Open Duel - Fight a Guardsman!

[Rampage]

Yes! Fight one of those things! As demonstrated by SecondCenturion, this is a One-on-One RP fight between two players, each taking turns to post. The fight will be between my lone Imperial Guardsmen of No Special Rank versus something that a prospective player dreams up.

A note: I'm playing a Guardsman, so fielding a Demon Prince or something qually preposterous is... well, my Guardsman would barely make an hors d'oeuvre, alright? However, I think I'd happily go up against a Khorne Berserker, a Lictor or something else freakishly outclassing my Guardsman - hell, I'll have a go against a Carnifex! Practically -NO- chance to kill them, but it would make for a great chase RP!

I'm certainly not against piting myself against a tougher opponent - just makes it more challenging, in mine own eyes! Just -one- thing I'd like really request: I'm not at all against fighting and getting my arse handed to me if that is the way the game goes; if you pull out some really good writing, I'll fight it hard and merrily go down in a pile of guts and blood if the story seems to flow that way. - I just expect my esteemed opponent to eat it if he thinks it's wothwhile too!

The game goes until it feels like it should end. Write it like it's a novel - give your post depth, give it feeling instead of just actions!

The Guardsman will have naught but standard infantry kit (Flak armour, helmet, lasgun, bayonet and one Frag grenade,) and a looted Chainsword from his dead sergeant.

So... here I open. First come, first served!

- - - - - - - - - -

Bastards...

He muttered some more to himself, quickly stepping over some scattered debris, which seemed to make up this entire damned city now. Streets? Buildings? yea, that's a lovely thought. So far, this whole damn place is just one big Rubble. it wouldn't have looked all that out of place if it was at the center of a quarry or a blasting pit.

Or hell. he added under his breath. He leapt a pile of... something melted. Looked metallic. Was that a Marine's helmet? Friggin' thing looked half melted... Can stone melt like that? Why do I care about this?
Oh yea... beause whatever did that could do it to me. Hooray. he hissed under his breath. He was lucky enough though; it was dusk. Not much figthing tends to happen around dusk. No, everyone seems to prefer the daylight or the night-time; in between is kind of like a little lull in the action. Just maybe he could get back to the damn depot with all of his bits still on.

Guardsman Halleck. Rifleman, 9th Platoon, C Company, 750th Valhallan. Nice, bright white armour with half a black stripe on his left shoulder and splattered blood all over his left. Nice and freaking inconscpicuous. Like a neon sign.
He hefted the lasgun and paused at the side of a ruined wall. Huh, he had been -inside- a building. That would explain a fair bit. Mind, the road out there didn't look any better that the rubble inside. Halleck took in a breath, exhaling slowly and leaning half a head out from the side of the blasted wall, taking a peak around.
He has the bayonet fixed - stabbing something was good, stabbing it while it stays a little bit further away is better. A nicked and notched red Chainsword was slung across his back, and he had a grenade left. Happily, his Lasgun was at full charge. Hopefully it could do a little more than scar pavement.

Half a klick to the outpost, another hundred meters to the line. Yea, yea that's not too bad. He could run that in... in... well, he could run it in a damn short time straight on, so how bad could it be now?

Halleck took one more glance about, then dashed into the street, the only noise his boots stamping on the rockcrete and rubble, crunching as he made it to the far wall and into a half-blasted alcove. His back slammed into the wall, dousing himself in shadow as he sucked in air, trying to get his heart to slow down. Damn it, why does being alone make this all so damn worse? Running in terror with a couple of buddies wasn't anywhere near as bad as this - and he should know, they did that half an hour ago.

Halleck let out a slow breath then edged himself out from the alcove, glancing up and down the street before starting to move, lasgun held at the ready, the bayonet glinting silver and crimson where he'd gotten in a lucky stab.

Damn, but he would kill for a Meltagun right about now.

[grakul]

Razgrim rummaged through the junk spread across the floor of the ruined building. He found nothing interesting.
"Stoopid humies," he thought, "why can't dey have good killy stuff dat you can loot?"

This planet disappointed Razgrim. All they had to fight against was wussy humies, and occasionally some Marine-boyz. But now Razgrim was stuck here, far away from the fighting, under orders from his Nob to steal anything useful. But there wasn't anything useful on this planet, nothing that was better than his own shoota and choppa!

"Zog da Nob!" Razgrim decided. "I'm gettin' back to da scrap!" He went out of the building, and the first thing he saw was a humie on the other side of the street.

His wishes had come true sooner than he'd expected. Razgrim laughed, raised his shoota and squeezed the trigger.

[yngir]

lol you beat me to it i was just writing up a similar thing. (save i was using a ork commando) never mind maybe next time.

[Rampage]

Say one thing about Halleck; say that he is lucky. He was making steady time down that street; sticking close to the wall, trying to use the shadow where he could and moving as fast as his feet could take him. He had fell into a lapse of daydreaming, a sort of running confidence that there was nothing out there that would get him. Hah, he was going to get back to the line!

So when the wall just in front of him erupted into flying splinters like shrapnel from a grenade, you could say that he was feeling both sides of the karmic fence: He was hooped now... but hey, at least the (please do not swear) had missed.

Halleck gave a wordless shout of surprise and skidded onto his rear as his legs took up two different ideas; one wanting to keep running, the other to take cover. A glance in the direction of the booming gunshots, a gurgled oath, then the Guardsman was back up and running the way he had come. The Shoota carved a trail into the wall, marking Halleck's path, spitting rockcrete into the air from the wall and ground, the sharp litle fragments tearing into Halleck's clothing and digging little painful furrows in his skin. He swore as he took a flying leap through a window to get out of the path of the fusilade from the Greenskin, landing heavily on his shoulder and rolling a step before shunting himself back upright and making a break for it.

Say one thing about Halleck; say that he's got that survivor's instinct. Without even looking, he whirled and sent a few wild shots out the window, the lasgun squealing as he stitched a black pock-mark trail across the rockcrete pavement on the opposite side of the road. He didn't wait around to try again, he was already wheeling and charging through the room and making for the far hallway, curses and oaths coming to his lips. This building still had a fair amount of it's walls and ceiling... and hopefully, a back way out.

[grakul]

"Zoggit!" cursed Razgrim when he saw the cowardly humie run for it. Razgrim chased him. The humie leapt into a building, fired wildly at Razgrim and then ran again. One of the shots hit Razgrim in the left arm, but that just made him even angrier. He blasted away at the humie as he followed him into the building, making as much noise as possible.

[Rampage]

((( Come on, pal! You just echoed what I was doing! Give -your- character some description; what is HE doing, nevermind me - I can tell you what I'm doing! Express the time it takes to get through the building,the howl and roar of the Shoota, hell even what the Ork is thinking. )))

Halleck gave a wordless cry of fear as he ran. he ran for his whole damn pitiful life as the Ork came barging through the window after him. The whole damn world seemed to slow down around him - why? Why the hell would it do that, something wanting to make it easier for that (please do not swear) Ork to aim?! Tracers zipped past in the air, sizzling past so close he could feel the heat from them. Shoota bolts detonated in the rubble all around him, sending up clouds of dust and spinning slivers of sharpnel to clatter off his armour or dig painfully into his skin.

"DAMMIT!!" he bellowed as he took his second flying leap in as many moments, slamming his shoulder through a near-collapsed door and finishing that job; he knocked it off it's hinges and door and man went rolling into the gloom beyond. He groaned and pushed himself up, heaving the ruins of the door off a pinned leg and scrambling to get moving again. A wall between him and the Ork, yea, that's was good... that was usef-

Chunks of the wall blew in towards him as a last few shots were vented, cratering the rockcrete and stitching holes across it. His chest hurt. Halleck glanced down. There was an ugly chunk of metal dug into his flakjacket. It was smoking.

"...Okay." he said, brushing the Shoota bolt off and then making a run for it as fast as his legs could carry him, further into the gloom, trying to get away from the maniac. More walls betwene him and that would be good, yea... real good. if it could slow down a shot enough to do that, then Halleck wanted as many walls between him and the Ork as he could find.

A bunker would be good. On the opposite side of the planet.

[grakul]

Razgrim enjoyed every kick of recoil from the shoota as it sprayed bullets in all directions. This was the next best thing he knew - the noise and destruction that only good ol' dakka could provide.

He suddenly woke up from his trance when he realised that the humie was gone. He stopped firing, disappointed, and thoughtfully spat a ball of phlegm on the floor. This was not the best way to do things, he decided. Either he would shoot the humie, or the humie would get away; and he didn't like either way.

Razgrim shouldered his shoota, drew his choppa and prepared himself for the best thing he knew: carnage up close and personal.

He stomped off through the building, in the same direction that the humie had been fleeing. The exhilaration from the dakka was beginning to go down and Razgrim unconsciously became more rational, listening for the slightest sound that could give away the humie's location.

[Rampage]

Halleck wasn't doing too much to be quiet. Speed was more his style; he figured that if he left the area in a hurry, then there'd be less chance of getting a hole put in him. And he really liked that whole concept of avoiding unnecessary ventilation to his squidgy bits on the inside; they weren't meant to see daylight.

His boots crunched in the scattered rubble, kicking over scattered debris as he moved. One big rubble pile, damn this city. And damn the Orks, too! Argh...

He paused at a corner, sucking in air and panting, sweat beading down his grit-smeared face. Hallway, four corners.. god, good... four ways to go. Halleck glanced about. The way he had come was dark, extending into the gloom and around a corner. Don't want to go back that way; there be Orks. Let's see... One way's got Ork, that way's... blocked off by most of the roof and the couple of floors that used to be beneath it. -THAT- way looks good, though...

Halleck exhales a sharp breath and peers out from around the corner, back th way he had came, as if hoping that Razgrim had found something shiny to distract him for a minute.

Yea, no such luck.

Halleck swore and pushed himself into the center of the four-way cross, sending a hasty lasgun burst down the hall from the hip, not even aiming, just letting the screeching Lasgun spray little bolts of red in razgrim's general direction before haring off down the corridor. He leapt a chair, dodged through blasted door and into the room at the far end. And skidded to a stop.

Dead end.

"Oh for..."

[UnseenOne]

In his ear, his vox radio crackles to life, informing all guardsmen in the immediate area of an incoming drop off 7 clicks south of the chapel in the town center. He is 3 clicks west of that location.

[grakul]

Suddenly Razgrim heard a noise, and the next second he saw the humie!
"Finally!" thought Razgrim. The humie fired and ran, a few lasbolts burnt Razgrim's flesh or put craters in his armour. Razgrim sprinted after the humie, all his thoughts were giving way to his basic instincts of close mayhem.

And suddenly the humie stopped.

Razgrim roared with laughter, and raised his choppa as he closed in on the humie.

[Rampage]

((( Uhh, this is suppose to be a one-on-one fight... Just one Guardsman and an Ork going at it - sorry, you're not invited today Fellta. Maybe some other game )))

Halleck tapped his ear and let so a long, slow sigh. He had that one instant of perfect calm just now, that point where all time slows down just long enough for a man to reflect on just how damn unlucky he can be. "3 Klicks. Heh... 3 whole kilometers East to more help." He turned to face East.

That was the way out.

There was a really big, grinning Ork coming from that direction and he's got a lump of steel attached to a handle and given an edge by grinding one of it's facets down. He looks like the friendly sort - so long as you consider having your limbs hewn from your body as a good time. Halleck wasn't so crazy yet as to consider this as fun.

Not just yet.

The thing about being a lone survivor when you are a Guardsman is that there is some sort of burning instinct in the back of the head, able to take control and make all of the right decisions and movements when the back is against the wall and something horrific is coming at you from the opposite side. Adrenaline surged, burning a path through his blood and nudging the Guardsman over the line. His senses sharpened, his blood thumped through his veins, his breathing came faster. Fight.

((( Musical Selection - Otep, Battle Ready. )))

The Guardsman snarled, bringing the muzzle up on his lasgun and firing from the hip as Razgrim rushed him. The gun squealed and hissed as he emptied the battery charge, backpedaling deeper into the blocked room, trying to knock that damn Ork down before he could get close enough, but it's no good. Laser bolts stitch hissing craters in the plascrete in the floor and wall all around Razgrim, cutting out as the Ork enters the room.

Halleck shifts his weight from foot to foot, watching Razgrim come at him, getting ready to leap aside to avoid that Choppa, his Lasgun held out in front of him with the bayonet gleaming, a subconscious desire to keep that 13 inch blade between himself and the Greenskin, preferably with the point inserted into some vital organ.

[grakul]

Razgrim hardly noticed the humie firing at him until a couple of the shots managed to penetrate his skin. This made him even madder, and he swung his choppa wildly as blood ran from the wound. All he saw was a red blur, but he enjoyed it tremendously.

Suddenly something sharp was rammed into his guts. Razgrim greeted the pain, roaring, pushing forward, and letting the bayonet go even deeper into him. He had no idea whether his choppa was hitting anything, but he continued thrashing around with it in uncontrolled yet deadly arcs.