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Most users ever online was 29 on October 1st 2013, 12:09 am


    Anvil: Asymmetrical Firefight Scenario

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    Bad John
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    Anvil: Asymmetrical Firefight Scenario

    Post  Bad John on August 3rd 2015, 8:24 pm

    Through the use of streamlined War Games technology, this War Games program pits combatants against complex, simulated threats. Anyone in need of a dynamic threat scenario is welcome to sharpen their wits on the Anvil.

    Since a few of us are getting back into the spirit of Halo, I figured I'd put together a new Simulation Deck, with a twist; designed to bring Spartan IVs up to speed when it comes to combat, this simulation deck is designed to be incredibly difficult to survive, and almost impossible to win. Think Lone Wolf. The enemy has overtaken the location, and your job is to give them hell for as long as you can.

    You're welcome to join. I'mma dick around with this for a while.

    Today's scenario was just as cruel as the day before. A recreation of the Fall of Reach, specifically the battle of New Alexandria. Skyscrapers stretched upwards to dizzying heights, as Phantoms screamed past, combing the city for humans, armed or unarmed.

    The local militias had fallen to the combined efforts of the two main combat species. The brutes, roving in brutal packs, cut their teeth on anyone they managed to overtake. The elites led more "noble" parties, gunning or cutting down any meaningful resistance.

    However, this scenario was far different from the War for Reach years ago. This time, rather than marine squads on the ground, there were Spartan IVs. Demigods in their own right, armed with powerful weapons and armor minted by the best minds of the UNSC, the Spartans, even outnumbered, were holding their ground. Each one that fell took at least fifty Covenant soldiers down with them.

    In addition to the Spartan IVs, there were a few of the earlier generations. One Spartan III peered down at a Covenant patrol from the fifteenth floor of the Vyrant Telecom Tower.

    His optics zoomed in as he watched a patrol clomped along, a Type-29 Shadow hovering in the center of their ranks. The violet blue vehicle housed a powerful plasma-cannon at the front, manned by a brute minor.

    Their Chieftain stood at the top of the Shade, raving loudly and toting his hammer high. He was likely giving a sermon; a sanctimonious rant about the Forerunners parroted straight from the Prophet's lying, dark-stained teeth. John felt a little sick letting them go, but he needed to choose his battles wisely. He'd fought hard just to find a place to set up shop and perform recon. Information would help keep his colleagues safe.

    There was a slight twitch behind him. He turned, looking back at the hallway. There was a fallen elite, killed by a blow from the butt of John's submachine gun. There were bleeding bodies all over the hall. Paying them no mind, the Spartan III turned his eye back towards the street.

    "I've got a patrol with a long mover, currently heading for the intersection east of the Vyrant Telecom Tower. Repeat, there's a Shadow moving right along fifth street with no sign of stopping. Anyone in the area?" John spoke on all nearby channels, keeping his voice down. If he was heard, he would be in a fair spot of bother.

    "Shit." A response came quickly and rakishly. It was the leader of Fireteam Bingo. "We're behind a barricade on Fifth just down the road. I can see 'em."

    John quickly responded. "Get off the road. Get inside and hunker down. They've got a big-ass plasma turret, a Chieftain, and a lot of twitchy grunts who will report your position."

    "Negative. Can't move. The building behind us is on fire, and if we cross the street, they'll see us. We've got a wounded soldier. We're gonna have to run a distraction." John could hear the Spartan adjusting to get up from his hiding place.

    "Hold on. I'll handle it." John stood, rolling his shoulders and bouncing on his feet. "I'll keep the patrol occupied, while you move your guy to a safer position."

    "You and your squad up for it?" The Spartan IV asked. He sounded grateful, but skeptical.

    "No squad. It's just me."

    "Whoa whoa whoa, you sure you-" John muted his comms, backing up into the room to get a running start. He always wanted to push his new thrusters to the limit.

    With that, he took off running. As his muscles tensed to jump, the suit's propulsion system responded, activating his leg and back mounted jets. John smashed through the window, and tore straight down, his fist cocked as he jetted towards the grunts below.

    John landed, the shockwave cracking the pavement and forcing the grunts around him to stumble back. One unlucky unggoy was thrown aside by the force, smashing his head against the arching midsection of the Shadow. The remaining grunts turned their guns on the Spartan, who aimed his own SMG. He opened fire, drawing his pistol and shooting with the other hand. Two grunts dropped as the others fired.

    The Spartan ducked a plasma pistol shot from an unggoy heavy, and returned fire with his M6. The pistol round struck the unggoy between the eyes, dropping him. The Spartan turned his modified M7 and sprayed down another grunt, the bullets ripping through the unggoy's combat harness.

    John holstered both guns and prepared himself. He knew the Chieftain would be on him by now. He felt the beast's weight rumbling behind him as the brute jumped off of the vehicle and landed on the ground.

    The brute's armor was thick, and lined with energy-shielding. While his armor was more fragile than the Spartan's, the Chieftain had sheer mass on his side.

    The Spartan turned to attack, but the brute caught him by the throat, the weight of the brute's arm smashing John against the ground. The Spartan immediately fought back, striking the brute's arm with his fist. The brute winced, and John swung his boot up, kicking the Chieftain on the jaw. The blow was glancing, unfortunately, and the Brute lifted and tossed John away, regaining his bearings.

    John landed on his shoulder, rolling and popping to his feet. The brute drew a hammer, approaching with a long, piercing war cry. The Spartan had danced with Chieftains before, and was confident he could handle himself this time as well.

    The brute swung his hammer around, and John ducked his body underneath it. The blade passed over his thruster pack. The brute stumbled as he attempted to get the weight of the hammer under control. This was a young Chieftain, inexperienced in hammer use. This fight would be easy.

    John stepped back as the hammer came down. The strike cratered the ground, sending a spray of concrete and pebbles into the air. Before the brute could lift it, John was on him. The Spartan shoulder checked the brute, then threw a rapid back-fist, striking the Chieftain's cheek. John followed up with a left cross immediately after, the blow forcing the brute to stumble.

    Blows rained down as John moved in. An uppercut to the brute's stomach bent it over, then the Spartan III's boot split the beast's skull; the side kick sent the brute's copper crown rolling across the pavement.

    The brute minor, having watched the bout, finally turned the Shadow's plasma cannon, but it was too late. John drew his magnum and fired a single round, popping the brute in the head. The jiralhanae tumbled off the turret, landing on the ground with a thud. With that, the Spartan immediately sprinted towards the Shadow, hopping into the operator's seat.

    He didn't have a lot of time. During his stunt, any one of the enemy could have radioed for help. He started the Shadow, and began driving to get out of the area. However, he'd forgotten one thing.

    The Shadow had a homing beacon in the engine.
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    Bad John
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    Re: Anvil: Asymmetrical Firefight Scenario

    Post  Bad John on August 14th 2015, 11:22 pm

    It occurred to John that he was being followed when his motion tracker pinged an enemy banshee arrived overhead. He had no hope of dodging, and he could see the terrible, graceful vehicle closing in on him from the front. Even with his armor, a fuel rod shot directly on target would kill him.

    The banshee fired, and the Spartan moved quickly. He grasped the front of the Shadow, tearing it free of its hinges and leaping out of the shadow. The fuel rod splashed against the cockpit immediately behind John, sending a spray of molten metal into the air. The destroyed vehicle warped and bowed, crumbling to pieces as the heat was absorbed by the purple material.

    With his hands still wrapped around the shadow's now removed door, John put it over his back and sprinted towards a nearby building. The banshee turned, and fired both plasma cannons. Energy seared the pavement, and two rounds struck John's makeshift shield. While he'd learned to cautiously trust the privilage of energy shielding, there was no way a former SPI user would willingly take a plasma round.

    John had seen the results of plasma on metal. Armor meant to protect you could easily become a molten, burning coffin. One of his surviving friends had his gauntlet singed by the air around a mgalekgolo's assault cannon. He described it as a pain beyond all sensation.

    Huh. I wonder how Zimm's doing. John dove into a nearby shop, tossing aside the burned door and taking cover.

    However, it still wasn't safe. There was a red dot in the room. John turned and managed to duck an energy sword. It was a sangheili Ultra. A smooth, elaborate, red-marked headress with two burning blue eyes stared at the Spartan III. A hissing energy sword burned a rack of clothing to the elite's immediate right. Ultras were known for being formidable. Some even surpassed Zealots in pure combat knowhow for one reason; they regularly cut their teeth in open combat.

    The elite drew a plasma rifle from his hip and fired one-handed; John frankly admired that. He ducked the volley of plasma and grasped his own guns. With his submachine gun in his right hand and his pistol in his left, he opened fire. The elite's shields shimmered, and the powerful, pearly armored warrior actually stumbled back. John's SMG was built for stopping power and force over sheer rate of fire.

    However, the elite soon rallied. With a few steps he gained momentum, and crossed the room. The elite brought his blade around, and John dodged the swipe with casual ease. However, the ultra brought around his plasma rifle, intending to fire in John's face. With both weapons low on ammunition, John sidestepped and holstered his guns, grasping the elite's rifle with his bare hands.

    With a twist, John yanked the weapon free from the elite's tight grip. The Spartan aimed the rifle now, but the elite wouldn't have it; the Ultra swiped his sword, and split the plasma rifle, wrecking it.

    The sheer heat put considerable strain on John's shields. The elite stepped in, swinging down, but John bulled forward, shoulder checking the Ultra and getting in close. Enough was enough. He intended to put the elite down. John planted his right foot forward and waited for the elite to back off. The moment he had a good distance, he landed two blows, his hands moving like blurs. The first was an open handed, chopping strike to the chest. Before the impact could push the Ultra back, John landed a second, more powerful blow to the elite's shoulder; an oxe-jaw strike from the back of his wrist.

    The elite stumbled back, winded by the deep impact against his ribs, and debilitated by the damage to his shoulder. However, John hadn't addled the warrior's mind. He moved in and attacked again, and the Spartan reacted in kind.

    The Ultra fought on with valor, roaring and swinging his sword. However, John proved impossible to land a blow on. He dipped low, avoiding a horizontal strike, then leaned to the side, the blade missing him by a several inches. The elite overextended, and John landed three more strikes. A simple one-two punch to the elite's exposed ribs dented the warrior's armor. Then, a hook punch knocked a deep indention in the elite's mask. Each blow sounded like a gunshot, as metal clashed with metal. The elite made no sound, even though John could feel his jaw break.

    Despite his stoic nature, the elite Ultra was too stunned to retaliate, focusing all his might on keeping his legs from folding. John reached out and snatched the elite's sword. The elite looked at his hand absentmindedly, wondering where it had gone. The Spartan stepped in and threw a powerful strike from his knee, knocking the elite off his feet and into the nearby wall, cracking it. The Spartan wasted no time, moving in and thrusting the blade forward. The sting got a genuine rise out of the elite. The death scream was long and loud. John yanked the sword free, and the elite went limp, his breath run out.

    John deactivated the energy sword and latched it to his hip. Reloading his guns, the Spartan III gave the Ultra one last look. "Not a bad effort, bud. When I was a kid, you might have had my number." With that, John began planning his next course of action; linking up with a Spartan IV squad and finding somewhere to hole up.

    ENERGYSWORD GET!
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    Bad John
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    Re: Anvil: Asymmetrical Firefight Scenario

    Post  Bad John on May 1st 2016, 7:42 pm

    As the Spartan III moved down the road, he caught sight of two Spartan IV soldiers. One was dragging another along the ground, assisting his wounded comrade in escaping the tight quarters. The Spartan noticed a sangheili Ultra in pursuit; the elite was moving slowly, magnum rounds pinging off of his armor. The officer likely wanted to savor the moment; two Spartans, low on ammunition and experience with their new armor. For all their strength, they were sitting ducks.

    John pivoted on his feet and tore towards them. The only thing lying between him and his comrades was fifteen meters of space and a bulletproof window. The Spartan III cleared that distance with time to spare, lighting his stolen energy sword. He leaped towards the window and issued a vertical slash; the window superheated and a straight hole bloomed, wilting away from the heat. The Spartan landed on his feet and brought his sword around with an intimidating shout.

    His blade clashed with the Ultra's gauntlet-dagger. The startled sangheili stumbled back a few steps before holding his ground and drawing a plasma rifle from his hip. The elite fired three bolts, and John, gauging the direction of the weapon and seeing the globs of plasma move, swatted each shot with the base of the blade. Rip'a Tenebrose had taught him the trick; it was difficult even for an Elite, but an early generation Spartan could manage the trick without hassle.

    "GO! I got this!" John stepped forward and engaged the Elite. With a swing of his energy sword, he split the plasma rifle in half. With another, he slashed into the elite's face mask. The sangheili screamed, yanking off his mask to prevent his face from being further burned; the damage was done. One of the elite's eyes was closed by a slowly cooling glob of covenant metal. John stepped in and ended the elite's suffering with a stab, piercing the alien's heart with a strong thrust.

    "Watch out, Spartan!" One of the two Spartan IVs alerted John to an impending threat; an elite vaulted over a counter, clutching a sword. Another Ultra, this elite nearly managed to cut John's head off, but he lifted his sword just in time, deflecting the enemy's sword with his own. Metal collided as the elite's chest slammed into John's shoulder, knocking him off kilter.

    In one of the older, bulkier Mjolnir suits, John may have remained standing after the hit, but Gen 2 armor was far lighter; he was knocked onto his side. The Ultra moved in and nearly stabbed him through and through, but John blocked his weapon, the prongs of their blades meeting. The Spartan released his sword, and the Ultra overcommitted to the stab. Pushing back into a handstand, John thrust his right boot and kicked the elite in the small of the back. The sangheili stumbled, but managed to procure an advantage; he picked up John's discarded sword.

    Aaaaaaaaah shit. John knew that a duel wielding, high ranking elite was something to be feared. The bastard was already a good swordsman to begin with. The Spartan, on his feet, stepped back as the Ultra dipped into a narrow stance, bringing one arm forward and one arm back.

    "You disgraced this weapon, human. I intend to redeem it." The Ultra spoke John's language; a sign of respect, despite the content of its message. "A drawn sword demands blood."

    John lifted his fists, and started bouncing on his feet. "Alright. I'll just use these." The Spartan danced from foot to foot; despite his bravado, he was none too eager to approach while his opponent was on guard. "These never leave the holster without drawing a little blood; be it red, purple, or fuckin' orange."

    "Your bare hands?! Laughable! Those will hardly be sufficient. Even if you were a marvel with sixteen fingers on four arms, your filthy hands could not scratch my armor." The Ultra stepped back, dipping into a wide legged pose, ready to begin his assault. "I am Mor'koh Feisemm'ee, swordmaster of the Feisemm'ee keep. I shall be your undoing, motherless beast. Draw your weapon. Now."

    "The burden of proof can be shoulder right here. I think your friend who owned that sword found my fists to be pretty sufficient." John smirked, but a bead of sweat rolled down his jaw; he was in for a tough fight. This elite's armor was marked with symbols he's seen before, and his armor configuration was unique; his mask was curved, and his grieves had sleek grooves. This elite was a swordmaster, and a noble one at that. "I'll be using my hands, so let's not waste any more time."

    "Indeed." The elite opened his mouth in a deafening roar, and began towards John, who stood his ground.
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    Re: Anvil: Asymmetrical Firefight Scenario

    Post  Bad John on May 1st 2016, 7:48 pm

    Note wrote:Working on my Sangheili Dialogue.
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    Re: Anvil: Asymmetrical Firefight Scenario

    Post  Bad John on May 2nd 2016, 12:22 am

    The sangheili's weaponry passed John closer with every swing. The Spartan III dodged and slipped under and around the blades with practiced precision. The Spartan III moved back as he kept his eye on the opponent. His shields depleted by two thirds each time he avoided a particularly close slash. Stepping to the side, he avoided a powerful downwards swipe that burnt the ground as the elite moved into it. Turning to retaliate, John cocked his fist, but was forced to slide out of the way as the elite came around with his other blade.

    The strikes had power, and lacked a visible opening. It was only due to his advanced pedigree in close combat that John avoided being gored alive. The Ultra damn near had his number; Mor'koh wasn't lying about being a master with a blade; his skill with two swords rivaled Rip'a's, or even the Arbiter's.

    The elite segued into a stronger, faster style; his arms moved in sync, one swipe coming around after the other. John danced backwards, as the elite began to put both hands together and swing the blades like an ax handle. The Spartan found his chance to retaliate as the elite moved forward, breaking his style to perform a brief, textbook combination; he swung down with one arm, then stabbed with the other. Moving under the swipe, the Spartan III threw his elbow, striking the elite on the forearm with his attack. The elite took a quick step back to recover, as John moved in.

    Taking a big risk, he turned and threw a spinning heel kick; the blow knocked one of Mor'koh's swords away. The blade deactivated, bouncing off of a nearby wall. As the elite stepped in to swing, John got in close, grappling. He slammed into the elite's stomach low, and turned around him as the elite tried to catch hold. Bailey had built his armor just well; though he grasped at his shoulder and his thruster pack, the Ultra failed to find purchase. The Spartan jerked the elite to the side, jumped, and threw a hard kick. Mor'koh was knocked back, slamming against the nearby wall. As he stepped in to swing his sword, John dipped to the side and brought his arm around.

    His fist hit like a warthog's bumper, leaving a dent in the elite's combat harness just below the armpit. Mor'koh coughed, and the Spartan grasped his wrist, twisting. He failed to break it due to the Ultra's sleek armor, but he wrenched the energy sword free. From there, he struck with a barrage of punches; no random assault, each blow had a purpose.

    He dipped low and came up with an uppercut, jarring the sangheili's elbow. With the arm out of the way, he threw a left hook into the elite's proud, visored face. Slipping out of the way of a punch, the Spartan replied in kind with a strike of his own to the elite's upper chest. Mor'koh stood his ground, going toe to toe with the Spartan, but he was clearly losing without his swords.

    A particularly hard punch sent the elite reeling off the wall. He turned too late, regaining his bearings just in time to spot John-B069's fist. The blow snapped the elite's head back. John concluded the assault with a side-kick. The blow knocked Mor'koh back and onto the ground, too battered to continue. The Spartan's fists sufficed indeed.

    However, there were signs of damage on his armor; his tech-suit was frayed on the left shoulder and right abdomen. His brown armor had clear, black burns. As Mor'koh tried to stand, the Spartan descended on him, wrapping his hands around the sangheili's throat.

    Mor'koh choked out six words before his windpipe closed.

    "Well did, Demon." Knowing he was beaten, the sangheili grasped a plasma grenade from the corpse of his fallen comrade, priming it with his thumb.

    "My life for yours?"

    The Spartan III scrambled away as the grenade lit. Mor'koh, with the last of his strength, stood and leaped towards John, putting the explosion that much closed. The blast was blinding, and John was certain that death was imminent.

    Instead, he was spared by the concussive force of the detonation. The blast shattered a window and sent him flying out. The Spartan III put his arms out. The moment he felt pavement, he folded and rolled, managing to get to his feet. Mor'koh and the dead Ultra he was partnered with were both evaporated in an instant. John's shields recharged as he stood, feeling sore all over.

    "...Gonna miss that energy sword. Should have grabbed one before I jumped." The Spartan III limped off; his leg felt hot and numb, like he'd sat on it for too long. He'd be running again soon enough, but Mor'koh's proud display had left an impact.

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      Current date/time is December 14th 2017, 11:19 pm