[RPG] [BT][Mesh] Daimons, The Voice and the Girl Inside

Wed Nov 7 14:24:20 CET 2007

Nearly a Thousand strong soldiers marched on the infernal beast,
Astonishing. A Daimon as Lord over human lands would not be tolerated.
Simca marched along with her troops, Blades of Genesis
following the other Meshian Troop Leaders. Half a day earlier, Louise
had approached her with the current orders.

=======================================

Louise: "Mistress, I have orders from Minister of Defense, Tarajist.
We will be moving on Yokk to oust . . . the current Lord."

Simca: "Oust the Lord?! Who is Lord of Yokk?"

Louise: ". . ."

Simca: "Out with it. What reason would you have to not tell me?"

Louise: ::mumbles:: "-ing."

Simca: "I beg your pardon, Ing? A strange name for a noble."

Louise: "Not a noble . . ."

<i>Simca looked generally confused, and continued to stare at Louise,
inviting an explanation.</i>

Louise: "Aston-" :mumbling:: "-ing."

Simca: ". . ."

Louise "The <i>Daimon</i>, Astonishing."

Louise tried to keep the Daimon part inaudible but Simca's
hearing was better than expected. Simca's face froze for a few
seconds, a distant look in her eyes, before shaking too. She
immediately held a hand to her head, as if in pain. It had been some
time since Simca encountered Daimons. Not since the invasion of
Riombara and Simca was trying hard to not think about the past. Waving
to Louise in a sign that she would be alright, Simca rejoined her unit
continued to follow the Meshian Army into Yokk. Louise was left behind
at the Meshian camp, full of concern as to whether Lady Simca would
truly be alright. Louise prayed inwardly that Simca would not meet
any of the Daimons.

=======================================

During the first battle, Simca stayed behind within the command tent,
where she could observe the battle from afar. A Thousand soldiers are
hard to coordinate, and multiple eyes were need to overview the entire
field, to ensure proper orders could be relayed to the field. In the
middle of the rush with the logistics of the battle, Simca lost track
of her unit. Only to learn at the end of the battle, that 56 of the 60
brave men would not be returning from the battlefield. The four that
did return, including her Captain, did so on the backs of stretchers,
with the aid of the healers. The mood of the Meshian army was grim,
with so many lives lost, and their enemy, still walking the lands of
Beluaterra.

The next battle would place the Meshian Army at a severe disadvantage.
Simca began sorting through her armor and weapons, preparing to join
those that would recover, in a second battle. Satisfied that her
equipment was battle-ready, Simca returned to her tent to gather a few
hours of sleep while she waited.

Louise at the time felt a sudden chill run up her spine. An ominous
feeling gathered in her stomach. Unsure of what she could do, Louise
returned to preparing for Simca's return to Allied Lands, gripping the
talisman she used for prayer tightly as she went about.

=======================================

As the first morning light rose in the eastern sky, Simca moved with
her 4 remaining men to take their position on the field. The air was
heavy, cold, and eerily quiet. The morning light slowly crept across
the lands, revealing the 170 some-odd infernal beasts, dark-skinned,
wings upright, and dark-red eyes. A cold wind blew through the Meshian
ranks. Simca's muscles tensed as she waited along with the army, for
the signal to advance, and the start of combat.

.
. .
. . .

The first twenty minutes of combat were a blur for Simca. The two
lines of the opposing armies clashed much like two rams running
straight into each other, and locking horns in an epic struggle to
gain ground. The screams of men having their limbs torn off mixed with
screech and howls of the infernal beasts. Simca's voice grew hoarse
from shouting directions to those around her. Her Captain vanished.
She glanced to her sides, searching for one of her men. Turning to her
left, she saw him.

A new recruit, less than a week in her unit, about the age of 15. A
young lad from a peasant family, forced into the army to fight for the
Human Race's survival. Simca had wanted to send him back, for no one
that young should have to experience the pains of war.

Simca was about to call out his name, Erik, when the tragedy
began. In the blink of an eye, Erik's head vanished from sight, the
large clenched fist of a Daimon atop his now lifeless body. The blood
seeping through the claws of the winged-beast. The sight was
reminiscent of squeezing a barely ripe orange in the palm of a hand.
Blood splattered in all directions, some leaving streaks in Simca's
hair and along her face. Some of the blood on her cheek trickled down
ultimately running to the corner of her mouth, a salty, bitter taste.

Simca was in shock, no matter how many battles she fought, some scenes
were too much. This was a Nightmare . . . or so she thought. As the
headless, lifeless body, of Erik crumpled to the ground, the fist of
the Daimon opened, the bloody contents of mashed hair, bone, and
grey-matter oozing to the ground. The open claw moved quickly crashing
into Simca pushing her to the side a good 5 meters before the Daimon's
claw achieved its maximum reach. Simca's relatively light body was
flung through the air crashing into a pile of fallen soldiers. Her
Head smacked hard into a half torn shield, sending her vision black
momentarily.

Regaining her consciousness, Simca tried to stand, when a searing jolt
of pain shot up through her left leg. Looking down, she saw it twisted
in an unusual position, bloody around the outside, just below the
knee. Simca used her sword to prop her self up as she tried to stand.
The battle had now been raging for 30 minutes. Just as Simca managed
to stabilize her balance, a loud, ear-piercing screech roared from the
backside. The blood drained from her face as she turned her head
around to look over her shoulder. A massive dark object was moving
quickly to her, crashing into her mid-body.

Simca screamed out in pain, as the Daimon's claw wrapped around her
waist and squeezed. Simca struggled desperately, first trying to pry
the claw open, than hacking at the arm. But the Daimon only squeezed
harder as it brought her closer to its face. Two feet away, it opened
its gaping mouth, displaying the sharp, pointed teeth, oozing with a
reddish-black liquid. The Daimon roared at Simca, splattering her with
droplets of the reddish-black liquid, the putrid smell off its breath.
Simca dropper her sword to the ground, closing her eyes tightly, and
bringing her arms up to guard her face . . . or rather block her view
of the infernal beast. All the while, repeatedly pleading, begging the
Gods not to let this continue.

-------------------------------------

Inside her mind, she blocked out all senses of the external world:
sight, sound, touch, smell, & taste. Her mind was empty, pitch-black,
and cold. Then she heard it, a little girl crying. Spinning around,
searching for the sound, she froze, realizing the little girl, was
her. In this world, she was about eight-years-old, sitting on the
ground, hands in front of her eyes, sobbing.

Voice(???): "What's wrong? Why are you crying?"

Simca(8yrs.): ::sob:: "I'm scared. I want my <i>mother</i>." ::sob:

Voice(???): "What scared you?"

Simca(8yrs.): "A demon." ::sob::

Voice(???): "A demon? Demon's do no exist."

Simca(8yrs.): "They DO! I SAW it!"

Voice(???): "Ja~, would you like me to tell you how to defeat a demon?"

Simca(8yrs.): "Demons can not be defeated." ::sob::

Voice(???): "Hahahahaha.  They CAN be DEFEATED. Want me to show you?"

Simca(8yrs.): ::sniff:: ::sniff:: "Really?"

Voice(???): "I give you my word. Don't worry, I will protect you . . ."

-------------------------------------

The Daimon's claw wrapped around her waist and squeezed. Bringing
Simca ever closer to its gaping mouth, nearer and nearer. Simca's eyes
opened widely. An intent, seething, burning, full of rage glare at the
infernal beast. Simca reached quickly behind her back, over her
shoulders, grabbing two daggers. Pulling them up and out, she spun the
handles 180 degrees, gripped the handles tightly and drove both blades
into the locations of the Daimon's eyes.

The beast cried out in pain dropping its grip on the doomed noble.
Simca fell to the ground, ignoring the jolt of pain that rebounded
through her left leg. Reaching on the ground behind her, she grabbed
the closest sword, a giant claymore, and brought it around to her
front, pointing the tip at the beast. The Daimon roared, screeching,
grasping at the handles of the daggers in its eyes.

The infernal beast roared while on its back legs, than dropped its
torso, leaning forward toward the injured noble. Simca stood still,
eying her enemy. Her eyes, burning with a seething hatred. A
stoned-face look of seriousness, her body firmly entrenched. She
stood, as if an entirely different person. Even the aura about her was
different, this aura, being  dark, fiery, and heavy.

She waited as the beast came closer, closer, closer. Pushing off with
her good leg, Simca lunged at the Daimon driving the tip of the
claymore into the left breast. The location where a humans heart would
be kept. Simca pushed the claymore deeper, until three-fourths of the
blade penetrated. Shouting out loud, she twisted the blade, 90 degrees
clockwise and proceeded to drag the blade slightly downward, across
the chest from her right to her left, leaving a foot-and-a-half cut in
the beast.

The beast stumbled back, howling in agony. Before tumbling backwards
onto a pile of dead soldiers, it reached out with its claw, ripping at
Simca, leaving four deep gashes on her arm. Simca stood, legs apart,
hunched over, her left arm hanging down at her side, unable to raise
it. She was breathing deeply, with a look of seething hatred in her
eyes. Her legs grew weak, and she collapsed to the ground, passing out
for the remainder of the battle.