| abstract | - Scarred is a cutscene in Resident Evil: The Darkside Chronicles It is played during the third chapter of "Operation Javier".
- Scarred (Disadvantage, 1 Point) Characters with the Scarred disadvantage have bore visible, disgusting marks, or exude a foul smell, from unhealed wounds.
- For a while, she was stuck on the idea of whether or not humanity had actually won. Sure, they survived, but at what cost? Dozens of worlds burned and billions of lives were snuffed out. Men and women. Children and adults. Soldiers and civilians. Rich and poor. They were all killed. The Covenant didn't care for humanity. It was that fact that plagued her the most. For decades, the Elites had been brutal enemies of humanity, yet they helped the UNSC defeat the Covenant. As much as she hated to admit it, Sasha had to concede to the cruel, ironic fact that she, and the rest of the surviving humans, were alive due to the very species that had killed so many of those humans that died during the war. So no, they hadn't really won. They had simply survived, and barely, at that. Even on this world, Sirona, one of the few that had survived the war, and ironically the site of one of the longest battles of the brutal conflict, the scars of the fighting were obvious. It had been just under five years since the Covenant had left the world, yet the forest still showed signs of the raging fires that had stampeded through it. The burned trunks surrounded by young, green saplings. The sooty grey path beneath her feet. Even the slight smell of wood-smoke, still lingering, wafting from the charcoal that coated the bark of the older trees and the ground beneath the underbrush. It was here, in the middle of this living monument to the war they had just left, that Sasha had chosen to spend her leave. Of all the worlds she served on, from her home planet of Biko, to Reach, to Earth itself, this was the one planet left standing that she felt a true connection to. Good or bad, the four years she had spent on Sirona had changed her. Yet, for a planet named for a Celtic goddess of healing, she felt that it had provided her with anything but. The arm and eye she had lost during the opening days of the siege were the smallest fragments of what had been taken from her. Unlike any other battle she had taken part in, excluding, perhaps, the fall of her home and loss of her family, this one had hit her personally. She had been here long enough to make friends, comrades, brothers and sisters, and longer still to see them fall. Eventually, she stopped forming attachments. It was this world that had given her back a social life, and it was this world that had taken it away once more, stripping her back down to nothing but a soldier. Sure, by the end of it she had returned to being a pilot, but here, walking alone through the woods, left nothing but her thoughts, she realized that a pilot was an even easier job to be isolated within. Alone in the cockpit, perhaps with one other individual, she could simply focus on doing her job, keeping the other soldiers and marines on-board alive. That's what she was good at. Sasha was the isolated, perhaps even cold, Navy pilot, doing her job, and nothing else. While she had often thought about retiring after the war, she now realized that there was no place for someone like that in the civilian world. Raising her head, Aleksandra walked faster, with a renewed purpose. Yet she hadn't found something new in herself, she had simply realized what had always been there. Reaching the fork in the road, she turned not towards the city, where she could live as a civilian for the rest of her period of leave, but towards the military base. She had no need for civilian life, and, even with the war over, all she wished was that there was still something the UNSC Navy needed her for, hoping that she could get right back to her job.
- ((Base story coming soon. Revisions revisions revisions!)) --by Berlshenk How many days had passed? How many months had passed? It had been a while since Berlshenk set foot upon Northrend, and the cold, crisp air reminded the Dwarf of those many months ago, when he first arrived at the continent. His Mountaineer armor was more than sufficient to bar off the environment’s cold, and he had hoped it would last, especially in this wondrous land of ice and snow. Why had he decided to come alone? Why had he decided to fake his death? It would have been, perhaps, much less taxing if he had bothered to ask his companions for help. Although, it is not as if he kept it a complete secret from his comrades; two people knew of his survival. It still did not give Berlshenk much comfort, for if he were to truthfully die in this cold, barren continent, his comrades would be totally oblivious of it. Days had passed since he set foot on Northrend. The journey was rough, and many dangers were passed, if only by the hair of Berlshenk’s chinny-chin-chin. His travels had no clear path, and seemed as if he was looking for something, or someone, in the isolated areas of the frosty continent. He was certain that they had taken the bait. The Mountainguard, along with Barzik, Beln, and the rest of the group, would surely find his bloodied clothes, along with his two precious amulets. The amulets alone would be enough proof to show his demise, and he would not have to worry about them anymore, along with their annoying tracking. Berlshenk was glad to finally have some time alone; this time, real alone time, and not the kind where there is someone sneaking about, looking over you from afar. Trudging in the snow, Berlshenk had come upon an large area of flat land, surrounded by mountains. The only sound was the wind, which made Berlshenk feel a bit uneasy at the scene. The whole area was completely barren, save for some fir trees on the hills. If the Vorisswa had caught on to his ruse, then this would probably be too good of a place for an ambush. To spite any hidden forces, Berlshenk decided to make his way towards the center of the ring. He looked around, eyeing the hillsides and the fir trees, ready for anything that may happen. His rifle was prepped in his hands and he was also aiming it along with his movements. Just as expected, two figures in dark armor jumped from the hillsides, masked and armed with swords. Berlshenk let off a shot, ripping one of the figure’s pant legs, then discharged the shell and aimed once more. However, when the figures landed, they did not bother to raise their blades to attack. Not wanting to be caught off-guard, Berlshenk continued to aim his rifle at the assailants. “My, my. It’s been quite a while, hasn’t it, old friend?” Berlshenk turned, rifle still up, to see the figure of the voice. His expression turned sour, enriched with anger, as he looked over the stranger. The man was quite tall, about 6 feet, and his hair was gray and withered, along with his beard and mustache. The man was also decorated in dark blue armor, and had intimidating shoulder pads that could probably scare a child to death. He smiled at Berlshenk, a secret bestowed upon himself, and carefully looked the Dwarf over. His weapon, a terrible-looking polearm, was strapped on his back. Berlshenk warily glared at the man, and let out a shot towards him. The stranger, unsurprised, simply lifted a hand and brushed the bullet away, towards a fir tree. Berlshenk discharged another shell. He lowered his weapon, believing his attacks to be useless at this point. He was outnumbered, and his adversaries were familiar. Reluctantly, he strapped his rifle back on and crossed his arms, still glaring at the man. “Glad you could see it my way,” said the old man, smiling. He came closer to Berlshenk, hands folded behind his back. The dark figures stood still, looking over the scene. Perhaps danger was still lurking in the shadows. Berlshenk growled. “Can it, you bastard. How the hell are you still alive? Last I remember, I tossed you off cliff!” The man let out a laugh, echoes reverberating throughout the area. Berlshenk’s glare grew more apparent, and his left eye turned fully red. The man looked at the Dwarf’s bandaging, all worn and dull. “My, my!” he shouted with surprise, and pointed at the bandages. “You certainly need to change those. The scar might seep past them.” Berlshenk continued to glare at the man. “Why are you here, Danath? In fact, why are any of you here? All three of you should be dead!” One of the figures spoke in a bashful tone. “Well, sir, uh, yer dead too. We just did this a while ago… y’know…” The one named Danath glared at the figure, who then lowered his head. The other figure patted him on the back, and ushered words of comfort. Berlshenk examined them and looked at Danath, grinning. “Still ain’t got it, have ya?” he questioned. Danath glared at the Dwarf, who chuckled at the stare. “Of all people, why them?” He gestured towards the beings behind him. “They’re good souls, you certainly do fuck people’s minds up, eh?” “Silence!” Danath yelled. Birds flew out of the fir trees, fleeing for their lives. Berlshenk simply smiled at him and shook his head in pity. “I liked yer old self better,” Berlshenk admitted. “You know, the one that killed mercilessly? The one who took my wife away? He was a lot more weaker. Could’ve killed you on that shot.” Danath growled. “I’m trying to make amends, you damn midget. You’re making this a lot more difficult for me.” “I told you!” Berlshenk yelled. “I told you it was a bad idea, that doin’ all this would’ve cost your soul! You damned moron! Even after getting’ yer ass handed to ya, yer still tryin’ ta get more power!” “But I’m in control now!” Retorted Danath, sincerely. “The dark forces have no more control over me! I am speaking to you from me! Danath! Not some pitiful warlock who’s lurking behind the curtain!” “’N what makes you think you’ll still have yerself when you get what you want? You’ll be just as bad before you were under control, except more powerful. If that ever happens, who’ll stop you? Yer reason is just, ‘n I applaud that, but you don’t understand how dark powers work! They give you power fer your soul, ‘n you almost lost it before, so why go through all this again?” Danath lowered his head, grumbling, trying to form answers for Berlshenk’s barrage of questions. The Dwarf simply scoffed, then looked at the others behind him. They shrugged, and Berlshenk knew that shrug. “Just followin’ orders, right?” he said. The two figures simply nodded. Berlshenk nodded in return, then glanced back at Danath. “Danath, I knew you as a good friend. You were the best soldier ta ever grace the Second War, but now look ta ya. Why did you come here?” Danath looked up, a menacing expression on his face. “I want my organization back,” he said, growling. “The Vorisswa is MINE! I made it to protect Stormwind, to protect everything I cherished! And now look what happens! It’s going down the sewers, and now some bastard is disgracing it and making it some cult group!” “More evidence!” Berlshenk barked. “See what happens? Why don’t you just stop with all this power-nabbin’ so things like that would be evitable? Why don’t you trust me, like you did in the Second War?” Danath moved his head around, still trying to formulate answers, but he knew what he had gotten himself into. A few seconds later and Danath nodded, much to Berlshenk’s relief. Danath’s glare disappeared, and he extended a hand towards the Dwarf. “Fine,” Danath said bitterly, but with an hint of sincerity. “Just so you know, I’m not weak like our last battle. I’m much more now.” Berlshenk took the hand and shook it firmly. “Alright with me,” he remarked. “Promise me ya won’t do something like this again, yeah? I hate losin’ friends as much as makin’ enemies.” Danath looked to the two figures, who responded with salutes. “Briggs, Bazil, give the commander the weapons I forged.” Berlshenk raised a brow and turned towards the two. Each held out a broadsword, identical to the other, sheathed in elegantly crafted scabbards adorned with gold. Berlshenk strapped one sword over his back, behind his rifle, and slowly moved the other sword from its scabbard. The sword emanated an eerie glow of purple, but the sword itself was a pure silver. Berlshenk quickly sheathed the sword back, and looked at Danath. “Well, this is somethin’ new.” The Dwarf smiled at him, who smiled in return. “Ironically, they were meant to slay you,” Danath admitted. “But they’ll prove more useful to you, along with that scar.” Berlshenk nodded, and strapped the scabbard over his back, forming a cross along with the other sword. “So, where to?” Berlshenk said energetically. “I’d like ta scour this place. Maybe we can find somethin’ here about the new leader.” Danath shook his head. “I’m afraid not, my friend.” He glanced over to the pathway Berlshenk entered from. “You have lambs to lead. The others may prove efficient, but you’re the one behind all this. We can manage here.” Berlshenk looked towards the passage as well, then reluctantly nodded. Before he could utter a word, arrows hailed down from the hillsides. The four of them drew their weapons and prepared to defend themselves from the stream of arrows. “Damn it!” Danath barked angrily. “The bastard’s lackeys are here. Berlshenk! Make haste; return to Lordaeron and prepare your friends! We can handle these pests.” The onslaught began, and Vorisswa members hurled themselves towards the group. Several were cut down by Danath before they even landed. Briggs and Bazil fought unarmed, much to the enemy’s surprise. Deadly efficient, the two were able to fend for themselves against the several members who dared try their hand at them. Berlshenk, rifle blazing and shots slamming into a few members, ran towards the entrance, and disappeared behind the fog of frost and cold. Danath looked towards his way, smiling. With a vicious roar, his polearm sliced a Vorisswa member in half. He let out a intimidating cry of anger and pride, then yelled furiously. “THE VORISSWA IS MY UTOPIA!” --by Berlshenk "WHAT!?" Barzik slammed a heavily plated fist onto - into - the table. It quickly broke in half, and the dwarf's face began to turn red with anger. The Ironguard, fearing a fist into his face, backed away, his shield lifted to protect him from the Mountainguard Commander's wrath. "S-sir, sir he's alive!" The guard stuttered, the shield still lifted over his own body. "W-we just discovered this last night! There've been people spreadin' the news! Everyone's in a fit about it!" Barzik began to mutter viciously. "Alive? ALIVE!?" He glared at the guard and growled. "WHAT THE FUCK'RE YOU STANDIN' THERE FER!? I WANT PROOF 'N --" There was a tapping up on the second floor. The guard looked up, and a spooked expression went over his face. Barzik followed the stare and became just as befuddled. The red in his face quickly went away as he gazed at the newcomer. A Mountaineer was hanging over the second floor, leaning on the railing. A rifle stood upright in the dwarf's hand, the stock resting on the railing, and the dwarf smiled down at the two. The Ironguard gave a staunch salute, and Barzik turned to fully stare at the being before him. "Hey there Barzik," the Mountaineer casually said. "Sorry I fooled all of ya. Try not spyin' on me every wakin' moment, alright? I'm sure I taught you better than that." "B...," Barzik stuttered, trying to get the words out. His face was blank, shocked, and he stared dumbfoundedly at the Mountaineer. "B... Berl!?" The one named Berl smiled wickedly. "Berlshenk Riflemot in the flesh." Berlshenk strolled down the stairs, the rifle slung over his back. He nodded to the guard, and spoke something in dwarvish to him. Without missing a beat, the guard quickly walked up the stairs and out of the stone-cold office. Barzik continued to stare at Berlshenk, but then became afraid when the Mountaineer's stare turned icy cold. "You have a lot to explain to me," Berlshenk stated in a cold, harsh voice. "You may have tried to protect me, but I just don't see it that way." Barzik lowed his head in shame. Berlshenk crossed his arms, his glare sinking into Barzik. He simply nodded and took the glare in full force. "Yes, sir." Berlshenk smiled and nodded, the glare still present. He put a hand on Barzik's shoulder, who flinched at the touch. Berlshenk leaned in and his smile turned sinister. "Mountainguard Commander Barzik Riflemot," he said formally, "I hereby relieve you of your duties." Barzik nodded quickly without a question in his mind. Berlshenk did the same and leaned away from him. Barzik stood up straight, gazing intently at Berlshenk. Berlshenk sized him up and then spoke. "General Barzik Riflemot, I expect the news of my survival to be known by tomorrow morning. Am I clear?" Barzik saluted staunchly and sounded off. "Yes sir!" Berlshenk nodded sagely and ordered Barzik to move out. He ran out of the office, yelling and screaming orders to get his mount ready. The Mountaineer smiled, and then looked behind him. Two Mountaineers dressed in black were standing militarily, saluting. Their faces were shrouded, but the bottom of their faces were visible. Berlshenk glanced at the two with a stern expression. "You have your orders Eclipse," Berlshenk stated matter-of-factly. "Assist the general in sending the word out and notify my comrades as well." The two Eclipse members nodded and seemingly dissipated into background. Berlshenk gazed around the office for a few minutes, basking in the silence. Then, he sighed wearily. "Good ol' silence," he commented. "Time ta get t'work, right? Hopefully I'll see you again."
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