Scenario Case 1 The Citadel Revolution. (open)

[Play Back]

"Play Back, I would like you to go to the citadel outpost in Corone, more specifically, in Radasanth," Sued's words still rung out in Play Back's mind. It seemed that the office of CG investigations had gotten a rather strange case. A citadel monk had traveled all the way to Scara Brae from Corone to find the detectives.

It seemed as though the citadel was fueling a lot of hostile feelings towards people. Normally, citadel agression was a normal thing but this was a far from normal case. While fighters were allowed to hold grudges and fight one another within the walls of the building, the monks were not. Recently, however the monks had been fighting people wanting to come in for nothing more than a short little scuffle.

The violent acts of the monks was enough of a concern for the leader of CG investigations, Sued, to send Play Back. His mission was a simple one, find clues without trying to fight any of the monks. Play Back left almost immediately after he had heard of the situation, not wanting innocent people to be hurt by corrupt monks.

Could it be that a telepath is behind these riots? Play Back thought to himself. Perhaps the Dark Hearted Man is connected somehow? That would explain why Sued sent me and not Robert. This task seems much more suited for Sued's bodyguard than one of his employees. Play Back eventually came to the large Radasanth building and walked through the doors.

Almost immediately, the child began to hear gun shots, and was greeted by the sight of what appeared to be a cowboy fighting off several violent citadel monks.

"A young heartbeat," the man mummbled as he fired several more shots, "is your name Play Back by any chance, kid?" The teen blinked at the question and quickly nodded. "Well, is it or is't it?!" The cowboy was growing impatient, and he turned around to show his frustration. At this point Play Back realized that the cowboy was blind, so he quickly spoke up. "Yes sir," he said, "I am Play Back!"

"Great, so Sued sent me a kid to do a mans job," the man sighed as he jumped back, barely dodging a monks spear. "The name's Jones, I'm part of CG as well. You need to -whoa!" Jones ducked rather quickly as a sword swang just over his head. "That was close," he mummbled as he fired a round behind him. Play Back had never seen such raw skill from a blind person before, and was simply in awe.

"Don't just stand there!" Jones shouted at the teen as he shoulder tackled a monk in front of him. "There's someone else here, not affiliated with us or the monks! I'm trying to buy you some time to find them, so go and get them out of here! This is a mad house!" Jones yelped after his last comment, as a whip had been cracked across his back. "Go now!"

((As the title states, this battle is open to anyone. The point not being to fight one another, but to fight our way past the citadel monks and escape. I will hope this will still be judged as a regular battle, and if you want to get with me to discuss terms, my aim is ashtonwise. Or PM either way works.))

[Ataraxis]

Like a goldfish in a maelstrom, Lillian Sesthal was caught in spiral of denial. In fact, she was caught in quite a tangle of other things as well, the most notable being this monastic pandemonium at the Citadel. As for the denial, she refused to believe the reality of her current predicament and situation, finding this violent upheaval of habitually gentle souls far too farfetched, excessively bizarre and, after careful consideration, simply unthinkable. Granted, these monks promoted international violence and murder under a guise of extreme sportsmanship, but they had never before shown any ounce of animosity unless they themselves were being attacked. That they would be the ones attacking... impossible. At least, she would have thought this impossible when she last came here, several months ago.

It had been an assignment from the man who took her in as one of his ship’s crew, one captain Rajani Aishwara. She had been asked to convince one of the monks to join with their group, a task in which this shy and timorous teenager had been but moderately successful; indeed, she had brought the man back to the Peregrine, their clipper ship and seafaring headquarters... only, she had brought him in unconscious. She had tried persuasion. Honestly. She had tried to win over the young acolyte through words and reason, but he had proven to be willfully stubborn and equally combative, to say the least. The girl had no choice but to defend herself, when he mistakenly considered her an enemy, considered her as one of the illicit entrepreneurs that waged war on the Citadel, back then.

With time, the monk had been persuaded to join their cause by the much more eloquent captain of the Peregrines. However, the young acolyte could not help but feel guilt for leaving his brothers behind in their time of need. And so, to allay his fears and regrets, Lillian had told him that she would help them in his stead, and fight those who sought harm to his ilk, a promise to which she had held on to the end with honour. When the attacks finally saw their end, the monk asked her one final favour: to visit the Citadel for him, and report the state of affairs. In truth, however, the man only wanted to know how well his friends were faring, and thus was much contented by the amiable gossip with which she always returned.

Alas, she had an inkling he would not enjoy today’s account. Not when there are fists flying and bones cracking, she thought dolefully with her head in her hands. Cycling air as quickly yet as quietly as she could, Lillian nervously rocked back on forth on one of the dusty, oakwood benches that lined the lofty grey walls of the ziggurat's structure. Simply sitting there on a bench, hidden by shadows both natural and… not quite sonatural. Indeed, one of the girls many abilities lay in the ability to enhance the usual invisibility provided by her unassuming nature to the sorcerous weave of lurking shadows. It was, however, a rather flawed ability: she was much harder to detect, but was also far from unseen. Simply put, she could not move lest she be noticed, and she could not fight lest she be scolded. And so, she did the only thing she could think of.

Seek comfort in the utter denial of the circumstances.

This is all a dream, Lily. You had a long trip, the people on the caravan smelled of liquor and vomit… You were tired, and you dozed off on this nice, cozy bench. That’s all there is to it. This is just a bad dream, and it’s all because you were reading Liam Starck’s latest war novel on the ride here. This is the simplest, most rational explanation. Duncan’s Shaving Knife – a stupid name, but no less a truthful principle of parsimony. Granted, I would have called it a ‘razor’ instead. Lillian’s Razor – does it make it sound as if I had a beard? Ugh, philosophy and its misogynistic principle of naming principles…

“Hey, you!” someone called nearby, and there was no doubt he was addressing her. The girl dared not lift her head. She heard a thud of wood to the left, then the break of glass not far off to the right. From the rolling shatter and the ensuing groan, it must have been a man knocked by a wooden bench, sent soaring into an expensive fixture at the other end of the hall. “You there!”

“Rats,” Lillian muttered under her breath, her left hand slowly sliding for the glass dirk at her belt. What now? Friend or foe? Oh, do I even have to ask…