Worthlessplebian
Worthless pleb
For a moment, before the dimensional jump, Heilwyn felt a startlingly hot, stinging sensation rush over him like a sudden flashfire. He grit his teeth, fists clenched, knuckles white. Then he felt a shiver, an icy river down his spine, and at last, a plummeting sensation though he did not fall. His mind was wrenched free from his flesh, from his protective steel — scattered on cruel, hissing winds. The long seconds stretched indefinitely, lost amidst the strange, inky ocean. Then nothing, as his mind fully submerged beneath the black, churning waters.
His vision swam when he came to, a whorling tide of lights and colours assailing his sight, head riven with a potent ache. His hand went up, trying to banish the incessant, invasive feelings. It was a writhing, sickening influence like a knife lodged in his gut, but he found the strength to resist it. After the discomforts of the body shift had passed, Heilwyn was met with entirely new experiences; gone were the autonomous adjustment enhancements, calibrating his senses to the new environment. The world felt brighter, vivid, sharp, but craggy, colder, and distanced too. He flexed his hands, shoulders. He felt the solid weight of the riot shield in his left hand, the heavy feeling of his kitbag hanging off his back. His dark black-and-blue gendarmerie riot gear felt uncomfortably warm on his skin, but it hid muscles hardened from dedication and countless deployments. Heilwyn nodded in approval in that — they were alike in this regard.
He listened to the conversation between the two armoured officers, noting the mention of the party's location — the Shangri-La. It was amusing how, no matter the time or universe, men of duty always found the time to banter, whine, and tease. It reminded Heilwyn of his own brothers in the company.
Heilwyn shifted, turning to Kiriko. Rather lieutenant Kira, Heilwyn corrected himself, staring down like a graven statue. "Once—" He began to say, but stopped abruptly. The cadence of his voice had caught him by surprise. Gone was the muted, rural Solenite accent that roughly tinged his words, replaced by a thick, fast-flowing grace that now lent a melodious serenity to his speech. "That'll need some tempering." Heilwyn continued, hand softly grasping at his throat. "Once the drill is over, I'll attempt to establish contact with the rest of the squad. Failing that, rendezvous at this Shangri-La, then the facility. The cult or their lackeys may already be in full-force once we all link up." Heilwyn said, his voice a furtive whisper to Kiriko.
Until then, they'll have to enmesh themselves with their Gendarmerie allies.
His vision swam when he came to, a whorling tide of lights and colours assailing his sight, head riven with a potent ache. His hand went up, trying to banish the incessant, invasive feelings. It was a writhing, sickening influence like a knife lodged in his gut, but he found the strength to resist it. After the discomforts of the body shift had passed, Heilwyn was met with entirely new experiences; gone were the autonomous adjustment enhancements, calibrating his senses to the new environment. The world felt brighter, vivid, sharp, but craggy, colder, and distanced too. He flexed his hands, shoulders. He felt the solid weight of the riot shield in his left hand, the heavy feeling of his kitbag hanging off his back. His dark black-and-blue gendarmerie riot gear felt uncomfortably warm on his skin, but it hid muscles hardened from dedication and countless deployments. Heilwyn nodded in approval in that — they were alike in this regard.
He listened to the conversation between the two armoured officers, noting the mention of the party's location — the Shangri-La. It was amusing how, no matter the time or universe, men of duty always found the time to banter, whine, and tease. It reminded Heilwyn of his own brothers in the company.
Heilwyn shifted, turning to Kiriko. Rather lieutenant Kira, Heilwyn corrected himself, staring down like a graven statue. "Once—" He began to say, but stopped abruptly. The cadence of his voice had caught him by surprise. Gone was the muted, rural Solenite accent that roughly tinged his words, replaced by a thick, fast-flowing grace that now lent a melodious serenity to his speech. "That'll need some tempering." Heilwyn continued, hand softly grasping at his throat. "Once the drill is over, I'll attempt to establish contact with the rest of the squad. Failing that, rendezvous at this Shangri-La, then the facility. The cult or their lackeys may already be in full-force once we all link up." Heilwyn said, his voice a furtive whisper to Kiriko.
Until then, they'll have to enmesh themselves with their Gendarmerie allies.
