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Post by Reza har Rodrae on Mar 11, 2006 1:20:59 GMT -5
(Open to All, sidenote: Anyone with telepathic abilities is quite likely to hear Reza's half of the telepathic conversation. He's 'aiming' at Rodrae, but he mindspeaks decently clear and loud for other hara to possibly pick up)
Stillness. The world was still, and settled within that stillness was the Rodrae Botch. The Albino. The Border-Watcher. Long limbs curled up at awkward positions, he's still except for the faint motion of his breathing. If it weren't for that, he could be dead.
He's been coiled in the back seat of a car for hours. A full day, if you want to be specific.
Eyes closed, he isn't asleep. He's listening. Listening to the physical sounds of the world around him, the Rodrae "Web" and for the telepathic buzz of sentient minds. Minds unaware of him, or his location.
All is Clear, he telepaths to his kindred, once he's fairly sure the area around him is. Then, as if in after-thought the albino adds, Some hara, some humans, nothing near.
Coming in tonight? came the web-reply. Sharky.
Maybe, who've you got to replace me? He opened one eye.
Sharky's reply was faint, but Reza heard it clearly enough: Not Sure of the name; One of the newer kids. And then the mind-touch was broken off as Sharky was distracted by more needfull things than conversations with a har crouched in a car in the Suquamish equivalent of B-F-E.
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Post by Reza har Rodrae on Mar 13, 2006 1:43:49 GMT -5
Time passed. Minutes. Maybe longer. And he heard something. Human, perhaps. He reached out and felt minds nearby. Perhaps human. Perhaps hara. Cautiously, he moved to sit up, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever it was he had sensed. And then Reza's body went rigid. Humans. Patrol.
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Post by Reza har Rodrae on Mar 13, 2006 16:21:56 GMT -5
Reza darted out from the car, moving so it was between him and the patrol. Whiskey, Tango Foxtrot. We've got a Patrol at the Tura's edge.... From car, he darted to the shadow of another derelict vehicle, and from there... he'd have to cross the street. The albino eyed the distance warily, then ran. And that was how he found the sniper. A bullet in the shoulder, another one in the ankle. Fuck. Spotted. This was not good at all. Patrol with GUNS. He apended his telepathic broadcast, loudly. He didn't hear the gunfire behind him. He didn't look back. He didn't feel his ankle break, or anything else; his mind was focused on simply getting the hell away. As long as the adrenalyn held, he'd be fine. As long as he kept moving, and out of the sight of the patrol, he'd be fine.
As long as...
He forgot about the bloodtrail. He forgot that even hara can't run forever. He forgot that adrenalyn runs out.
He remembered this all once he got back inside Rodrae borders and realized just how bad things were, how often and where he'd been shot, the broken ankle...And that's when everything started to hurt. And not in a good way. He hoped the patrol wouldn't look to see what they'd shot, wouldn't follow the blood-trail.
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Post by Doc Houseman on Mar 13, 2006 18:19:39 GMT -5
The soldier stopped, crouched and pointed to the blood spatter.
raising a hand he pointed two fingers at his eyes and then raised three fingers and pointed at the nearest house.
Understanding the silent signal, three of the soldiers broke cover and raced across the road
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Post by Reza har Rodrae on Mar 13, 2006 21:33:38 GMT -5
He slumped at the edge of the Rodrae border, in the shade of a house when he realized he couldn't hear them. Stupid, he knew, but the ankle simply wouldn't hold him; and he slid to the ground. Panting. It hurt. This is Reza of the Border patrol, he telepathed. I'm at the edge of the Rodrae and Tura borders, Shot. Ankle busted. He couldn't tell if the humans were following, or had decided to wait and see if he broke what meager cover he had. I need help. As in Yesterday. If they find me, I dedicate my meat to Sharky.... [/i]
Aghama help me, he murmured to himself. The humans have learned the paths the Rodrae border patrol used....
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Post by Doc Houseman on Mar 14, 2006 8:01:47 GMT -5
The soldier continued forward silently following the blood trail.
The mutant was close by its poisonous blood still fresh.
As he edged past the corner he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle...
(ooc these are npc soldiers)
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Post by Reza har Rodrae on Mar 14, 2006 16:34:06 GMT -5
Fear leads to Anger. Anger leads to Hate. Hate leads to the dark side.
Reza was in pain. He feared for his life. He felt caged in, and could feel the nearness of the enemy. Crouching low, the har got rid of his fear, felt it replaced by a boiling rage. Reza was not a pyromancer by nature. Such an action came at a cost; but anger overrode fear, and so the har focused. Turning his anger outward forcing reality to conform to his will. First, a wave of heat; and then a burst of fire; sent out in the direction of the enemy. He didn't feel his own skin crack or bleed as he engaged in this action. It was only afterwards, once the spell was released that he noticed his body was burnt, the skin redened, the hair singed off, hands black-and-red. And then he passed out.
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