Stalwart Hunters (1): Difference between revisions
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===Rocket Town=== | |||
'''July 6 of the year 323''' | '''July 6 of the year 323''' | ||
'''Mana Holy Day''' | '''Mana Holy Day''' | ||
Variance takes a moment to work out anything that might've been dislocated during his little spell of inactivity. He honestly didn't wish to go back to base at the moment, mostly because he'd both use up another scroll and have to sit and wait until he had the chance to report. | [[Variance]] takes a moment to work out anything that might've been dislocated during his little spell of inactivity. He honestly didn't wish to go back to base at the moment, mostly because he'd both use up another scroll and have to sit and wait until he had the chance to report. | ||
The moon lingers above Variance again, lowering to the horizon as predictably as ever. Almost morning... Well, if he was going to base, at least he wasn't going to suffer being blinded before the sun pervaded the previous domain of the night. | The moon lingers above Variance again, lowering to the horizon as predictably as ever. Almost morning... Well, if he was going to base, at least he wasn't going to suffer being blinded before the sun pervaded the previous domain of the night. | ||
===Maverick Hunters Headquarters=== | |||
Variance shuts his eyes heavily, cursing the sun's apparent love of making most of his plans go awry as such. He places his polearm against the wall, easily in reach with the confining surroundings. | Variance shuts his eyes heavily, cursing the sun's apparent love of making most of his plans go awry as such. He places his polearm against the wall, easily in reach with the confining surroundings. | ||
"Hello? Anyone? General [[Signas]], sir?" | |||
Variance waits for a moment | Variance waits for a moment expectantly, then sighs as nothing replies. Typical. A short walk to the only accessible desk and a brief treasure hunt in the disorganized forms gains him a Patrol Report Form, which he goes back to the wall with along with a generic, undecorated ballpoint pen. | ||
A matching narrative rings dully around the room, accompanying the nearly-inaudible sound of pen on paper as Variance moves it about as instructed. | A matching narrative rings dully around the room, accompanying the nearly-inaudible sound of pen on paper as Variance moves it about as instructed. | ||
"July Sixth, Twelve PM... Area patrolled, [[Loftarasa Mountains]] to Northern [[Truce]]. Patrol lasted approximately four hours, nothing out of place to report. No Maverick sightings, no other attacks of any sort." | |||
Variance stops abruptly, looking blankly out to the wall across from him. This would be the fifth consecutive report with nothing to consider... | Variance stops abruptly, looking blankly out to the wall across from him. This would be the fifth consecutive report with nothing to consider... | ||
"...It's too quiet." | |||
Latest revision as of 17:22, 30 January 2021
Rocket Town
July 6 of the year 323
Mana Holy Day
Variance takes a moment to work out anything that might've been dislocated during his little spell of inactivity. He honestly didn't wish to go back to base at the moment, mostly because he'd both use up another scroll and have to sit and wait until he had the chance to report.
The moon lingers above Variance again, lowering to the horizon as predictably as ever. Almost morning... Well, if he was going to base, at least he wasn't going to suffer being blinded before the sun pervaded the previous domain of the night.
Maverick Hunters Headquarters
Variance shuts his eyes heavily, cursing the sun's apparent love of making most of his plans go awry as such. He places his polearm against the wall, easily in reach with the confining surroundings.
"Hello? Anyone? General Signas, sir?"
Variance waits for a moment expectantly, then sighs as nothing replies. Typical. A short walk to the only accessible desk and a brief treasure hunt in the disorganized forms gains him a Patrol Report Form, which he goes back to the wall with along with a generic, undecorated ballpoint pen.
A matching narrative rings dully around the room, accompanying the nearly-inaudible sound of pen on paper as Variance moves it about as instructed.
"July Sixth, Twelve PM... Area patrolled, Loftarasa Mountains to Northern Truce. Patrol lasted approximately four hours, nothing out of place to report. No Maverick sightings, no other attacks of any sort."
Variance stops abruptly, looking blankly out to the wall across from him. This would be the fifth consecutive report with nothing to consider...
"...It's too quiet."