Mars's epic adventure of epic and silly.
OOC: Alexander, I thank you for this mallet. Also, on the matter of team items, buy what you want. I have no use for such toys (translation - get a defibrillator, and I call dibs). Now please excuse me, I have some hammery bashing to do.
IC: Morondate: 1
Mars was never the Mud for normal dreams. If it wasn't disturbing nightmares, it was the perversions and alterations of his perception of reality. And if it's neither of those, than Shrykull help you. He was in the middle a dream (Mars would later state that he had an abomination in a headlock in this dream), when much to his dismay came a loud beeping sound, and the oh too familiar cry of the morning dictator shouting something incomprehensible in Mars's sleepiness. Sure, throughout Mars's life, it was always a new face, a new voice, but the tactics and most of all, the scream that makes alarm clocks cry and hide in the corner, that will always be the same. Mars yawned, mumbling "5 more minutes please" before suddenly remembering that in some moronic act he had signed up for a bloody rebellion army. Coming to this realization, he moved 3.432 seconds faster getting up.
After stretching his arms, he noticed the room around him while climbing down the bunk bed. Grey, not that expensive, and silly. When the drowsiness had lowered to a manageable level, he made his way to the dresser (when you dress in a suit and tie, people think you might cramp their style putting dapper stuff in an armory), and picked up his finest/only suit, his glorious hat, and the rest of the clothes. Of course, he wore some chain-link armor under his suit, as he wasn't crazy or skilled enough to run into a battlefield wearing only a suit and tie and hat. But he was crazy enough to bring an old fashioned revolver to a war, along with his trusty wooden mallet. Perfect for whacking moles in some game, or brutally beating you enemies to death with the walls caked in blood. Whoever was in the other bed was still a little groggy still apparently. Not looking too good either, with some scars.
Mars theorized it might be good he signed on late.
Realizing that whoever let out that loud yell was probably the guy who Mars thought was in charge (Mars wouldn't know, he threw away the pamphlet he was given), he took a quick look around the place. Pretty empty, save for sleeping beauty and a few others. Although he was needed at the battlefield (Mars almost forgot about the alarm, mentally blocking it out), he decided that yelling would be completely ungentlemanly, so he left a note from this scrap of paper he found (later finding out it was, in fact, the pamphlet).
Dear Harry (that is your name right?)
Some guy yelled at us, your not up yet. Get your stuff, see you at the fight. Don't die.
-Mars L. Morand [hat symbol]
Yes, that's good enough.
Mars made his way out to the fight. Weren't too many people, but they would probably send in more later. Ah well, before you have seconds, you have to eat your greens, Mars thought, eying the sligs. He noticed one in light armor with a machine gun of some sort. Avoid him. He noticed one who was being attacked by that boss Mudokon. It would be ungentlemanly to attack that slig, unbalancing the odds. A tough moral decision. Die, or fight like a jerk, and still, maybe die. Ultimately, Mars ran to the machine gunner, and hoped like HECK he was a terrible shot. Mars raised his hammer above his head, adjusted his hat quickly, and charged towards the slig.
If I live, he thought, this is the stupidest thing I've ever done.
[M] Mars L. Morand moves into the Valley of Shrapnel. *IT'S TRUE*
[IDK] Mars L. Morand left a note by Harik's bedside. *AWESOME*
[A] Mars L. Morand brings down his hammer (Melee weapon) on Primero E.*DICE ROLL I THINK*
OOC: #5719, yes, I am claiming I woke up before your Harik guy did. Don't worry, he's fully within his rights to punch me later. I may kill you if you do though.
[insert boundless wit here]
Last edited by MarsMudoken; 03-09-2011 at 05:29 PM..
Reason: This much text is bound for a few errors. Shut up, no one's perfect, least of all me.