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ChronoBovinoTor Valoon, Capital of Vilsingehldin
Chambers of the Magitrix, Eileen Mandragoran
Her foot tapped on the floor as she waited to hear more of the vague reports of a fleet in the nearby waters of Vilsingehldin, Eileen eyed the parchment handed to her hours ago sharply. Eileen’s features marked her as a handsome woman, though the scowl she was currently wearing took away from the disarming effect her features usually had. If you looked at her, you wouldn’t be able to honestly tell how old she was, her sharp eyes, high cheekbones, and red lips denoted a younger age, but something about the way she moved and the glint in her eyes hinted at wisdom and experience. “What is the word on the fleet we saw near our waters?” Eileen asked just as Lianne the Keeper came through the door. It was no surprise to Lianne however that the Magitrix knew she was about to enter, the women of the tower could sense one another.
“It seems it is a Luchmeyrn fleet Magitrix, they are heading this way, our ships, the few we have are engaging them to hold them off until we can get proper defenses set up in the ports, as well as moving troops, and crystal to appropriate defensive points if they managed to get through the port.” Lianne turned her pouty lips into a thin line as she worried over the invasion that seemed to be coming to their shores.
“It was only a matter of time Lianne, the Luchmeryn were bound to come here sooner or later, their greed knows no bounds, and to take the Zepherian tower would boost them greatly, or so they think. We are no dogs to leash, or tools to be used, they may take our home, but they will be so bloodied they’ll wonder if it was worth it.” Eileen stood and stared at the wall for a moment, and then turned to Lianne. “Send five hundred soldiers to the port, and give them twenty sisters to support them, but no more, and send no more crystal to the ports, they will make use of what they have there. I do not want any stray crystal falling into enemy hands.. Tell them once they have done all they can to hurt the Luchmeyrn, to pull back to the forests, and roads leading to Tor Valoon, from there we will harry them all the more.”
Lianne pursed her lips for just a moment, then nodded and turned to leave. Eileen turned back to her desk and started to write down on several pieces of parchment, sighing as she did, then looking to the ravens she had in the nearby cages. “Hopefully, we will have an ally somewhere in this world.”
Four days Later
Azkhkandahar, Port City of Vilsingehldin
Fort Miyatari, Sister Commander Tillari Graendal of the Red Stole
Fort Miyatari, a powerful defense against any who might seek to land on the shores of Vilsingehldin, and Commander Graendal was only making it all the harder. The woman stood there, an ageless look to her features though her expression was stern, and showed she would not put up with any nonsense, she had stripped down to a strip of cloth around her chest, and a simple loin cloth, as had all the sisters, all 19 of them that had been sent to support her, the rest of their bodies covered thickly in paint that seemed to give off a glow. Soldiers moved up and down the fort walls, placing cannons, and the sisters followed them, drawing runes on cannon balls, and helping others fill glass orbs with a thick violet substance that also received runes being drawn on them. “Get to work girls! We are the first line of defense, but we will not be holding this spot too long I do not think, so don’t be greedy with the crystal mix, we don’t want those damned Luchmeryn getting their hands on any of it.” She stalked to a nearby wall, and picked up a looking glass, and stared out over the water.
“They should be getting here soon.” Tillari said more to herself than anyone else, soon an officer was at her shoulder, and saluting.
“Commander Graendal, the last ship that was in the water has returned, they used up all their crystal and are currently scuttling the ship.. There are no ships left to stall the enemy.”
Tillari glanced over the cannons that were now all in place. “I suppose this will have to do then. Ladies! Remember once they are within the port we retreat, we will be abandoning this fort. There is no need to waste lives.” She looked back to the officer. “Lieutenant are all the civilians out of the city and being escorted back to Tor Voloon?”
The officer gave a nod. “Yes, commander, they should be in the Tor Voloon within days.”
Taking a deep breath Tillari gave a nod and stepped forward. “Alright.. We make our first stand here. Make every shot count”
Isn’t it nice to sail the high seas without a foreigner on board? Perhaps that was too much to ask. Jagers were strewn about, their sickened heads poking over every end of the ship to heave off the sides. Commodore Grunhilda had to hold her nose, with how much her ship smelled of sick. Which admiralty was she supposed to file a complaint to? All of them, perhaps. If the Goddess Fleet wants her to transport jager armies, they can supply the boats and the crew to do it themselves, and she can keep her flagship clean.
“Come now, you must be heaved dry by now,” she muttered, pulling up one by the hair. A human and a man, by the looks of it. Yet her eyes weren’t the best for this kind of thing. Serfs of a species had this ridiculous tendency to look exactly like each other. His fearful eyes looked up at hers, as the color drained from his face. Did this one even speak Luchmairisch? She considered calling for her lieutenant. He spoke a few barbarian tongues. Surely, this one must speak one of them, right? Nevermind It doesn’t matter. Grunhilda let go of his hair, letting the creature go back to his heaving.
“On deck!” came a shout. It was the boatswain, most likely. Gottinsieg, was his name? One of the Gottinsiegs that crawl up and down the ropes day in and out. There must be more people of that name than any other put together. She can’t keep them all in her head in her detachment alone. Fine, the boatswain is a Gottinsieg. They can all be Gottinsiegs, far as Grunhilda was concerned. The trampling of feet rattled the planks on the ship, a sure sign of the crew assembling. This was a motley and messy one, without a doubt. Her regulars have been . . . “reassigned” . . . to Herzog Asbrindr’s personal fleet. Goddess damn him, those were her sailors! They were the best she had!
No question about it, however. That was land, and somewhere on that land was a port. Can’t lose sight of the objective now. The boatswain shouted orders to the crew, orders she had forced him late into the night to remember word for word. Her command had to be unquestioned, at least within her land, of which the ship was a part. In ideal conditions, it was a single machine of many parts, aided by the rest of her detachment in shelling entire villages to sticks and rubble. The distant calls of cannons sounded out across the sea, signalling the beginning of everything. May circumstance protect those captains stupid enough to volunteer for landing.
Azkhkandahar, Port City of Vilsingehldin
Fort Miyatari, Sister Commander Tillari Graendal of the Red Stole
The ships were coming into port now, Tillari could see the Luchmeyrn flags coming into her port, they were just getting into range. Taking a deep breath she waited until enough were right where she wanted them. “Fire!” She screamed and threw her hand up in the air.
The Cannons all seemed to fire at once, glass orbs containing the viscous purple liquid hurtled through the air, though it seemed they would fire too high to hit the ships. All the women in paint and wearing strips of cloth stepped forward at once their hands going out above them, and focusing on the glass orbs.Suddenly the orbs burst as they were above the Luchmeryn ships, and a blanket of fire erupted in the skies that began to fall quickly towards the invaders below.
A rain of glass and fire would fall down upon the sails and ship’s crew the burning liquid sticking to whatever it touched and burning incredibly hot, the glass sharps like a rain of razor sharp shrapnel. Already however the women were moving to reload the cannons, this time with the more typical cannonballs, though these had runes painted on them as well.
Tillari turned and looked at the soldiers that were currently not taking part. “Go to positions! Remember, take cover in houses and store fronts, i want everyone in pairs, one reloading, one firing! Make every step they take costly!”
With that order from the Commander Sister, the soldiers were off and moving down into the port city proper to position themselves in the windows and doorways of any houses or businesses that faced the port itself. “Goddess help us.” Tillari muttered to herself.
In battle, everything must be done all at once, and quickly besides. Herzog Asbrindr clapped his gloves until the residual fire finally sputtered out, having just tossed his burning lieutenant over the side. A chorus of screams and thrashing crew enveloped what remains of his once-beautiful flagship, now sinking slowly into the water below. Weakness, the lot of them. They were supposed to be drawn from the best of all his subordinates. These supposedly elite marines seem to die just as easily as any rat or rope-sitter.
“Well, hardly anything to be done,” he muttered, as he leapt off the deck into the churning sea below. A man of his rank cannot be seen breaking composure. A setback like this cannot phase him, certainly not so early in the battle. He broke the surface of the water in a graceful dive, his head awash with strategies and figures. How many able bodies does he have left? What of the other afflicted ships? The odds continue to grow grimmer the more he contemplates them.
“My lor- grgrlgr- lord!” came a shout from behind him. Asbrindr spun himself about in the water, his eyes locking with the officer calling his name. The woman was hardly a swimmer, and she had an arm around a midnight-colored Owcan. Her serf, presumably, knocked unconscious by the . She paddled up to Asbrindr with clumsy strokes of one hand.
“Goddess’ wisdom, did nobody teach you to swim?” Asbrindr asked. She shook her head. Asbrindr gestured to the Owcan, which she handed to him without a word. Then, he drew his dagger from his hip and drove it into the unconscious creature’s skull, before letting it sink below. The officer’s scream confirmed his suspicion. She was soft-hearted, having only heard of battle but never seen it. Worse, she had been corrupted by foreign ideas as mutual intimacy. No doubt she thought she loved the thing. He grabbed her by her shirt and hauled her up. By the good goddess, he was still strong. “Listen. To. Me,” he said, through gritted teeth. “It was a mistake to bring valuables to battle. Everything you have, you can lose. What say I owe you an Owcan, and you go rally the marines for our landing.” He didn’t wait for her to respond. It was not a question. His commodores should be in range at any moment. Where were they? They were taking too long to get into position. He needed their guns immediately! Nevermind, that shouldn’t be his worry at the moment. He needed to be on land as soon as possible. The roar of cannon fire was deafening, as brave few gunners loosed their last volleys into the port’s fortifications. “Swim, damn you, swim for the beach,” he grumbled.
Azkhkandahar, Port City of Vilsingehldin
Fort Miyatari, Sister Commander Tillari Graendal of the Red Stole
Commander Graendal smiled at the success of the first volley as it sank many Luchmeryn ships, she watched as the reload was being completed, and the way the second rank of the enemy fleet was having to redirect around their fallen comrades. “Alright Ladies.. Take aim, fire at any nearby-” She was cut off as a volley came from several ships from the enemy fleet, most of the shots hit the wall and simply cracked some stone, while a few of her own cannons managed to take a blast or two here and there, sending chunks of metal and body parts flying through the air. Standing back up straight Tillari shook her head. “Fire!” She screamed angrily as blood ran down her cheek from where a piece of stone had grazed her.
The cannons all along the wall began firing again, the munitions they fired hurtling towards the ships that were currently trying to get around the already sinking ones. As these cannonballs struck they’d crack and shatter with a small explosion that sent shrapnel flying in all directions, the magical paint smeared on them growing a bright purple just before they did so.
Azkhkandahar, Port City of Vilsingehldin
Dock Houses/Store Front, Captain Avaline Torgaddon, Bright Tower Rifles First Company
Captain Torgaddon settled her rifle in place letting it rest on the window sill of a bait shop she had taken up position in. Her troops knew their orders, every woman teamed up with another so one could fire while another reloaded. She looked back at her second, and gave a nod to her. They were to wait until the enemy was upon the beach, or docks whichever came first.
It wasn’t long of a wait though after the first rank of enemy ships were sinking that Luchmeyrn troops were washing up, or swimming up along the shore. Avaline took aim at one that broke through the water right in front of her, and let off a shop. The round took through the air pounding through the chest of the enemy soldier causing him to double over and fall to the sand dead. She was already grabbing her next rifle and taking aim once more and put a shot through another’s throat.
This continued as the First Company all along the store front continued to fire, not letting up as they fired, took a rifle, fired again. They would make every step count, every grain of sand would be stained red.
[/hr]
Numbers will win the day. Numbers have to win the day. Thousands of Luchmairisch souls, crashing into the beach, pushing against the thinning human lines. Hardly any of them had functioning guns and dry powder. Most didn’t have armor. Some didn’t have a sword. Daggers, axes, and broken planks made up the first wave of the assault, the battle of desperate soldiers. Behind them sat the long grim rows, ships of the line, that bellowed like dragons, smashing the fortifications with angry steel fists, again and again and again.
“Fire! Fire! All hands to the guns!” came the rousing cry aboard multiple ships, from captains and lieutenants and boatswains to exhausted crewmen. Clean, load, fire, clean. Mechanized death, seen only in the flash of the barrel and the trail of smoke that billows out after. Wood shrapnel covers the beach more thoroughly than sand, and blood more thoroughly than wood shrapnel. Mounds of clay and red flesh begin to pile up, so high that the charging ranks would have to clamber over them.
“We have to land now,” mused Burgrave Dietmar, stroking his chin, watching from the deck. He was leaned so far over that a single push might send him over the edge. He squinted hard, trying to make out the features of the beach. No, drat it all, his eyes would give him nothing. Were they beginning to fail, like the doctors say? “Now. While their line is still . . . weak. Take us in. The first wave will have need of our powder.” A horn was blown from the top of his mast, signaling to the second wave. “One of you get word to Commodore Grunhilda about the cannons!” he ordered, shouting down to a nearby sloop. “It’s not enough, you see! More fire! More! Fire!”
Azkhkandahar, Port City of Vilsingehldin
Fort Miyatari, Sister Commander Tillari Graendal of the Red Stole
It seemed like the firefight was lasting for hours the back and forth of the cannons, Tillari stared at the destruction that had been wrought in the harbor, but also at the multiple cannons that had been destroyed and the dead who had been killed throughout the engagement.
“Send the flare! We are pulling back.” Tillari spokewoth all the authority afforded her position.
One of the Bright Tower sisters stepped forward sending a bright green light flashing into the sky, followed by every soldier on the wall providing cover fire as the soldiers below rushed up the stairways from the alleys behind the shops and buildings below.
As the last of the soldiers and Bright Tower Sisters pulled out they sabotaged their socks firing off a last set of volleys into the wooden docks shattering them into splinters of wood before destroying their own cannons and leaving only wreckage behind.
“It was victory! . . . M-My lord,” the serf said, looking sheepishly up at Asbrindr. That gun most certainly was not assigned to her. It was far too long. She was trying not to appear as if she was struggling under its weight. Which knight’s corpse did she steal it from?
“I gathered as much,” Asbrindr responded, trying not to look at the serf, to look just above its head. Give them an inch of respect, and who knows what ideas they’ll get? “Pursuit? Did you gather how many went running off?” She didn’t answer. Possibly nodding or shaking her head, one of those peculiar fashions common among the humans. It made them look beyond ridiculous. Regardless, he couldn’t see it. Or at least, he won’t deign to look down at her face and check. “Answer me with words. How. Many?”
“I-I don’t-”
“Then guess!” Asbrindr snapped.
“A-At least a . . . thi- quarter? Them that weren’t . . . celebrating.”
“Goddess’ curse!” he shouted. “That was a mistake. Whatever mindless acorns ran into the woods like fists-for-brains, we’re never seeing them again. Coordination, coordination! It’s like they don’t even know what that means!” He was making a scene right in front of this lower creature. He should know better. “You.” He looked down directly at the serf for the first time, to her char-dark face speckled with dots. Goddess’ might, she was small. Was it the angle, or was she literally shrinking under his gaze?
“M-My lord?”
“Whoever your master was before, he isn’t anymore,” he said, watching her face change to one of horror. It was a familiar look. A change in ownership puts the fear of their heathen gods into them. Even the cruelest of masters are better than a master they cannot gauge at all. “You belong to me now. If your old master comes looking for you, you come to me, and I can settle it with him over sword or pistol.” She bobbed her head slowly, up and down, shaking like a flame in the wind. More of those human-isms, he gathered. What was it with them and their habit? “Go on, I want to hear you say it. Your old master comes to you . . .” he leaned down, bringing their difference in height into sharp focus.
“I . . . l-look for you . . . m-master,” she said.
“That wasn’t so hard,” Asbrindr said, curtly. Her old master, her talents are wasted with him. She spoke Luchmairisch like a native, or perhaps near enough. Serfs can never quite destroy the barbarian accent, even generations later. Some instinct of his told him that she was one to watch. A functioning mind behind an unassuming face . . . that’s a serf revolt waiting to happen, if he’d ever seen one. He can’t trust her old master not to manage it well. “Follow closely behind me, now. If I turn around and don’t see you, you best pray I never see you again.” More of that insipid head bobbing. It’s a long road to the capital now. He had to get the armies organized. At least, however much he can still gather of them.
Chambers of the Magitrix, Eileen Mandragoran
Her foot tapped on the floor as she waited to hear more of the vague reports of a fleet in the nearby waters of Vilsingehldin, Eileen eyed the parchment handed to her hours ago sharply. Eileen’s features marked her as a handsome woman, though the scowl she was currently wearing took away from the disarming effect her features usually had. If you looked at her, you wouldn’t be able to honestly tell how old she was, her sharp eyes, high cheekbones, and red lips denoted a younger age, but something about the way she moved and the glint in her eyes hinted at wisdom and experience. “What is the word on the fleet we saw near our waters?” Eileen asked just as Lianne the Keeper came through the door. It was no surprise to Lianne however that the Magitrix knew she was about to enter, the women of the tower could sense one another.
“It seems it is a Luchmeyrn fleet Magitrix, they are heading this way, our ships, the few we have are engaging them to hold them off until we can get proper defenses set up in the ports, as well as moving troops, and crystal to appropriate defensive points if they managed to get through the port.” Lianne turned her pouty lips into a thin line as she worried over the invasion that seemed to be coming to their shores.
“It was only a matter of time Lianne, the Luchmeryn were bound to come here sooner or later, their greed knows no bounds, and to take the Zepherian tower would boost them greatly, or so they think. We are no dogs to leash, or tools to be used, they may take our home, but they will be so bloodied they’ll wonder if it was worth it.” Eileen stood and stared at the wall for a moment, and then turned to Lianne. “Send five hundred soldiers to the port, and give them twenty sisters to support them, but no more, and send no more crystal to the ports, they will make use of what they have there. I do not want any stray crystal falling into enemy hands.. Tell them once they have done all they can to hurt the Luchmeyrn, to pull back to the forests, and roads leading to Tor Valoon, from there we will harry them all the more.”
Lianne pursed her lips for just a moment, then nodded and turned to leave. Eileen turned back to her desk and started to write down on several pieces of parchment, sighing as she did, then looking to the ravens she had in the nearby cages. “Hopefully, we will have an ally somewhere in this world.”
Four days Later
Azkhkandahar, Port City of Vilsingehldin
Fort Miyatari, Sister Commander Tillari Graendal of the Red Stole
Fort Miyatari, a powerful defense against any who might seek to land on the shores of Vilsingehldin, and Commander Graendal was only making it all the harder. The woman stood there, an ageless look to her features though her expression was stern, and showed she would not put up with any nonsense, she had stripped down to a strip of cloth around her chest, and a simple loin cloth, as had all the sisters, all 19 of them that had been sent to support her, the rest of their bodies covered thickly in paint that seemed to give off a glow. Soldiers moved up and down the fort walls, placing cannons, and the sisters followed them, drawing runes on cannon balls, and helping others fill glass orbs with a thick violet substance that also received runes being drawn on them. “Get to work girls! We are the first line of defense, but we will not be holding this spot too long I do not think, so don’t be greedy with the crystal mix, we don’t want those damned Luchmeryn getting their hands on any of it.” She stalked to a nearby wall, and picked up a looking glass, and stared out over the water.
“They should be getting here soon.” Tillari said more to herself than anyone else, soon an officer was at her shoulder, and saluting.
“Commander Graendal, the last ship that was in the water has returned, they used up all their crystal and are currently scuttling the ship.. There are no ships left to stall the enemy.”
Tillari glanced over the cannons that were now all in place. “I suppose this will have to do then. Ladies! Remember once they are within the port we retreat, we will be abandoning this fort. There is no need to waste lives.” She looked back to the officer. “Lieutenant are all the civilians out of the city and being escorted back to Tor Voloon?”
The officer gave a nod. “Yes, commander, they should be in the Tor Voloon within days.”
Taking a deep breath Tillari gave a nod and stepped forward. “Alright.. We make our first stand here. Make every shot count”
Isn’t it nice to sail the high seas without a foreigner on board? Perhaps that was too much to ask. Jagers were strewn about, their sickened heads poking over every end of the ship to heave off the sides. Commodore Grunhilda had to hold her nose, with how much her ship smelled of sick. Which admiralty was she supposed to file a complaint to? All of them, perhaps. If the Goddess Fleet wants her to transport jager armies, they can supply the boats and the crew to do it themselves, and she can keep her flagship clean.
“Come now, you must be heaved dry by now,” she muttered, pulling up one by the hair. A human and a man, by the looks of it. Yet her eyes weren’t the best for this kind of thing. Serfs of a species had this ridiculous tendency to look exactly like each other. His fearful eyes looked up at hers, as the color drained from his face. Did this one even speak Luchmairisch? She considered calling for her lieutenant. He spoke a few barbarian tongues. Surely, this one must speak one of them, right? Nevermind It doesn’t matter. Grunhilda let go of his hair, letting the creature go back to his heaving.
“On deck!” came a shout. It was the boatswain, most likely. Gottinsieg, was his name? One of the Gottinsiegs that crawl up and down the ropes day in and out. There must be more people of that name than any other put together. She can’t keep them all in her head in her detachment alone. Fine, the boatswain is a Gottinsieg. They can all be Gottinsiegs, far as Grunhilda was concerned. The trampling of feet rattled the planks on the ship, a sure sign of the crew assembling. This was a motley and messy one, without a doubt. Her regulars have been . . . “reassigned” . . . to Herzog Asbrindr’s personal fleet. Goddess damn him, those were her sailors! They were the best she had!
No question about it, however. That was land, and somewhere on that land was a port. Can’t lose sight of the objective now. The boatswain shouted orders to the crew, orders she had forced him late into the night to remember word for word. Her command had to be unquestioned, at least within her land, of which the ship was a part. In ideal conditions, it was a single machine of many parts, aided by the rest of her detachment in shelling entire villages to sticks and rubble. The distant calls of cannons sounded out across the sea, signalling the beginning of everything. May circumstance protect those captains stupid enough to volunteer for landing.
Azkhkandahar, Port City of Vilsingehldin
Fort Miyatari, Sister Commander Tillari Graendal of the Red Stole
The ships were coming into port now, Tillari could see the Luchmeyrn flags coming into her port, they were just getting into range. Taking a deep breath she waited until enough were right where she wanted them. “Fire!” She screamed and threw her hand up in the air.
The Cannons all seemed to fire at once, glass orbs containing the viscous purple liquid hurtled through the air, though it seemed they would fire too high to hit the ships. All the women in paint and wearing strips of cloth stepped forward at once their hands going out above them, and focusing on the glass orbs.Suddenly the orbs burst as they were above the Luchmeryn ships, and a blanket of fire erupted in the skies that began to fall quickly towards the invaders below.
A rain of glass and fire would fall down upon the sails and ship’s crew the burning liquid sticking to whatever it touched and burning incredibly hot, the glass sharps like a rain of razor sharp shrapnel. Already however the women were moving to reload the cannons, this time with the more typical cannonballs, though these had runes painted on them as well.
Tillari turned and looked at the soldiers that were currently not taking part. “Go to positions! Remember, take cover in houses and store fronts, i want everyone in pairs, one reloading, one firing! Make every step they take costly!”
With that order from the Commander Sister, the soldiers were off and moving down into the port city proper to position themselves in the windows and doorways of any houses or businesses that faced the port itself. “Goddess help us.” Tillari muttered to herself.
In battle, everything must be done all at once, and quickly besides. Herzog Asbrindr clapped his gloves until the residual fire finally sputtered out, having just tossed his burning lieutenant over the side. A chorus of screams and thrashing crew enveloped what remains of his once-beautiful flagship, now sinking slowly into the water below. Weakness, the lot of them. They were supposed to be drawn from the best of all his subordinates. These supposedly elite marines seem to die just as easily as any rat or rope-sitter.
“Well, hardly anything to be done,” he muttered, as he leapt off the deck into the churning sea below. A man of his rank cannot be seen breaking composure. A setback like this cannot phase him, certainly not so early in the battle. He broke the surface of the water in a graceful dive, his head awash with strategies and figures. How many able bodies does he have left? What of the other afflicted ships? The odds continue to grow grimmer the more he contemplates them.
“My lor- grgrlgr- lord!” came a shout from behind him. Asbrindr spun himself about in the water, his eyes locking with the officer calling his name. The woman was hardly a swimmer, and she had an arm around a midnight-colored Owcan. Her serf, presumably, knocked unconscious by the . She paddled up to Asbrindr with clumsy strokes of one hand.
“Goddess’ wisdom, did nobody teach you to swim?” Asbrindr asked. She shook her head. Asbrindr gestured to the Owcan, which she handed to him without a word. Then, he drew his dagger from his hip and drove it into the unconscious creature’s skull, before letting it sink below. The officer’s scream confirmed his suspicion. She was soft-hearted, having only heard of battle but never seen it. Worse, she had been corrupted by foreign ideas as mutual intimacy. No doubt she thought she loved the thing. He grabbed her by her shirt and hauled her up. By the good goddess, he was still strong. “Listen. To. Me,” he said, through gritted teeth. “It was a mistake to bring valuables to battle. Everything you have, you can lose. What say I owe you an Owcan, and you go rally the marines for our landing.” He didn’t wait for her to respond. It was not a question. His commodores should be in range at any moment. Where were they? They were taking too long to get into position. He needed their guns immediately! Nevermind, that shouldn’t be his worry at the moment. He needed to be on land as soon as possible. The roar of cannon fire was deafening, as brave few gunners loosed their last volleys into the port’s fortifications. “Swim, damn you, swim for the beach,” he grumbled.
Azkhkandahar, Port City of Vilsingehldin
Fort Miyatari, Sister Commander Tillari Graendal of the Red Stole
Commander Graendal smiled at the success of the first volley as it sank many Luchmeryn ships, she watched as the reload was being completed, and the way the second rank of the enemy fleet was having to redirect around their fallen comrades. “Alright Ladies.. Take aim, fire at any nearby-” She was cut off as a volley came from several ships from the enemy fleet, most of the shots hit the wall and simply cracked some stone, while a few of her own cannons managed to take a blast or two here and there, sending chunks of metal and body parts flying through the air. Standing back up straight Tillari shook her head. “Fire!” She screamed angrily as blood ran down her cheek from where a piece of stone had grazed her.
The cannons all along the wall began firing again, the munitions they fired hurtling towards the ships that were currently trying to get around the already sinking ones. As these cannonballs struck they’d crack and shatter with a small explosion that sent shrapnel flying in all directions, the magical paint smeared on them growing a bright purple just before they did so.
Azkhkandahar, Port City of Vilsingehldin
Dock Houses/Store Front, Captain Avaline Torgaddon, Bright Tower Rifles First Company
Captain Torgaddon settled her rifle in place letting it rest on the window sill of a bait shop she had taken up position in. Her troops knew their orders, every woman teamed up with another so one could fire while another reloaded. She looked back at her second, and gave a nod to her. They were to wait until the enemy was upon the beach, or docks whichever came first.
It wasn’t long of a wait though after the first rank of enemy ships were sinking that Luchmeyrn troops were washing up, or swimming up along the shore. Avaline took aim at one that broke through the water right in front of her, and let off a shop. The round took through the air pounding through the chest of the enemy soldier causing him to double over and fall to the sand dead. She was already grabbing her next rifle and taking aim once more and put a shot through another’s throat.
This continued as the First Company all along the store front continued to fire, not letting up as they fired, took a rifle, fired again. They would make every step count, every grain of sand would be stained red.
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Numbers will win the day. Numbers have to win the day. Thousands of Luchmairisch souls, crashing into the beach, pushing against the thinning human lines. Hardly any of them had functioning guns and dry powder. Most didn’t have armor. Some didn’t have a sword. Daggers, axes, and broken planks made up the first wave of the assault, the battle of desperate soldiers. Behind them sat the long grim rows, ships of the line, that bellowed like dragons, smashing the fortifications with angry steel fists, again and again and again.
“Fire! Fire! All hands to the guns!” came the rousing cry aboard multiple ships, from captains and lieutenants and boatswains to exhausted crewmen. Clean, load, fire, clean. Mechanized death, seen only in the flash of the barrel and the trail of smoke that billows out after. Wood shrapnel covers the beach more thoroughly than sand, and blood more thoroughly than wood shrapnel. Mounds of clay and red flesh begin to pile up, so high that the charging ranks would have to clamber over them.
“We have to land now,” mused Burgrave Dietmar, stroking his chin, watching from the deck. He was leaned so far over that a single push might send him over the edge. He squinted hard, trying to make out the features of the beach. No, drat it all, his eyes would give him nothing. Were they beginning to fail, like the doctors say? “Now. While their line is still . . . weak. Take us in. The first wave will have need of our powder.” A horn was blown from the top of his mast, signaling to the second wave. “One of you get word to Commodore Grunhilda about the cannons!” he ordered, shouting down to a nearby sloop. “It’s not enough, you see! More fire! More! Fire!”
Azkhkandahar, Port City of Vilsingehldin
Fort Miyatari, Sister Commander Tillari Graendal of the Red Stole
It seemed like the firefight was lasting for hours the back and forth of the cannons, Tillari stared at the destruction that had been wrought in the harbor, but also at the multiple cannons that had been destroyed and the dead who had been killed throughout the engagement.
“Send the flare! We are pulling back.” Tillari spokewoth all the authority afforded her position.
One of the Bright Tower sisters stepped forward sending a bright green light flashing into the sky, followed by every soldier on the wall providing cover fire as the soldiers below rushed up the stairways from the alleys behind the shops and buildings below.
As the last of the soldiers and Bright Tower Sisters pulled out they sabotaged their socks firing off a last set of volleys into the wooden docks shattering them into splinters of wood before destroying their own cannons and leaving only wreckage behind.
“It was victory! . . . M-My lord,” the serf said, looking sheepishly up at Asbrindr. That gun most certainly was not assigned to her. It was far too long. She was trying not to appear as if she was struggling under its weight. Which knight’s corpse did she steal it from?
“I gathered as much,” Asbrindr responded, trying not to look at the serf, to look just above its head. Give them an inch of respect, and who knows what ideas they’ll get? “Pursuit? Did you gather how many went running off?” She didn’t answer. Possibly nodding or shaking her head, one of those peculiar fashions common among the humans. It made them look beyond ridiculous. Regardless, he couldn’t see it. Or at least, he won’t deign to look down at her face and check. “Answer me with words. How. Many?”
“I-I don’t-”
“Then guess!” Asbrindr snapped.
“A-At least a . . . thi- quarter? Them that weren’t . . . celebrating.”
“Goddess’ curse!” he shouted. “That was a mistake. Whatever mindless acorns ran into the woods like fists-for-brains, we’re never seeing them again. Coordination, coordination! It’s like they don’t even know what that means!” He was making a scene right in front of this lower creature. He should know better. “You.” He looked down directly at the serf for the first time, to her char-dark face speckled with dots. Goddess’ might, she was small. Was it the angle, or was she literally shrinking under his gaze?
“M-My lord?”
“Whoever your master was before, he isn’t anymore,” he said, watching her face change to one of horror. It was a familiar look. A change in ownership puts the fear of their heathen gods into them. Even the cruelest of masters are better than a master they cannot gauge at all. “You belong to me now. If your old master comes looking for you, you come to me, and I can settle it with him over sword or pistol.” She bobbed her head slowly, up and down, shaking like a flame in the wind. More of those human-isms, he gathered. What was it with them and their habit? “Go on, I want to hear you say it. Your old master comes to you . . .” he leaned down, bringing their difference in height into sharp focus.
“I . . . l-look for you . . . m-master,” she said.
“That wasn’t so hard,” Asbrindr said, curtly. Her old master, her talents are wasted with him. She spoke Luchmairisch like a native, or perhaps near enough. Serfs can never quite destroy the barbarian accent, even generations later. Some instinct of his told him that she was one to watch. A functioning mind behind an unassuming face . . . that’s a serf revolt waiting to happen, if he’d ever seen one. He can’t trust her old master not to manage it well. “Follow closely behind me, now. If I turn around and don’t see you, you best pray I never see you again.” More of that insipid head bobbing. It’s a long road to the capital now. He had to get the armies organized. At least, however much he can still gather of them.
