(Untitled)

[remindmeof_me]

Here's the thing. Five out of six Combine combat terraforming Synths are dead. Four of them were taken out by Resistance attacks coordinated from the Greenbrier HQ. The one in Africa was taken down by the local humans acting entirely on their own. One Advisor died at the hands of the humans in the most recent attack. The Combine are anything but

Comments

[brave_kreyu]

"How badly are you injured?"

Small talk, what small talk? Kreyu can smell the burns and other injuries the marine is sporting at the moment.

[remindmeof_me]

"I ain't dead," says Shephard, "and I don't think there's that much broke, but fuck if everything else ain't givin' me shit today."

Shephard normally is quite happy to avoid giving the impression of being in pain, but he figures just this once it's okay to admit a couple of things hurt.

[brave_kreyu]

That's just as well, as Kreyu wouldn't buy his denial for a moment.

She makes a thoughtful humming noise. "I may be able to help with that, if you're willing."

[remindmeof_me]

"Wouldn't say no," Shephard says. "I got to git back to flyin' soon. Wouldn't look right if I was fixed all the way up, but most of the way's another story."

[brave_kreyu]

"It would add to the reputation of your banner as well, I should think."

Dividing soldiers into discrete groups like a navy or an air-force isn't something Kreyu grasps terribly well. Therefore, she tends to think of the "Marines" as something akin to the soldiers serving under a feudal lord.

"That the first of the Marines withstood such great blows with hardly a break in stride," she adds with a grin.

"I have done healing magic many, many times," she explains. "Not healing you completely will be tricky, but I believe I can manage it."

[remindmeof_me]

"Ain't so much 'blows' as 'jumpin' out of an aircraft just before it rammed a fuckin' space maggot'," says Shephard, "but yeah, it'd look good in the books, huh?" He smiles crookedly. "Go on'n try, then. I ain't gonna bitch whatever you do."

[brave_kreyu]

"Tales that grow in the telling have their uses," Kreyu replies with a grin of her own.

She seems to ponder something for a moment. "I do not think it likely, as I sense little Karma in you, but the spell may enable you to...perceive things you normally can not while it does its work."

"If such a thing were to happen, you have my word that those perceptions can not harm you."

[remindmeof_me]

"Shit, ma'am," says Shephard, "I got bit by a poison headcrab once and spent four hours talkin' to the greatest sniper the Corps ever had, 'n didn't remember until after that Carlos Hathcock'd been dead for twenty years. I'm good with that."

[brave_kreyu]

"Interesting....I wonder if there are Seers somewhere in your lineage," she muses. "But that is something for a later time

[remindmeof_me]

"Shit-" Shephard leaps to his feet, or tries to, anyway. It's a reflex, and whether or not it works, he's damn well gonna try. "Sir?"

[brave_kreyu]

Oh, it works just fine. Which is...kind of strange, especially since it didn't provoke any additional pain.

Now that Shephard has moved, he can see the other warrior in more detail. He's not old, by modern standards, but he is going grey at the temples and the wear and tear of the sea and the sun has left its marks in his skin.

The man looks at him, startled, but he recovers quickly. "Hail and well met," he replies with a weary smile. "I know not your people, but you have the bearing of a warrior." He starts to move forward, but stops, clearly feeling unsteady on his feet. "It seems the Singer's gift has come nearly too late for Priam of Troy."

[remindmeof_me]

... well, fuck, Kreyu wasn't kidding when she said he'd be seeing things, was she. Shephard's not the best-read man in the world but his favorite book in his entire life ever is Paradise Lost, and you don't read that without having so many classical references crammed down your throat that you just have to go to the bookmobile lady the next time the truck comes around and ask her for the source material.

So he nods, and moves to try and steady the other man. "Reckon you wouldn't know my people anyways," he says. "Most folk don't git as far back in the mountains as that. How bad is it out there?"

[brave_kreyu]

With Shephard to steady him, Priam has a much easier time moving to the fire to rest.

At Shephard's question, Priam's expression is haunted. "Achilles' son forbore to give the mercy blow to such as I, and left me to die upon the altar of my divine ancestor."

He glances at Shephard, his expression tight with grief. "I do not know why I heeded Her call to remain amongst the living, when I fear I am the last of my line..." he replies, voice harsh. "My sons and my warriors lie upon the earth, left to feed the dogs and the crows. My daughters, if they still live, are spoils of war to be scattered in far flung lands."

[remindmeof_me]

"Fuck." Shephard shakes his head. "Asshole just plain runs in that family, don't it... I'll tell you what, sir, you'n yours're gon' be remembered a damn long time. I know it ain't much next to dead kinfolk, but three thousand years from now even pissant little brats in rinkydink mountain towns ain't nobody gives a shit about'll still remember all y'all and how you held those Greek motherfuckers off. 'Specially your boy Hector."

He's... not gonna mention what he thought of Paris. Thinking with the wrong head doesn't even BEGIN to cover it. Man made him ashamed of using a longbow.

[brave_kreyu]

In Kreyu's world, at least, Paris' decision wasn't completely based on wanting to have sex with Helen. (Her husband was an asshole, and Helen's marriage was NOT a happy one.)

Priam manages a small, proud, smile at that last. "That is indeed a comfort, and a great gift."

Then he realizes that he doesn't actually know this man's name. "Forgive my rudeness. Even an old fool ought to remember to inquire as to the identity of his host."

[remindmeof_me]

"Ain't nothin' to forgive, sir. You been hurt bad and I ain't about to give you shit for slippin' up a little," Shephard says. "Name's Shephard. Adrian Shephard, son of Albert Shephard. Second son of three, third child of five. Honored to meet you, sir."