id: 667
name: Things, maybe some stuff. Depends on what I\'m feeling.
author: Thesteellegionnaire
date: 27th April 2022
text len: 8298
views: 9

The village was doomed. There was no way about it. As Cantus winced at the deafeningly loud clash of metal which rang out just outside the palisade of the free town. On one side, the large armored warform of an Order Paladin. It’s shape of steel and timber resembled that of a dismounted night; complete with arming blade and shield. On the other, the artisanal and almost alluring form of one of the Dæmon lord’s mechanized warriors. Her machine was gleaming silver and finely stained wood; armed with a similarly silvery rapier.

While the two dueled one another, Cantus prayed. Not to the Goddess of the Order, and certainly not to the Dæmon lord. He prayed to anyone that would listen not to have his home destroyed, or claimed by either side of the unending conflict. His prayers, as it would seem, would be answered in quite short order. There was an even louder sound; as if an explosion had just went off, and as the young man looked outside the window of his cottage he saw something completely alien.

It stood at least 20 meters tall, if not taller. It was big, bulky with a light green coloration. Cantus was startled as in what looked to be the head, a singular pink looking eye flashed, before settling into a constant glow. The eye began to pan right and left, and whatever it was had seemed to notice that it was now the center of attention. Both Dæmon and Order war forms had ceased their duel to gaze upon whatever in the hells this thing was, before the Paladin decided to raise its blade and strike swiftly into the chest of the newcomer for daring to interrupt the duel.
Much to everyone’s collective shock, the strange machine danced backwards with a speed and elegance none had ever known a warform to possess, before something along what seemed to be it’s skirt popped forwards, a hand gripping what might have been a hilt? No, a handle, and it pressed on something. A ray of light the color of a bright noon sun shot out from the skirt-projector, and landed into the pelvic region of the Paladin. The strange magic, for what else could it be; passed through the Order machine as a blade would the open air, melting and slagging metal while causing nearby wood to super-heat and deflagrate. Splinters of charred lumber would spray out from around the impact site as the fire caused by the heat would begin to spread up the warform. The Dæmon’s machine simply looked on. Was it in shock? Was it impressed? Who could tell.

Regardless of what the operator was feeling, the quickly decided to take action; lunging towards the alien giant with her rapier held towards the machine’s chest. As it touched the machine, the Paladin finally crumpled to the ground, but what was more shocking was that the blade merely bounced off; not leaving so much as a scratch to show it had impacted at all. The cyclops responded by once again backing away, and raising what looked to be some strange spear. It had to be, with the blade attached to the front. It was then that the “spear” emitted the same magical light as before, striking the chest of the Dæmon machine with the sort of practiced precision a veteran would display. The elegantly designed bust plating seemingly boiled away as the control room of the Dæmon was vaporized in an instant; along with the pilot. It collapsed with a thunderous noise to the ground, and the cyclops lowered its weapon.—————————————————————
1st Lieutenant Morgan Beskowitz wasn’t having the best day. Patrols were always a 50/50 shot of being found out by Re-Zeon forces, and it didn’t help that his AMX-011G had been passed over for the desert environment paint. The minty green coloration of his Zaku III was beam bait, and everyone in his squadron agreed. So, if one can imagine the shock and surprise that came with popping into existence in what looked like a forest on earth. It was also compounded by what looked like mobile suits in the shape of a medieval knight and some kinda armored stripper. It was all very odd; but when they began to try and kill him, there wasn’t exactly a difficult choice to make. Tap one with the skirt beam gun, and the other with his beam rifle. They went down probably easier than any other targets he’d ever fired at, no attempts to dodge or move out of his line of fire.

The sight of what looked to be just about the quaintest little village he’d ever seen only compounded his confusion. Checking around the linear cockpit to make sure he was the only possible combatant around, the Titan of an MS began to make its way to the town limits. It stepped over the burnt out husks of both machines which had challenged the culmination of Zeonic engineering and failed; only to stop before the first house. The colossus halted, kneeled down, and the cockpit in the chest opened up, and out popped the helmeted head of it’s pilot. The atmospheric readings of the place said the air was breathable, but at the same time, Morgan didn’t want to make any assumptions about anything. This was an entirely new and strange environment; especially with him being born on a Colony.
Noticing movement, his head snaps towards the house, with a wide eyed local stepping out of the door. The pilot does little more than give him a quick wave, which is hesitantly returned, before he begins climbing down the several story tall MS. Once his feet hit the ground, the pilot begins towards the civilian, hands raised in the air as to indicate he wasn’t a threat. Granted, Cantus had no clue what this person was or what their purpose was here, he was rather glad that he had stopped the fighting, if disturbingly quickly. It was about that moment when Cantus noticed the Paladin’s operator approaching the stranger behind him, a dagger readied to end the man’s life.

“Ser! Behind you!”

Morgan recognized the man was speaking some old form of English, and thus understood that he probably needed to look right behind him. There was a man in chainmail, some interesting looking symbols weaved into it, with a dagger now running at him. He responded the best way he could. Drawing his side arm, Morgan fires twice in haste. While the first round goes wide, the second strikes the knight in the chest. The bullet tumbles through flesh and muscle, taking chain-spall with it as it rends the man’s insides. His eyes go wide as a shard drives itself right into his heart, and he drops to the ground. Dead within moments.

Both men stood in silence, eyes still wide from the sudden outbreak of a much more real, personal kind of violence. Morgan hadn’t fired a shot at another human being in years; not since the Zabist coup. Even then, he’d never known if his rounds had struck home. Now he was staring at the body of a man with a rapidly expanding pool of blood surrounding him. His shock was interrupted as several others from the town began to approach him. Chief among them was a relatively young looking man dressed in fine clothes, at least finer than what the average inhabitant seemed to wear. He gave Morgan a slight bow, before speaking.

“Good…er, Ser, please forgive my askings; you did rescue my far town from a cruel fate, but…who are you exactly?”

Feeling the gaze of dozens of townsfolk around, Morgan felt an odd sort of peer pressure he’d never felt before.

“I…Morgan. 1st Lieutenant Morgan of Martian Zeon. Who might you be, if you don’t mind the counter question.”

To the lordling who ran the town, while he didn’t understand nary a word out of his mouth, the stranger seemed to have the martial baring of a solder. Perhaps a wealthy mercenary? It would likely explain the Warform he possessed. It all made him wonder just what sort of magics flowed through it to grant the machine such powerful weapons to fell a Paladin and Dæmon so swiftly. With such little effort and from range at that! He broke into a friendly enough looking grin, and extended his hand, which the stranger shook with only a hint of hesitation. The lordling understood. He seemed quite lost, and a bit confused. Not like the two had ever met before.

“Well, Ser Morgan, again I must extend my gratitude for saving us from the terrible fates either Warform would have pressed upon us. It is not the easiest thing trying to be neutral in these times…”

Morgan’s curiosity was piqued, but before he could inquire as to what any of that all meant,