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Digimon: Unholy Crusade

Discussion in 'Role-Playing Games' started by Kamotz, Jan 15, 2016.

  1. Kamotz

    Kamotz God of Monsters

    < Michael Ha'Yisrael (MagnaAngemon) >

    “Yes, well, if someone of your talents will be satisfied with being my first mate then I gladly accept your help.” Michael nodded his acceptance. “I’m sure you agree with my assessment that we have a serious morale problem around here. We aren’t going to make any headway against the Knights if half of us expect to get our tails kicked.”

    "On that we're in agreement," Michael said, his voice low. "I'll handle the Council -- they'll call on us when we arrive. For all intents and purposes they'll continue to see me as the one leading this…team." He glanced out of the window where Axis Mundi rose up from the horizon. "We fought the Royal Knights twice in one day. We should have some reprieve; until they regain their strength as well, at least. Use this time and see if there's something you can make of this…morale problem."

    "Y'can always use my place. I've got a bar in Lower Axis," said the BelleStarmon. She'd arrived with the rest from Glen Elendra and had seemingly joined in against the knights alongside Thor. "It's the same place this idiot tried to burn down the other night." She jabbed her thumb back towards Svarog.

    "Horvath's Tavern?" Svarog half-sputtered. "That's yours?"

    "'Horvath's' what now?" she wheeled around and glared at Svarog. She grit her teeth and snarled to the wall. "I gave Nadia one job. One: pick a new freakin' name for the bar. She's been there for a month now! I even gave her some names! 'Gunslingers,' 'Bullet Club.' Just gotta pick one."

    "Whatever the name, perhaps that's best," Michael murmured, as much to himself as to Henry.

    "Yeah. You're welcome to stay there," the BelleStarmon's demeanor turned somber as she regarded the other humans scattered throughout their car, their partners, and the Peacemakers. "Them, too. Place is big enough."

    Michael was about to thank her.

    "Not him though," she glared at Samael, leaning against a shadowed corner. "His ass can go with you."

    "Aw, Serra, I'm hurt," Samael clicked his teeth, stepping away from the corner and striding over. Michael caught Serra bristle momentarily as Samael neared. "Like the name, by the way. 'Gunslingers'...wonder where I heard that one before."

    "We're going with 'Bullet Club'," Serra snapped.

    "Like that one, too," Samael drawled as he walked past. "See. What'd I tell ya? You learned a lot from me and it's stuck with ya." Samael disappeared into the other train car and Michael silently hoped he would stay out of trouble.

    “But first, the Mammothmon in the room. Samael.” the pirate took a breath, gathering his thoughts. “I’ve dealt with his type before, but you seem to know him the best. If this lot is going to be a fully functional crew, then even he needs a specific job. But after today, I don’t think there are many here who would be comfortable with Samael watching their back. Which is fine. He might be better off working without a partner."

    "It's a worthy assessment," Michael said, almost without thinking.

    “So, as someone who will be responsible for what comes next, I’m asking: can he be trusted to carry out a mission? And more importantly, what is it that’s driving him? Why is he here? I have to admit the demon is something of an enigma to me. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so thoroughly… abrasive. And believe me, I have met some of the most disreputable scoundrels you've ever..." he coughed, as if remembering suddenly who he was talking to. "But I need to understand him as best I can."

    "He's a psycho and a monster and the worst sort of both," Serra snarled.

    "There are worse things out there than Samael," Michael assured the group, his voice almost betraying the uncertainty he struggled to hide. "But very few things are more dangerous. His motives, however, are entirely his own."

    "He just likes killing," Serra insisted, eyeing Michael distrustfully.

    "Hmm," Michael acknowledged absently. "But there are easier ways to do that than fight the Royal Knights. If you're asking if he can be trusted...in the way comrades stand shoulder-to-shoulder and go to war? No. But you can trust Samael to act in his own best interests. And his interests align with ours."
     
  2. Solsabre

    Solsabre The Reforged Soul

    Theo Grayson
    BlackWarGreymon
    Front Locomon Car


    The older Greymon stared listlessly over his shoulder to the outside window, paying no heed to the passing landscape. Aria's light touch and encouraging words eventually drew Theo from the depths of his despair. For now. He still walked a narrow ledge, the slightest of breezes threatening to send him back into the dark pit.

    “Tell me, Gramps.” she started. “What is it that you want?”

    A fogging memory rose to the surface:a orange-scaled hand grabbed his own wrist roughly and snatched a crumpled paper from his grip. His brother had been upset with him at the time. What had they been arguing about?

    “There must be something. And don’t even try to give me something impossible like turning back time cause I won’t accept that and neither should you.”

    No. The dead couldn't come back. He knew that truth all too well.

    You’re alive, Theo.” she said, dropping the nickname for the moment. “You might not have realized it with your head buried in that pit of sorrow you carry around with you, but you’re alive. Cherish that.”

    How could he? A wife is without her husband and a son never had the chance to know his father, all because he failed to watch Asher's back.

    Aria, slowly and gently, pulled her hand away.

    “The next time we talk, I expect you to have an answer for me.” she said sternly. “And you aren’t going to let me down, right?”

    He turned his head to meet Aria's encouraging with a pained expression. “Right, Gramps?”

    Theo shook his helm, responding softly, “I'm sorry, Aria, there won't be a next time.”

    _______________
    Tessa Tesla
    Wisemon
    Front Locomon


    The small mage sprung from where she slept, searching frantically through her robe pockets. “My book! Where is it?! I need to write this down!”

    Finding her small notebook, Tessa paced restlessly up and down the car isle completely absorb in her thoughts from the onslaught of inspiration. Her weary body swayed uneasely from side to side as she wrote a mile a minute, her tired brain in overdrive.

    “Time, time, time,” she muttered obsessively, paging through an old section of notes, “-not time travel, even a Wisemon can't mess around with that.... Time displacements? Temporal abnormalities? No, no, still too disruptive to the time/space continuum. We can't have tears in the fabric of reality starting to show up.” Tessa sketched elaborate diagrams with several complex mathematically equations, mentally whacking her brain to remember. “Time differentials! That's it! Much more forgiving in the time/space continuum if kept to a small area of effect. Might only slow a Knight down for a few seconds at best. But how to apply it with an effective delivery system....” Tessa stared blankly at the floor in thought, scratching her hood with the back of her pencil. She scribbled maddeningly on the page, only to abruptly erase a whole string of calculations. “No, no, that would turn everything in the affect area inside out...”

    Tessa managed to take a calming breath and snapped her notebook shut. “I need sleep. Someone knock on my Book, when we get back to Axis Mundi.”

    Without bothering to check to see if anyone replied, the mage stepped on the giant pages of her father's ancient tome, disappearing from view as the massive book closed.
     

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