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Boraro
Market roofs, 1345

Ebrima did not expect a prim and proper western merc to agree with his cynical, African warlord-lite views of the world and fighting in it. He knew why he liked Adam right out of the gate. Neither Pole nor Cameroonian spoke much as they raced across the rooftops, carefully picking out each landing spot to avoid crashing through some corrugated steel sheet into the buildings below, the exo’s air conditioning struggling to keep up with the baking heat of the rooftops. It was a double-edged sword, however, keeping Artemis goons inside and on street level where the what was bearable. The first lookouts were easily dealt with, three shots of the suppressed rifle solving Boraro’s side of the equation. The two men continued bounding cover to cover along the rooftops, Boraro making a brief stop at the neutralized lookouts to dead check. Legal? Of course, he made sure to do it before he walked past them. After all, he was one of the righteous now. One more pair of lookouts had the misfortune to be in their path, suffering a similar fate with the same efficiency. The price of standing on the wrong side of lady Luck and more zeroes in the budget. The Cameroonian led them to a roof level with the target structure, overlooking the garden. The view wasn’t the best, but the roof with the best view was the one Ebrima would put a mine on top of if the roles were reversed. Good enough to reveal a quartet of exosuited spotters on the main roof rotating the directions they were looking in in regular intervals and a garden full of automated turrets, turrets that - according to the timetable - were already toothless.

”Minimal effort.” Boraro began introducing his plan. It might not have been the best way to describe it, but that was how he worked. Minimal effort for maximum gain, the less you did, the less could go wrong and the more fight you had in you for later. ”Ignore the garden for now, that’s Chaos’ field, but stay away from the garden-side windows and walls just in case they wake up. We work top to bottom, either we find our man or drive him out toward Viper. Once we have him, we don't bother with doors, go out the first suitable exit we find or make.” It would be easy for Artemis to hold them back going through the rest of the house with Simmonds in tow, but a lot harder to pin them down if they punched a hole in the wall and made a beeline for their exfil. Good thing Wilk had some charges on him, as Boraro had neglected to check before they shipped out. He would’ve wanted to time their strike along with the Heavies and disappear in the chaos, but there would’ve been too many variables in Artemis’ reaction to risk it. ”Team 1, Team 2 is moving in. Out.” He let Viper and Chaos know, loading a magazine of frags into the M 25 and switching back over to Wilk. ”After you, on my mark...” First two grenades fired, ”Go!” A third and final one, timed so that last would detonate a few seconds before Adam landed. He doubted the grenades would be enough to disable the exo operators, but their point was to stagger the farther ones to give Adam a safe landing window.

Taking a running start and with a boost from the jump pack, Boraro followed as soon as he could stow the launcher away, landing a few seconds after Adam, the shotgun at the ready. Rolling to a crouch, Boraro swept the Artemis operative’s legs from under her. She grunted a German curse as she fell on her back, more annoyed than hurt by the fall on account of her armor. Boraro’s shotgun wouldn’t let that stand, the Cameroonian driving its muzzle into the unknown German’s face and painting the inside of her helmet red with a double tap.

Whipping around, he came face to face, Muzzle to muzzle with the lookout in the far left corner, the shape of a rifle in the operative’s hands. Boraro moved fast, the jump pack propelling him into cover behind an AC unit. Disciplined semi-automatic fire whizzed past, one lucky shot striking a side plate and skipping off under such a large impact angle. Verifying it had remained intact, his HUD reporting the impact wasn’t strong enough to leave much of a bruise, let alone actual injury, he switched to the other side of the unit, peering out and firing at the spot the Artemis operative was last at. As the fire drove him behind cover, Boraro left his, trusting the other two would not bother him on account of Wilk and advancing a few bounds while firing before stopping. The Artemis operative popped back up, but Boraro wasn’t there already. The difference of a few meters was enough to let him take a shot unmolested, the Artemis operative falling backwards behind cover. When Boraro reached him, he was desperately trying to stop bleeding from his neck with one hand, a large chunk missing where the slug clipped him, the other hand reaching for the IFAK, not quite obeying its owner’s commands.

Bang!

Regrouping with Wilk, he swapped the M 25’s frags for stun grenades, making sure to remove the already chambered frag as well. ”No lethal grenades from now on.“ Wilk most definitely didn’t need to be reminded of that, but it was a good habit to have in case you found yourself working alongside an idiot. ”You have the shield, you're first through doors.” Was he gonna use Wilk to soak up bullets? Teeeechnically? But then that was exactly what breachers with handheld ballistic shields did, and his shield allowed him to return effective fire while being protected for long enough to matter. It was a shame the operation was a smash and grab and not just regular assault, otherwise doors would rarely be a factor and their entry would not be from the roof, but through the roof, but burying Simmonds under a hundred kilos of cinder blocks and concrete by accident wasn’t in the notes.

Stacking up on a skylight, Boraro prepared a flashbang, ready to follow the Pole inside. ”Flash and clear, on you.”
Sapiliezen Hill
Early morning

Having an Emperor apologize to her for being rude by not knowing her name was a jarring experience. She'd seen lower ranked nobles get around the problem by addressing the unknown party as ‘you’ the entire conversation rather than show their lack of knowledge. Finally some positive example for Gordon, playing into what she said earlier about not letting keeping up appearances interfere with performing one’s duties. “Lady Myrrhis Nivellen and my Squire Gordon, at your service, your Majesty. I've been sent to aid our Northern allies in whatever capacity you deem necessary.“ She had a feeling they've been sent with the mindset of ‘If we send a few advisors now, we can claim to be helping already and thus delay the expeditionary force.’ And studied the Emperor's expression and posture as she said it, wondering if he'd come to the same conclusion.

When the Emperor inquired about the presence of a garrison in Yllaren, one word fought its way onto her tongue: ’Barely.’ But she knew better than to say that out loud. “It is a mere shadow of its former self, just 60 soldiers, some officers and 90 conscripts in training not counting the deserter company and the city guard which the garrison commander refused to conscript from, fearing disorder in the city.” She shared, “Most of those we've trained in the past two years had been posted to other parts of the Empire, but recruitment around Yllaren continues to be difficult as the farms, orchards and vineyards require a lot of farmhands, thus and limiting how many young men we can draw on from each family.” Since new years’, they have gone as far as conscripting women as crossbowmen to free up men for roles that prioritized physical strength.

“Yes, young Duke Cato still rules in name, with his mother managing the holdings until he comes of age to do so.” Gordon piped up with an explanation in an area Myrrhis wasn't very familiar with, his father's membership in Yllaren’s Guild of Merchants to thank for some knowledge of his home city's politics.
“And the fort's previous commander came out of retirement until Garrison Deputy Trevisan is deemed fit for promotion.” She filled in on the parts she was knowledgeable of. The old Major may have been pushing 70 years and physically it showed, a lifetime of battlefield injuries and army camp diseases leaving an unmistakable mark on the man’s body and preventing him from taking a hands-on approach to his duties, but his mind remained sharp, as did his voice. The man had an air of wisdom that made even Myrrhis feel like a novice squire in his presence at times.
Sapiliezen Hill
Early morning

Myrrhis accepted the refreshments with an appreciative nod of her head, savoring the flavor of oranges and cinnamon. Gordon for his part furrowed his brow, caring little for the taste of dried tree bark in his food and drink, but contained his displeasure and continued taking small courtesy sips.

The Elf would have intervened when the argument came to fists, but fisticuffs turned into a stabbing before she could set her cup down. Normally that wouldn't have been a concern, had she and Gordon not been asked to leave their weapons with a guard a few doors earlier before meeting with the Emperor. What a shame, that, for the desire to beat some manners into the Duke with the hilt of a sword was great and growing further with each word out of his mouth. The voice of dissent from the crowd did not bode well either. It was up to the ruler to ensure the nobility did not abuse their power at the nation's expense, and while Threndel’s instability was nothing new, Myrrhis couldn't fathom why someone would disrespect the emperor this openly in his court white expecting help with their grievances. She wasn’t familiar with the full story of how the current Emperor came upon the throne, but surely two years were enough time to get situated.
“This is common here?” Gordon wondered, “Fighting in court?”
“Not quite the court experience I intended. I suppose today, the student learns alongside the master.” Myrrhis shook her head, lowering her voice to a whisper. “The palace guard could also use some attention. I've seen the innkeeper in Lannion step in to break up worse brawls with more gusto.” Here, a man with a bloodied knife was still unrestrained.

With the Emperor's approach, the Knight and the Squire set down their cups - the Squire with delight as the cinnamon tearror had come to an end - and stood, bowing once more. The Emperor's blunt honesty was about as expected as rain from blue skies, Myrrhis having expected him to play it off as court entertainment or something of the sort. “Your Majesty, I have been summoned to present a report regarding the unfortunate desertion at the Yllaren garrison.” She said in an appropriately apologetic tone while producing the summons letter from a belt pouch, forgoing introductions assuming someone had told the Emperor whom he was meeting on a given day and bracing to deal patiently with the derisive comment she expected from the stab-happy duke given his speech about marshaling more troops.
The situation was getting grim for a moment with Kareet going down, but truly only for a moment thanks to Kolvar. Vigdis had to wonder what that did to people’s mental health and the way war was fought, if they could get the injured back up this fast. Whatever the answer, she wasn’t going to complain about probably her favorite wizard getting right back up again.

Vigdis stopped shooting when Nellara ordered the charge, unwilling to point a weapon in the direction of her, Kareet and the troops, instead watching the carnage with morbid fascination. In space combat, many crews did not view it as a man-versus-man fight. Like pilots in the early days of flight, they often saw their war as a more noble one, machine versus machine, ship against ship. It wasn’t true of course, there were countless horrifying ways to die aboard even a regular seagoing vessel, nevermind a spaceship. Dying in horrible ways was simply a part of life and conflict across time and civilizations, as Nellara’s troops were now demonstrating.

”Shall we get off this boat?“ Vigdis made a suggestion to the assembly still on board, ”That black stuff is still eating it like it’s a rack of ribs and I don’t wanna be here when it comes apart altogether.” She still didn’t know if that was some creature in the river or just a result of a spell, both seeming like very real possibilities given the showing, but she did not care to find out first hand. At all. She also hoped they could get a second boat in somehow, because she was not looking forward to a multi-day mountain hike.
The Dancing Bull Inn - Northwestern Threll - Poor District
Early morning

In a small private chamber, more of a cubbyhole than a full room, long before the rooster’s crow, the door opened with a creak, letting the warm glow of the rushlight in and illuminating the sleeping form of a pale-haired Elf. The light’s holder, an Elven woman just shy of 800, tip-toed over to the cot, apprehensive of her least favorite duty.
“Lady Myrrhis,” She whispered, gently nudging the knight’s shoulder. “Lady Myrrhis, it’s time to rise.”
The knight stirred, her neck competing with the cot’s creaking on account of an insufficiently stuffed straw mattress. A knight she may have been, but also one aware of her situation, one who heeded the advice of her purser to be frugal. “I’m awake, Mrs. Lathari.” She said in a tone of voice that clearly indicated otherwise. Despite the relation, Myrrhis couldn’t bring herself to refer to the woman by her first name. After all, she had been her minder and aide since birth, and her brother’s and mother’s before her. It would’ve been difficult, nay impossible not to show respect.
“The innkeeper has prepared some warm water.” The elder Elf continued as she set down a jug of it beside the cot, “He’ll be serving breakfast shortly.”

Half an hour later, the two Elves and two Humans were sitting around a table.
“Threll truly is a jewel of the continent, even at such a tumultuous time.” Gordon, her young squire commented.
“You may get more time to explore it yet. This matter may not end with a simple report.” She shared between bites, “Soldiers turned bandits are common after a prolonged conflict. A land full of warriors with no one to fight, often with few skills outside of fighting and no one except their comrades who understands what they’ve been through. But during one, it is a sign of exceptionally poor morale for an entire company to defect like this.” The problem was further compounded by the fact that the soldiers in question had been trained on how to find small bands of warriors in the countryside. The same tactics that had worked in Lannion were now known by these deserters, drawing out the search.
“Do you believe the Emperor will hold you accountable?” He asked.
“We shall find out soon. You will accompany me. It will do you good to visit the court. And you best be there anyhow, since if I am found at fault, then as my Squire you will also be executed.”
“Excuse me?!” He nearly choked on a spoonful of beans.
“I jest, Gordon. You’ve nothing to fear.” She shared with a smile, leading to a round of chuckles around the table.
Sapiliezen Hill - Northwestern Threll - Poor District
Later that morning

Despite the early rise, they’d been beaten to the palace by a few others. She bowed politely when the Emperor entered, Gordon following suit and then both settled in for the wait, an Elf in a plain black dress with a white and red sash around the waist and over her left shoulder and a young black-haired man in a blue doublet standing out a bit among the crowd.
“Some tea if you have any.” Myrrhis replied to the servant before going back to observing the squabbling nobles, ignoring being addressed incorrectly under the assumption no one told the man who she was. After all, she’d never been to Threll before and her summons and arrival were rather hasty.
“Observe.” She discreetly pointed the argument out to Gordon, “I would like to point out that regardless of who is seen first, we will all be delayed by arguing, whereas otherwise someone could already be speaking to the Emperor, but given our different standing, interrupting would be impolite.” She said just loud enough to be overheard by the squabbling group, circumventing the obstacle while still passing the suggestion along before quieting down again. “Self-respect and maintaining appearances are important, Gordon, but you must take care to never let them stand in the way of results.” ‘And a general of all people should know that, if no one else’ She thought, but kept that thought to herself.
@Jamesyco
"Myrrhis specializes in Countermagic, detecting (She can sense long-duration spells and enchanted items within 20 m of her, unless blocked such as by a wall.), disrupting the casting of (She needs to see the caster.) and dispelling already existing spells.
Dispelling runes and enchanted items is beyond her capability, as might be more powerful long-lasting spells."

That work?
Okay, so I comitted The Dumb and only noticed the "...you will be people from around the remains of the empire. From it's heartland..." bit after having written most of the CS. I'm gonna leave it here in case it gets a pass. If not, yell at me and I'll get to editing.

Righty-ho, should have an Elven knight done by tomorrow.
Back to the ‘mechs at hand. It made sense to focus on those, the aerojock would likely go home with no more ‘mechs to support. If they were exceptionally lucky, the Fire Witch would blow a gasket and maim the poor bastard, taking the Mechbuster out of the action for some time. Seemed in character for the Witch from what little Marit knew. She remained standing, quickly attaining lock on onto the Crusader at the edge of minimum range for her missiles when she noticed something. The speed and direction he was moving, if she moved over there, he’d be right in range for an easy shot with the lasers.

Marit spurred Archie forward as she switched firing groups, the boosted lasers hungry for the crusader’s blood when Steel Rain fired, striking the far end of the bridge with too much ordnance for it to be a miss. Ingrid and Tarak confirmed it, moving off the bridge. It was that time, apparently, and fast, lest the Fists grow wiser to their scheme. Adjusting left, she came to a halt beside Raven’s Shadow Hawk, making sure she wasn’t in the way of anyone and turned her crosshairs onto the close end of the bridge, Archie’s four lasers slicing across the ice and rock like scalpels to cut the bridge off. ”Summer’s over, have a nice fall.” She snickered to herself as she decided ‘fuck it’ and sent two LRM salvos to te far end of the bridge. The air immediately became drier as the last trigger was pulled, feeling like hot sandpaper in her nose and throat. ”Fuck, this was a mistake.” She whined, Archie offering the opposite of moral support as the cockpit temperature air gauge climbed past 40°C.
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