Border Guard

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Dusty Trails

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Original poster
((If you have no idea what's going on, then Border Guard is about a fantasy war with WWI/Dieselpunk/Steampunk level tech being fought between Iveron, a small and resource rich country, and Kallistine, a country ruled my necromancers and undead that want to take Iveron. The Border Guard fight in the trenches at the border between the two countries, keeping their undead hordes at bay. Pretty much any fantasy race works, so GO GO GO!

Also, is there a more fitting category tag for something like this?))

THere's an OOC over here that I just posted too, so check that out!

ooooooooooo​

The rain fell down on the soldiers of the Ivernian border trenches, leaving the ground muddy as men wandered around in their boots with their cloaks pulled over their heads. All was quiet in the trenches, and most were huddled in the covered areas of the trench. The mess 'hall' was a large room dug out in the trench, close to the command center. It was covered by large cloth tents, and long benches were set up along with a small kitchen.

Lasendra, or just 'Las' as most people called her, sat at an empty table with a cup of something warm clasped in her hands. Her uniform, a longer and lighter coat than most of the other soldiers, as wll as patch showing a symbol from the old Runic language identified her as one of the several Casters working in the Border Guard. Las was a tiefling, as evidenced by the swishing forked tail and the short, bone-white horns sprouting from her head. Her dark brown hair was cut short, and her skin was tan with obvious hints of red from her heritage. She had a tired look about her, evidence of the many nights she'd spent lying awake and unable to sleep.

Las stared into her drink, frowning slightly. It'd been several days since the last attack by the undead, which more likely meant their next attack would be a large one rather than they'd finally pushed back the Kallistinian hordes. She sighed, dreading what would be coming tonight, and looked up to see what the other soldiers were up to.
 
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He hated rain, it made his fire less potent. He tapped the side of his flame thrower idly as he leaned against the side of the trench, waiting for something to burn. Mike didn't like waiting, and he didn't like the rain.
He sighed and pulled out a cigar, looking around before lifting the end of his flame thrower up to the cigar and using the pilot light to light it. Smiling he turned the pilot light off and walked down the trench. He hated waiting and the rain, but a good cigar made his day.
Letting the flame thrower rest on it's sling he pulled out his pistol and made sure it was loaded. He returned his pistol to it's holster and hummed an old tune he knew.
 
Cloak was sitting at one of the simple tables in the mess hall. Boy, this place was a shithole. A shithole for even Cloak's standards, and trust me when I say Cloak's seen a lotta shitholes. He impatiently looked from one side of the room to the other, his gas mask's lenses blotting out a good amount of his vision. Not time to eat or drink; people were still in here. He kept to himself, not scooting closer or further from anyone, his twin curved knives glittering in the dim lights out of his shoulder-sheaths.

Cloak didn't like the looks of the others. He didn't like the stares they gave him, the whispers they spoke of him. What little of his pale, snow white skin that wasn't concealed by his overcoat nearly glowed as much as his blades, except for the thick, ashen veins popping out here and there. A dull red light peeked from the inside of his smudged lenses, casting a sickly crimson glow on anything he looked at. Just a bit longer; the others would probably return to their posts, then he could take his mask off and finally eat.......
 
Vaub was already completely smashed, drinking strong spirits from his oversized flask he kept in his messenger bag, playing with a device of his own invention.

A large disk with three even larger blades spiraling out from it, he was pressing a button repeatedly that expanded and contracted it. He just liked the metallic sound it made when it did that.
He was sitting across and to the left of Cloak, wearing a white robe with dirty yellow trim.

"You know Croak, I've knewn yeah fer 2 months now and I've neva saw you without that confounded mask. Are ya deformed or something?" Vaubs social filter was long gone by know , slurring his speech and mispronouncing names, but no one was gonna do shit, no matter if he's obnoxious.

No one wants to piss off the boss by kicking the healers ass.
 
Cloak looks over to his wasted companion, shaking his head a tiny bit and giving a hearty, deep laugh, muffled by the mask. "No.....deformed requires it to be......abnormal in a species. I'm just, um, unsettling, I guess you'd call it." He explains, pulling his blades off his back and giving them an experimental twirl. "Not hungry. Never mind, I'll be at my post." Cloak tells Vaub, getting up and walking out with a small wave.

He finally arrived at his small post by the edge of the trenches. A few sandbag piles, arranged into a square for a modicum of defense, one side sheltered by a trench overhang to keep him dry. Cloak felt a little bad for leaving Vaub wasted in the mess, but hell, it was pretty normal by now. He strolled over to a small folding chair he had set up next to a table, leaning his head back and trying to sleep. Well, it's pretty hard to sleep when rain is currently pounding twelve centimeters away, but whatever.
 
She sat alone, in the corner as usual waiting it would seem, for what, she wasn't even sure
Her pistol sat at her side, the worn handle and slide betraying it's age, it still worked just fine though, even after all these years of service
 
Mike nodded to Cloak as he walked by. Looking around he decided to head to the Mess and grab some food, it was going to be a long night. He continued humming as he walked, trying to remember how long he had been here.
He finally gave up as he arrived at the Mess. Getting his food he sat down and looked at it. "What in the hell is this supposed to be?" He wondered aloud as he prodded it with his fork before finally taking a bite.
 
Vaub stumbled to his feet, and reached over the table and grabbed the "steak" that was resting on cloaks plate, and wrapped it in butchers paper. Staggering after cloak he bumped into someone... He thinks his name was mick...or Mitch.

"HEY WATCH WERE IM GOIN!!" He said as he nearly fell onto the dirty grimy floor.

It took him a bit but he crossed the room and caught up to cloak. He held out the wrapped steak to him as he contemplated the situation.

"You know Cloak, its great that I've had all this time off from fusing you poor bastards back together, but that just leaves my drink and idle chatter, and no one likes to listen to me rant." Vaub droned as he looked out over the trenches. He then took a extremely long pull off his flask and stumbled back to the mess hall while messing with his invention.
 
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Wesley, a human, sat with his back against the wall of his sniper tower. Rain meant no visibility, no visibility meant he was almost useless. He was itching for a kill. It had been days since the last attack. He thought about letting a few rounds loose into the muddy fields before him but he decided against it because it would alarm everyone. He kicks his spotters boot to wake him up. "Keep an eye out I'm gonna go get chow." Wesley said with a tired voice. He grabs his Rifle, slings it over his shoulder, climbs down off the tower and walks to the mess hall.
 
She sat, watching a drunk stumbling around "Men" she mutters to herself, taking a sip from her hip canteen and smiling, the familiar burning in her throat telling her it was quality stuff
 
Wesley entered the mess hall and scrunched his nose at the smell of alcohol. He hated the stuff. Disorientation was a snipers worst enemy. well that an saturation artillery. He got his food and sat at the same table as Las because it had the only empty seat he could find.
 
Las sighed and tilted back her cup, drinking the orange-ish liquid. It was a tea from her home in the deserts west of Iveron, made from a sort of flower that grew there. Off in the distance she heard the boom of one of their artillery cannons firing and she flinched, sloshing her drink around in the cup a bit. It'd been awhile since they'd fired any shells. Must've been a new shipment of shells, she thought to herself. At the table next to her a soldier she'd seen but never met sat down.

"Just the usual drek they serve here. No money back home to send anything good," Las muttered. She turned to Wesley as he sat down across from her. She nodded in greeting and drank more of her tea. "Morning... Or evening, hard to tell with the sky being the way it is," Las indicated the almost constantly gray sky through the entrance to the mess hall tent. "Don't see you out of your tower much. See any of the hollow men?" she asked, using one of the many names for undead. Her tail flicked back and forth idly.
 
"Nothing" he replied. "Not even a small group to test our defenses. I don't like it." He takes a bite of his food. "They're definitely gearing up for a big one. I put in a request for a machine gun to be installed in my tower." He stops to take a sip of water from his cup. "What have you been up to?"
 
"I swear, I've filed 4 requisition forms for quick silver and none of them have been responded to," Las says, looking to the side a bit angrily. "I get that supplies are low back home, but I'm running low and I need it for spells." She shakes her head and looks over the walls of the trench and into No-Man's Land. "A gun emplacement would be nice, especially if they're sending a big charge... We're gonna lose a lot of good men tonight," she added, frowning slightly.
 
Mike stopped eating as he heard that last sentence. "Well sure, we'll lose people, but sayin' it just demoralizes the men." He said, then took a final bite of his food and got up.
He walked out of the Mess tapping his flame thrower again. He needed something to burn, something to watch melt in a flurry of flame. With a sigh he went back to his post and wondered if his friends would live another day.
The cigar went out as the rain poured down on top of him, and he sighed as he walked.
 
"Idiot is going to get himself killed one day." He says after Mike leaves. "I don't known why anyone would willingly walk around with a napalm bomb strapped to their back." he finishes his food and gets up. "If you'd excuse me my spotter is probably wondering where I am."
 
Las chuckled a bit at Wesley's comment and finished off her tea. "Sure, but until then he'll put down any of the undead stupid enough to get close, and there are plenty. Anyways, I should probably head off too. If there is an attack happening tonight I need to prepare," she said, standing up and picking up her rifle. It was built a little differently from the standard issue rifles, the metal having a bluish tint to it and the wooden frame being etched with runic symbols. A staff in gun form, really. Designed so the Casters deployed in the field could channel magic and fire bullets without carrying multiple armaments.

Las did and about-face and walked out of the mess hall with the rifle slung over her shoulder and wandered through the trenches and through the rain to get to the place where she and the other female soldiers slept. She threw up the hood of her cloak, and trudged through the mud.

(Oh, I posted an OOC and asked a pretty important question. Have a linK: https://www.iwakuroleplay.com/threads/border-guard-ooc.66865/ )
 
She sat, still waiting, still not knowing what for...for war? For love? For death?
It mattered little to her, she was always waiting, it was just something she did often
Taking out her knife she ran her hand along the edge, it was starting to dull a little, but it could still cut through a person, or a shambling corpse
 
Wesley picks up his rifle and makes his way back to his tower. His spotter keeping an eye out with his scope. He adjusts his bipod and seat. Then he switches his scope from a regular bead to night vision. He lets off a few rounds to make sure it's accurate. He thinks he sees a humanoid figure just beyond his view range.
 
Cloak takes the steak from Vaub, nodding. "It's fine, man." He says, waving again as he walked off. There wasn't much to do at his post, being the night watcher, he literally just stared out at jack-shit all night. He leaned back in his chair, propping his legs up on the wall of sandbags. The only other watcher at the post across from Cloak was a conceited young Xi boy who thought he'd kill anything that he went up against. Damn, this war would be easier if it worked like that. Pulling out a cloth, Cloak started shining his compact sniper rifle, pulling it from under the table. It was gonna be a looooong night.....
 
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