Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-25389303-20180831104140/@comment-25389303-20181116012035

Blanc's vision is a blur as she stumbles through the moonlit forest in a pain-wrecked daze. Each step sends arcs of pain up her injured leg, but she pushes onwards, and soon the distant lights begin to seem closer. As she nears the edge of a large clearing she feels her foot catch on something, and doesn't even realise that she's falling until the ground rushs up to crunch into her face.

For a moment she lies there, spitting out the taste of dirt and dead leaves from her mouth, before finally she looks up. Through her fading vision she sees the lights - moving now, and more numerous then she realised. One seemed to flicker in her direction, and the next thing she knew her eyes were blinded by a piercing stream of light.

"Target located, sir," a male voice could be heard, accompanied by the muffled footsteps of a small company. Blanc feels hands clamp around her arms as she's hoisted to her feet - her sword falling from her weakened grasp. As her vision returns to her she finds herself in the middle of a clearing ringed by over a score of black-clad mercenaries, all armed with flashlight-fitted rifles. Most are pointed in her direction, while several others kept their aims trained on the surrounding woodland.

"Not quite, captain," a second, darker voice responds. Managing to angle her head to the side, Blanc watchs as the soldiers part to reveal a surprising normal-dressed man. Older than most, with pale, sunken features adorning his pitted face, he seems particularly out of place amongst the regimental hired guns he surrounds himself with. Behind his pitch-black shades Blanc feels something cold boring into her, sending shivers up her spine.

The man stands before Blanc for a moment, before inclining his head towards the soldier that had spoken. "Nobel's accomplice, no doubt. Spread out and find him, and make it known that if he doesn't come quietly, the girl won't live to see the daylight."

The shuffling of footsteps indicats the following of the order. Within moments Blanc is alone, with only the shaded man and a couple of bodyguards for company.

"Who...are you?" Blanc manages to stammer deliriously, causing the man to break from his thoughtful pose and concentrate on his newly acquired prize.

"Who am I? Little more that a husk, I'm afraid. But one with purpose," he replies in a gravelly voice, a waft of cigar smoke escaping from his lips as he spoke. "You've made some heinous friends, miss. The time has come for their punishment - and the payment of debts that have for too long gone unaccounted for."

A few quick strides brings the man face-to-face with blanc in a matter of heartbeats. "The name's Vorcha. Douglas Vorcha. Director of LIFELINE, and the man you have just been caught stealing from."

Another stream of smoke is expelled, this time directly into Blanc's face, sending her into a coughing fit while the director regards her with cool disapproval. "Shame that one so young should be caught up in age-old grudges such as this, but such is the price of allying oneself with the wrong side," he says quietly, almost to himself.

Vorcha steps away, turning in the direction Blanc had come. "Our freelancers are still out there. Find them and bring them to me. And bring the girl - I'll have need of her."

The last thing Blanc sees is the man's retreating outline slowly melting into the forest's shadows, before the darkness rushes up and swallows her.