This is a weekly article, delivered to you every Wednesday. These articles are intended to be a fun exercise as well as a good resource for role-players to explore Character Development so please feel free to post your own characters reaction to the weekly prompt. So be sure to stay tuned to this blog for future installments!
Who was the first person/thing to be saved or destroyed by your character?
(The next series of stories for now will be about another character of mine, a Vigilante whom goes by the name of Captain Sophie Storm and Farsighter respectably, I hope everyone enjoys it!))
June 8th 2002 Base Camp Alpha Dark Astoria Paragon City
Commander John Monroe sat in his folding camp chair heavy elbows on his desk leaning forward slightly one large paw of a hand covering his brow as the other guides the fountain pen along the page with only the occasional slight scratching noise of one writing in a fluid easy manner of the correspondent than the stilted stop and start method of the biographer. The light of his lantern shone a soft golden diffused light through his narrow tent across his weather beaten face and onto his page as he wrote to his loving wife.
My Dearest Rita,
I hope your day has gone better than mine has, it is late at night here, nearly morning in fact and the camp is quiet as what is left of my men settled down for some much needed shut eye if they are lucky enough to get it after the horror they witnessed tonight. The only thing that disrupts the blessed quiet is the occasional burst of the sentry guns on our outer perimeter and the distant bonfires of our enemies which light up the dark sky.
Although we are as far as we can get from the front lines here at base camp the low moaning of the dead become a constantly grating sound and although my little visitor seems sound asleep in her own bunk tucked neatly next to my own bed, waking up only every so often her eyes wide with terror before I shush her again and rock her back to sleep. I can not sleep however; troubles and burdens lay heavily upon my heart, I lay awake and wonder what would have happened to you and the girls if it had been our town the Banished ones had come too and not to Paragon City and to my little visitors family instead. If you would have become infected and tried to eat your children as her mother had.
I know you would tell me to be quiet and would hush my fears of what the future world and all the new terrors it holds for our daughters. I know that the bible says god gives us our burdens but only so much as we can handle, however looking at the face of the little girl I found today I wonder if that is really true, and why god would choose for an innocent little girl to go through what she has
.
There had been ten thousand souls in Astoria when the first infected where let loose on the populace by the Banished Pantheon, it wasnt ascertained yet what the groups intention where beyond securing their foothold on the area, controlling it and maintaining that stranglehold, but the death and destruction which had been wrought on the once safe neighborhood was complete and deplorable enough.
The infected feasted upon the flesh of the living, their amazing brute strength, no need for sleep, comfort, tools or sustenance and lack of self preservation made them formidable opponents. Usually a man will stop what he is doing if it causes him physical pain or he finds he is unable to physically continue his task from a strain, fatigue or pulled muscle or tendon, a break or lack of strength. Zombies, for thats what these creatures where, the breathing, walking undead, had no such stopper, all they had was their blood lust and the never ending appetite of the dead which controlled them.
He had seen zombies continue after their target even after their legs and arms had been shot away by automatic machine gun fire, he had seen them push themselves along on bloody stumps gnashing yellowed and decaying teeth at the young sergeant whom had gotten lost and surrounded by a horde. He had seen a mans flack vest tear away as easily as the beasts ripped into his belly with their clawing hands while his entrails provided a gluttonous feast for the hungry moaning masses which had been his platoons downfall.
John had seen a lot of things in his many years in the service, first his tours of active duty in the Gulf War, Chechnya, the Congo, Kosovo, Bosnia, Sarajevo, and Somalia and there he had seen the horror of mans inhumanity to his fellow man in all its selfish, deprived and depraved glory, but never had he witnessed anything as sick as this neighborhood afforded.
During his time training with the Redlions where all the action he had seen and been apart of ran largely under the radar of all news media, as he heard the Colonel once say If its on the news somebody ****** up somewhere. However he had been surrounded and he wondered if it hadnt been for the civilian Helicopter which had rescued him and his little charge and the strange powers of the little girl whom he carried in his arms as he ran toward it if he would not be one of the undead or a feast for them instead of writing to his beloved wife Rita on this cold and lonely place.
It had been a good day after all for the Lions had been in this neighborhood of nightmares for two months now, one of the first on scene when the outbreak struck and after killing hundreds if not thousands of the infected they had finally found a survivor. The simple fact of a solitary survivor, a little girl on top of that, having been able to stay alive in such a inhospitable environment, without food or water, shelter or an adult to defend her was astonishing to behold.
They had hoped a concentrated strike to the enemies forces located primarily in Moth Cemetery would buy the builders enough time to finish off the walls which would surround and shut off the area for good and they had been making their way down the major promenade toward the side entrance of the cemetery, when they had spotted her. It had been reported that a large number of civilians had been herded by unknown individuals toward the cemetery, and it had been weeks since they had found a living thing in the now wasted and abandoned neighborhood. They where losing ground to the growing numbers of the undead every day and the small Hero contingent and even smaller Military force had managed just barely to keep their heads above the water over these past eight weeks of skirmishes and firefights with what remained of the populace now transformed into the hungry and howling dead.
His patrol had found her wandering around the cemetery wearing only a blood splattered and torn leotard and one ballerina shoe. She had been walking toward the cemetery at first but then Johnson, the trigger happy sonofabitch that he had been, had shot at her and luckily for Johnson and the little girl alike the shot had gone wide and imbedded into the brick wall just behind her. John called his man off and told Johnson to stand down despite the cowards lame remarks that the shot should have hit.
John had never seen such a sad and strange little girl in his whole life. She couldnt have been more than seven or eight years old, with white blond hair still braided in a single ponytail down her narrow back, with silvery white eyes almost glowing in the near darkness when they had found her. She had been nearly killed, mistaken for one of the undead, so ghostly pale and wide eyed did she look. She even dragged a little dolly behind her whom turned out to be the remains of her little brother while walking in a shambling sort of gait which always reminded John of his Daughter Elizabeth who would sometimes sleep walk.
However dark shadows seemed to move around the little girl, clothing her in shifting darkness and swirling moonlight, almost hiding her completely from even Johns clear night vision sight. It occurred to John later that perhaps she had wanted them to see her, to rescue her from that darkness which surrounded her but had until that time had been her only true means of survival. The shadows hid her from the view and the smell of the undead.
It was a heightened sense of smell, more so than sight or sound which the hungry dead shared in common with all of the best predators in the world. Like sharks and other such highly dangerous creatures the Zombie hunted by smell primarily and the scent of freshly spilled blood was an especially strong attractant to them. If Johnson had gotten a hit on this little girl not only would he have been a monster for doing so but the attraction of her freshly spilled blood would have brought the multitude of the horde for at least two hundred yards away to their vicinity in a matter of moments.
This was why his squadron and a few others a few hours before had taken the time to set up feeding poles on the south eastern side of the cemetery, drawing the horde away from the North westerly side entrance which the black ops teams lead by him had chosen to use as their point of entry. The scent of the fresh blood, even the cow and pigs bloody corpses which hung from atop the barbed wire wrapped telephone sized poles would not only act as a wonderful distraction but also when the zombies would try and climb or get pressed to close to the poles themselves their own spilt blood would trigger the inevitable feeding frenzy to begin.
It had been Johns first wish to let the young Sergeant Hennessey to stay behind with the little girl and to bring her back to headquarters, but you know what they say about the best laid plans of men and so it was with what happened to his troops that day. The information recon which they had received had not been complete. It was not their fault however, who could have known or foreseen what the murky waters of time could show? Who could have predicted that not only had Astoria been over run by the shambling dead but also by a set of Magi and a creature so large, so powerful and so heinous as what they found that night, only minutes away from midnight, the witching hour?
When John had handed the girl off to Sergeant Hennessey the young girl began to squirm and whine and moan finally breaking free from the Sergeant and running full on into the dark cemetery. Breaking formation and going after his charge Hennessey made pursuit and John and his men following shortly there after. Once they had crossed the threshold behind the little girl they had seen four strange lights pass by the spot where they had all been assembled but moments before.
A floating mask like creature surrounded by living breathing men and women and at least twenty undead the Mages or so he assumed them to be had glowing tattooed symbols shinning from bare and savage chests wandered to their exact position of mere moments before, where they would have been still if Hennessey hadnt been foolish enough to break rank and disobey a direct order by following the girl. Now as they sat in the shadowed darkness cast by the high wall of the cemetery they witnessed the true architects of the plague which had swept through Astoria.
The Banished Pantheon.
The patrol or so John concluded them to be continued along their way passing the outer wall just behind them, the little girl with a little finger pressed to her lips shushed them as the Pantheon mages moved out of ear shot and sight. The girl was sensible to her surroundings, she had been living in this nightmare for two months, not senseless, not hiding, not even with the blessing of being called luckily unaware, and she had learned to adapt and to survive! She knew who and what the creatures where that ran this carnival of soulless husks, she knew their strengths and weakness and in short she knew more than the recon team had known after scouring the place for hours.
John figured it was an act of providence that he should have met her on that long stretch of road bordering Moth cemetery or else he and his men would have entered the place blind and as helpless as new born kittens. The little girl whispered some words he could not hear and tracing a symbol in the air using one tiny little finger a cold wind rustled around them and a softer darkness flowed around them like a protective bubble made up of the shifting swirling shadows which he had seen surrounding her just moments before.
They moved in a low crouch matching the short legged speed and movements of their miniature guide as she used the dark shadows cast by the wall and the taller tombstones and statuary as cover so did they. The bright full moon shone its brilliant silvery light down upon the rolling hillside of the cemeterys green and verdant landscape showing for those who had eyes to see large mounds of broken earth and tunnels which ran deep into the earth itself.
Soon the sight of distant bonfires came near, what they had once thought to be broken gas manes set ablaze now turned out to be several camps of pantheon worshipers, the floating masks of various colors, the symbols in the magis chests glowing brightly in the gloom. While milling about spreading on for what seemed like ages behind them spread the sea of the fallen, the moaning swaying tides of the undead. Their attention seemed captivated to a centralized grouping of alters around which the floating masks and their congregation meet, in the hands of two magus each where some struggling some senseless men women and children obvious sacrifices for some unknown deity.
Johns mind reeled at the idea of witnessing the deaths of these people for the pantheons most heinous of deeds, human sacrifice. He knew his men must be feeling the same and while he looked on a little girl who had been clutching for dear life to a Barbie doll was now being lifted and strapped down next to a screaming and hysterical woman and a teenage boy who kept keening in a high and senseless manner. John knew they couldnt stand by and simply watch what would become of these people, his orders had been clear, to try and free as many hostages as he could while the other teams planted the explosive charges.
John called back the attention of his men and gave the orders on his radio for the rest of the teams to deploy; they would go in guns blazing but only after the charges had taken down the majority of the mages front line. Johns men scattered and began arming the area with explosives and trip mines, covering their exit as they would hopefully retreat with the slower moving civilians. The General had made plans for a civilian helicopter to act as a drop ship to take away the survivors at the rendezvous point by as many trips as where necessary, but for right now they where on their own.
As he was getting ready to give the order to begin the assault a tiny hand tugged on his cargo pants left pocket. He looked down into the wide silvery eyes of the strange child which had lead them here and he squatted down before her making them face to face and eye level. She whispered something he would never forget in his ear and with that same small cold little finger she traced upon the middle of his forehead the symbol of an open eye.
His vision became more keen, his accuracy improved and as they entered the assault while grenades where launched, and explosions bloomed like bright flowers all around him every target he aimed for he hit true. Head shot after headshot a bullet wasted no where as he dealt permanent death to each and every zombie or ghoul. His men converged around the alters cutting the men and women free, while their team members dropped one after another swarmed by the sea of zombies. Pearsons, Holt, Johnson, nay half his platoon in that first wave fell only slowed down the progress of some, before reinforcement of the enemy could arrive.
The glowing red, blue, green and purple of the masks and their faithful and another creature besides, a totem floating up from the edge of the crowd grabbing his men and ripping off their legs and arms like flies. Hurling poisonous tipped spears impaling survivors as they ran by him. The little girl shouting in a strange language her voice loud and high and clear, little hands out thrust before her a dark bubble deflecting the spears. It was then that he noticed as the shadows around her grew bright, that each had swirling peaceful faces as if lit from some inner light.
She stood before the wall of the dead whom pressed upon her fortress made up of souls, tears streaming down her cheeks as she sees the little girl with the Barbie doll ripped open from head to toe. John walking up to her slowly as he gave his men the order to retreat put his hand carefully upon the brave little girls shoulder her little shoulders shaking with her great effort his heart breaking for her as she bends down to retrieve the orphaned dolly.
The barrier she had made couldnt have held for very much longer, for scooping the child up from off her feet John ran with her hitting the button on the activation sequence the count down began and as they made it down the steep hillside of Moth cemetery they where rocked side to side as they ran. Explosions culled their numbers as the dead gave hot pursuit, however only four of his men made it out alive and only three survivors and his little miracle too boot.
That was what John called her from that night until his death; Sophie was his miracle that night when on so many occasions he and his men could have all been dead. The Helicopter met them at the way point and took them away; back at base camp hed had a lot to explain. The little girl wouldnt leave his side and cried whenever anyone tried to take her away. He had been allowed to watch over her once the General gave his command.
She had been honored as another soldier taken back to Israel to the Redlion training camp, where she honed her martial skills and honed her magic into a serious weapon to be only under the guidance of a commanding officer, that was until John left the Lions and formed his own company of men.
Sophie grew up with him, John Monroe the leader of the Black Widow Squadron, Mercenaries where they all, but thats a story for next time boys and girls, but for now my tale is told.
Ok, so I'm posting links to Photobucket albums rather than cluttering and condensing, though if you want clutter feel free to let me know.
