Rights of Man: Part 2 (WIP)

**The Sothelian army was to be divided into three groups during the assault of the city. Group one, which included Colonel Alhans men was to slowly advance towards the walls, and stop before they were a third of the way there. Group two would then launch whatever artillery they had at the walls, concentrating on the gates and certain portions of the walls. As soon as the wall was breached group one would rush into battle and secure the newly created entrances. Group three would stay in reserve until the first wall was either destroyed or captured by the first two groups, and then would rapidly advance to the wall so that the other groups could repeat the process three more times.

Not all Northelian soldiers were as adamant for a last stand as their General, and many surrendered without a fight, those who were caught submitting were in the tightest of spots, as Faleun’s elite forces were entrusted to keep the men fighting, and any transgressors were to be shot on sight. This next excerpt comes from a low ranking officer in the Northelian garrison, his name was Markos Tien and he was one the many that took their fate into their own hands during the Liberation of Gardsel.**

The Sothelians were advancing, slowly but no matter what we threw at them had no effect, like a god damn sea they were. I had heard they outnumbered us, but not by this scale, and they reassured the walls coupled with our artillery would beat them back. Now it was fully evident that they had lied, and our general intended to die a martyr. I have had my doubts in the past, but now it was stupidly obvious, someone needed to raise the white flag, as I could feel most of us wanted to do so. We were beaten, bitter, and unashamedly defeated, and it needed to end.

A week after our fleets retreated and our supplies were beginning to dwindle, the general issued us an ‘official’ edict from the Dominus himself. Simply put, it stated that no one was to leave the city, no matter what happened. We were to stay here until Dubries returned with auxiliary forces from the northern protectorates. But the more I thought about it the more I worried, the north had just gone through the unification war and it is a well known fact after Anatreus defeated them he had his armies scorch the lands as they made their way back south victorious. I realized there would be no reinforcements.

I never liked Faleun but always feared him, and fear was how he kept most of us in line. His elite soldiers, known as the Wolf Coats were always watching the lower officers like myself very closely, just waiting for an excuse to shoot us. After the edict the schism in the garrison became even more evident and worse. It was those who were with Faleun and the Wolf Coats and those who wanted peace. But nobody showed their cards, as it would mean certain death.

The crack of the cannons in the morning signaled the major assault, it seemed they wanted to capture the city by the end of the day at the speed they were racing towards the breached walls. I grabbed a rifle from a dead soldier propped against the wall and fixed a bayonet to the end. The enemy had not reached the walls yet and the men on the walls began shooting, a mortar round struck through the roof of the gatehouse. The windows burst apart with a flash and a dismembered arm flew out of one and landed near me.

I tried to ignore the wailing and screams of the wounded as I gathered my men and headed towards one of the breaches. Soldiers above up were punched back and off the walls as the Sothelians returned fire. The space between the first and second wall was choked with bodies, those of the dead and others struggling to get into defensive positions. I pressed myself against the nearest wall-fragment and kept my head down, behind us at foot of the second set of gates stood a squad of the Wolf Coats. They barked at the common soldiers and shoved those away who came too close.

I sat there clutching my rifle like a babe holding a tree-branch in a flood, explosions and screams came from all around me, but I closed my eyes, in the blackness it seemed like time slowed down and the cacophony of battle faded away. My body was numb but I could feel the pounding of the artillery and could smell the death and fear. Urine, shit, blood, and spent casings all melded together into an horrendous amalgamation. My stomach lurched and every whiff weakened my ability to stifle the vomit.

I was on the brink of puking when I opened my eyes, and what lay before me then I still cannot explain. I stood in what seemed like an endless field of long golden grass, and many paces ahead of me I could see her. Her hair swayed gently in the breeze, it brushed across her smile and her eyes, oh god those eyes. The sky was the perfect blue color, the kind you’d want to have on your wedding day, white birds chirped in the air as they flew by.

I stood up and yearned for her touch, her scent, her lips. I took a step forward and then another and soon I was so close I could almost reach out to her. I was so close, she was right there! I could smell her! She was wearing a uniform like mine and when I finally reached her I saw her burnt hair and scraped face and bruised skin and hollow eyes. Oh god those eyes, those eyes, they were no longer hers.

I fell to my knees weeping in my hands, she was gone, the skies were filled with clouds once more and the horizon was lit with fire. The grass was gone, my tears fell downwards as I noticed the golden strands retreating into the mud. I knelt there crying for a minute, the birds that sang so beautifully were now rifle rounds whistling in the air. And when I looked before me the ominous gates of the city towered in front of me.

It was the rifle-butt of a Wolf that I had been groveling in front of that brought me back into the war zone, the cold steel slammed against my head and I opened my eyes. I lay on my back with the group of Wolves that were guarding the second pair of gates standing over me. The lead man, a bastard named Duriel had been the one that struck me, the others held their sub machine guns tightly, itching to use them on any that chose to retreat.

“Back to the wall” Duriel said simply and motioned that way. I struggled to gain my footing among the carnage and once I did I was shoved forward back to my men. Two of my soldiers, Vin and Hauste, caught me by my shoulders and steadied me. They all had the look of desperation on their faces, they knew that death was near and there was very little we could do to stop it.

“By god what were you doing over there!?” Hauste asked, “We tried to stop you but you kept going, we thought they were going to shoot you” the man spoke with genuine fear, and the others around him mirrored his words.

A shell hit right outside the first gate and sent splinters everywhere. A man nearby was peppered with them and fell to the ground holding his mangled face. The red and black eagle of Northelia flew on a tattered standard above the walls and men huddled near the battlements trying to find refuge from the bullet storm.

I was handed a rifle by Vin as he asked what were my orders, I looked out to the fields where an endless tide of Sothelians were struggling forward through the ordinance, and then I looked back to the Wolves. A hatred burned inside of me when I caught them with my eyes, Vin asked me again for orders and I looked to him and saw the dirtied white undershirt he wore, its was torn but it would have to do.

“Take off your shirt” I said. He looked at me confused, and began to speak but I cut him off, “I’m not dieing today soldier, give me your shirt!”

Hauste and the others looked at me like I was the crazy bastard I was.

I pointed to the standard on the wall and told them to bring it down, “Take off the flag, put Vin’s shirt on it”

“Surrender?!?” Hauste cried in disbelief, “but the Wolves…”

I checked my rifle to see that it was loaded with a round and took aim at Duriel, “Fuck ‘em” I cried.

The first shot was high but it still made the kill, his officers hat flipped off his skull after the round made its way through his forehead. I bolted my weapon and felt satisfaction as the spent case ejected. The other Wolves took their time to notice Duriel was dead, but the realization came in full when he slumped to the ground.

Battle Prologue

It was upon the baked hills outside Luccini’s walls that her army prepared for battle against the forces of Remas. The numerically superior Remans flew red and white banners bearing the eagle and spear, while the Luccinans held high their blue standards, the twin swords of Lucan and Luccina displayed proudly on them. The sun had reached its highest in the blue sky once the armies had fully assembled and its light glinted off the plate-armor of the Venators and footmen, no doubt the men inside the suits were desperately hot.

Signor Rossi payed little heed to the furnace that encased him as he surveyed his army for the last time before the battle was to begin. Before him stood three-thousand Reman troops, regiments of pikemen, crossbowmen, sword and bucker-men, and twelve cannons lined strategically in great blocks together. On each end of the army were the heavily armored and warhorse-riding Venators. He had asked for more, but the Triumvir refused to give up all the city garrison for the battle.

Rossi’s captains rode beside him on their own steeds, waiting intently for him to sound the advance. The armies stood almost in silence, occasionally someone would jeer to his foe across the field but other than that only the horses made sound. The yellow grass of the summer swayed gently, as did the banners with the course of the wind and Rossi motioned to his captains to disperse. They nodded eagerly and trotted off.

The army began to stir like the dust under their horses hooves at the sight of their captains approaching their assigned regiments and once the last of them were with their men Rossi drew his sword from its hilt. He hefted it into the air and swung forward, and moments later the calm silence was torn away by the cannons, each roar sent another missile crashing towards the Luccinans.

The enemy began to advance, their commander panicked by the death toll the cannons were making. It was a Tilean tradition that both armies advance at the same time, but Rossi was no traditional general. He was chosen for the campaign because of his boldness and his understandings of war, the council of fifty elected him almost unanimously. His army stood in wait for the foe to reach crossbow range, and when they did the enemies ranks began to fall to the ground pieced by the deadly bolts.

He lowered his helmet visor and moved towards his Venators on the side of the great host. They lifted their lances in salute to him as he approached and was handed his own by a captain. The men of Luccini began to hesitate as the crossbow bolts scythed through them even more as they drew nearer. A horn sounded and men covered by the ranks before ran to the front of the army bearing pavise shields and after them came their own marksmen.

They returned fire and the first deaths of the Remans were heard. They stood too close for the cannons to fire, if they did they would blast through friendly soldiers. At that moment Rossi smiled, the battle was going to be more interesting than he thought. His thoughts ripped back to the battle at hand as a horse nearby screamed and its rider, struck with a crossbow, slumped onto the parched ground.

The bastards, Rossi thought, he gripped his shield tighter and looked back to his Venators just in time to see a half dozen more die. He looked forward at the enemy again, his smile wiped away under his visor. They were targeting the horsemen intentionally, a very nontraditional way to fight. But Rossi caught himself before he cursed, the enemy were smarter than he thought.

He lifted his heavy lance into the air and shouted to charge, the captain of the Venators blew his horn and the horses began to thunder across the fields. More and more horsemen were ripped out of the saddles dead by the crossbows as they rode out onto the flanks of the Luccinans. The great formations of infantry marched forth after the Venators as the sun beat on, men fell onto the dusted fields spilling blood from their wounds.

I’ll cut them down, Rossi thought, we will charge into their flanks and we will shatter them! He gritted his teeth and drove his horse onwards, its armor clattered against its body and his targets swarmed the narrow view of his visor. Bolts punched against his shield but did not penetrate as he lowered his lance and couched it under his arm.

Rossi did not notice that there were not enough Venators to make an effective charge so he rode onwards. He was nearly at them when men ran forwards through the crossbows holding massive wooden stakes, his horse could not stop in time and the beast was impaled in the chest by one of the braced weapons. He was thrown forwards off the horse and landed face-first. His armor crumpled with the force of the impact and he felt some bones break.

Soldiers turned him over and ripped off his damaged helmet, but they were not his men. Two pointed crossbows at him while a third threw his helmet into the field. A fourth approached in armor similar to his own save for the blue tabard that fitted loosely around it. His hair was cut short and black and a trimmed goatee adorned his chin. Blue eyes pierced Rossi’s as he looked down.

The man learned towards the broken general and said simply, “You have been bested, Signor Rossi”.

The Rights of Man: Part 1

There is nothing more thrilling than leading the charge across no man’s land, once again I was waving my sword forwards in the air determined to stay far ahead ,so I would not be trampled to death if I tripped on a land-mine or became snagged by barb-wire by the thousands of soldiers running behind. Mortar and artillery rounds burst into the ground around us as we made the through the desolated forest of splintered trees and sharpened stakes that surrounded us.

 

I looked up from the carnage and saw in the distant skies two fleets of airships battling, large deck-guns flashed as they spat out their lethal payload while nimble fighter-planes buzzed around the huge vessels. We were in a struggle for our identity, for the rights of men, and those who lead the forces against us were merciless.

 

On my left was my second-in-command Major Kerns, a war-grizzled son-of-a-bitch who seemed to save my ass in every tight spot I could find myself in, from fighting off ambushers to punching the army chef for giving me lumpy soup. To my left was the battalion Standard bearer, Bellar Cosky, surely the bravest or stupidest man I had ever known. Armed with only the battalion flag and a flask of whiskey he followed me anywhere in the heat of battle, waving that flag like no other.

 

I could not see the enemy in their trenches through the fog and smoke, but I knew they were there with their big fuzzy hats that I envied so much. But whenever I tried to loot a hat off a dead soldier it would either be covered in mud, blood, or Major Kerns would catch me and give me a stern look.

 

But no matter how apathetic of the politics, the battle-cry of the combined armies of the Sothelian Confederation, always filled my very being with pride and courage. That feeling was aptly quashed when the gunfire intensified and a siren began to wail from the enemy trenches.

 

Bullets whistled overhead as perhaps a hundred men died per ten paces towards the trenches either from mines, mortars, or machine guns. This was a mere estimate on my part as I was already at the mouth of the trench, I kept my head down as the officers of the enemy blasted their voices over the speakers, “Crush the dogs! Not one step back! Death to any who oppose the rule of Anatreus! Glory to those who die in the service of the most exalted Dominus!”

 

My cadre and I dived into the dugout first and I swung my curved officers sword into the nearest Northelian face I could reach. The sword, although ceremonial in most respects, was still very sharp and worked wonderfully to deflect rifles and bayonets. The blaring speakers continued even as I made short work of a pair of machine gunners with a quick stab to the kidney and a swipe after their necks.

 

I searched through the melee for the officer with the radio and found him quickly enough through the crowd of confused soldiers. He was a wiry chap with a black coat and officers cap with an unfashionable mustache, far too bushy for a gentlemen in my humble opinion. Now I can understand how one could forget to trim one’s mustache on the fields of battle, but there would be no excuse upon the battlefields of the formal balls and banquets that one would surely be invited to.

 

If he and I attended the same gathering, I would have had him thrown out a window onto the lawns of the palatial estate, or at the very least pulled him aside and slap him forcefully before helping myself to more delicious shellfish! The officer dropped his radio once he caught sight of me and unsheathed out his own blade smirking all the while, unbeknownst to him I had received the highest marks in the academy for swordsmanship.

 

I sidestepped his first lunge and swatted him on the rump with the flat of my sword. It was obvious I had infuriated him and he came at me again this time swinging the blade across to my belly. His swings were easy to dodge, his thrusts found wanting and his overall sportsmanship proved foul and after a moment I grew tired of his flailing attacks and blocked his blade with mine in mid-flight.

 

Sparks flew as we met and I pressed the attack, with one arm behind my back I forced him further back and soon his back was to the wall of the trench. I could see the fear in his face as his feeble defense crumbled when his sword dropped to the ground. He grabbed a trench-spade from a nearby crate, but he was not my first concern at the moment. While fighting I had somehow lost my hat, and it bothered me greatly to have a naked-head on the field of glory.

 

I slashed and stabbed any soldier that came at me during the search, I looked nearly everywhere and could not find it, a heard a whistle for attention behind me and I turned to find the bastard officer twirling my cap on his index finger. He gave a triumphant smile but before he could do anything nefarious with it I shot him in the heart with my pistol.

 

He stood there with a curious face, perhaps his life was flashing before his eyes. It mattered very little though and I approached him, snatched my hat back from the half-dead bastard and left him there until he finally slumped to the ground like a sack full of produce.

 

It took only a minute or so for the enemy with us to realize that we had far outnumbered them and soon after the remaining few ran anywhere they could to avoid our steel. Alas their efforts were futile as my men gunned them down from behind. My men let out a triumphant cry as the last few enemies ran out of sight through the fog and I sat down for a moment on a crate.

 

Major Kerns slapped his hand on my shoulder as I cleaned off the blood from my sword with an enemy jacket, “Good work, if I may say so sir” He said.

 

“Yes and fun was had by all I suppose” I replied.

 

“Only five more trenches to go now” Kerns gave a tired grimace, I looked up to him and winked.

 

“Come now old chap” I sprung to my feet, “There’s no sport in a peaceful surrender!”

 

**As the combined armies of the confederation, roughly numbered around four-hundred thousand soldiers, battled their way towards their capital, allied Karosian air-fleets had wrestled air-superiority from the Dominion air-force. After weeks of heavy skirmishing and two massive battles, the Dominion fleet was left heavily outgunned and outnumbered against the Karosians and Grand-Marshal Dubries was forced to retreat across the Sothelian/Northelian channel and back into Nothelian airspace.

 

Colonel Alhans’ journal surprisingly mentions very little of the next trench battles but the siege they are leading up to is very well documented by Alhans and many other, shall we say more reliable, sources. The retaking of Gardsel is the most arguably recognized turning point in the war in the south and the anniversary is celebrated to this day by the Confederation.

 

The walls of Gardsel were large, true enough, but the Dominion garrison had not been resupplied for the past three weeks, and it is reported that many soldiers deserted at the news of Grand-Marshal Dubries’ sound defeats. But the commander of the garrison, General Marks Faleun, kept most of his army in line with the help of his executioner firing-squads and strict rations. Faleun was a veteran of the unity war in Northelia, the war in which Anatreus rose to power shortly after, and in his career had to staved off attackers before, either through attrition or clever tactics.**

 

The fog lifted itself from the scorched battlefields as noon approached and for the first time that day we saw our objective, and the sight gave me hope. Gardsel, the largest city in all of the confederation, had been the capital of the Sotheli before the Dominion of Anatreus invaded four months ago. Now the Northelians were using her as a air-fleet resupply base and stronghold.

 

We were eager to retake her and see our banners fly on her walls once more, but therein lied the largest challenge, the southern edge of the city was nestled between the mountains and in order for us to actually enter the city we would have to assault the outer walls. In the late feudal ages the rulers of the city built four walls around the city, each wall taller than the one before it, the city had never been conquered until the Northelians bypassed the walls with their air-fleets and bombarded it into submission.

 

There was a brief respite from the fighting and my company of riflemen and I had taken to the trenches for shelter from the enemy mortars. “What are you thinking colonel?” Kerns asked me as I gazed on the horizon, “You think the brass has a plan to get through those walls?”

 

I pondered for a moment and gave a laugh, “Of course they don’t”.

 

Kerns gave me a smirk with a raised eyebrow, “Guess they would have never thought about attacking our own capital”. He began to say something else but my mind was elsewhere as my eyes followed plumes of black smoke downwards to the war-torn ground. Burning carcases of airships lay not terribly far away and the air was thick with the smell of burning fuels.

 

Kerns noticed my attention to the wreckage and spoke up after a moment, “Some of Dubries’ ships, no doubt” He muttered, “Too bad the bastard got away”.

 

I turned to him and smiled, “Come now” I said, “there’s no fun in licking all of the rascals in one go”. I placed my cap, which smelled heavily of some god-awful cologne used by that officer I killed earlier, back on my head and told my officers to gather the company for a briefing.

 

All farm boys, brave, young, stupid farm boys. But despite their backgrounds I had pitted them through a hard training and those who stuck around turned out to be competent soldiers, or so I prayed each time I stood in front of them as they fired their guns.

 

The 42nd Galousse Rifles assembled around me in the confines of another trench-bunker, as the first we went to turned out to be the latrines. And while this one smelled much nicer it didn’t have the same charm the first did, but I paid no heed when they looked up to me expectantly. Their faces were that of dirty war-hardened cherubs, if there ever was such a thing. The soldiers, all one-hundred and twenty, sat on the dirt floor.

 

Novels are terribly misleading, in that the leaders in them can come-up with motivating and inspiring speeches on the verge of battle. Maybe it’s just me, but whenever I began a speech I would sooner or later wind up talking about completely unrelated.

 

“Well…” my mind drew blank, two years of officer-speech classes went down in flames and crashed horribly into a mountain side and then the pilots eventually had to eat each other in order to survive the frigid winds, yet again, as I struggled to come up with at least a semi-inspiriting monologue.

 

“What the good colonel is trying to say here” Kerns spoke up and once again saved my ass, “You’re all southern lads, born and raised in the verdant fields and valleys and that war has rarely reached your doorstep. But up here, war is a constant threat ever since a madman has gained control over Northelia. And now war is at hand, and boy is it ever. The coasts are overrun and once peaceful beaches are littered with bodies and wreckage. These men we call our enemy are not evil, far from it they are good patriotic men such as ourselves. But fate has thrown us against each other in this terrible war, we have been beaten back, bloodied to say the least. But now it is our turn, we took their punches and now they race across the channel to avoid ours”.

 

There was a pause in Kern and he looked outside towards the company standard, “Do you boys know what that means?” he pointed at it, “That colored piece of cloth is more than what it seems, I have seen grown men cry at the sight of a standard burning, and lord knows any of those men would gladly gives their lives to defend it”.

 

Kerns turned back to the enthralled lads, “And maybe one day you’ll die for this one. I don’t expect you to understand now, but in time as this war drags on you’ll see that flag and all you will think about are the years before the war, and you’ll long for those days to return. But they have left us, perhaps in a different reality this war never started and you all were back home tending to the livestock or fields, but this is our reality, and I be damned if I let my country topple over to some power-hungry bastard. We’re on the cusp of victory, but it can be stolen away from us easily if we give up now, I know we’re all done with the trenches and mortars and all that rot, but this time it’ll be different, this time we know what we’re fighting for. Fighting for freedom, for justice and most importantly peace. We are in a struggle for our own identity, our rights as men. When we’re before those walls, they will be so tall they will block out the sun, but always remember we are brothers, comrades in arms, even soldiers!”

 

“That is the soldiers life, to suffer and be miserable, for the brave few to do horrible acts so that the many may go on through their lives not having to do so. But when you are against the walls and explosions rain down around you know that you are never alone. And even if you die there will be men to remember you and your deeds. A valiant life unnoticed is no less valiant than that of the heroes of history. This is our time, this is your time to write history. Think of all the great Sothelians, Weinhart Feugern, Jeager Ven Kessal, even King Ghardhamal himself, they all faced unimaginable horrors but yet they pressed on. And when these days are long passed, and you are all old and your children’s children ask you about the great wars you can say proudly that you were there, and that you did your duty not only to country but to a greater good”.

 

After the speech the men were uplifted and roared with courage, or something like it. And I smiled underneath my hand as I looked to Kerns, who was still embracing the soldiers by the time the Generals messenger arrived.

 

Oathbeard: Part 2

Four days travel east on the Tobaro road had lead Grumli, Liezo, and the caravan they were accompanying to the town of Solsona. Grumli was on edge, the town was void of life and there was signs of previous combat everywhere. Liezo spurred his horse ahead while Grumli hopped off the foremost wagon and after a few tense moments Liezo returned with a grim face.

“Hold!” He raised his arm to the wagons, “Be on your guard, I saw no foes, but that does not mean we are alone here”.

Grumli unlooped his axe from his belt and approached the Tilean, “What lies ahead manling?” he asked.

Liezo dismounted and shook his head, “follow” he said simply.

Grumli and the dozen guards followed warily behind Liezo and as they came upon the town center and market the horror was seen. Dead townspeople were all over, most were men and had been brought down by blade and arrows. But there were a few bodies that bore no wounds. Grumli knelt down to inspect the nearest one.

“What do you make of this Tilean? He asked Liezo, his comrade joined him and lifted the corpse’s head with a hand. The eyes were black and the lashes were crusted with blood.

“Sorcery most foul” He said, “most likely Arabyans”

“Myrmidia” A guard muttered, “no one deserves this”

Liezo looked to the guard and stood, “Evoke her not, my friend, no god should see their people in such a state”.

Liezo whistled to gather the guards attention upon him, “Gather the bodies and burn them. We’ll travel through the night”.

Some of the guards objected, “Burn them? It would be an insult to Morr!” one said.

Liezo gave them a stern gaze, “Morr will understand, and if he doesn’t then he is not a god. As for tonight’s travel, there is no alternative way. We must cover ground as quickly as possible, now let’s begin, I expect a pyre by nightfall”.

They worked silently and once the townspeople were ablaze they set to the road again. Grumli was restless and sat up from his makeshift bed as the night darkened, the lamplight from the wagons did little to reveal but a few yards away.

“You seem uneasy, friend” Liezo said softly.

Grumli looked to him and grunted, “It has been many years since I left Karak-Teurn, and when I return with no reason, they will still feel the same as they did in the past”.

Liezo pondered for a moment and spoke, “Surely they will forgive you, after all this time?”

“Remember Tilean, a dwarf never forgets” the dwarf growled, “No insult from orc nor kin is forgotten easily”.

“Well you have a reason for returning, and a noble one in my book”. Liezo looked outside the wagon into the blackness, and in the distance he could see a coastal village burning. He pointed to it, “You see that my friend? That must be stopped, and if your kin do not acknowledge it then we are better off without them”.

“I wish I had your optimism” Grumli replied.

Morning reached them without incident as they traveled towards the Abasko mountains, the closer they came the more rugged the terrain became and the trees thickened into forests. The caravan followed the rushing waters of the River Eboro and rode into the Tramoto mountain pass. In some sections the mountain paths were narrow and the faces steep causing the wagons to form into a single file.

A half-day of travel brought them within viewing distance of the Tilean city-state of Tobaro, it looked like Margritta in much regard except that it was unmolested by corsiars. As they grew nearer dirt roads became cobbled highways and the caravan passed other parties along them. A group of riders, a dozen men wearing breastplates and yellow uniforms trotted up to the caravan as they reached one of the border stations.

The lead rider lifted his arm for them to stop, “Hold, what is your cargo and business within Tobaro?”

Liezo stopped his horse and held his arm up as well, “We bring goods to barter, nothing more captain.”

The guard captain motioned his riders forward and he followed closely behind. The men dismounted at the fore of the caravan and began looking inside the wagons. The captain approached Liezo, “Are you the caravan master?” he asked.

Lizeo shrugged slightly and looked back, “More or less, we come from Estalia, from Margritta to be more specific”.

The captain raised an eyebrow, “Margritta? I hear grim news from there, what were you doing there, if I may ask?”

 

A guard jogged up from the caravan and looked hesitantly at his captain, then at Liezo, “Captain, it’s gold.”

The captain looked down to the soldier with an eyebrow raised even higher, “What do you mean gold?”

“All six wagons, they’re filled with gold. Three chests each, all filled with the stuff” He tried to keep his excitement hidden.

The captain rode past Liezo and inspected the first wagon, he trotted back with his hand on the hilt of his blade, “Speak the truth to me, only brigands or looters carry this much gold, now out with it!” he demanded.

Liezo, acting as cool as he could reached into his side pouch and retrieved a wax-sealed scroll and gave it to the captain. The man looked at first suspiciously at the scroll but when he saw the royal seal of Estalia stamped into the wax quickly opened it.

He read aloud to himself and looked up to Liezo, “You must forgive me, caravan master” the captain handed the scroll back, “I was unaware of your mission. My name is Teodores Gascanni, captain of the border guard”.

“No offense taken, Teodores” Liezo replied. Grumli hopped off the first wagon and joined the two.

“Are you two manlings done with all these formalities?” he said gruffly, “We’ve got a task to do, if ye haven’t read as much already”.

Teodores looked down to the dwarf and nodded his head, “I apologize, allow me to escort you to Tobaro, I know it is not your ending destination but it is along your path and it is the least I can do for such a cause”.

The caravan began on its journey again, this time with the reassuring company of the border guards. Liezo passed the time speaking with Teodores while Grumli tried to catch some sleep. As the city walls grew larger they began to pass throngs of people traveling into the outlying villages, most moved out of the way of the convoy but a few had to be warned off.

Teodores had booked them several rooms in an inn on the outskirts of the city and after many days on the road the caravan guards were more than happy to rest outside the walls of Tobaro, but Grumli and Liezo could not find the will to sleep and had left the others to find a watering hole more lively.

The pair entered in the evening and took to the lamp-lit city eagerly, Grumli could have very easily became lost in the labyrinthine network of alleys and streets but Liezo was a excellent guide through the chaos as he himself had grown up in Remas, a city not unlike Tobaro.

They drifted from one tavern to the next listening to the gossip of sailors and townsmen, Grumli, stubborn as ever, refused to drink any of the ale the common taverns served and insisted on finding a reputable dwarfen lodge. Like a blood hound Grumli poked his head down every alley and door in the search for a finer ale, and after a half-hour of searching Grumli finally found a building with dwarfen runes etched onto the tavern sign.

“At last!” he roared with delight, “Come manling, let me show you what you have been missing!”. Liezo followed after Grumli, apologizing to those the eager dwarf had knocked over in his rush.

It was mid-day and the caravan had set off from the north gates of Tobaro but Liezo was not accompanying them, while Grumli was resistant to them parting ways, he knew there was no way to suede the manling to reconsider. But the worry that beguiled the stoic dwarf did little to change his demeanor towards the wagoners.

“Faster manlings, whip your mules faster!” he grunted, “We’ll not arrive at the dwarf hold at any rate with your loose whipping arms!”

 

Oathbeard: A Warhammer fantasy story

Part 1

 

Smoke rose against the sun setting behind the hills of Margritta, the cobbled streets of the port city were peppered with broken and dead soldiers. Not far from the docks the Arabyan fleet could be seen in the Bay of Quietude, black and red sails swayed slowly in the evening breeze. Occasionally the corsairs would fire their deck guns into the besieged city in hopes to drive the defenders further back. But it had been a full week of fighting, and although the Estalians had suffered heavy casualties, they had shown no will to flee their beloved city.

 

Before the invasion Margritta was among the wealthiest ports in Estalia. Trade ships from all over the Old World as well as exotic locales such as Cathay, Lustria and Nippon came to trade their goods. And while most of the Arabyan fleet was besieging Margritta, many other ships split off and began to plunder and raze the smaller towns and villages off the coast.

 

Even with the news of Tilea amassing an grand war fleet, and orders of empire knights pledging their lances to the Estalian Court, hope had never been more scarce than it was now. At the time, Grumli Oathbeard considered the move to Estalia a horrible mistake.

 

Grumli spat out a bloody tooth onto the ground as he pulled a wounded arquebusier behind the barricade made of empty barrels and wagon wheels. A pair of chickens fluttered across the street clucking in fright as the dwarf neared them. Once they were in relative safety Grumli reached to his belt and unclasped his wineskin, he took a swig and spat out the bloody liquid. The drink stung where his tooth had been as he felt the area with his tongue and warmed his belly, the only enjoyable aspect of it.

“Blasted manling brew!” he cursed, “If only this were quality dwarfen ale”.

 

He took another drink from the skin and reattached it to his belt when the clattering of steel and horse hooves alerted him of reinforcements. Grumli turned around with arms crossed as a column of soldiers made their way towards the barricade. Two men on horseback trotted alongside formation, the dwarf recognized the man wearing a red shirt and over it a dull breastplate, but the second horseman wearing much finer garb and armor was new. The unknown man spurred his horse down a street perpendicular from the main road as he lead a group of mercenaries away.

 

Grumli smirked as his friend neared, “I had hoped you were dead, more gold for me in the end” he said. Liezo Sciretti, the red shirted man, dismounted and the two grasped each others fore arm. Liezo released the dwarf’s arm and reached into the saddle bag of his horse and retrieved a small flat stone.

 

“I’ll be able to tell when you’re dead” the Tilean said.

 

“How’s that?”

 

“You’ll smell better” Liezo grinned and handed Grumli the stone.

 

As they chuckled the reinforcing troops took the the barricades with supplies and the Arabyan fleet fired the last salvo of the day. The garrison commander of Margritta, Franco Delicci, raised his hand in greeting to the solders as he neared them although his face was grim. But it disturbed the troops little, for Delicci was always dour looking. He was shorter for a Estalian and his face was adorned with a deep pink scar across his cheek and mouth. His thick sideburns and longer hair were black and matted.

 

“Attention!” he commanded, “This will be brief, as I have battle plans to attend to”.

 

“And by battle plans he means Esperina the whore!” Liezo joked.

 

The company erupted in laughter, as most knew it was true. But Delicci kept his composure and waited for them to settle down. “Knights from the north have sent word that they are on their way, at least three days ride. Thus I command you to get this place ready for them” he paused, “Which means clean stables and rooms for them once they arrive”.

 

No one jested as they knew these knights would turn the tide of battle, hopefully. The commander closed his hand into a fist and placed it on his chest and they did the same. As the commander walked towards the bell tower in the center of the city square the men began to mill about, whispering a question to each other about the knights, were they really coming?

 

Night fell over the land hours after but the destruction around them was still evident when lit by torches and the twin moons that loomed above them in starry sky. A Storm were seen and heard off in the distance and was approaching the coast rapidly. The soldiers were quick to set up their tents and campfires and the smell of stew and roasted meat filled the air.

 

Grumli inspected the stone in the firelight, “This is no mere stone, Tilean!” he exclaimed.

 

Liezo tilted his head in a playful manner, “Well I could tell that, dwarf! It’s a rune of some sort, I found it the ruins of a dwarfen smithy”.

 

The dwarf nodded and stroked his beard in delight, “Indeed, ’tis a rune of fire, commonly used by smiths and forges to ignite their furnaces very quickly”. Grumli looked up to Liezo and smiled, “I’m sure I’ll find good use for it soon enough”.

 

Perhaps it was foul sorcery at work or just a coastal storm, but lightening took the skies in the dead of night. The furious clouds rolled ever inland and seemed to stretch as far as an eye could view seaward. Frozen rain pummeled the defenders to seek shelter making many guardsmen leave their posts. Torches sputtered out as soon as they were brought outside, even the burning ruins had extinguished, the horses and mules in the stables beat against their pens in a vain attempt to flee from the unnatural weather.

 

Grumli stood at the top of one of the Tower of Myrmidia. Standing with him were Liezo and the second horseman from earlier. His name was Arthur Breidich and he and his company hailed from Marienburg, an independent city in the north of the Empire. Grumli reached to his belt and carefully squeezed his wineskin, gauging the amount of the fluid left inside. Although it was rancid he concluded that piss poor spirits were better than no spirits at all.

 

The three began climbing down the large spiral staircase once Arthur had retrieved his belongings. The winds still howled strong even through the stone walls, and as when they reached to bottom the door in front of Grumli ripped itself open. Arthur already had one of his pistols aimed at the terrified soldier as soon as he stumbled into the doorway. Grumli grabbed the gunman’s arm and pulled it down slowly.

 

“Easy now friend, he’s one our own” Grumli said.

 

Liezo pushed Grumli aside to see the soldier, “Whats with the look on your face, what’s going on?”

 

The soldier began to spout out words in Estalian, a language neither Grumli or Arthur knew.

 

Grumli looked up to his Tilean comrade, “Well, what’s he saying!?”

 

“Get out!” Liezo bellowed. Before Grumli could question further he was partially pulled by the soldier and pushed by Liezo along with Arthur out of the tower into the cobbled plaza.

 

“Gods, what are we doing?” Arthur grumbled as he picked himself up from the muddied ground.

 

“No, keep running!” Liezo yelled, and once more the quartet stumbled around in limb-tangled dance. Grumli looked and saw most of the soldiers at the barricades, all were staring at a strange green light shining from the bay. Each passing moment the intensity of the light grew, and as he reached the barricade with the others Grumli’s eyes went wide.

 

The light was not coming from the horizon, but from a ship floating in the bay, the light formed into an orb as it rose higher into the air. “What kind of magic is this?!” Liezo asked.

 

A terrified swordsman screamed, “This is not magic, it is black sorcery!” He stumbled back from his comrades and turned around. The man dropped his shield and sword as he fled towards the tower and as other men began to falter backwards a ray of lightening struck down the orb, and in a brief blinding flash it disappeared. The thunder and rain stopped and only the lightening could be seen flashing in the clouds above, a silence fell upon the city.

 

It hit the soldiers like a ocean wave, an intense pressure in the head, so strong that some began to vomit while others just fell to the ground unconscious. Grumli, being naturally resistant to magic, only felt a mild dizziness. Few were conscious when the tower began to crumble apart. The roof collapsed and as the mid-section of the tower was about to fall inwards stonework and splinters of wood burst outwards, as if it had been blown apart by an explosive from the inside.

 

The first soldier who fled from the barricade was struck by a stone that crushed his head in a mist of blood and skin and caused the headless body to hug the ground. Soldiers who were struck by the debris succumbed to panic as the tower crashed down onto the city square. Thrashing arms and legs struggled for freedom from the throng. Dust and debris filled the air and none could not see much farther than a few feet ahead.

 

As the dust settled the carnage was evident, survivors were still crawling for freedom under their dead and mangled friends when Marco galloped up from a nearby street, with him were a detachment of pistoliers. They rode upon swift, lean horses and wore little armor, but each man had half a dozen pistols strapped to their body.

 

The commander pulled the reins of his horse to stop at the edge of the rubble, “The Arabyans have two small frigates filled with men approaching the docks, gather yourselves!” He drew his blade from his belt as he yelled, “this night is not over, far from it! To arms! To arms!” Franco spurred his horse down to the docks, holding his sword in the air, with his soldiers rushing behind.

 

The city had been dealt a blow, the destroyed tower was a monument to Myrmidia the goddess of Strategy and Warfare. Once a proud symbol of faith now lay ruined, its golden ornaments and statues broken apart across the plaza. The only thing that still stood was the largest statue of the goddess, which had resided inside the tower. She stood resolute despite the sorcerers assault with a sword in her hand held into the air and the other bearing a wreath.

 

Grumli retrieved his axe and and shield and shook the dust from his beard. He looked around for Liezo and Arthur, the two manlings seemed shaken but unscathed. “Come! There’s blood to be spilled!” Grumli shouted. Liezo, Arthur, and others who were not injured severely rallied to the stout dwarf.

 

Grumli hardly considered himself a charismatic dwarf, or to say the least a leader at all, but the men standing were waiting for him to speak. Grumli looked to them and swallowed whatever was left from his wineskin, and after a loud belch he raised his axe in the air.

 

“Manlings!” he said loudly, “This city is your home, and now you’re home burns and your families are endangered, but all is not lost! I too know what it is like to see my home burned and plundered by savages.” Grumli spat on the ground, “This place may not be my home, but give you my oath, as dwarf, and as friend, that this city will not be taken as long as this dwarf stands strong, that no Arabyan will know peace until they pry this axe out of my cold, dead, and bloodied hand!”

 

The men, although bruised and weakened, raised their weapons in the air and bellowed in approval, and Grumli was surprised. The dwarf lowered his axe and pointed it down the street where the docks could be seen at the very end. “To battle!” he roared as he sped down the street. The clattering of armor and the sound of running boots on the cobblestone encouraged Grumli, and gave him a sliver of hope.

 

The garrison commander was already engaged with the black and red garbed Arabyans when Grumli reached the docks. Blackpowder smoke filled the air as buccaneers and Estalian handgunners exchanged fire. The Arabyans fired poisoned darts from crossbows and larger spears from deck mounted ballistae as Grumli and the others crashed into the melee.

 

Grumli parried a slice from a curved sabre and swung his axe sideways into the attacker’s knee. The dark skinned man yowled in pain and dropped to his good knee, he looked up just in time to see Grumli bury his axe in his face, blood spurted across the cold dwarfen steel.

 

Two corsairs charged at Grumli from two sides, the dwarf dispatched the first with a quick hack to his groin and another to his skull as he fell down in pain. Grumli swung his shield around and bashed the second combatant away, he fell to the ground and shortly after his head was cleaved in two. Estalian soldiers rushed into the fray and were able to cut down a wave of pirates before they were forced back by missile fire.

 

Men fell to the ground shot dead by a pair of Arabyans with repeater crossbows in the highest crows nest of the closest ship. Grumli glanced up to them, and noticed they had trained their sights on him. “Tilean!” he shouted through the din of war.

 

“I’m here, what do you need dwarf?” Liezo fought his way through to Grumli.

 

“You see those bastards in the tower mast? I want them dead!”

 

“Already on it dwarf, just give me time to reload” the Tilean knelt down behind Grumli and began to wind the string of his crossbow up. Grumli held his shield high and deflected a one or two speeding bolts and he grunted in approval. Liezo stood up and aimed, and shortly after released his bolt. The projectile caught the Arabyan in the throat and sent him backwards over the railing of the nest, the second shooter met death soon after the first splatted onto the ship’s deck.

 

Although many from Marienburg are dismissed as rich adventurers with little skill on their own, Arthur proved to be an able swordsman as he deflected the blades of many opponents and swiftly ran them through with his own as blood sprayed from arteries onto his garb and armor.

 

Liezo had broken away from Grumli knowing full well that the dwarf needed space to work and the Tiliean and brought out his blade after he had no more bolts in his quiver. Liezo was no swordmaster but could hold his own in a fight, if only for the dirty tricks he used unashamedly, and many corsairs received is foot or knee in their groins before they died.

 

Master axemanship brought a score more of corsairs screaming to their deaths, Grumli’s blade was drenched and his beard matted with his enemies blood. The Estalians had managed to fight the corsairs back to the first ship despite the constant enemy barrage, Franco ordered a team of men to bring barrels of pitch from the supply stores and shortly after the top deck was drench in highly flammable sap.

 

Arabyans surged up from the lower deck and cut down many but they were too late, the master alchemist of the city, Bertio Gonzezas, had already thrown an alchemical bomb onto the deck. Fighters on the deck, friend and foe alike were engulfed by the searing flames and those who did not jump off soon enough caught fire. As the pitch seeped between the wooden planks so too did the flames, and the ship rapidly became engorged in a white hot blaze.

 

Sails were devoured, masts splintered and crashed downwards onto the already damaged vessel, finally the flames reached the ship’s magazine, where most of the gunpowder was held, and the vessel was blown into two by the explosion. Burning warriors were tossed into the air like playthings by the blast as the remaining Arabyans from the first frigate were forced off the docks and into the dark waters.

 

The garrison commander and his horsemen had dismounted during the sinking of the first vessel and now pressed the attack onto the second, the ship was larger and was made with a darker wood; adorning the hull were ivory tusks and a multitude of other bones. The boarding ramps had already been lowered and a second horde of Arabyans rushed from the bowels of the ship. These Arabyans were noticeably different than the ones encountered before, many of them wore jeweled armor and were brandishing gilded weapons.

 

One corsair a head taller than the rest, perhaps their captain, emerged to the front of their ranks accompanied by three robed figures. The four Arabyans stood close and advanced towards the Estalians, who had stopped dead in their tracks by the sight of the new enemy. The captain of the Arabyans unsheathed a large axe from his back and spoke in his native tongue to the defenders, goading them to fight him.

 

Arthur had regrouped with the dwarf and the Tilean and cursed at the sight of the robed ones, “Sorcerers” he hissed, “no one can defeat the captain with those foul men at his back”.

 

Franco Delicci snarled at the larger man and went after him in a fury, he was able to swing once at the champion before he was decapitated. Streams of blood spurted as the garrison commander’s body slumped to the ground. The milling Estalians fell silent at the loss of their captain, some began to step backwards.

 

Arthur placed his hands on Grumli’s and Liezo’s shoulders, “Follow my lead, I will deal with the practitioners, you two distract the big one”.

 

“Easier said than done” Grumli spat on the ground and readied his axe. The Marienburger pushed past the others with the dwarf and Tilean close behind. The Arabyan champion snorted a laugh and tossed Franco’s head at them. Arthur pulled two pistols from his cloak as Grumli deflected the severed head with his shield.

 

With that Grumli barked an oath in his people’s tongue and leaped towards the champion swinging his own axe, the champion was taken off guard for a moment but quickly regained his composure. The dwarf scored several hits onto the man but no matter how deep he cut he continued to fight unhindered. Liezo fired his crossbow carefully and struck the man on his heart but it did little to stop his onslaught. After a few swings Grumli was forced on the defensive.

 

Arthur had swept to the flank of the sorcerers and fired at them, the guns barked and bullets flew true enough, two of the sorcerers were forced backwards and onto the ground by the shots wailing. The champion glanced backwards, his cold grin was gone. The last robed man faced Arthur and wove his fingers in the air at him chanting in a foul language. The man’s hood was blown off with the back of his skull as the Marienburger fired his last pistol.

 

The last sorcerer collapsed and the champion’s movements were becoming more dogged, more sloppy, and it was to Grumli’s utmost pleasure when his foes became sloppy. The stout dwarf slammed the rim of his shield into the man’s kneecap and then chopped with all his might into the mans waist. The champions screams echoed in the dark skies and Grumli pushed him onto the ground.

 

The champion uttered some last words and became limp. The Arbyans began to murmur and shout obscenities to those victorious. But before they could avenge their champion’s death a company of hand gunners that had climbed onto the roofs and walkways above the port during the melee opened fire on them. The majority were killed or brutally maimed in the first volley and those who still stood were quickly overwhelmed by the Estalians. 

Part 6: One last kick

Lazarus fought at the controls in the cockpit, just barely keeping the Verrat from ripping apart by the speed and angle of the descent. Thankfully, Monk concentrated all the ship’s shields to the front of the vessel right before we plowed through two sky-scrapers and a handful of civilian craft on our way down. The ship left a trail of carnage in its wake, chunks of buildings plummeted downwards while air-vehicles careened and swerved out of the path of the devastation.

Monk immediately opened the armory up once we slammed the surface and settled into a crater. Davin and I were sprawled in the study like infants, trying not to break any bones as we stood up. Lazarus pushed us aside and followed Monk into the armory. They came out sporting several weapons in each arm. “Load up gentlemen, won’t be long until arbiters find out where we are” he said as he piled more weapons onto the desk nearby.

I picked up a sleek machine-pistol with a razor-sharp blade under the barrel and a stocky assault-rifle used by many planetary militias, not the most accurate rifle in the galaxy but reliable like my spot in hell. I grabbed several magazines of ammo for both of them and strapped on a kevlar vest.

Davin chose a sub-machine-gun and compact rocket-propelled-grenade launcher, Monk was holding a lengthy Almathi rifle and a smaller alien pistol strapped to his thigh. Lazarus, of course, had his two revolvers with two more pocketed inside his leather coat.

The emergency hatch on the side of the ship wouldn’t open when commanded to so Lazarus kicked it out but then closed it back up when we exited. I asked him what would happen to the Verrat as we sped away from the crash-site, he looked back the ship one last time and stayed silent. I decided not to press him further and stayed close to the group.

We had crashed into the heavily congested and squalid western slums portion of the city. As we fled the poorest of peoples peeked out of their shanty-windows and apartments. Few people were walking in the narrow streets and those who caught sight of us jumped back into the safe and familiar shadows.

The arbiters did a damn good job alerting us to their presence in the district, demands to the populace were shouted through loudspeakers attached to streetlamps and every other building we passed. Curfew is in immediate effect. Four dangerous outlaws are on the run in the area. If you have any information that leads to the capture and execution of these criminals you will be rewarded with additional ration-packs for the week. The messages repeated every few minutes, and only drove me further wanting vengeance.

A good seven blocks or so away from the Verrat an explosion erupted behind us. Monk and Lazarus stopped to look back silently. Soon I realized the explosion was from the Verrat. “Booby-trap?” I asked.

Monk nodded, “Stupid bastards tried, I rigged all the explosives to blow once they got inside”. There was a certain sadness in Monk’s eyes and words. Lazarus snapped out of the gaze and patted him on the back, and pulled him away to get him walking again.

I grew up near this district, so I took the lead and guided them through passageways and the back doors of abandoned dwellings hard to see from the streets and the aerial scanners.

“What are you thinkin’ Carthage?” Davin asked, “They’re gonna have the checkpoints shut solid by the time we get to them”.

I looked back at the group and nodded, “No way we’re getting out of here on the streets”.

“Gonna take the old sewers then?” Daven whispered.

While not the most pleasant route to take, the arbiters rarely sent patrols down there. “Good idea,” I said as I looked for the nearest covered man-hole.

“Shit” Monk muttered with a disgusted look on his face.

I smirked and looked to him, “Literally” I said.

Wish-Granter – Prologue

With one glimpse of the crystalline object Serj had already fallen to it’s siren call. He fished from his bag his digital camera and flipped it on. Thinking nothing of image quality Serj began to snap pictures of the inner-sarcophagus and of the shimmering pillar of crystal itself and with every flash of his camera the whispers in his head grew louder.

The Geiger meter attached to his belt was displaying untold amounts of radiation within the area, its chirping annoyed Serj and he flipped it off. He tore off the helmet of his hazard-suit and breathed in deeply as he dropped it to the floor.

Serj wandered around the chamber taking pictures of everything his eyes could see. His trance was broken when his camera beeped several times, informing him that the battery was nearly out. For a moment he panicked, this moment was the climax of his existence, such a discovery could not be wasted. Quickly pulling out his PDA and connector cable he sat on a nearby piece of broken concrete.

He heard the voice of one of his companions echo towards him from a nearby corridor, despite the urgency in his blurred words Serj payed no heed and connected his camera to his PDA. The screen lit up and his face was bathed in the faint glow. He ran his fingers over the keypad and entered commands into the computer with unnatural haste.

Sweat dripped from Serj’s forehead and down onto the screen. Another panic-stricken shout resounded from the dark halls but still no reaction from Serj. He uploaded the pictures to his PDA and emailed them to the only man he could trust with such information over the span of a few minutes. He made sure the email was sent fully and then tucked the devices into his bag.

Serj Stood up and looked around for the two other men he had came with. One was sitting against the opposite wall. His green hazard-suit was covered in blood, his head was hanging limp and his dead hands were still holding the gaping hole in his stomach blown out by a shotgun. A last shout came but was cut off by a gunshot and was followed by a dying mans moan.

Figures appeared from the shadows, men with weapons. Serj caught sight of them quickly and backed away and towards the crystalline monolith. He clutched his bag with both hands and stumbled backwards. His head smashed into the crystal figure and his vision became blurred.

He was facing the ceiling with blood pooling in one of his eyes. He could hear the unknown men stepping towards him and he tried to sit up but to no avail. Some force kept him from moving, and Serj soon recognized his terror. For so long he had been entranced by the monolith that he had forgot all his emotions.

Paralyzed from fear and the unknown force he could only look up, into the faces of the men. They looked down at him with their eyes devoid of humanity. The whispers became louder still when the men stared at Serj. Finally the voices formed words he could understand, as if before this moment they had spoken in some alien language. The voices asked as the men looked down upon him, “Can you give back, what brought you here?”

The City

Although relieved to be away from the lifeless and bizarre plains, I felt uneasy entering the city. The place seemed frozen in time. I found a clothing store and covered my lacerated body with a businessman-suit that was many sizes too large, but I cared little at the time about the size. The sky was still dark, but the storm had subsided and now there were streetlights that lit the way, which gave me some comfort. The streets were completely empty and without trash or even cigarette butts. I saw no cars or anything that could be used as a transport so I continued to walk through the streets.

Time was nonexistent here, the clocks were without hands and they sky was without a sun. I crept my way through the city streets and alleys trying not to be out in open spaces. Though for the entire time I was alone, I felt like something was following me and spying on my actions. Footsteps other than my own alerted to me that this was not just a feeling and I spun around to face whatever it was. Nothing was there, my eyes darted to and fro in a vain search.

The Dark Plains

The sky wept ice like tiny spears and bit into my naked skin. I held my hands over my face in a feeble attempt to shield myself from the stinging pins. I had traveled far to come here, and my journey was far from over. Once I set foot onto the dark plains my clothes were torn off by the howling winds and it required all my strength to keep myself from tumbling backwards into the long, blue grass that grew here. It was a strange grass, for no matter how hard or violent the winds blew it swayed gently as if the elements were not so.

The grass felt warm on my naked legs, and the feeling tempted me to crumble down and bath in it, but I knew better than to give in, the remains of those who did so before me taught me this. Some bodies were completely gone and only hollow bones served as a reminder, but many others were fresh corpses. But it was not insects or scavengers who picked the flesh from the skeletons; I saw no signs of such things around me.

Part 5: Homeward-bound in Flames

I should have expected something was awry when we reached Vosphor, there was very little traffic around the space-station that orbited the planet and the communication channels were dead silent. We passed the space-station and continued down towards the planet’s surface, Lazarus was watching the displays suspiciously, as if the inanimate technologies could betray our senses.

From the opposite side of the space-station came five red blips on the sensors, they were closing fast. “Who the hell are they? I asked.

“They’re not exhibitionists, that’s for sure” Lazarus said, he manipulated several controls in front of him and I could feel the Verrat increase its speed. “Buckle up, I’m going to try to lose them in the atmosphere”.

A red light began to flash and a voice came over the communicator, “Our missiles have locked onto you, we are the Arbites. Terminate your engines and prepare to be boarded”.

“I could do that, maybe if you said please” Lazarus said.

“Our missiles are locked, please terminate your engines and prepare to be boarded” The Arbite sounded extremely annoyed.

“No”, Lazarus punched the accelerator controls and the Verrat rocketed forward so fast I was thrown back onto the wall behind me, after the impact I crumpled to the floor face-first.

“Holy balls Terrance, tell us when you’re going to do something like that!” Monk screamed from the back, “Spilled my gin all over your fucking motherboard!”

Lazarus did well to evade the first few missiles, his skill at piloting the Verrat was exceptional. But his human skills were no match for the mechanical precision of the missiles and the center engine of the Verrat was struck dead-on. The hull shook violently and shoved me back on the floor, Lazarus veered the ship into a downward spiral in a desperate attempt to dodge more missiles.

Monk slid down the near-vertical floor and grabbed the computer chair in the study. He hefted himself into the chair and punched several commands into the computer. The holodisplay lit up and formed into a a set of cross hairs. Monk unlocked the chair and buckled himself in, the chair began to rotate around the computer consoles and at one point Monk would have fell if he was not strapped into the chair.

Once the Arbite ships came into view in the display Monk pulled up a sidestick from the chair. The targeting systems quickly locked onto the pursuers and Monk pulled the trigger. With a series of thumping sounds from outside one of the Arbite ships was torn apart and exploded. Three of the enemy craft were able to steer away but the ship directly behind the explosion was sent spinning out of control.

Monk fired the Verrat’s weapons rapidly, but the Arbite fighters nimbly maneuvered out of the lead-streams whenever they came close, another missile was launched at the Verrat but missed.

“Fuck , they’re too fast for my guns” Monk yelled, “permission to use the Almathi tech?”

Lazarus fought at the controls, “Just don’t kill us when you’re doing so!” he answered after a brief moment of hesitation.

Monk whooped in excitement and manipulated the controls on the armrest next to him. Outside of the Verrat I could hear and feel something grinding out of the hull. The word that worried me in Monk’s question was ‘Almathi’. Using Almathi technology was extremely illegal and held some of the highest levels of punishment for those who disobeyed. The alien-race had been bastardized in humanities history-book, being mankind’s most prominent enemy in the Age of Expansion.

Monk looked at me on the opposite wall of the study and tossed me a pair of goggles, “wear ‘em!” he said, “Unless you want to get blinded by my fireworks!”

I caught the goggles and equipped them, they made the room dark and I rubbed the lenses to get the dirt off. The grinding stopped outside and my heart beat heavily as I watched the display.

“Eat this you mother-fuckers” Monk muttered while he opened fire, The screen became so bright I had to squint even with the goggles on, it was looking at the sun, only a thousands times worse. When the brief-flash subsided the ships came back into view I noticed that one of them was missing its other half and spinning out of control. One half of the ship had apparently been vaporised.

With another pair of flashes the two remaining ships vanished into thin air, leaving only molten bits singing through the atmosphere. “What the hell was that?” I asked in disbelief.

Monk swung the chair back down to me and unbuckled himself, he got back on his feet and offered me a hand, “That sir,” he began,”was extremely kick-ass”