A battered military truck pulling a small trailer, haphazardly painted a dull gray-blue, its paint chipping off in sections, shuddered along the patchy stretch of highway around the ass-end of Rassvet. The truck bumped and bobbed while maintaining its bearings as a wheel fell into each pothole. Sparse civilization gave way to rougher terrain, tweedy tan grass and short, shrubby trees that bowed lazily in the breeze, punctuated by the occasional outcropping of chalky stone. Here, there was no sign of the war, just as there was no sign of civilization- other than the occasional road stop with its typical fixings. Just some kids piled into an old truck with a roaring diesel engine, held together by little more than a few loose bolts and hope, hanging on by straps tied to the rollbars and sitting on their field packs and cases of beer as they headed out for one last howl at the moon together- A road trip around Rassvet, to visit all the places they hadn’t had the chance to before.

Then, after that, they shipped off to the dangerous and very adult business of war. After a decade together, it was going to be strange to part, since they knew they were going to be broken up from Barghest Squad into replacements for depleted WARDEN outfits on the front.



The truck lifted several inches off the ground and the radio scratched, throwing booze and bodies into the air for a brief moment as the truck collided with a pothole at approximately 70 miles per hour. There was another collective round of light-hearted groans as the truck bounced again for what must have been the fifth time in the last 20 minutes.

“For fucks sake, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you were trying to hit every damn hole on the High Road.” Galahad grumbled. Galahad was sitting back in his seat, his feet kicked up on the dashboard, showing off a pair of nice leather shoes and immaculately fitted jeans, his blonde hair whipping around his face as he casually read a small leatherbound book. His other hand loosely held a half full bottle of whiskey, and balanced atop of a simple, minimalist shirt and longcoat was a tablet suspended in midair by its corners, containing a road map of Rassvet. Glancing at the map, they were probably less than a half hour away from the nearest rest stop- a small town called Sappl Springs.

“At least you’re sitting in a fuckin’ chair! My ass is going to be black and blue with all these bumps, Lance ya’ need to avoid the holes man!” Asa shrieked out from the bed of the truck, black hair blowing all over the place and a single hand holding for dear life on one of the rails. The sights of the countryside were beautiful to behold though, even for a city girl like her, she marveled at the forests and valleys. Some passing Wyverns were viewable in the seen distance, a flock of twelve dark-green ones flying out west away from the more occupied lands of Rassvet.

“Hey book for brains! What kinda Wyvern are they?” Asa spat out again, leaning off the side of the truck and looking through the open windows directly to Gal.

“I don't know- not from this distance, nor do I particularly care. I'm a genius not a bestiary. They're not Vangar Wyvern Knights and that's all I care about.” Galahad called back offhandedly, handing the half drunk bottle of whiskey out the window and throwing it back telekinetically into Asa’s waiting hand.

The bottle of amber liquid swiftly trajected itself directly into Asa’s hand and she clapped her small fingers around the concoction gripping it amid the rough driving. Slinking back down into her makeshift seat of on-hand luggage and other odds and ends. Her back pressed into the rear window and she brought the whiskey to her lips, the amber liquid sinking down her gullet absentmindedly before she offered it to Ray.

“Heorot Whisky tastes like paint thinner, but it’ll get ya’ drunk!” Asa quipped to her large-bodied compatriot who probably had a difficult time getting drunk. Meanwhile, light rock and radio talk show phased in and out throughout the truck amidst crackling static, as the shaking shifted the already wobbly dials on the vehicle.

"-nd welcome back listeners to RPR and our continued coverage of the Vangar Conflict! There was hard fighting around the border town of Calty today between Vangar and Rassvet forces in the current push to secure Fort Kelgrav. After several hours of fighting our brave soldiers had to make a tactical retreat. On the Coastal Front: A supply carrier was sunk today a few miles off from Costa Del Sol by a Vangar Submarine. And in more hopeful news, Imperial Princess Colette Van Skymning, the youngest daughter of Emperor Siegfried Van Skymning of Vangar arrives in Orestia later today as part of a peace delegation. More on those talks within the hou-"

Hearing the radio propaganda coming from inside the truck instantly agitated Asa, her cheeks reddened as blood rushed to her head. She gripped the side of the truck once again before roaring to one of the two in the front seat, whoever listened, they’d probably listen.

”Turn that shit off! We’re on vacation, for crying out loud!” Her long planned tangent would be cut short by another bounce of the truck bed, her grip of the railing nearly slipping and falling out of the vehicle as a tire found another pothole.

”Don’t have to tell me twice.” Galahad grumbled aloud, more to himself than anyone in particular, his hands already reaching for the radio dials. There was a sharp crack as he slapped the radio like one would a misbehaving child and the tune eventually shifted back to the light rock station. Galahad and Asa’s sentiments weren’t new or uncommon- many, especially within the WARDENs, were rather skeptical about the idea of these peace talks having any particular effect, especially when up against a nation such as Vangar. As one of their own had so eloquently put it: Peace was a hard thing to work out when one country wanted complete and utter dominion over the other.

---

It was a beautiful day.

Not that Zak could particularly take the time to enjoy it at the moment. The first part of their trip had gone so smoothly it was almost a dream now - and by smoothly, he really meant the road. The even pavement around the Citadel was like a gods' send compared to the rougher, dirt road they now found themselves on. Still, whenever the path in front of them stretched out flat for a while and the warm breeze passed over him, the chatter of his squad mate's drifting into the cab from behind him, Zak couldn't help but think that the team roadtrip was already the best idea they'd ever had.

...aaaaand then the potholes returned. A particularly nasty one drew complaints from the passengers, and Zak couldn't blame them. He winced as the truck landed back on the dirt.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, his tone light and a grin on his face. He looked over at Galahad beside him in the cab, before leaning his head back to call an answer into the bed.

"Be happy to! If there wasn't - " the young man started, stopped by another ill placed pit in the road. Really, really poor timing on that one. The sudden bounce of the truck nearly had him biting his tongue, but he recovered quickly and continued. " - weren't holes all over the road!"

It was a single, narrow stretch of shitty highway, kind of hard to avoid anything, but hey. Zak refocused on the road ahead after a quick glance at the map. It was mostly unneeded, he could see for miles ahead in the open landscape and the road was straight for as far as the eye could see, but it was good to see how close they were getting to any semblance of civilization. He was sure all of them would appreciate a chance to stretch out, himself included.

As they continued rumbling down the path, Zak was quite content to listen to the others talk over the sound of the newscasters. Honestly, he'd gotten used to tuning out the public reports. In the barren, somewhat peaceful scrub-grass land they were passing through it would have been hard to believe there was a national conflict going on if he didn't know any better. Still, music was much preferred, and nodded in approval as Galahad found them some tunes.

The notes struck familiar with Zak and his small grin grew wider before he reached over to turn the volume up.

"Not much longer!" he said - raising his voice, chuckling and competing with the singer for the squad's attention, "then you all can get off your high horses and stop complaining!"

---

An honest to god vacation, one last road trip around the countryside before heading off to war. It sounded like a great idea, at least until she saw the rust bucket that they would all be stuffed into for the duration. Needless to say, Sabrina was glad that she applied her makeup when they were still traveling on the smooth straightaways that surrounded the Citadel and not now. After a bump like that there was a decent chance she'd end up swallowing her favorite shade of lipstick instead of wearing it; thankfully she just smacked into the back of the seat Gallahad was reclining in, her sunglasses slipping down the bridge of her nose as she appeared over his shoulder.

“For fucks sake, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you were trying to hit every damn hole on the High Road.” Galahad grumbled.

"Missed your bloody calling as a stunt driver," Sabrina said, shooting Zak a disapproving look before pushing her shades back up onto her face and getting back into her seat, briefly popping open a compact to make sure nothing was displaced or disheveled, which of course it wasn't. Flipping her hair out of her eyes, she reached down for one of her drinks, a more high-end brew then what this crowd was used to, easily popping the cap off one-handed with her thumb and taking a long swig before leaning out the window to see the road ahead. Bad roads aside, this was a rather nice little experience. No smelly polluted cities or crowded streets, just miles of open countryside under a balmy summer sky. Who could ever say no to something like this?

“Heorot Whisky tastes like paint thinner, but it’ll get ya’ drunk!” Asa quipped from the backseat as she handed Ray the stronger booze. Indeed it would, Sabrina recalled with grim composure. She had a distinct memory of when Asa introduced that little number to her, accusing her of being a lightweight and of Sabrina happily proving her wrong. At least, that's what she was told. Not much comes to mind from that night besides the incident with the floor buffer and about twenty pounds of granola.

Still peeking out the window, Sabrina caught sight of the approaching pothole like a bullet, bracing herself this time to avoid being thrown about. With a little flounce she slipped back into her chair as someone slapped the radio to turn off the news broadcast. Probably for the best, she thought as Asa's rant was cut short by a general agreement to avoid the news from here on out. Part of her wanted to keep an ear out for when the war did come to old Katerio, even if there was nothing these she was particularly fond of, but...well, they were on vacation. Fuck it.

"Not much longer!" Zac reported with a chuckle, "then you all can get off your high horses and stop complaining!"

"If we were on a high horse, you trying to jump every pot hole would be your problem, not ours," Sabrina snarked, lifting her drink for another sip of that lemon-strawberry goodness.

Everyone had the distinct sensation that Sorin never wanted to be on this vacation in the first place. For one, she had her rifle tucked underneath her legs. She wasn't in uniform but she had packed it, and her fashion sense was eerily reminiscent of formal regalia. She had her typical gear packed up as they would for a training mission, with some added "luxuries" which ultimately came to her phone, her charger and her knitting gear in a tote bag tied to her pack. And unlike the rest of them, she wasn't jeering nor drinking and seemed wholly unaffected by the carefree attitude that had taken over the Barghest Squad.

Not like any of this particularly mattered. There was seldom a moment in all the years they'd known Sorin where she had ever fully "switched off", not even during parties or celebrations. At this particular moment she was quietly watching the horizon slip by from the truck bed, eyes flickering this way and that as she kept watch over the vehicle and its residents. She didn't complain or groan when they hit awful potholes but instead kept her gear steady. For a while she looked down at her knees; it was also common knowledge that her 'indefatigable vigilance' ended up with horrible side effects to her sleeping pattern and she was probably running on a few hours despite being well into the day as is. She only started talking when the radio changed, and even then it was a simple, reproachful "I was listening to that."

Unlike the majority of the vehicle’s occupants Samdihier Zeintler was thoroughly enjoying himself. A half-full bottle of spirits clutched in one hand he pressed up against the back of the driver’s seat through the open rearview window, his chin alarmingly close to the hard metal edge, letting out raucous hoots each and every time Zak put the truck’s suspension to the test. Spilling a little of his drink, Sam (as his friends called him) tapped Zak on the shoulder, pointing out a particularly nasty specimen that stretched across the middle portions of the highway. A gouge that spanned nearly a third of the path’s available space and sunk at least a foot into the earth.

“Ooh, nice air Lance-me-Zak, Sabrina’s right you ought’a be a stunt driver. We must’ve cleared a meter or so at least, and still moving! Now put the metal to the pedal, er I mean, the petal to the medal and hit that’n o’er there!” He challenged, indicating the oncoming maw that threatened to destroy whatever intact springs remained. He gave the rest of the squad a massive wink and snapped his fingers, wrapping the mist around his digits before letting it fall away, floating like invisible paper on the breeze until they wrapped securely around the axles and shocks. A slight deviation from his typical magic, but effective, nonetheless. Instead of absorbing bullets it’d absorb the impact, or at least that was the theory. On the off-chance Zak actually took up his challenge and floored it straight into the oncoming pothole the barriers would absorb the worst of the impact and disperse it harmlessly, sparring the truck if not the passengers from a serious jarring. As much as Sam would’ve enjoyed hiking the remaining miles to their destination, the others would not be so willing to shrug it off. Pulling back from his precarious position Sam stood up straight, so that he could watch over the top of the truck’s rusted cover, banging his bottle on the roof.

“Ten, nine, eight, whoops!” His jubilant countdown ended abruptly when the bottle shattered sending shards of glass flying everywhere and leaving his hand a drenched and bloody mess. He wiped the lacerations on his grey smock, which was now dripping from strong alcohol, smearing the light fabric with blood. He winced, even in his less than sober state the light injury throbbed. “Shit, piss, hey, uh, hey Sorin.” He sank against the back of the cab, glancing back at his dark-skinned comrade, sitting stoically in the truck’s bed. “Could I ask a massive favor from you? Cause I seem to have gotten glass and whisky, and here’s the crazy part right, its inside my hand. I ain’t no Galahad but I’m pretty sure that’s not where those two substances are supposed to be, and would’ja know it, the damn thing hurts worse’n Ray’s handshakes, kinda stings too. Reminds me of that peppery stuff Asa likes, but y’know it hurts here instead of here… Anyway, would you do me a solid and patch it up? I’d really appreciate it.”

𝚁𝚊𝚢 𝙷𝚘𝚙𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚜

---

Ray laughed. It was a good day. The Sun was out, the air wasn’t too hot, and his friends were all enjoying themselves. His laughter was cut short when the truck hit another bump and gave a stomach-turning bounce, sending his less-massive compatriots flying.

“Whoa now! Hold onto yourselves, ‘cause we’re in for a rough ride. If anyone needs a cushion, my arms are ready and waiting.” He sprawled outwards in the truck bed, leaning against the side and taking up a majority of the surface area with his legs and torso. Asa handed him a bottle of Heorot Whiskey.

“And what do you expect me to do with this, eh?” He laughed again, the booming sound overpowering the rumble of the engine.

“Drink all of it, pussy.”

“Watch that mouth of yours, Asa! If you’re any more hostile, I just might retaliate with force!” Ray threw back his head and downed the rest of the bottle. “Good stuff. A bit weak, but it’ll do for now.” Being big had its advantages. Sure, he always got the lowest marks on stealth exercises, but winning drinking contests was far more important. He burped and leaned past Asa to talk to the cabin’s inhabitants, dodging shards of glass as Sam broke his bottle on the roof of the truck.

“Hey, Sabrina, borrow me a bit of that stuff you got there. I need a chaser real quick.” Ray held out the empty bottle.

“Shit, piss, hey, uh, hey Sorin. Could I ask a massive favor from you?”

“Mmn?” Sorin looked up. She was listening. The F-word had been brought into play and now Samdihier had piqued her curiosity. She regarded the bloodied mess with a sort of detached bemusement as her fellow squadmate began to talk his way out of it.

“Cause I seem to have gotten glass and whisky, and here’s the crazy part right, its inside my hand.”

[color=8493ca]“I see,” Sorin mused. She reached into her breast pocket and pulled out the dogeared address book. Her Little Black Book, weatherbeaten and torn but always a part of her. It was here that names, addresses, contact details and deals were made. This was Sorin’s most precious possession; one she has fought to protect in the past and would unflinchingly do so in the future.

“I ain’t no Galahad but I’m pretty sure that’s not where those two substances are supposed to be, and would’ja know it, the damn thing hurts worse’n Ray’s handshakes, kinda stings too.”

“How surprising,” Sorin drawled as she took out the pen that always resided near the book in that breast pocket and wrote down Samdhier Zeintler into the yellowed pages. Adjacent to it, the date and time. Underneath, the details of the injury - all in the crisp black lettering of a trained hand that wrote coursework assignments during field exercises. Not even the erratic bumps in the road could unsteady her hand. It was an oft overlooked but very important skill for a medic and a sniper to have.

“Reminds me of that peppery stuff Asa likes, but y’know it hurts here instead of here…”

“I’m sure it does,” Sorin responded gently. She punctuated the entry with her pen and snapped the book shut, putting it away. The pact was made; Samdihier owed Sorin A Favour now.

“Anyway, would you do me a solid and patch it up? I’d really appreciate it.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” Sorin used her canteen to bang against the side of the truck bed, raising her voice to something a little underneath a yell as she barked “STOP THE TRUCK! We have our first casualty!” Now her stiff preparatory nature became less of a cheap way to get a jab at her and more of a well-thought out prediction of the inevitable; a gaggle of young wardens gambolling around the countryside were bound to end up in some form of trouble or another. And whilst the alcohol and good vibes were poured out in droves, there wasn’t a drop for the doctor that inevitably had to do her duty and act as damage control on the road trip. “Somebody get Zeitler something strong and hard-hitting. I can’t administer any painkillers,” Sorin sighed as she reached underneath her feet, pushed aside the canvas bag containing her rifle and took out her medkit from the very, very top of her backpack. As if she knew this was going to happen. There was a trace of a smile on her lips as, at last, she had been put into a situation that she was familiar and comfortable with.

---

Despite Sam's best - or worst - intentions, and everyone's apparent assumption, Zak wasn't aiming for the potholes. Honest. Still, Sam's humor was infectious, and the red head couldn't help but start to nod along with the other man's countdown however short lived it was. The sound of the glass shattering didn't even seem to reach their driver's ears above the beats of the music, the bobbing of Zak's head to Sam's voice easily transitioning to follow the sound of the drums in the song.

His thoughts were half-focused on trying to recall the lyrics, and half on the road ahead. He didn't spare any glances into the vehicle's mirrors, figuring the rest of them could take care of themselves - or at the very least, a few of them could. Besides, there was no one else on the road at the moment. Very good luck for the squad of friends. Speaking of, Zak glanced over at Galahad again, intending to thank the blonde for snagging the truck for them in the first place, but just as he opened his mouth Sorin's voice cut through the rest of the noise.

"Already?" he asked, bemused. He turned his head to try and get a look, sending the truck right into yet another dip in the road. "Oh for the love of - " Thankfully Sam's magic helped a little, but it didn't stop the occupants from jostling a little. Honestly he thought it was only a matter of time before one of them got up to something like this, got hurt a bit, which was a reason he was grateful that Sorin tagged along with them even if Otto couldn't make it... but come on it had barely been half a day!

Zak scrutinized the suspended map. They were really close to Sappl Springs. It would probably be better if they could make it there before having to stop, even with an injury. He'd hate to get on Sorin's bad side but...

"Can you hold out a few more minutes? I'll punch it 'till we get to the next town. Just uh, hold on."

With a determined hum Zak shifted the gear stick and pressed his foot nearer to the floor, pushing the gas pedal with it. Couldn't keep the crew waiting after all.

Asa snapped out as she winced at the medical scene that was taking place not so far from her, she wasn't squeamish with blood but rather the bumping around and a wounded comrade having fragments of glass in them really just- made her feel weird. Beneath her was a bag of supplies, she was using it as a seat to cushion her rear. But as mentioned before her ass was not getting much support from the rucksacks filled with stock alcohol, snacks, and other odds & ends. Her right hand loosely gripped the bag's opening while the other unclipped it's fastening, then she made some awkward facial expressions as she reached for what would likely be a bottle- maybe this was the "change of clothes' bag? Finally she would clasp her hands around a small bottle of Manticwhore Vodka, plucking out from the army green bag and leaning over to hand it to Dr. Soren. The viscous transparent concoction has a small stinger sitting at the bottom of the bottle, the titular manticore stinger.

"This should definitely work. Anyone who drinks a whole bottle'a that'll probably enter a coma!" Asa laughed out snorting at the thought.

As Zak put the peddle to the metal and booked it, Asa was immediately launched back towards the rear view window the WARDENmobil. Her head had luckily slammed into the frame of the vehicle rather than the thick glass, a metallic ding being audible over the engine's roar. The girl's face turned bright read, anger, a well of all kinds of emotions but mostly annoyance. She clutched onto the railing even as the truck sped through multiple bumps, Sam being operated on, too much stimulation- and the alcohol was finally kicking in so all stops were being pulled. It was time for an Asa explosion.

"THAT'S IT! I'M COMING INSIDE! WHO'S LAP AM I SITTING ON! I DON'T GIVE A FUCK ANYMORE!"

Galahad could barely keep up with all the chaos happening behind him- well, he could, but he didn't want to. The chaos and noise had been nonstop for the past several hours that Galahad could barely make a dent into his book, combine the noise and the potholes, Galahad couldn't even hear himself think half the time. Still, to be fair this was exactly what he had signed up for- one last round of loud, bothersome, unsanctioned and irresponsible memories with these jokers. He had been with them for the better part of a decade now, and he'd miss them- even Bete who kept shoving her fucking knee into his back every twenty-odd minutes. For many of them, this would probably be the last time they'd ever see each other until the end of the war- if they saw each other again at all.

It was an entertaining thought, the idea of the war ending- and provided they won, neither of which sounded very plausible in the near future. Galahad wondered how many of them would actually return from the war. Sorin surely, she was a valuable asset and a long ranged fighter, it was unlikely she'd be put in as much risk as some of the others. Sabrina's family was old money, even if all the stories she had told the squad about them were true, they'd no doubt dump a ton of money into making sure she was alive. Bete was a bit of a wildcard- she was just as likely to get scrounge through and survive everything as she was to get too far into enemy lines and buried in an unmarked grave- provided she wasn't court martialed and arrested for insubordination. But Ray? Zak? Sam? The men were strong no doubt, but the war had been chewing up infantry like them and spitting them out for years now. Galahad himself was a bit of a target as well, son of a general and all- and not to mention that enemy mages were always a prime target. Asa was an infiltrator, and probably ran the highest risk of them all. The list went on.

The sound of breaking glass and more yelling brought Galahad back to earth. With a roll of his eyes and a sigh, Galahad snapped his book shut, and tossed it into his mist pocket, snapped the tablet out of the air and put it on the dash as he turned around to see what was going on. Sam had broken a bottle and gotten glass in his hands, Asa had jumped through the window in an attempt to get into the cabin, and Sorin was yelling at them all to stop the truck while Zak did the exact opposite and began speeding the truck up. All in all, business as usual for the Barghest Squad- its a wonder how they made it to the top of the standings.

"Ah' its not that bad- Sam'll make it to town fine." Galahad said with a casual wave as he watched the scene unfold before him. They could see the tiny town- if you could call it that- growing quickly in the middle-distance. If anything, Galahad was more worried about broken glass bouncing around in the cabin while they drove. Shutting his eyes lightly, Galahad reached out and grabbed at the mist in the air around them, finding the tiny and not-so-tiny pieces of glass, blood and whiskey in their midst. With a slow twisting and clenching fist- he began pulling all the flying material into the center of the cabin almost like a rubber band ball, but instead of rubber it was razor sharp glass.

Once all the glass had been collected Galahad clenched his fist once more and the glass crushed into itself forming a smooth round ball the size of a ping pong ball. Inside the ball, the liquor and trace amounts of blood formed the image of a snarling Barghest. He tossed the ball into Sam's uninjured hand.

"Here, something to remember the trip." Galahad said with a short, almost uncharacteristic laugh. Back at the Citadel, the instructors had demanded that anything they could do without magic, they were expected to do without it. Be it cleaning, writing, or other menial tasks, such that it was almost nice to be able to use magic frivolously like this. If their drill instructor had seen this, they'd probably have thrown half the squad on latrine duty just for breaking their cardinal rules.

Another snap of his fingers, and Galahd reached back and thumped Sam on the temple, effectively putting magic painkillers into his system. They weren't actual painkillers, but they dulled his senses a bit, and that combined with the alcohol would probably cover the pain until they stopped so Sorin could actually do proper medical work. Satisfied, Galahad turned back around and contented himself with looking out the window until they arrived.

---

By the loosest definition of the term, one could barely consider Sappl Springs a town anymore. It once was a prospector’s town, but nobody tried to make it more than that, so when the Levistone ran dry its was only a matter of time till folks went looking for greener pastures. In their place abandoned machines, houses, and other refuse remained, a destitute collection splayed atop a small crest in the topography that jutted outward from the otherwise flat countryside like a sore. Along the old main street clung the last few stubborn remnants of life: a cramped looking Marshall's office, the rare and peculiar type of dive-bar that could only be found in the middle of nowhere and combination convenience store and gas station, connected to a rustic- and rusty- single storied motel called the Cloudgazer, if the sputtering neon sign mounted to the roof was to be believed. A small but persistent ecology thriving upon the slow yet ever constant trickle of vehicles down the High Road.

The military truck broke the solemn air as it crested the hill roaring with life: music still blaring, wheels scraping against gravel, inebriated voices unfit to communicate in hushed tones, and the grumble and groan of an engine running on fumes. Puttering to a stop underneath the LED lined canopy of the gas station, the engine gave a sputtered sigh of relief as Ray turned the key. It would appear that the WARDENs were the only traffic that had come through the town that day, though no one bothered stepping out of their respective buildings to welcome the travelers.

“More or less in once piece, impressive.” Galahad said aloud, as he hopped out the passenger side. "Whose turn is it to pay for gas? I paid at the last stop." He asked as he stretched his long limbs and began making his way towards the front desk. He drew the short straw so he was paying for the first round of motel rooms. While these motel rooms weren't likely too expensive, him going first also meant he was likely going to be the one on rotation by the time they got to Costa Del Sol.

Finally, breaking Sorin’s somber mien and turning her bored, neutral-esque expression into even a shadow of a smile made the stinging agony his dominate hand was undergoing all worth it. Sam sighed contentedly, letting Sorin administer what medical miracles she could in their current bouncy situation while he sipped at his new drink. The strong liquor set his lips tingling, and burned his throat going down. It only took a few deep swills for the alcohol to do its work, and Sam swiftly passed the bottle on to the sturdier Ray. “Blessed Dawn that kicks hard’n a forvenmule. You weren’t kidding in the slightest. Here, Ray I think Asa finally found th’ one thing that could lay you out.”

As it often was within the tight-knit squad, it wasn’t long before someone captured Sam’s interest. He watched in atypical silence as Galahad demonstrated his talent, forging a tiny memento to the occasion from the loose residue before tossing the item over. Sam deftly caught the ball, holding it up to admire, the crimson whisky barghest within catching the light through its snarling jowls. “You’re getting pretty good at this artsy stuff.” Sam experimentally bounced the glass, testing how well it held together before pocketing the tiny orb. For him magic was a tool, rugged and unrefined much like the truck they rode in it did what it needed to do, and somehow held together. For Galahad, it was different, and what the aspiring mage might go to be capable of Sam could only guess.

For the rest of the short drive until they pulled to a stop Sam maintained a more casual good humor, cracking the occasional joke when inspiration struck. His usual high energy antics being forestalled by his injury and alcohol and Galahad supplied alternative pain suppression left him feeling happily lethargic. Whether the things he said and the faces he pulled were even remotely funny he couldn’t recall, but sometimes the other’s laughed, and that was enough for him. He jumped out onto the gravel behind the others, a little clumsier than he should’ve been. Licking his lips Sam steadied himself against the side of the truck trying to shake off the stupor that clung stubbornly in his mind. “What’d you give me Asa?” He laughed. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I’m drunk, and I know that's not possible. I only had two drinks. Tell 'em Bete, you've seen me keep up with Ray before. I can hold my drink with the best of them, and that's a fact." His piece said he strode boldly forward and stumbled, falling against Zak. Leaning heavily on the sturdy red-head he grinned up at him, a look of pleasant surprise plastered on his face.

"Hey Zak, good catch. Say, are you a soldier in the WARDENs?" He clapped Zadkiel heartily on the shoulder as many a civilian had done to them all. "That's so cool, thank you for your service sonny."

---

Zak killed the engine as soon as the truck was aligned with the gas pump. He was pretty sure that most of the squad was as desperate to get out of the vehicle by now as he was, if not more so. The loud rock tunes disappeared, replaced with the muted sound of the gas station's radio playing from old, crackling speakers as the red haired WARDEN stepped out and shut the door loudly behind him.

"Not it," he stated, a good-natured smile on his face, "You all should be glad I got us here in one piece. That road was brutal."

He didn't know nor really care where he fell in the rotation of gas, food, and lodging purchases - except for now, because forking over for gas after the berating from nearly everyone would have been like rubbing salt in a wound. He was a good driver, honest! After waving Galahad off with a promise to pay up next time, the young man peered into the bed where the others were shuffling out. After everything, Sam looked to be in pretty good shape - physically, at least. If his slurring was anything to go by, someone had given him something pretty strong. Asa, if he had to guess.

"Well, mostly one piece," he added, tensing when Sam fell into him but propping the other man up against himself all the same. It wouldn't do to let him crack his head on the concrete, then there really would be an emergency - and he was still cracking jokes with a sliced up hand! Zak laughed with him, giving his friend a half-hearted mock salute to play along. "Just doing my duty, sir."

He all but manhandled the blonde back towards the truck, having him sit on the bed's open gate and nodded to Sorin. Man, he really hoped she wasn't cross with him for not stopping the truck - but at least disaster hadn't befallen them or anything. Zak took a few moments to make sure Sam wouldn't just flop over onto his back before he moved off to give their medically-inclined teammate room to do her thing. As for everyone else, he looked between the group and the rundown motel. Honestly they could probably all afford their own room at a place like this, but the group already had their plan in mind. Best to stick with it.

"Bunk mate situation," he started, glancing at their tallest member. "If any of our resident drunkards don't remember who was with who, I'm pretty sure Ray does." The man in question always remembered little stuff like that. It had been a few hours of sun, bumpy roads and drinking though, Zak wouldn't blame anyone if they didn't recall who they'd signed up to share the first night with. "Speaking of, I'm pretty sure we're sharing a room Ray."

Betelgeuse climbed out of the vehicle after everyone, her knees bright red from kneeling on the metal floor and her disposition even surlier than when she got in it. People call her chaotic, yet they haven’t seen the Barghest squad in full effect. If someone says her heart felt a little warmer, seeing them all gathered in front of the shitty motel, they’re a fucking liar. All she feels is emotional exhaustion.

Galahad mentions someone paying for gas, and Betelgeuse out right snorts, “No.” Betelgeuse was going to slide her way through their journey without paying a lick of coin. She had decided that, back at the Citadel, when she counted her money and realized she was only a small amount away from a black wyvern leather jacket.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I’m drunk, and I know that's not possible. I only had two drinks. Tell 'em Bete, you've seen me keep up with Ray before. I can hold my drink with the best of them, and that's a fact." Sam says.

“I don’t know what you are talking about, lightweight.” Betelgeuse shrugs, walking past where Sam is now cradled in Zac’s arms. Sam may be rowdy, but (and she will never admit this aloud) she finds his banter rather amusing. “Don’t vomit.”

Bete set her bag down and rummaged through it to find her own favorite brand of alcohol, Levishine. She popped open the top with her thumb and took a swig, wiping away the drips on the corners of her mouth. She watched as Zak dragged his deadweight cargo (Sam) over to the truck and smirked, almost outright chuckled, at the sight.

“Maybe we should put Sam with buzzkill Galahad,” she suggested with a rare twinkle in her eye.

“I don't think so.” Galahad replied coolly as he returned from the front desk- having just caught the tail end of the conversation on bunking and Bete's comments, a quartet of keys hanging off a loop on his finger. “If its all the same to the rest of you, I'd rather not wake up to the smell of vomit.” He added, tossing a key at Bete and a few others with casual mist-powered flicks.

The Cloudgazer, witnessing its first bit of business in weeks probably, opened up most of the floor for them- a quartet of two bed flats, all next door to each other, though the Barghest squad had set up most of their kit in the empty parking lot, with a small portable fire pit, a gas grill and a collection of collapsible stools, beer cases of varying fullness, and the nearby steps for seating areas. The truck sat nearby, its trailer unhitched, doors open and engine idling as music spilled out of the radio inside and over their makeshift camp. There was the smell of charcoal and lighter fluid as Ray started the grill, and the bright afternoon sun had given way to the gold and purple of the evening sky and a cool, early autumn breeze that wasn't quite biting but just enough to warrant a jacket or sweater.

As the WARDENs of varying drunkeness relaxed and laughed and joked with one another, it wasn't hard to notice a figure stepping up to their little tailgate. For almost all of them it was almost impossible to miss- their training and situational awareness long since drilled into them made them well aware of the crunch of combat boots on gravel from about twenty meters away. Silhouetted in the evening light was a fellow in a wide-brimmed hat, but otherwise uniformed like a Rassvet army regular. The uniform was flat khaki rather than camouflage, and on his left breast there were the Rassvet sword and runes, but on a shield. Marshalls.

"Evenin' there! Just stopped by to check up on you young travelers, make sure alls well!" came the voice of the Marshall, an old, gravelly baritone of a voice with a slight drawl. His hand rested casually on his hip- no more than an inch away from a holstered handgun.

“Marshall.” Galahad called back as a way of greeting, “All's well over here. Anything we can do for you?” Galahad's eyes flitted from the badge to the pistol, but took another sip of his drink casually.

"Well, there's a war on out here, and orders have it that it's my job to check up on anything unusual. So a bunch of young folks like you looking like you just left the Citadel..." he shrugged, "Well, you know." The man was bold- Galahad gave him that, deserters were heavily persecuted by Rassvet, but if the Marshall thought they were deserters, he was either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid to approach them on his own. Still, the man looked like he could handle his own well enough- maybe not against a cadre of WARDENs, but well enough against whatever this backwood might throw at him.

Galahad stood up, "You'll want to check our papers then?"

"Yeah, sure do. Just one of you will do, I don't see the point of running all y'all if it checks out."

Galahad nodded as he got up, gesturing to the others that he'd take care of it as he did. As Galahad began walking over to the Marshall he caught the glimpse of of a scope glass- Marshall wasn't alone, and wasn't stupid either. Now aware of the rifleman, Galahad was slow to reach into his pocket, not out of any particular fear, moreso out of a desire to ensure that nothing escalated. It was wartime after all, and there was a heightened security tension. Deliberately pulling out his wallet and ID, Galahad passed them over to the Marshall who quickly flipped through it.

"Says here Third Class, correct? So what's a bunch of WARDEN types doing out here?" In Rassvet, a police state, they were expected to show ID, papers, and endure a check at any given moment. This fellow, out in the boonies a bit, was at least a little more common sense and friendly in his approach. Around Orestia, these guys acted like they were on the front lines already, and that everyone was a spy.

"Graduation. That and the peace talks give short leave before we head out. One last tour of the place we're dying for before we go die."

The Marshall nodded and read off the ID number on Galahad's papers, along with a photo ID and description, got some sort of response in the earpiece, and then handed papers back, "No problem, young man. You check out. Sorry about that, but we're not a big detachment and we gotta be careful in these parts."

"Actually, come to think of it we could use a hand," the Marshall said after a moment, and somewhat sheepishly. "There's a Gryphon been harassing what's left of this town's business for a bit now, if y'all could you know... take care of it. I'm sure I could "lose" a bit of collected funds and whatnot from the lockup. Hell, could throw it on the grill too, take a few trophies... you get the picture."

Galahad smirked and gave a short laugh before taking back his stuff and returning to the group. "According to the Marshall there's a gryphon causing havoc around this sleepy little town. Anyone up for some big game hunting? Bete- I know you've been itching for a fight. Asa? Ray?"

𝚁𝚊𝚢 𝙷𝚘𝚙𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚜

---

Ray was excited for dinner. Sure, alcohol was great and all, but it really wasn't his thing. He really preferred something more filling, more hearty. What could be better than some good ol' burgers to fill up his friends' empty bellies?

Well, today would be a little different than normal. Ray had splurged a little bit on the ingredients for the trip. He unpacked some premium ground beef and began to shape them into patties. This blend had a bit of heart in it–literally. He'd just read a study on the health benefits of eating them and was eager to try.

As the Marshall verified their identities, Ray focused on grilling everything to perfection. Only when the Marshall mentioned the gryphon problem did he perk up.

"I'd love to cook some gryphon. It's kinda hard to get it in stores nowadays, 'specially with the minor rationing we have to do. Someone's got to watch our stuff, though."

---

Just the smell of hot coals under the iron grate was enough to jump start Zak's appetite, and when his stomach grumbled lightly Zak pulled his eyes away from where Galahad was talking with the Marshal and blinked down at it. Man, he couldn't wait to get some real food in him. Currently he had his feet kicked up on a now-empty cooler, still holding the neck of his first bottle of the trip between two fingers.

When he looked up again Galahad was already on his way back to them and the Marshal was... standing by, waiting for something. The red headed WARDEN's brows raised curiously. As the war continued, deserters were becoming more common, but the Barghest squad weren't deserters. That someone might think they were made Zak's skin feel prickly and put him in a bad mood. He'd leap right up to defend their honor if he had to.

"According to the Marshall there's a gryphon causing havoc around this sleepy little town. Anyone up for some big game hunting?"

Zak blinked again. Ah, well it was nice to hear he wouldn't have to risk being court-martialed. A Gyphon problem huh?

He looked over at the Marshal and gave the man a half-smile. Then Ray mentioned cooking them. His gaze slid over to the meat in the man's hands. So close to going on the grill. His stomach growled again.

"I'm in," Zak volunteered, raising his drink up in an imitation of a toast. Whether they ate before or after, not only was Ray right about availability, but it would probably help out the town. Place was on the verge of becoming a ghost town at this rate, probably gryphon problem or not. Still, they were WARDENs - shouldn't they help people now and then? A grin broke onto the young man's face and he stood up, stretching his neck. "Kind of lucky we stopped by then, huh?"

Watching the entire scene between Galahad and the bitter old coot bored Asa to death. She quite literally continued to slump in the seat she found herself until her head was flopped to the right sight, eyes shut, and mouth agape. If you were in her general proximity you’d hear the groan reverberating from her throat. Was it the alcohol or was this dramatic girl already so bored that she had turned to dramatics.

In the brief mention of a Gryphon however, along with Ray’s offer to cook such a rare specimen, raised Asa from the dead. She shot up from her seat shouting simultaneously, the shrill and aggressive voice piercing out from her gullet. Though never did she really have anything productive to say with those words.

“A Gryphon! We have to go hunt that thing down! Food - fun - memories - the stories we could tell!” Just as quickly as she rose, she fell right back on her ass nearly falling out of the seat. Standing up like that with the amount of alcohol in her system really takes a toll on motor functions.

Betelgeuse was bored, too, listening to the marshall and Galahad exchange cadences. While she didn't resort to dramatics, she did take to tapping her foot to the beat of an unheard song to convey her impatience.

Betelgeuse wished the chair had tipped over on Asa, so she could see the girl fall. It would at least spice up the stifling air the marshall left behind.
"Can we hunt it now? It'd be more fun if little Asa is tripping around the gryphon like she's stumbling around here."

“I’ll trip this chair into your face, Bete!” Asa huffed out with careless hostility. She turned to face her witty compatriot with squinted eyes, gripping the arms of the chair as if that was going to do something.

The Marshall furrowed his brows at the ensemble before choosing to cast his eyes upon the loudest of the crew. Was this what WARDEN had to offer nowadays? Times truly were changing.

Betelgeuse narrowed her eyes at Asa and stepped forward in challenge. Before she could fling herself across their parking lot camp, the marshall spoke again.

“Well I’ll take that as a possible yes. The gryphon has been spotted throughout the area, but our scouts have come to the conclusion that it’s nest is probably somewhere along the forestline- right of Edger’s Mountain.” The Marshall’s visage shifted to something a little more concerning, his pale green eyes pulling his sight to the floor. But only for a moment as his serious expression turned back to the group.

"Got it." Bete said shortly, wanting the marshall to go away now that they have information. He made her uncomfortable with his behavior, all serious like buzzkill Galahad.

The Marshall gave Bete a long stare before tipping his hat towards the group and leaving. He whistled to his law enforcement friends to follow him.

It was quiet for a moment, and when they were no longer seen, Bete turned glinting eyes onto Asa. "What is it you said about a chair, Asa?"

---

The fluttering flag of the Imperial Air Force danced among the heavens. A shock of black and red emblazoned with the roaring gryphons - the symbol of House Skymning rulers of Vangar. The flag was worn and the colors were beginning to fade, a few centuries old at this point. Squatting atop of the upper rigging of the Palatine, marking it as the flagship of the Vangar Diplomatic Fleet. Monstrous in its size, nearly twenty feet in length and made of the highest quality of threads by the finest seamstresses in all of the Imperial Provinces. The pole keeping it rooted in place tugged and buffeted in a groaning protest with every gust of wind. The winds themselves were thick, loaded with thick smoke and ash rising from the paralyzed battlefields that seemed to be not but misshapen clumps of green and brown far below them.

Colette Van Skymning of House Skymning stood on the observation deck in deep thought. Behind her was the vast expanse that the was the Vangar Empire, an empire which was forged by the blood and sacrifices of her ancestors before her. The empire which her father had ruled since he was but a young man. It was a land of peace and order where crime was punished with a clenched fist and everyone from the lowest of peasants to the highest members of the nobility had enough to eat upon there tables. Ahead of her was the unknown, the Kingdom of Rassvet. A land of great industry, ingenuity but also one of isolation and seclusion. If the books of history she had read in the palace library were to be believed as well it was a land of corruption and greed. Where the nobility dominated their politics to keep the lower classes repressed and below them in rank. A land where the military and nobility ran unchecked by any form of strong leader. There king only a figurehead to sign documents and officiate holidays. A strange land where children as young as ten were taken away from their lives and families to be turned into killing machines.

So why did the notion of the place excite her so much? It was a simple thing really... boredom. The sweeping vistas of the Vangar empire was too familiar to be of interest to her. Even the Palatine which was compared more often to a floating mansion or castle rather than a airship had come to become the familiar. When she was younger it's many decks and interlocking hallways were filled with mystery and wonder but over time all the nooks and crannies had been explored, there was no more secretes, only the dull and unremarkable sense of familiarity. Ever still there was a lingering sense of doubt in her mind, maybe the nobles were right, maybe she was only pushing for peace as much as she was because of boredom and a desire to rebel. Risking the so called 'honor and prestige' of the Empire by reaching out a hand of friendship to the small kingdom that had spit on their offers of peace and unification before.

Maybe they were right.

One thing her critics claimed was undeniably true: she was young and inexperienced, the only conformation she needed for that was to look at her reflection cast in the glass panes of the observation deck. Having turned twenty years of age just a few months prior, a young woman looked back at her. Hair dark hair fell in waves down to her waist, green eyes bright and filled with a sense of young naiveté and determination. There was certainly a sense of beauty about her but it was the cold and distance type that came from the upper edges of nobility. The cutting image of her mother or so she was told to believe. She never knew her mother, having died soon after she was born due to complications from the birth. She knew not the rigors and troubles of rule and politics like her father or her siblings knew. She was always the youngest, the coddled one, her father's favorite. She may of had the best education and training by some of the brightest minds in the Empire but she didn't have the experience, the foresight to do something with it.

The sound of swishing fabric brought her out of her reverie and back into the present. She turned her head to watch as a lone figure made his way towards her. He was dressed in a crisp and clean uniform of the Vangar Military. Hair grey in color and perhaps a bit longer than typical military regulations, a thick mustache and beard that would've been just as common on a lumberjack. He walked a decided level of purpose about him soft footfalls echoing across the empty chamber. His name was Albriech Bernhardt, some time ago he was a general and war hero of the whole of the Empire. He retired some twenty years back serving in a less prominent role as a tutor to the Emperor's children as a favor to his childhood friend. Uncle Albriech was a permanent fixture of Colette's life and he had always been her favorite tutor. It was upon her request, not her father's for him to accompany her to Rassvet.

"Ah there you are milady. The servants have been looking for you everywhere." Albriech explained as he closed the distance standing next to her gaze focused intently on the horizon. "I should of figured that you would be here. You always did favour the views from up here."

"Yes. My apologies Uncle, I just needed to find somewhere quiet to think. I wasn't really feeling up to being followed around by the whole retinue." She explained, voice tired.

"Something troubling you then?"

"I just wonder if I'm doing the right thing." Colette responded producing a slow nod of agreement from the older man.

"The terrible affliction that comes with being in a position of authority. As it were. I thought the young miss was certain of her position regarding our current matters in Rassvet." Albriech reminded her. It was true since the wars one year anniversary she had been one of the more prolific voices for peace.

"I am certain... I just don't know what it means for our home. Wasn't it you that always told me that war was a necessity needed to fuel the Empire?" She asked looking towards the older man. In return Albriech gave a small smile as he stroked his beard seemingly in deep thought.

"Very true, but I propose to you the words of another wise man" He offered, " - I will do all within my power to ensure the continued prosperity and well being of every man and women beneath me."

"Who said that?"

"Your father, on the day of his coronation." Albriech explained as he placed a hand upon Colette's "From the first day of his rule, he has been focused upon the well being of the citizenry. This war has produced nothing but bloodshed for no gains to speak of. While some may not like the idea of peace, it may truly be the best course we have available."

"Even so, all we have done to the people of Rassvet is destroy their towns and set there fields ablaze with fire. Every single offer of peace we have put forward they have rejected for they feel that our terms have never been generous enough."

"And so it is your job to do what the others can not. An easy task? No. But one that can we be accomplished? I certainly believe so"

"You make it sound so easy Uncle."

"Like most things. Anyway, before I forget, Captain Rekks desires to go over the security detail one last time. I understand why your father trusts him so much, but can the man ever be persistent."

---

Hunting the gryphon was wholly less fun than any of them were hoping for. Rather than swooping into the creature's nest and engaging in battle with it, the Barghest squad had spent the better part of several hours tracking it down. Perhaps it was a sense of pride that made them refuse to turn back to town to sheepishly tell the Marshalls they were incapable of finding the blasted creature, or it might've been the fact that they'd already sunken hours into finding it. Either way, it was nightfall before they were finally able to locate the Gryphon's nest.

They called it the Petrified Forest National Preserve. Long before there was a Rassvet or a Vangar, this whole section of the badlands was a beautiful forest. Colossal trees bigger than any skyscraper, huge grazing beasts, and other wonders all growing huge on the Mist. After a time, the water's that once fed the area stopped coming, the ground grew dry and cracked, and things faded away. The only left was facsimiles: minerals and stone that took the shape of once living things. The squad snaked through this landscape of hills and bends. Navigating around the occasional petrified trunk of a tree that lay as if discarded by some giant after being used a toothpick. Here the Gryphon had made its nest, a short distance from Sappl Springs, and its only remaining source of tourist income.

The Gryphon had nestled itself within a small alcove of rock and fallen trunks, the musky smell of beast and dead remains emanating from the small shelter. The Barghest squad had settled in maybe a few dozen meters away, prone on a nearby hill where they could observe the monster and make a plan. Plan A was sit on the hill and unload on it with everything they had- it would definitely kill the Gryphon, but it would ruin pretty much the entire carcass. Its skull was a bit too tough for a bullet, but if they could get a shot at its underbelly or chin they would be able to take it down pretty handily- they just had to get it out of the nest.

"I say we send Bette out as bait." Galahad remarked, smirking at his own joke. "The Gryphon might think she's a rival."

Any further comment out of Galahad was quickly silenced as they heard a low pitched squawk and the squad dropped behind the ridge of the hill they were on. For a second Galahad thought the Gryphon had noticed them, and weapons were almost instinctively being drawn as the Gryphon began climbing out of its nest. There was another loud, low pitched squawk, and the heavy beating of the beast's wings as it took off from the ground and began flying straight towards them.

"Fuck, here he comes." Cursing and bracing for a fight, Galahad drew his gunblade and pointed at the Gryphon, as it flew over and past them. Eyes and heads craned as the Barghests looked up and over their shoulders, watching the flying beast as it didn't fly at them, but rather away from them- fleeing.

Galahad was about to complain about having to track it down again before he saw it- before they all saw it. Nearly impossible for anyone to miss, as out of the cloud layer above them fell a massive fireball. The members of Barghast squad could clearly see that it was not a magical fireball or meteor, but rather an airship falling out of the sky. The airship was huge- bigger than any Rassvet warship. The colors of the ship were hard to make out- as everything was painted orange and grey by its trailing fire and smoke, but it certainly seemed like a civilian liner rather than a warship, if its smooth shapes and angles, and large, probably formerly white balloon was any indication. That being said, it was rather hard to see the entire silhouette of the ship, its back half was all but missing and its sides appeared to have been peppered with holes- likely of the cannon variety- and belched fire and smoke.

Passing overhead, Galahad craned his neck as he watched the massive airship continue its fiery arc across the sky, pieces of wreckage, debris, and even a few parachutes broke away from it. Galahad winced internally as he saw a few of said parachutes collapse- as shrapnel and debris punched holes in them or crushed them. The airship was rapidly losing altitude and continued to shed large chunks of itself before it smashed into the badlands several miles from them.

They could still see the glow of the fire and smoke from behind the craggy rocks and hills- which glowed brighter for a moment before the ground rumbled and a explosion erupted from the location of the wreckage, sending more wreckage flying as the ship’s Mist Reactor went critical and failed.

“That doesn’t look like one of ours.” Galahad murmured as he pulled out his phone, his brow furrowing as he noticed that there was no signal- not even emergency lines. The radiating mist from the explosion was probably fucking with their signal- that, or something particularly sinister was afoot.

They must’ve all at some point seen footage or heard the stories of downed airships and the spectacular pyro shows they caused. After all they were in the middle of a war and Sam himself could recall watching several videos showing both Rassvet and Vangar warships going down after taking a serious hit from enemy weaponry. Still, nothing compared to actually seeing it in person, and practically standing beneath the collapsing titan. It was strangely beautiful, a magnificent burst of color and sound whose roar could surely be heard for miles. Sam let his DMR fall to his side, the two point sling keeping it from falling into the dirt as he stood in open mouthed awe. Words could not truly describe the scene of death and destruction unfolding before them. The ground shook, and for a moment Sam wondered if he was still drunk and he was imagining the rocks rumble around him until he realized the shockwave had just reached their position shaking the earth beneath their feet.

“Lucky the damn thing didn’t land right on top of us.” He breathed, tracing the smoke trail with his finger. “Do you think it was shot down?” He asked, looking to any of the more knowledgeable squad members. “I didn’t think we would have anything capable of shooting down a airship that large this far from the frontline, unless that Sappl Springs Marshall was hiding some heavy AA up his sleeve…”

Itching to do something Sam began to pace like a nervous animal, scanning the skies for any parachutes that might’ve survived the deluge of burning wreckage that was landing haphazardly across the petrified forest. The skies were ominously clear of anything not burning, and the flash ruined his night vision moments before. Recalling his thermal optic Sam lifted his rifle, flicking the switch and sweeping it back and forth across the night sky searching, searching.

There!” He yelled pointing into a patch of darkness. “I’ve got a live one, two klicks northwest, three-one-two, and another northwest nine-one, maybe three klicks. Both should be touching down soon.” He kept calling them out when he spotted one, though his estimate of ‘live’ might have been overly optimistic. The skies were clogged by toxic smoke, meaning suffocation would be just a prevalent as impacting a jagged bit of metal. Beyond that who knew what sort of internal injuries might have been suffered from the after shock, or the burns they received from the blast. Nevertheless Sam continued giving out information on the presumed survivors until he could see no more. They were pitifully few he knew, but he jotted down their locations to the best of his memorization capabilities, than as a good soldier should he looked to Galahad for further orders, a sort of eagerness in his stance and eyes as he waited for permission to take action. To do something, anything really as long as it didn’t mean standing there uselessly watching people die.