to be something he liked or something that felt natural to him. Conquest was big and loud and flashy, something you hearlded from the top of the mountain.

But that did not mean that he was incapable of it. The act simply took more effort, and the effort was highlighted in comparison to several of the others involved in the stealth matter. He was in every way the great big oaf he looked like.

A great big oaf who, upon hearing Lust's thoughts on the distressed horses, was extremely quick to react:]

Absolutely not.

[Iskandar wasted no time in stepping out of the shadows, the instinct to ignore getting caught in exchange for calming the horses down.]

If there is to be a triumph, they'll be needed.

[thingpuncher]

>>@TRENTCOAT

@LUST pretty sure the purpose of this connection is requesting nudes so ur doing fine so far

@LUST its 2015 and as far as advanced is concerned it really depends on ur arms dealer

[chariotry]

UN: aristosachaion

I think the year had been 2012. But I come from a time long before that.

I pity you if you have as well, because advanced technology like this is hard to get used to. Luckily, I never had to learn.

Rose Hathaway | Vampire Academy

[theshadowkissed]

{A: Combat}

[Disguised as a foot soldier, Rose crouched behind some cover with a spear in hand and eyes scanning the melee before them. She wasn't worried about whether she could take any of these crusaders in a fight - they were no Strigoi - but she also wasn't too keen on killing them. It just wasn't her thing, taking out humans, even if in this particular instance these Christian tincans were the 'enemy'. She could just... disrupt things and let the actual Muslims here do the killing.

And if there was one thing Rose was good at, it was making a mess of things. She turned to her fellow COSTer nearby.]

You know what's the best way to make a whole bunch of horses that are already worked up into a lather even more impossible to control? Throw a dhampir right into their midst.



{B: Network}

>>@LITTLEDHAMPIR

@ALL:

I know the food is all authentic and I can finally rub it in my old man's face that I actually had Turkish something or other, but I could really go for some real food.

Come on people: mini taquitos. Mini. Taquitos.

[Never mind that this comes across the network at 3am and everyone that's not on sentry duty is supposed to be asleep. Spoiler: Rose isn't on sentry duty.]

network | >>@BELL

[dominance]

@LITTLEDHAMPIR What the hell is a Taquito?

[ the first cab off the rank: bellamy isn't even going to pretend he understands anything anymore. ]

a.

[thingpuncher]

[Midnighter's been taking a quick breather between murders, wiping some blood off his front and adjusting his turban. He's caught for the first time with his face uncovered, revealing... an average, if snotty, looking twenty something with a shitty mohawk.]

The fuck's a dhampir?

Jon Snow ✥ Game of Thrones ✥ post-S7

[northerndragon]

Post-Combat: Conversation, or Combat Again

[It's not the first time Jon has found himself involved in a tactical situation not of his choosing and not beside his own people, and he recognizes the spear and sword they've given him well enough, but little else seems familiar. The desert stretches for miles around, hot and dry, maybe like something in Essos, nothing like the chill North where he feels most at home. The clothes and arms are lighter than he's used to, offering less protection, but anything like the brigandine he favors would be impossibly uncomfortable, too heavy to move in as well as he needs to and soaking him in sweat. The cuirass they've given him will have to do.

He's trained with a sword almost every day since he was old enough to hold one. The scimitar isn't Longclaw, but it cuts well enough, and it's done a lot of cutting today. He whirled between invaders for an hour: a spear in the gut here, a slash to the neck there, a few horses hamstrung. The latest party is quite dead, but there will be more on their way.

For the time being, he's retreated, seated behind a tent, cleaning blood from the scimitar with a blank unhappy look on his face. When someone approaches, he raises his face and focuses on them.]

More coming?

Medical

[He's not a maester. He knows a little about wounds, from taking them and from seeing others take them and return to health, but not enough that he feels of much use in the tents. Still, it's shaded there, and conversations may give him a chance to learn more about this place; at other times, they need a fit man to help hold someone down. He's strong enough and has a good stomach besides.

Conversation is the order of the day for now. He holds the skin of water up to the lips of the soldier in front of him. The people like him seem less able to tolerate the intense, dry heat, so it may be that he sees more of them than he does of the regular soldiers... but it's hard to say.]

Slowly, or it'll all come up again.

[He's rueful, almost humorous.]

Post-Combat: Conversation

[trample]

"After all the work you guys have been doing?" He scoffed. "I sure as hell hope not. At ease. The longer you keep cleaning that sword up, the less time you'll spend hacking away at horses, or worse, people."

There were few experiences that he had in life which could outdo war in all its hellish glory. What little downtime there was in this sandy graveyard they called the Middle East was well worth cherishing. Having been thrown here straight from another campaign in a similar territory, it was hardly a boost for morale by any means. He, like the man sitting in front of him, hardly had any reason to smile. Still, that was no reason not to crack some jokes, though the humor was as dry as the ground at their feet.

"Here I was, just about to take leave," He sighed, going from being noticeably hunched-over to sat next to this fellow. His ass was gonna hate him in the morning for how hard the earth was. "Guess it wouldn't be right for a soldier to take a vacation, now would it?"

eren yeager // shingeki no kyojin

[trample]

I; medical.

From one sandy shithole to the next. Given the circumstances there was hardly room to make many complaints, but if there was one, it would be that he had to be on the side of the invaders. Didn't feel quite right, knowing what happens when an offensive like that gets its way. It might have something to do with how he lost everything when his homeland was invaded.

Then again, he hardly managed to wrap his head around the most basic political situations that led to this war happening in the first place before he was thrown into the fray. Without much say in anything, he could only manage a single, stifled groan before the groans of all the rest overtook his.

They were the wounded, the beaten, the bloody. The sort of poor bastards you'd rather see dead than dying. They wasted their cot spaces while they wasted away themselves. He had seen enough -- enough to know that well over half the folks he could see weren't going to make it to tomorrow, and those that did weren't gonna be as lucky the next day. That wasn't even taking into account the lacking medicine of the times.

The best they had was herbal-fuckin'-tea. His father would be quivering in his boots if he were there to see it. Some part of Eren's head wanted to scream.

"I'm supposed to be taking care of all this?"

II; stealth.

"You know, the mission directives were to poison the water supply." He said this very plainly to the nearest-by ally, voice low but curious. "But at the same time, it said we just need to keep them from getting to the water in the first place. Do you not find that strange?"

If both points were to succeed, it would end up with their side of things wasting resources protecting what might as well have been a venomous weapon against the enemy. It would have been much easier to go along with this if they had given a clearer direction one way or the other. At least, that's what he thought.

"If it were up to me, I'd take from it for ourselves, fill up as much of a reserve as possible, then leave the rest poisoned and out in the open for the taking. Be a damn shame if anyone needs their thirst quenched then, eh?"

At this, he made an elbowing motion, like he were making some fantastic joke only he could get. Hopefully his comrade here had a sense of humor.

ii.

[thingpuncher]

Midnighter is here for a different kind of stealth. Sand quiets his footsteps, and the black clothing he's insisted on wearing blends him in well with the shadows, but he's not here for sabotage. He's plotting a course for the best way to bulldoze through the camp, taking as many people with him as possible in as short a time as possible, when he hears some kid they speak up.

Well, at least he's got spunk.

(And Midnighter's got a soft spot for kids, shut up.)

"What kinda poison we talking about?"

henry cooldown ★ no more heroes ★ foot soldier

[handsomefoil]

[ i can and will match whatever tense you prefer! i just like writing top levels in prose. ]


High risk and little reward missions are never ideal, but he rarely had the luxury of complaining whenever such situations arose. At least it's nothing new— rolling with the punches was practically in his job description.

Dressing up as a soldier and resorting to century old equipment is relatively new, however. He would stick out like a sore thumb dressed to the nines in his tailored suit, so he made sure to cover up accordingly when the time came to get out of the cot and into the fray...


（  ａ．  ）  ｓｔｅａｌｔｈ－ｉｓｈ．．．

He regards every piece of traditional weaponry with a resigned sort of disdain, unable to adjust to the sudden pulling weight of metal in his hand compared to the weightlessness of his Cross Saber, but having little other choice. Any sort of attack or attempt at sabotage from a shorter distance would only draw the attention of enemies with its blinding light. Like some sort of unholy beacon in this time and age.

Nevertheless, he still tried to find suitable places around the camps, keeping himself generally hidden from view. It's a good thing he could control the trajectory of his long range attack— a flurry of energy balls —well enough to aim it in a way that would make pin-pointing his position difficult. He's chucking them lazily into the sky letting them fall with a loud crackle and pop. He tries to make sure they're closer towards enemy camp rather than Saladin's.

Traditional weaponry is kept on standby of course, just in case some unsuspecting soldier from this point in history decides to accidentally stumble upon him and have a complete meltdown after witnessing the complete absurdity of laser weapons. There were warnings about this, Henry recalls. Not that he cares so much, but it's one more headache to deal with should it cause an uproar.

（  ｂ．  ）  ｒｅｉｎ  ｉｔ  ｂａｃｋ

The arid weather is possibly a blessing in disguise. Speaking of which, the clothing (while not something he'd willingly wear on any given day) and armor is light and doesn't hinder his movements as much as he thought it would. Should they've been the army to fight in metal armor and wield heavy weaponry, he would've stuck to the camps. The fight would still call to him, and he'd be itching to get on the action, but too vulnerable he would be should any excessive weight 'cramp' his style.

Nearby, a crusader bears down on a Turkish soldier, snarling viciously against his sword, as the man below clenches his teeth and musters up the strength to keep the blade from slicing into his shoulder. Henry brandishes his scimitar, and rushes him head-on, remembering to slash instead of stab a deep gash into the crusader's side. Mostly just to distract him from killing the other soldier long enough so that Henry could raise the sword again to slice his head clean off.

"Damn..."

At least, as clean as he could. The crusader is gurgling noisily, hand at his neck where dark red blood gushes out, and even Henry has to wince at the sight. He grimaces down at his scimitar, but not so much out any sort of queasiness or regret, but at his own lack of finesse with a foreign weapon in his hand. As the other soldier scrambles onto his feet to continue with his duty, he leaves with barely a nod. After the brief moment of acknowledgement, Henry raises the weapon again to end this and move on when:

b.1 ) You steal his fuckin' kill, serves him right. Karma, bitch.

or

b.2 ) You watch him severe the head from the crusader's body, as it finally falls back and twitches in its final death throes.

or

b.3 ) Kill that guy that's about to lunge at him from behind. God, Henry, stop being such a chump and get your head in the game.

（  ｃ．  ）  ｗｉｌｄｃａｒｄ

Let's do something different??? HMU.

b1.

[thingpuncher]

Midnighter is... a bastard. That's kind of his thing. He kills people and he's mean and he wears black leather (cloth, today. Very economical) and likes blunt instruments. He's a fan of construction equipment and reality television. His instagram has three thousand followers.

And he hates to see a good kill go to waste. One clean swipe of his blade severs the head entirely, and Midnighter gives the other guy a carefree shrug. His face is mostly covered by black fabric, but his smile shines through, a shit-eating grin like always.

"Finders keepers. And watch your six." Uh, this guy might not be from a place with clocks... "That's behind you."

Cole | Dragon Age

[hurtcomfort]

medical
Cole can be found among the dying. He's easy to overlook at first, a slight, underfed young man crouched down near the people who are already too far gone, who the medics know it's only minutes or hours until they succumb to their wounds or illnesses. He goes from person to person, seemingly in a random order, leaving the person he's with only when they breathe their last.

It's a bit creepy. What's even creepier is that a few of Saladin's medics don't seem to realize that Cole's even in the next room to begin with and scoff or roll their eyes if asked about Cole. There's nobody in there, are you sure you didn't stay out in the sun too long?

The man he's currently crouched next to has a large stab wound in his chest, bleeding from what's undoubtedly a pierced lung. Cole is humming something quietly, though loud enough that people passing through the area can hear. When someone approaches, Cole doesn't get up, instead muttering.

"The song was sung as a child. It reminds him of family."

combat
It's easy to make people not see you when they don't expect you in the first place. And the battle is so bloody, full of chaos and confusion, that it's easy for people to overlook him until he appears at their back, daggers in hand, as Cole slips through the fighting. There were a couple of close calls: even while trying to make people not see you, it's hard to do that once you've attacked the person next to them and Cole is not at good at dodging as he would like. But, at the moment, Cole is still in one piece, albeit a slightly beat up one.

And that big menacing guy with a mace who was just threatening you? He's bleeding now. A slash to the knee to bring him down, a slash to the throat to stop the pain. They're performed remarkably well despite the fact that Cole looks like he'll fall over if hit by a strong breeze.

"Are you alright?" Cole asks, despite the fact that they're in the middle of a friggen battlefield.

network
UN: @IMCOLE
@ALL
Hello?

[ Cole has no fucking clue how to use this thing ]

( ooc: Cole's a creepy spirit thing so please check out his permissions post and tell me if you're okay with mind-reading/memory reading in our threads! )

combat

[lonelywar]

(ooc: as for brain-stuff, go for it!)

Conflict and combat were things he would, given the choice, consistently avoid.

There was a pain to it. That had always been true in the thick of battle; it was like a palpable thing, as present as the pursuing potential of injury or death, as the screams and sobs of men dead or dying. Human beings reduced to their basest nature, seeking only to destroy what was in the way. For Ashitaka, however, that figurative assumption was very literal. For each soldier he killed with an arrow, he felt a pulse of pain from the demon mark mottling his right side. It was persistent even as the soldiers hounded in on his position, forcing him to abandon the relative familiarity of the bow he had been given and take up the spear. With this, he was far less accustomed; certainly nowhere near helpless, but without instincts honed from training and practice.

It opened up gaps in his defense, and through one of these the man appeared, a heavy mace brandished in one hand. He was hurrying to bring his spear to intercept in whatever way possible, but it ended up being unnecessary. The man collapsed, hamstrung, and hardly had time to scream before he was silenced. Ashitaka recovered his composure, looking to the other young man, countenance grim yet, for the most part, composed.

He seems ready to respond, but he was distracted by something: another figure approaching from behind his once-savior. Without thinking, he readies his spear like a javelin, throwing it with his right arm with enough strength to fell the attacker approaching Cole from behind. The body collapsed to the ground, the lance - usually too heavy and cumbersome to be thrown in such a way - sprouting from its chest. Ashitaka walks past Cole to retrieve the spear, pondering the question. The truthful answer was no, but it didn't seem worthwhile to say; the thwarted attack seemed answer enough. War would always make his answer the same.

He pulls he spear free, looking back to the other young man. "We should regroup with the allied front." Where they were, they were slightly separated, making them obvious targets.

archer of black/chiron | fate/apocrypha

[horsepowered]

Medical
There were endless things to attend to in the medical tent. Upon entering, Chiron did not look for instruction on where to begin, he simply approached the first soldier he saw unattended, and went about examining the ailment. The revealed arrow wounds to the arm were an easy thing to fix, all things considered, and with stitches, clean bandages, and insistance upon extra water and rest, the matter was quickly cleared up.

Things only intensified from there, with Chiron's abilities as a healer put to the test as the wounds from Crusader weapons revealed themselves to him. They were awe-inspiring wounds, proudly proclaiming an enemy army's weapons and desire to inflict real harm.

He moved onto the next patient, only to find the supplies required no where within sight. Calm, still as a forest, Chiron turned to the nearest person passing by to request what he needed.

"If there is a spare roll of cotton, I need it, along with a thin, fine knife and a kit to sew wounds. There are sharp pieces of wood lodged in this man's leg that need to be removed immediately."

Combat
The crusader armor was something that a sporting hero would proudly boast as a challenge to destroy or lodge arrows into. For Chiron, it was simply something to account for in his trajectory, especially since the present battlefield favored horses and swords to archers who had no transportation. Chiron's feet were faster than any man's (he was even faster when he had four), and the first few arrows he let loose did no lasting damage to the oncoming knights besides draw their ire.

Their ire and their desire to ensure no further arrows could be fired. Staying where he was was not a wise option, but as two of the knights drew closer, he saw another opportunity in the form of the armor's weakness: the helmet. Men still had to see out of those in order to fight, and so he simply aimed for the narrow spaces there.

The arrows found their marks, but there was no satisfaction in that fact. Chiron instead turned to observe the battlefield, and to try and determine where else his expertise might be put to use.

network
UN: @ippouris

@all: If anyone has sustained injuries that they would like additional attention to, please inform me.

((still testing the voice!))

[thingpuncher]

>>@TRENTCOAT

@IPPOURIS how are u with spear wounds

@IPPOURIS bc have i got a project for you

Achilles | Fate/Apocrypha

[chariotry]

PROMT A - on foot

[ Your character has either fallen back, unable to keep up with the relentless pace the warriors have been forced to maintain on-foot, or they've been left to sleep in their tent as the rest of the unit begins packing up.

Whichever scenario it is, Achilles will be nudging your character with the dirt-caked toe of his boot, towering over them with his impressive height of 185cm. ]

C'mon, now. Up on your feet. Getting left behind by the troop now is a sure way to get yourself killed.

And to die just outside of the battlefield would be a horribly inglorious way to go, wouldn't you say?

PROMPT B - combat

[ What the enemy lacks in actual power, they certainly make up for in their numbers. Not that sheer numbers could present much of a challenge for any Heroic Spirit, regardless of depleting mana reserves. It's no trouble for Achilles especially, and he doesn't hold back as he effortlessly mows through the frontline of the crusaders with heavy swings of his spear.

For anyone watching or joining him, it's obvious how much this man revels in the thrill of battle. He doesn't leave any survivors in his wake, beating down a path of bodies to make way for the comrades who have chosen to follow him. He marches to the beat of his own drum, wrenching command away from the general in the midst of the chaos of panicked, inexperienced warriors fending for their lives.

If one wishes to tame this beast, do your best in your attempt to.

If you should unwillingly end up getting caught in the crossfire, you'll be happy to find out that he isn't acting in a blind rage. He'll stop himself from driving the point of his spear between your eyes, only to lift it with a thrust and swing it over your head for the enemy behind where you're standing. ]

PROMT C - i don't need no healing so let's wash up

[ With how much of a bloody mess he's made of himself, it wouldn't be unreasonable for onlookers to think this man has been gored. At least, it wouldn't be unreasonable if he weren't perfectly steady on his feet as he paces through camp.

While being covered in the blood of your enemies is a sign of victory, Achilles cares enough about his vanity that he's made washing up a priority. Outside of battle, a prince must should look impeccable.

Man or woman, Achilles will approach your character, revealing a flash of teeth as he smiles. To call attention to the bucket of water at his side, he lifts it and braces it over and against the back of his shoulder. The water inside sloshes, but not even a single drop manages to spill. ]

Water is too scarce for a proper both, so I suppose we ought to make the most of what little of it a bucket can hold. With that in mind, would you care to join me?

[ No, he's not asking if you'd like to partake in a mutual sponge bath, but it sure seems like it. ]

c

[rappels]

[ Without her spear, Aloy had to hang farther back in the battle and use her bow alone. It's not terrible, and she doesn't think much of it herself, because she'd learned over the years how to use both as if they were as natural to her as breathing. Still, she would be happier with a spear at her side if only to fend off the people that had gotten a little too close, but overall, not bad. She reaches up to wipe sweat off her brow as Achilles approaches, not quite noticing him yet, and for a moment, she's definitely wishing she had the clothing the Carja made. It'd be much more comfortable to wear out here than what they'd been given.

The man approaching catches her eye, and she glances at him briefly, but it almost turns into a double-take as she sees just how much of a mess he is. Her brow knits together in mild concern, but no, the way he walks, he's not injured at all, is he? But as she realizes this, he starts talking to her, and Aloy's look of concerned confusion is fairly quick to shift to one that looks less than impressed. She shifts her weight on her feet and crosses her arms as she looks up at him. ]

You do realize there's no way you're going to clean up that amount of overkill with one bucket, right?

[ which isn't a no but look I'm like 80% sure aloy wouldn't care ]

Yoshitsugu Otani | Samurai Warriors

[hakanai]

I. MEDICAL

[The clothing they have to wear here is completely comfortable for Yoshitsugu; covered head to toe with only his eyes showing? That's how he normally dresses. Back home it often has him dubbed 'suspicious' (well, is part of the reason he is called so) but here it's so normal that it can't even be used to help him cultivate the aura of mystery he so enjoys.]

[Shame about the reason for such clothing being so common, however. Yoshitsugu's somewhat delicate constitution didn't particularly make him suitable for combat beneath a burning sun.]

Don't move, or it will hurt terribly.

[Duty in the medical areas suits him fine for now, if only because it keeps him out of the worst of daytime's heat. He's almost too used to dealing with injury or sickness thanks to his time spent on the bottom rungs of an army; for many years it was mostly Yoshitsugu that had kept his injury-prone friend sealed up and healthy and the experience has served him well. What it hasn't given him is a good bedside manner. He's blunt about what he does as he treats, washes or otherwise assists the patients dotted around, and this current man is no exception. Had he been on death's door he might have been offered more kindness, but as he's clearly not Yoshitsugu has zero sympathy for him when he moves as told not too and yells loudly enough for others to turn and stare.]

I told you not to move. [Yoshitsugu says pointedly, staring down at the newly opened wound he's trying to seal.] This isn't a threatening injury but you're going to make it one if you carry on shifting.

[Glancing over, he says to the nearest staring person.]

Hold him down or he's not getting treated.

[It's not a threat, though it may sound like it to some, but a statement of fact.]



II. STEALTH

[If there's one thing Yoshitsugu is good at, it's playing the ghost.]

[He doesn't know a huge amount about those he faces and what particular things might bother them, but some fears are bone-deep. It's amazing how quick some are at believing the most unlikely explanation for something, too. These two things combined with a convincing display of 'spookiness' equals a dangerous but currently rather effective kind of psychological warfare.]

[Having exchanged his clothing for what could only be described as 'blood-stained rags' and dirtied himself up as much as possible, Yoshitsugu has picked at one particular encampment of crusaders and after enough observation and choosing of targets embarked on his campaign of scaring as many of these already tired and exhausted warriors as possible. No doubt some might have thought it a silly thing to try but at this stage he's taking a break in one of his scouting spots with full knowledge that it's working.]

[Down there, rumours, ghost stories and accusations are spreading with remarkable speed.]

They'll make it worse by themselves. [He says. This isn't a thing he's attempted by himself; whoever you are, you may have done some 'haunting' yourself, or merely acted as a spotter, or just come to undermine the enemy in some other way while he does his work. Whatever the case he's watching you with an unreadable expression.] But a few more appearances won't do any harm either, so long as nobody with a level-head appears in there.



III. NETWORK
UN: @BAKENEKO

@ALL: It's enormously stupid to question all of this when your immediate future is a question of dying or not dying. Right now the flow is on our side and you shouldn't get killed if you do the jobs you may or may not have agreed to do.

@ALL: But if it's me who somehow manages to die despite this, I'll be sure to come over and say hi. There's plenty of work for a ghost still, don't you think?

III;

[handtowels]

Don't tempt fate.

Jacob Frye | Assassin's Creed

[trainwreckoning]

Camp

Jacob wakes in the tent, listens to the instructions carefully, and nods, letting the man leave and then dressing quickly. It's... incredibly hot here, arid, and that's something Jacob is not used to. After a small adjustment period in which he learned to drink more water, he starts in on training and fulfilling missions. He's dressed as a footsoldier, a turban and scarf obscuring his hair and face.

It's a quiet day, before the Crusader army has arrived, and Jacob has been training most of the day. He takes a break from it to water the horses, patting them affectionately as he goes about.

"Good girl. Drink up."

Combat

Jacob and you are fighting side by side. Allies in this bloody battle. Jacob swipes blood from his mouth, after a hand-to-hand fight. And then an arrow whizzes between them, singing through the air, just barely missing them. He makes eye contact with you, as a group of soldiers approach.

"I'll take care of the archers!" he shouts, and then he's sprinting for the high point the archers are sitting at. He darts around, able to avoid the arrows just barely. He climbs up quickly, his knife driving deep into the crossbow owner's neck. He sprints down the line, taking out the few archers up there quickly. And then he jumps down, sprinting back to see if you need help.

Network

UN: @ROOKS

@ALL: Anyone looking for a little mischief?

un: @crazyhot

[mad_love]

OOO! Someone's talking my language!

Diana Prince • DCEU

[hellene]

i. network @amazon

As a girl, I was made to train with all manner of weapons. Many used here are familiar to me; and other weapons which are to some of you are unknown to me.

If anyone needs or would like some training with a blade, spear or bow, I offer it freely. And if anyone would, I'd like to learn how to operate a firearm in time.

ii. network @amazon

Is life a constant battle where all of you come from? That seems to be the case in this world of Man. Not long ago, I saw another great war come to an end.

With a death toll in the millions. That cannot happen here. They — we — are better than that. Better than the Gods. If we aren't, then we are lost. I fight for whatever light remains in the heart of mankind. What about you?

( Otherwise Antiope died for nothing. )

2

[northerndragon]

UN: @SNOW

We should be better. We seldom are. In your war, what were they fighting over?

ashitaka | princess mononoke

[lonelywar]

I. stealth
[Ashitaka had elected to guard the water. It had seemed the least violent of all their options to aid in this warlike scenario, though he would not fool himself into thinking it benign or peaceful. This water was a precious resource to any in such an arid place, and to selfishly boggart it was perhaps an even more cruel tactic than the alacrity with which a flying arrow could deliver death to a person. Many would think that a far better way to die than to die of thirst in the harsh heat. There was no proper answer. Ashitaka thought there was never such a thing in war.

The defense was spread in a loose halo around the oasis, with certain areas far more populated with waiting soldiers than others, having deemed those areas more likely for attack. Ashitaka had avoided these, instead staking out alone in a relatively more sparsely guarded area — the low-growing grasses and chaparral offered litle coverage, so approaching soldiers would be easy to see, thus the need for only a few scouts.

Ashitaka crouches close to the ground near a cluster of scraggly shrubs, spear laid out to one side and strung bow to the other. He would use them as a last resort, but —

He turns at the sound of approaching footsteps, not necessarily surprised as sentries were common enough. Be the stranger on patrol or simply on a stroll, the young man gives them a nod, expression oddly severe for someone so young. He might have remained silent had not curiosity gotten the better of him.] Excuse me. Do you know if there have been any more attempts at the water lately?

[There had been little activity of late, from what he had heard. It made him suspicious.]

II. network

>>@ASHITAKA

@ALL Where I am from, I had grown accustomed to humans warring against the gods themselves for the use of the land. It is strange, then, to learn that instead these people fight for this land in the name of the gods.

@ALL Why is it that these gods condone such bloodshed at the expense of the ground they fight on? Is there any way to seek them out and speak with them directly?

[try not to be too mean to him, things work a little differently where he's from, okay]

II

[horsepowered]

UN: @IPPOURIS

I have not heard of anything on the topic of communication, but perhaps these gods are certain that the land will be seen to after the bloodshed.