Post by Clash on Oct 1, 2011 17:37:09 GMT -6
Smythe stood on a balcony, overlooking the parade ground. The central hub of Isafaro was beautiful, patterned cobblestone and flags blowing in the wind. Smoke stacks surrounded the main hub, however. They were positioned for a reason: They made a barrier, anything that flies had to go around lest it crashed into the smoke stacks, and the fumes rolling from the stacks' mouths kept everything in a form of dull overcast, red light like a perpetual sunset leaking through the man-made canopy of industrial pollution. The grounds were full, innumerable soldiers performing drills and an uncountable number of tanks on display. Isafaro's Hammer. To be swung with all the weight and momentum of it at those foolish enough to resist. Crystal City, the remnants of the theocratic joke known as Aircano... They had formed a bond with Jherrazad, the supposed "Throne of Jherra" and what was considered the capitol of the continent. Moon Valley was too far withdrawn and too small to be anything other than a morsel and Hallowton was just as removed and defenseless.
This was the war General Vulture had been waiting for.
Jherrazad and Isafaro had a long standing rivalry, Isafaro being the only force to rival the demons and their magics. Isafaro had the power now. They had it all. They had weapons no one had ever dreamed of, and even after so much of it leaked to the outside world, they were still the cutting edge, they were still the ones holding all the cards. Moon Valley had guns, this was confirmed. It was unknown what Crystal City had, and they say some scraps of tech were in the hands of Jherrazad, but no one had tanks, no one had walkers, no one had Cybernetics. No one had cloning. Isafaro held all the cards.
Smythe scratched his chin and thought, he was immortal. If he died he would be regrown, his memories and personality "installed" in a new clone, his mechanical parts reinstalled before he was awoken to serve once more. General Vulture HAD to have something like that, he HAD to have a facility to regrow him. He was too valuable to not give himself this middle finger to death. That was Vulture's style. As was this display. He wanted to remind himself, his people, and the world that he had the power.
He turned his head and stared at a corner of the room, or that's how it appeared. In his ear he heard a voice. "Stripes is awake, he's nowhere near combat ready but you can debrief him." Smythe rolled his eyes, he'd rather be out there on the training grounds, inspecting the troops, talking battle plans with the soldiers, planning the operations, but one of their operatives has been behaving erratically, he hasn't been performing up to standards. He was almost as lackluster as Demetrius, that "Enhanced" demon scum brought in by that third party contractor. He grimaced, he'd rather sit in the lab with Miss Finch and watch her go over plasteel polymer weaves for another 30 hours. Smythe turned and walked out, going to berate the errant prototype.
When the time comes, he'd relish every second of it, he'd savor every victory he earned for Isafaro.
This was the war General Vulture had been waiting for.
Jherrazad and Isafaro had a long standing rivalry, Isafaro being the only force to rival the demons and their magics. Isafaro had the power now. They had it all. They had weapons no one had ever dreamed of, and even after so much of it leaked to the outside world, they were still the cutting edge, they were still the ones holding all the cards. Moon Valley had guns, this was confirmed. It was unknown what Crystal City had, and they say some scraps of tech were in the hands of Jherrazad, but no one had tanks, no one had walkers, no one had Cybernetics. No one had cloning. Isafaro held all the cards.
Smythe scratched his chin and thought, he was immortal. If he died he would be regrown, his memories and personality "installed" in a new clone, his mechanical parts reinstalled before he was awoken to serve once more. General Vulture HAD to have something like that, he HAD to have a facility to regrow him. He was too valuable to not give himself this middle finger to death. That was Vulture's style. As was this display. He wanted to remind himself, his people, and the world that he had the power.
He turned his head and stared at a corner of the room, or that's how it appeared. In his ear he heard a voice. "Stripes is awake, he's nowhere near combat ready but you can debrief him." Smythe rolled his eyes, he'd rather be out there on the training grounds, inspecting the troops, talking battle plans with the soldiers, planning the operations, but one of their operatives has been behaving erratically, he hasn't been performing up to standards. He was almost as lackluster as Demetrius, that "Enhanced" demon scum brought in by that third party contractor. He grimaced, he'd rather sit in the lab with Miss Finch and watch her go over plasteel polymer weaves for another 30 hours. Smythe turned and walked out, going to berate the errant prototype.
When the time comes, he'd relish every second of it, he'd savor every victory he earned for Isafaro.