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War Stories ((Stories about Mora, her past, and her present))

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(( I figure I will be using this thread from time to time to do writeups in various formats, covering character backstory for Mora Dega. She is truly an interesting character to me. It has been a very, very long time since I did forum posts like this, and I am hella rusty, but I will do my best to be improving my writing yet again.

Some of the stories, like the one below, were told IC in game, and I liked it enough to try to save it somewhere more permanent, but not all the stories, probably, will be in the format you see below. Hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing. ))

Mora sat on the couch, nestled between a crush of other bodies. The smoky raucous room, filled with low talk and loud laughter, was her comfort now. From the other side of the couch, a voice was heard;

"Well I bet Mora there has some stories, come now love, don'tcha got something exciting to share with us?"

Mora sipped on her foam capped drink, a smile spreading across her face. "Well yea hun, I reckon I do!" and she sat up and cleared her throat.

"Look, alright? There wuz this one time, we wuz surrounded by th'enemy. Twas jes me'n Sarge, Sarge Brinkley, jes us left. Resta our unit done got kilt off th'pas' few days. I wuz jus' a Private then. Them Chua had us locked down perty good, hittin us with firebombs an'th'like fer days. We wuz almost down to our last setta rations."

His face, she could never forget his face. Deep set, strong, nearly always scowling. Sarge Brinkley, probably the only person to have truly understood her.

"Well I reckon th'only reason them bastards ain'try t'rush us yet wuz we wuz takin shifts see? Keepin a good steady lot'a bullets'n shit flyin their way. Reckon we wuz doin a perty good job'a makin em think we wuz still manned up. Well th'las'day, wunna them there firebombs dun busted through th'roof, an' we had a helluva time puttin that there mess out. Turns out, it collapsed a wall that we ain been able ta figger on how ta get past cuz th'door had been locked. Inside, we foun'some Dommie bastards gearlocker. Inside, there wuz this dress see? All fanciful an'shit, I reckon some highborn lady figgerd this here dress wuz perty fancy anyway. Well Sarge see, he holds it up t'me an sez, he sez t'me, ey there Private, get in this here getup'n get down there'n get th'Chua t'think yer some motherfucker 'er some other. Dun sounded like a right good plan t'me."

She takes another long sip from her drink, the people around her now enthralled with her story.

"Well I cain' remember much whut I done said t'them furry little bastards, but I kin tell ya this, fer how gaddamn crazy they is? They ain' that stupid. After I done went and made m'words t'them, they jes kinna stared at me fer a minnit, then like all at once fell over jes laughin and hootin at me, cuz I reckon I ain sound like no Highborn they never hear'd. But that there? Thats when I took m'chance, and whipped out my gun and I dun took some crazyass shots off at th'fuel tank behin'em, n BOOM!"

Getting into the telling of the story more now, she jumped up out of her chair, shooting her arms up and imitating explosions with them, garnering a small gasp from the small group of people.

"Pshkew! Bkkssow! An them little buggers, they wuz runnin fer it, n I dun hightailed it outta there n met back up with Sarge. We made a break fer it offa th'other side of th'hill, and we wuz laughin so hard, m'belly felt like 'twas gunna explode like th'Chua."

She gives a deep flourish of a bow with a smile to the group.

"An that there is th'story bout how me n Sarge became the Bestest Ever."
Posted Oct 6, 15 · OP · Last edited Oct 7, 15
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Beep beep. Beep beep. Beep beep.

That incessant noise that was offending her sleep was back. She slapped at her datachron from the couch and rolled over, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Another unfamiliar room, another person she didn't really know. Ever since waking up from cryo a few weeks ago, this had been life. Soon as boots touched ground, she had mustered up with the local FCON forces to help in the fight. Fighting was all she knew in life anymore, and she liked it that way.

Beep beep. Beep beep. Beep beep.

She eyed the datachron. It was probably a message from force control, probably her next assignment for after post-cryo leave was done. She didn't really much feel like looking at it just yet. Just a lot of fighting. Just a lot of folks dying. Plenty of time for that. She didn't really want to think about it right now, it was a good time the past few days. Brutzkrieg and Slaytone over at the Drunken Boulder had been kind enough to give her a gig working as a dancer, and she had been enjoying herself immensely.

Beep beep. Beep beep. Beep beep.

"Fine, bothersome message. Les'see whut'cha got."
She mused to herself as she picked it up. Sure as shit, there it was, FCON logo displayed across the front of the screen, urgency rating Beta, unclassified. Well that was something to think on at least, couldn't be anything too dangerous.

Tapping the screen a few times, her heart sank as a familiar face displayed in the upper right of the message. Her fingers gently touched the face, one she had known for a long time. Everyone knew they were something special. Not a lover, not anything like that, something much deeper that had transcended the bounds of friendship. Her lip quivered as she read on.

"Dear Mora Dega, Corporal

Words can not express how deeply sorry we are for this day. Robert Brinkley, Sergeant Major, was confirmed killed in action against Dominion forces three weeks ago.

I know that the passing of a loved one is one of life's most tragic moments, but sincerely hope you will find some measure of comfort in knowing that he served the Exiles with honor."

It was about all she could read before she broke down, sobs rippling through her body.

"Sorry Sarge..."
Posted Oct 7, 15 · OP · Last edited Oct 7, 15
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He's just there, in the distance. His hand, reaching out to her, agonizingly slow, twisting, spinning into oblivion and exploding into tiny pieces, to flutter about her like butterflies, each reflecting in their wings, him. Sergeant Brinkley, reaching out to her, always calling. "Mora, Mora where where you when I needed you?"

"I couldn' Sarge! I jes couldn'! I wus in cryo I cain do nuttin!"

Forever reaching. Forever calling, they cascade around her in a violent storm, the voices, many, calling all at once in a vivid chorus painful to the ears. "Why? Where where you? Where where you when they got me?"

An explosion to her left threw her to her feet from the ground where she had been laying, and there she was, on the battlefield, bullets whipping overhead, another explosion rocked the hole she had tumbled into. There in front of her, Sergeant Major Brinkley, Sarge of the great 45th, there he was standing there with his rifle, yelling like a fool, charging into Dominion forces. She couldn't stop it. It played over and over again, cruelly comic in its appearance, and all at once another explosion threw on her back, and everything around her went silent.

She looked around, empty space, nothing, nothing except, him.

Reaching. Calling. Forever into the abyss, just out of reach, tugging at her heart, on her soul. She could feel it draining the life from her as his voice crippled her limbs and set fire to her throat, tightening into a painful choke that threatened to bring blackness.

"Mora, where were you? You weren't there. You weren't there to save me like the old times. We always had each others backs. Where where you? When I died."

"Sarge!"
She sat up, sweat clinging to her body, she could feel it soaked into the couch cushions underneath her, the light blanket gripping with a sickening wetness to her skin, like blood.

She tore at the blanket, screaming. It felt like blood. Get it off.

The man that she had met at the bar only that night came running into the room with a rifle in his hands, looking around in a panic for a moment before fully realizing the situation, and set it down, running over to her, trying to grab her shoulders. "Mora! Mora What in the dang hell has gotten into you? Come on girl stop that yer awake, yer okay. Ain't no one here that's going to hurt you."

She didn't even remember his name. Just his face. This man that knew her name. She wasn't sure if she even felt bad about it. The image of Robert Brinkley reaching out to her, slowly fading, slowly fading away into the distance of her vision until it was gone.
Posted Oct 8, 15 · OP · Last edited Oct 8, 15
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Lopps.

Patrolling. Frickin. Lopps. Is this what all those years serving had brought her to? She was angry, because she wanted to be out on the front lines of the battle, killing Dominion.

She wanted revenge.

It had been a small while since getting put back on duty. They issued her a uniform fit for the area. It was vaguely camouflaged to hide her in the snow, although for the life of her she couldn't figure out who she would be hiding from. The duty assignment was trivial. She was stationed patrolling the local Lopp village in Whitevale. While Lopps weren't half bad as far as creatures of the universe went, it wasn't the passion that burned in her veins. She was itching for a fight that never came. All they did was talk about shinies, get high on Lopp weed. They never did anything exciting to her.

To make matters worse, she had begun to fall for a local regular that frequented the bar she worked at. Just thinking about the Aurin gal made her heart flutter. It was... it was a nice distraction, at least that is what she would keep telling herself while knowing better. Mora had promised herself she wouldn't let herself ever do this, and here she was, not fighting, dangerously close to settling down. Flora had already asked her to move in with her, and she was seriously considering it.

It was scary.

Senair had promised to help find information on the whereabouts of where Sarge Brinkley had been killed. As of yet though, no information had come. She hadn't seen him in a small while, but that was ok, she trusted him by his word. Knowing that soon she would be able to take matters into her own hands, that was the comfort that drove her on each day.
Posted Oct 21, 15 · OP
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This was it. The end of this short chapter in her life. She stood tall, dress uniform and all, in front of her Ships Commanding Officer, her Commanding Officer. The time worn wrinkles of his face set deep, his piercing grey eyes peering at her from behind his desk.

"Corporal Dega, y'know what I've told y'before, I can't do what y'want me to. Th'doc spoke an I can't go agains' that. He says y'ain fit fer duty, an that stands. I already told y'that if y'keep askin, I'll be forced t'discharge y'from service."

Mora kept her stiff bearing. "Yessir. I need tuh do this, ain no other way. I wish there wuz but there ain. Cain yuh do nuttin Sir?"

The old man frowned at her, standing. "Dega, I can not officially condone this action, as far as the records show, you will have been discharged from service with other than honorable conditions. I won't be dishonorin y'though, yer family has served on this here ship for generations, I just couldn't do that to your folks' memory. As it stands, I can't officially help you in any way. I want to find out what happened with Brinkley as much as you do, perhaps as a free agent, you will have access to methods blocked from me by the bureaucracy of everything."

"Thas all I ask Sir."

He smiled at her, his eyes betraying his great sorrow. "Then it's settled. You will be officially discharged from service, and barred from re-entry. Yer on yer own now, Mora. I will see what I can do about helping you get yourself started. An remember, y'can't tell no one, no one at all, y'was discharged fer conduct and that's what yer stickin to, I don't care who it is."

She nods grimly. "M'service ain never end, an Imma find whut happened tuh Brinkley, jes you wait, Sir. An don worry, I ain goan tell nobody, this here is important, I ain care much whut folk think 'bout me anyhow, ain no use fer worryin bout that there shit."
Posted Oct 31, 15 · OP
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