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    Records of the Zenebean War, Chapter 1: Upon Pillars of Sand

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    Lex

    RPC : 3
    Posts : 28
    Join date : 2017-03-16
    Location : Probably filing paperwork of some sort

    Character sheet
    Name: Constantinus Lex
    Team: Highguard
    Primary Zoid: Zaber Fang

    Records of the Zenebean War, Chapter 1: Upon Pillars of Sand

    Post by Lex on 10th April 2017, 11:42

    "Ready your weapons!" the voice of the Decanus (roughly analogous to a sergeant) rang over the din of battle. Explosions and the sounds of automatic weapons hung in the thick, smokey air of the training fields. The sky was turning red with the coming dawn, but the soldiers had been conducting drills for hours already, honing their bodies and minds into weapons. They stood single file and in full uniform beside the training pit, carrying their short, thick wooden training staves and had been separated into pairs. The pit itself was a symbol of the harshness of the Zenebas military, an entrenchment originally dug out to enhouse an artillery unit that had been re-purposed as the field of battle had moved forward. Along the rim of the (nearly ten meter deep) arena were the skeletal remains of metal scaffolding. Large iron I-beams had been designed to serve as a shelter for the new artillery models, but had been scrapped when the forces had moved on. But ever the survivalists, the Decanii in charge of this particular camp had decided utilize it for training purposes. The first of the pairs of combatants had already entered the pit and now stood with weapons in-hand, locked into measured stances.

    The military kept its camps close to the front lines for many reasons. The first (and openly publicized) was that the young recruits would need to be able to experience the din of warfare firsthand, to expose those with weak constitutions and the fair of heart to open warfare from the beginning. It let the boys know precisely what they were getting into before they even set foot in a Zoid. The instructors compared this exposure to the smelting of ingots, as it was only through intense fire that the imperfect materials could be molded and shaped into weapons, and in this process one had to remove the chaff that rose to the surface. The second reason for this proximity was more practical. They were emergency reinforcements. When a man fell, the officers would draft those furthest in their training direct military service. Their bodies weren't even cold before their uniform, weapons, and even Zoids were assigned to the newly-graduated youth. It was an honor to undergo a field conscription, an assertion that the chosen recruit was truly more capable than his fellows.

    They were a proud people, these Zenebans. Even in the current year, ZAC 2026, theirs was a brutal society, largely defined by its dedication to the art of warfare. It was a harsh life, full of violence and pain, but it was all they knew. Ever since their Emperor had declared independence from the Helic Republic a generation ago, they had been locked into a war for supremacy. A war for their very existence. Warriors were valued above all, and it was for this reason that Constantinus had been raised in the comfort of aristocracy. He was the son of a prominent general, one of the many Helic defectors that followed in the footsteps of their fanatical king. But where the wealth and glamour brought recognition in his civilian life, that same recognition made life in the war camps all the harder. He hadn't been looking forward to this.. his first combat trial against his fellow soldiers.

    The warriors in the pit were an ideal example of what this program was designed to create. They were tall, strong, and exceptionally skilled.. Lex reasoned that they'd probably been here for weeks, if not months in preparation for their eventual drafting. They were coated in crisscrossing scars, symbols of their martial prowess in the eyes of the average members of Zenebean society. Their movements were fluid yet belied the strength of their well-sculpted frames, something that Constantinus envied more than anything. He gazed upon them then cast his arms down upon his wiry arms, pulling his sleeves as if to hide his wrists and pale, unmarred flesh in shame. As an aristocrat, he was an aberration to these men.. and it was something that he would have to work to cast aside through his training.

    The young man stood at just over a meter and a half tall, barely up to the chests of some of his larger comrades. He wasn't supposed to be here, not yet at least. He was only twelve, after all.. and the rest of these boys were three, maybe even four years older than him. His muscles were still soft and ill-defined, the fat of youth had just begun to leave his frame with the coming of puberty. But he would be tough, he would not bring dishonor upon his legacy. No.. his father's legacy. He clutched his wooden battle staff in a white-knuckle grip, veins standing strong against his pale skin as he watched his fellow recruits battle.

    The first warrior was the larger of the two, gripping his short pole in a peculiar manner, not unlike a knight holding the grip of a broadsword. The majority of the weapon's short length (at just over a meter long) was facing away from his body.  His skin was tanned through constant battle and training, marred by contusions and marks of battle.  But those scars could mean several things, a long history of victories or a single, particularly damaging loss. He swung his weapon like an ax in wide, overhead swings. His powerful strikes swinging in great arcs, utilizing the full length of his extended reach by exploiting his already long arms on top of the weapon, keeping his enemy at a distance. They'd just now begun and yet he was already fighting like a caged beast, lashing out in pain or fear.  But his opponent clearly had skill on his side. Smaller in both projected and physical size, the man held his weapon close to his body. He parried expertly, holding his weapon in a defensive stance, hands wide apart and using the middle of the staff as a makeshift shield.

    He closed the gap quickly, making sudden steps and trying to exploit his enemy's blind spots. He moved professionally and struck rapidly, a pinpoint strike here, a short barrage of quick short-range strikes there, then ducking and leaping away. He hammered his foe's weak defense not through power, but with skill. One warrior used his great strength and reach to his advantage, the other utilized direct, sudden attacks and evasiveness. The two had very different approaches to the battle, overwhelming force designed to bring about a quick win against a strategy focused around attrition and wearing his opponent down. It was a physical debate in action, blitzkrieg versus guerrilla warfare. The soldiers and instructors were all watching in solemn attention. The more experienced soldiers analyzed the actions of their brothers-in-arms for signs of weakness, flaws that they could exploit when they eventually met in the ring. The younger recruits sought to improve themselves, learning from the combatants to better themselves. Lex, however, was watching everyone else.

    He saw the glimmer in the Decanus' eye when the larger warrior lashed out, anticipating the crack of wood on bone.. the killing blow. There was an aura of pride surrounding the commander, a blood-lust that he pushed onto those that would become his favored warriors.  He made children into murderers, remorseless killers. Soldiers in duty to a mad king. The line between duty and violence was a fine one, and toeing that line was a conscious act that these children would need to perform every day. They weren't human beings in this military complex, they were weapons in the making.


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      Current date/time is 22nd November 2017, 01:28