The Return of Tambelon [Mystria]

[Kouralia]

This is largely an ersatz-post which barely goes half-way to summarising the effects the war has had on Kouralia, let alone covering the stories of the war, the interactions with other players' characters needed for their involvement to occur, or even being a compelling narrative. I will look to post further with ore character-driven insight into the 'current' situation in Kouralia as soon as I can.

Allacastra aþe’Curia-Wyrre
D+21

“The time is… seventeen hundred hours: Court is sitting, shall we begin?” The Crown-Captain began as he took his seat at one point of the chamber’s triangular table. Of course, the room looked nothing like one would expect any courtroom to look – there was no dock, bench, well or gallery – and this chamber was furnished more akin to a spartan meeting place than a sessions hall. The ceiling was low, and like the floor walls was unadorned concrete stiffened by protruding girders and concealed latticework of reddish-gold aurichalc. Dominating the room was a tribar table of varnished mahogany seating five a side and one at the head of each point. Unfortunately the ongoing calamity had somewhat ruined the modern touches by rendering each seat’s inbuilt display screens useless.

Not that this had stopped the Adjutant Clerks in preparing the room for today’s session. Instead, an ancient overhead projector was placed between the table’s arms while a roller screen blocked the shattered TV array opposite the Crown-Captain. Fortunately the day’s meeting of the Central Warfighting Executive would not require the whole table be filled, and the bar between the projector and the screen was empty.

“We shall begin with a brief accounting of recent events in the field from our Sir Aleſsya,” Sir Barynel continued as he opened the file placed before him by an aide. “After this the Sygecempyssym will apprise us of the Thaumic developments. We will then consider the current strategic directions in light of the new information and will make any adjustments necessary. Are there any additions to the agenda?”

Through a moment’s pause, Sir Barynel looked about the table at the fellow members of the Central Warfighting Board. Each sat in a large executive swivel chair, alternating between leather of maroon or deep blue as they snaked around the table. As the supreme decision-maker in the nation on matters relating to the prosecution of war against the denizens of Tambelon, Sir Barynel chaired the board from the principal point of the tribar table. To his left and right sat the members of the board – political, bureaucratic, and military. Each place was set with a brief of papers in manilla folders and an ornate name plaque of gold leaf engraved mahogany slid into place for all else at the table to see who was addressing them.

At Sir Barynel’s right sat Sir Rycoharde Uiso, the First & Principal Legate – the professional head of the Coronial Armed Forces and the most senior uniformed military adviser to him and the Justiciar for War. Next came the Justiciar for War herself, then more – Chancellors and Secretaries-General of the Justiciary for War and the Crown Captain’s Office.

At its end sat the other senior-most Military Officer in the room – the Central Commander-in-Chief who was the operational head of all Kouralian military forces that were not expressly continuing to remain stationed in Eastern Mystria. The Legatus Kyneræl-Magnus, Sir Aleſsya Byraþƿynn found herself in an unenviable position which was equalled only once in the last centuries. Of course, that the other Central Commander-in-Chief took charge less than a decade ago in 2014 did not bode well for the future defence of Kouralia. Down the other arm of the table sat a number of other important bureaucrats and military officers, until it reached the other key figure in the room. Unlike the varying degrees to which the other attendees deformalised their attire in the name of utility and necessity, Prince Palatine Sir Muri Mide wore a full three-piece suit of herringbone-woven plum purple wool. The waistcoat was crossed from shoulder to his left hip by a dark brown crossbelt that helped support the weight of the compacted staff which hung from a loop on his hip.

“Very well then,” Sir Barynel said after a pause, “Sir Aleſsya if you please?” He added, gesturing with one hand before opening the arms of a pair of reading glasses and beginning to digest the reports.

“Of course, Captain.” Sir Aleſsya said, the Legate Grand-General rising to her feet and reflexively smoothing down her khaki drab uniform shirt, before gesturing to the projector screen. At once, the hand of an Adjutant Clerk crept up from where he was sat cross-legged on the floor next to the overhead projector. Unfortunately the mechanical clunk of the device’s power switch was not followed by an illuminating glow from within.

Almost a minute passed, with all present studiously not making eye contact as the unfortunate, lowly Administrative Assistant’s hand flicked at the switch, wiggled the power cable, and even slapped the side of the machine as its owner’s voice muttered curses both profane and religious under his breath. Eventually, before the Clerk’s increasingly forceful percussive maintenance could dislodge the projector from its trolley, the Prince-Palatine signed and took pity on him. Raising one hand languidly as he sipped at his water, the Prince-Palatine snapped his fingers. Immediately the plexiglass plate was illuminated by a werelight from within.

“Thank you, My Lord.” Sir Aleſsya said to the Prince-Palatine, who merely nodded and waved for her to continue. “As we know,” the General said, as she stepped out from behind her desk and moved toward the projector screen, “the Tambelonic forces are continuing to advance. Their progress has been stalled this past week compared to the initial advance primarily due to the first influxes of men and materiel reaching the front via the canal system proposed and implemented by the Prince-Palatine.”

While she spoke, the Administrative Assistant’s hand slipped transparent a laminated sheet onto the overhead projector and the screen was immediately filled with a map of Northern Kouralia featuring helpful annotations.

“Now,” Sir Aleſsya continued, as she needlessly indicated the large scarlet lines flowing South-Eastward from Tambelon with her vine stick, “While the Tambeloni are largely out of the peaks of the Urykuu Range, they remain within the mountainous areas and in territory that does not lend itself to assaulting forces. However, we are still operating at limited effectiveness because of The Toll of the Tambelonic Bell.” She shrugged glumly, “It’s true that ‘everywhere a tank can go is tank country’, but at the moment we cannot move anything wheeled, let alone armoured vehicles. We also remain unable to bring any significant artillery to bear on the Tambeloni – also because of The Toll.

“A number of districts have identified out-dated L5/6 Pack Howitzers within their stores. Notionally we can break them down into 12 separate pieces for ease of transport over mountains… However we are experiencing issues carrying out this with any significant degree of widespreadness. Unfortunately it takes a substantial number of soldiers to carry it, and it was intended for carriage by pack mules – which we no longer maintain trained herds of. To say nothing of the relative scarcity of ammunition for a seventy-year-old gun.

“Now, our estimations are that the current Strategic Phase Line will likely be overcome within a number of days, and we will see a fighting retreat that will hopefully limit hostile gains in concert with destruction of infrastructure, stay-behind units, and temporary retiring to pre-prepared tactical bastions.

“The current combat losses, counting confirmed deaths in service as well as confirmed wounded and personnel and formations within the area which we can no longer accurately account for, is estimated at around 30,000 men and women. This, as always, does not included estimates of loss caused by The First Toll.”

As Sir Aleſsya said this, one of the Adjutant Clerks cleared his throat, his desk plaque introducing him as Arri Fystuari, Director of Civil Contingencies. Once she ceded the floor to him he spoke, “At this time it is best to consider all casualties inflicted during The First Toll as separate to the ongoing tallies of civilian and military deaths – though thanks to the destruction of communications and digital recording systems across the nation all of them are, at present, estimates at best. We estimate the death-toll so far is a minimum of three million in total – including patients whose conditions would have destabilised with the loss of power, those who were on or near motor vehicles at the time of The First Toll and people wounded by shattered glass.”

“How good is the prognosis for the coming weeks?” Sir Barynel asked

“Not good.” Director Fystuari said simply, leaving a short awkward pause until the Crown-Captain’s raised eyebrow and lack of response clued him into a need to provide more detail.

“National, regional and local food distribution networks have collapsed throughout the entire affected area. Rapid institution of rationing policies was certainly useful, but local supplies are invariably dwindling if not already diminished. Ultimately food is rarely produced locally enough for urban populations to be self-sufficient. Our society relies on significant mechanisation of the distribution network to allow most produce to make it to consumers whilst still fit for consumption. There are certainly places where this effect is mitigated – whether due to proximity to trunk or capillary canals, or due to local agricultural industry, but these areas are in the minority. The collapse of the national grid has similarly destroyed a significant proportion of food and medicine storage within the affected areas – to say nothing of its effect on production facilities and its predicted effect on heating the homes of the more vulnerable in our communities.

“Ultimately, we will see further-heightened levels of public disorder within the coming months. There are plans to put in place regarding this, and the Regional Prefects and their more local assistants will surely have studied them in preparation for such a catastrophe. Summary Justice will need to be enacted, and the regions most affected by the war will have to transition to a less…” He paused, “less judicial means of dealing with many offenders. Soon after that we expect to see mass starvation, and after that as the nights turn cold we will see countless people dying cold and alone in their homes - if populations can even remain in dense settlements.”

The room was soberly silent for almost a minute, before the Legate Grand-General resumed her briefing. “We know that the Imerian Krigsmakten is pouring to our aid through the South Coast portal, and additional assistance is on the way from further afield, but the Tambelonic strategy is heavily predicated on the use of the Shattering Peal and so far it is working. It will take a number of days, if not weeks, for our allies to really start to bolster the lines. The strategic canal network is proving useful, but its potential cannot be fully realised without transport by road,rail or aeroplane.

“Ultimately the doctrine of the Kouralian Military has been reliant on superiority in information management, logistics and supply, moral components, and being able to maintain a high operational tempo. Unfortunately the effect of the Shattering Peal has not simply negated any advantages in these fields, but it has completely eradicated these capabilities.

“It’s almost as if he’s planned this.” A clipped, almost stereotypically upper-class voice interjected.

“Indeed, My Lord,” Sir Aleſsya acknowledged. “The only reason not to think that this foe has spent every waking minute of his exile waiting and watching us is the clear evidence that he has spent much of it building up and equipping these forces to destroy ours. Were it that we could meet them in battle without the peal, I have no doubt that the Grand Legion would crush them with ease - regardless as to the sorceries of their goatcaste warlocks. However, even if the peal ended this very moment it would take an immense effort to start equipping operational formations to the standard we would expect of them.”

“What do we know about the Peal itself?” Sir Barynel asked, “Is there any prospect of stopping it?”

“No.” The Prince Palatine said simply.

“Thank you Sir Aleſsya,” The Crown-Captain said as an aside as he turned to the Prince Palatine, Sir Muri Mide. “Can you elaborate on that, please?” He continued as the Grand-General took her seat.

“Marginally.” Sir Muri said with a shrug, before taking to his feet and extinguishing the projector’s werelight with a click of his fingers. “Fundamentally, the Peal is an effect emanating from Tambelon itself. Every… I think it is twelve minutes, a wave of power surges from the Dark City until it reaches its limits. This wave of power shatters the constituent parts of any free turning wheel within machinery, it shatters glass, and it powers the unnatural tempests which ravage the land wherever pegasi cannot chase them away. We have tried to mask axles from it, but it hasn’t worked. We have tried to protect them with enchantments, but the pulsing of the Peal means that unless we can re-enchant them between its cycles of power the axles break when it next tolls. We have no actual practical idea about how this spell is being cast, though I am inclined to believe that some form of bell is being used as an arcane focus given the audible tolling that accompanies the pulses of energy.”

“You said that it cannot be stopped?”

“Yes. Or rather, it can be stopped, but not by us.” Sir Muri said. “Perhaps if we had prepared and planned and developed the right means to fight this foe over the past five hundred years then we might be able to, but with our current capabilities, we cannot. It’s only down to good fortune that the current preparations have held…”

“Thank you, Sir Muri…” The Crown-Captain muttered, “I think everyone here is aware of your advocacy for treating Tambelon as a threat since it last went away - and your efforts to prepare for its return in spite of government policy. But can we please stick to what we can do now rather than what we might have done then?”

The Prince-Palatine sighed, “Yes, of course,” he said. “I live to serve and all that, and it was certainly not infuriating being the only person to take the security of the nation seriously for these lonely years. Anyway, as I was saying…” He continued, “This spell is incalculably complex and powerful to have such a precise effect over such a widespread area and to be persisting for weeks now without stopping - and there is no sign it will stop. We’ve even recently seen the spell’s effect intensify briefly to support strategic level manoeuvres in the Tambelonic forces. I have written a short document on the underlying… Uh, ‘Pealian Principles’ as it were which we have been able to divine so far. That’s included in the briefing packs for this meeting.

“However, aside from the effect the Peal has on our combat effectiveness, this spell is emanating from a location which is protected by the most powerful armies and magics of the most powerful city state and sorcerer on the continent.

“Quite simply,” The Prince Palatine concluded, “there is no Thaumist in Kouralia, and no choir of Thaumists who could overpower its effects, and I doubt you could successfully get boots on the ground there without those boots being on the feet of near-divine godlings.”

“How optimistic…” Sir Barynel said wryly, “Well, overcoming the Peal shall be the first and most important priority for both scientific and thaumic research establishments. Now, shall we move on to some actual policy details?” He asked the table, a question greeted by some very enthusiastic nodding from those eager to move the topics on to ones they had at least some understanding of.

And so, over the coming months what was foretold came to pass. More than a score of scores - a scoreception if you will - of years had been given to the mannish realm that stretched from Kurton to the mountainous border with Hippostania across the seas to the southernmost stretches where Kouralia brushed shoulders with Silverdale within the peaks of the Western Wall. For this half century since Lord Grogar’s promise to return rang in the ears of power, that threat should have lived rent-free, foremost in the minds of the strategists of the Crown. Instead, as nature regrew and cities were rebuilt the short-lived and shorter-sighted peoples of those blessed, emerald draped lands forgot what it meant to be afeared. Their minds turned to other endeavours even as those who had fought him lived. When they were all dead, unnecessarily quickly as humans tended toward, those that now led the nation were even less inclined to listen to the warnings of a foe whose last breath was before their birth and whose next breath would scarcely trouble their greatest of great grandchildren - if it even came.

Those years, decades, centuries that could have been used to fortify the nation’s land and spirit, to prepare once more to do battle with the most powerful of powerful goats, and to inculcate an appreciation for the wondrous and magical into the population was squandered. As time went on even the veneration for nature and the divinity thereof which sat at the heart of the Kouralian spirit became akin to lip-service.

Last in the long line of executive bodies seemingly incapable of seeing the fate that dangled clearly before their noses, the Central Warfighting Board had finally recognised its doom. Of course, this was a doom a half-millennia in the making and a realisation too late to rectify by half that, at least.

Across Kouralia, while battles raged in the North and raiders roamed abroad elsewhere, society upended itself as its most basic needs went untended-to. Without power, and with transport links crippled to an extent never before envisaged, the unprepared populations migrated from cities to a thousand impromptu settlements across the countryside as many slowly travelled further to the areas of Kouralia unaffected by the peal. Production of every machined and processed good in the nation ground to a halt, while those made naturally found themselves spoilt before the consumer could even clap eyes on them.

Populations unused to privation and hardship streamed from urban centres incapable of sustaining their density to seek solace in a countryside which was anything but the breadbasket paradise the cityfolk had assumed. For each hamlet-like hillside frazione capable of sustaining itself through communal gardens and hard work, ten more became as quiet as the graves were not. Every night more caravans and camps of terrified refugees filled the bellies of the hangry dead resurrected across the continent by the dark magicks of Tambelon, as magecraft and skill-at-arms proved to be in poor supply among the priesthood of the Æhrycreda. Every day roiling bolts of dark energy tore the souls from the forms of Kouralian soldiers and blasted apart their fortifications in a twisted mockery of the honest and honourable howitzers which slumped silent amidst their shattered carriages at countless depots across the nation.

For those in the area of Pealian Wastes, any news was hard to come by so good news was latched onto with a fevered intensity no matter its provenance. Stories were abound about cowboys atop dragons and horseback charges of valiant foreigners while legions of blue-clad heroes died in their droves to protect a land that was not their own. Tales as tall as the trees, many Kouralians would have suggested such things to be in less trying times. Now even the least credulous of people needed something to spark hope.

[The Ctan]

The Great Civilization’s interest in Mystria was to acquire magecraft and ways of operating such things, but while the region was of paramount importance, its interest in such things had existed before the first contact with the region, and from time to time that was clear.

One example of this was the presence of spelljammers, archaic vessels whose contact with the C’tani had first taken place centuries ago when they had appeared in the hands of the nation of Giltheran when it arrived in Sol, two ages¹ ago.

Such craft were not generally used as combat craft by the Great Civilization, they could travel at a remarkable speed when nothing was near them, dispersing interstellar medium, but they would instantaneously lose momentum when approached by another craft, which meant their combat had often been a matter of boarding, and disabling them was easy for most threat vessels.

There were also practical limits on size for them caused by sharp points of diminishing returns in the magic that operated them, limiting them to displacements of a few thousand gross tonnes in the most common cases. This was the limitation that most kept these craft from the military sphere.

Normally.

Of course, that didn’t mean they’d stopped working, or even stopped being made.

Therefore they had a rare return to glory as modeling had suggested something violently unpleasant would happen to their starships and major ground assets if they entered the Shattering Peal without further magic-hardening upgrades, resulting in an operation being put together by the Order of Peace to find assets that worked well in this environment in the interim, ultimately alighting on the spelljammers that had plied the void for millennia before this day.

Specifically the vessels that had been called on were Giltherani Man-of-War type vessels, a few lineages of living mage-engineered craft, some of enchanted wood, others of crystal (these latter could not be sent into the Peal) with no moving parts apart from obsolete weapons on some of the oldest, and fixtures and fittings.

The Tambleon Refit was one that integrated some parts of the GC’s technology to this living craft, replacing archaic weapons with resonance arcs, weapons that produced flashes of destructive energy that superficially resembled natural lightning.

The end result was a craft with a keel of forty five meters or thereabouts, depending on the age of the craft. By the standards of the Huge Civilization this was a boat, not a ship, dozens could fit into the smallbays of a Harvest Ship, but they would do for what was needed.

Sieveril sat at the Helm of one of the craft as it slipped through the silver void of the astral plane, billowing clouds of varying luminescence visible as it closed in with the upper reaches of Mystria. The sound of the bell was audible even here, rippling in this timeless realm.

Sieveril made a horizontal slashing gesture, and the planes ripped open before the flotilla revealing the orbital space of Gaia.

High above the Earth, the ships canted down toward the Mystrian region, there ahead of them was a disc of darkness, unnaturally dark clouds that rippled with forked lightning reaching up to the void.

The ships coasted over the sea, pitching up to run pallell as they slipped under the clouds. Every twelve minutes a small but visible compression wave rippled out across the sea as they navigated toward the southern coast of Kouralia on the starboard side.

The ships soared over the land as they made for a position on the south coast, heading inland to their designated landing site, close to a refugee encampment. Others were running to Hippocratia, to the southern Kouralian continent, to the Malgravean colony, and to other lands, but Kouralia and Hippocratia were the most populated and therefore needed the most support.

The crafts’ wings had been trimmed to a landing configuration, and three of them set down, including Sieveril’s vessel.

Its sides flexed open, folding down wide cargo-bay doors, as the crew disembarked, the cargo they had was substantial.

First and foremost was food, the ships were small by modern standards, more like aircraft than the leviathan ships of the necrons, but they could still cram approximately ten TEU of storage into their holds. For that reason the cargo was mostly lembas, a form of sustenance developed long, long ago from grains brought from the fabled realm of Valinor.

Each cubic foot devoted to these was enough to provide food for two hundred sixteen days. This made the total cargo of any one spelljammer equivalent to two point seven million daily rations, which said that way, sounded a lot.

Such food drops were necessary but they were not daily, and while the full load could feed over two million people for a day, it could feed only ninety two thousand people for a month and there were a great many people to feed, the effect of Lembas was enough that it could keep, even outside of its modern packaging, for longer than that, but with millions of people needing food the operation would meet many other challenges.

Worse still they were not fully containerised, as the loading apparatus for such things wasn’t presently available, which meant that unloading and storing food was something that needed to be coordinated locally, increasing the amount of time they would have to spend on the ground and maximising the risk of Tambelonic dragons, skyraiders and outriders becoming an issue.

[Urmanian]

Pearl City, Haywaii

Foamfluff had been stuck on Haywaii for several months now. What began as a two-week beach vacation with some friends turned into a robinsonesque escapade. First the revolution came and the hippogriff's airship flight home was canceled...as well as the next one. Then he was informed that his workplace got shut down for "restructuring", whatever that meant, no help could come out of it and there was not much of a point going home anymore either. And now Haywaii was turned into the staging point for the Sorrelian war effort in Tambelon, which meant that civilian flights became even rarer to come by (even if he could hope to grab one for free now, with the Marksism and all).

For a while he considered flying home on his own, but kept getting cold talons, flying thousands of kilometers was not an easy task for an unprofessional flyer like him by any means. Besides, there were worse fates out there than being stuck on a beach resort. The hotel agreed to host him for free and even provide free meals for some minor maintenance work. The beaches were still rather lively even in these troubled times, and the seapony parties were something to behold. That damned shoo be doo, shoo shoo be doo was going to be stuck in his head for the rest of his life.

But idle talons are the capitalist's workshop, and Foamfluff eventually started growing restless for something to do. Fortunately, the Vermillion Army was quick to provide that. It needed hooves, many of them. What was once a mostly peaceful resort archipelago was now teeming with activity of more sober nature, processing thousands of refugees from Hippocratia and elsewhere while directing a never-ending supply train to the frontline and other goat-affected areas.

Naturally, supplying those areas by conventional ship, plane or airship was impossible, but ponies were nothing if not resourceful and found a passable solution. Caravans of clouds, which now flowed out of Haywaii in a steady 24/7 stream, creating peculiar formations in the sky as they moved towards the northeastern continent under the wingpower of thousands of pegasi. It wasn't quick and the per-volume cargo capacity of clouds left something to be desired, but it was by far the most efficient way of transportation under the effect of the Peal.

The majority of clouds were headed to the Hippocratian Front, hauling vast amounts of ammunition, tube artillery and other supplies that were needed by the growing Sorrelian force there. But a large amount of these impromptu cumulonimbulous ships also went to the Malgravean Research Colony, Kouralia and the rear cities of Hippocratia, bringing much needed relief in the form of food, medical supplies and other sundry necessities. A small number also went out to Ilan to help the refugees there.

With exports sharply declining, Sorrelia was sitting on a surplus of food, more than it knew what to do with. There was no issue devoting millions of tons of foodstuffs from warehouses and sympathetic farmers to the suffering populations in the epicentre of the Peal - though getting enough of it there in a timely fashion was a challenge. Even with the cloud caravans and C'tani shipments of elf bread, food security in those areas could remain shaky - but at least existent, now. Though many Kouralian humans would have to endure a mostly vegetarian and rather sugar-saturated diet now. Other supplies like medications, blankets and assorted morale-boosting knick-knacks were probably going to also be appreciated.

Naturally, Grogar had no shortage of flyers of his own, so the cargo clouds were tightly guarded - by airships and fighter aircraft for as far as those could reach, and then by flocks of pegasi, griffins and hippogriffs themselves, flying tightly coordinated patrols while others fanned the clouds on with their wing magic.

With an artistic flourish, Foamfluff stamped and sealed another crate - this one a donation to the MARC from the collective of some factory or other, a collection of water purification tubes and other survival equipment alongside some amusing stuffed animals - before hefting it with a hearty 'hup' and carrying it upwards onto a cloud. That wasn't a job he was used to, definitely not one he ever expected himself to be doing, but he was starting to feel quite a bit of pride in it.

[Malgrave]

Pesaro Pioneer Community Centre, Ryn, Malgrave

Before the return of Tambelon and the unexpected emergence of the technological exclusion zone, the city of Ryn served as a central hub for trade in the Research Colony, as the flow of the Tesla River made it easily accessible for all-manner of merchant vessels which could offload their goods for rapid shipment on either local freight or long-distance high-speed rail lines that connected Ryn to Gosbury and Luban.

Ryn’s picturesque location and the relative ease with which it could be accessed by air, rail and sea had also served to assist the establishment of a sizable tourism industry, with companies like the Ferqui Club quickly earning a reputation for the affordable packages that they offered folks to visit Ryn, with advertisements highlighting not only the river but the wide mountain range often visible from Ryn which served to separate the Research Colony with its immediate neighbours and was credited with the excellent air quality present in the city itself.

Beyond that Ryn also functioned as a vital transportation hub between Malgrave and at least one of its neighbouring countries, as railway lines from Ryn worked their way up to the cities of Veni and Levestia to service the needs of industry and provide a quick and affordable way for curious tourists and even workers to flow between each respective nation.

It was a project that was notorious for its difficulty, as the same mountain range that served to attract tourists also served as a significant blockade to any plans to establish a series of high-speed rail lines between the target population centres, however, those at MalTra were nothing but persistent and with a multi-billion budget and over a decade of hard work had been able to complete the project whilst also establishing a few significant advancements in technologies and practices related to the excavation and construction of tunnels.

Unfortunately, such an engineering achievement had only been in service for a few months before the establishment of the technological exclusion zone which meant that its long-scheduled appearance on Sailor on Tour would have to be rearranged.

Ryn itself had suffered immensely from the establishment of the technological exclusion zone, as the earthquake generated by Tambelon’s return had destroyed numerous apartment complexes and damaged a large portion of civilian infrastructure, with the true scale of the loss of life unknown to many due to the emergent chaos that filled many of the early hours of the crisis.

In fact, with the damage levelled against medical infrastructure in the city, a number of patients had been sent to temporary clinics located in ASG centres. It was altogether quite fortunate that MIDD had been cured earlier, as these less-than-ideal conditions would have resulted in a considerable loss of life a few years ago, and a fair few Malgraveans found themselves thinking of a message of thanks to the Heralds of History for their work.

Still, a lot of pressure had been placed upon Ryn by the return of Tambelon and even work to evacuate a portion of the civilian population to comparative safety in Luban hadn’t worked to alleviate some of the most pressing long-term concerns about the provision of food, safe drinking water, medicine and other essential items, a fragile situation which had been made even worse by the arrival of refugees from outside the shattering pearl.

It all meant that those employed in attempting to avert disaster were rather exhausted, and at least one puffin beastling knew that she needed an extended holiday after her work was finally done.

“Maybe Haywaii? MalTra have airships, aircraft and ferries that connect to the territory and I heard that Sorrelians have a positive view of puffins, so maybe I’ll be able to get a few discounts.” Sabina Speziale reasoned as she worked with her fellow Malgraveans to distribute rations to both Malgravean and non-Malgravean alike.

“Haywaii? I was lucky as I visited the territory before Grogar decided to ruin our lives,” Marcel Wrona said, the otter beastling barely suppressing a sigh as he remembered his earlier experiences in the resort, “Just unfortunate that I wasn’t trapped in paradise during the apocalypse.”

“I imagine it would eventually get boring without something constructive to do, as you know what they say about idle hands,” Sabina replied as she worked, “It isn’t pleasant in Ryn but I imagine those in Kouralia and Hippocratia have it even worse.”

“I don’t think we’ll be following the three-year plan, Sabina. I would say that it has likely been cancelled due to this chaotic mess,” Marcel said, “...but you are right, a lot of innocent people are struggling and it is up to us to help them.”

As Marcel finished talking, a loud and violent commotion could be heard as a neko and pony could be seen getting into a heated argument over the provision of some ration packs, with Marcel and Sabina quickly moving to separate the argumentative duo with their ancestral abilities.

“Comrades, this is no time to fight amongst ourselves!” Marcel said as he interjected himself into the dispute.

In response the neko huffed, clearly not impressed with the response to his objections, “You are taking the side of someone not even born in Malgrave? We haven’t even got the resources to feed ourselves let alone these new refugees.”

“Isn’t this just what Grogar planned when he sent his forces to disrupt our friends in the Shy Ones? Grogar wants to strain our resources, so much that we forget about the principles of social solidarity and surrender ourselves to a level of individualistic greed that would have the ancestors looking down at us and crying out in anguish,” Sabina said, the beastling not just addressing the singular neko but the entire room, “It is true that we have limited resources, however, our people endured similar hardship in the 30s when the Imerians drove us from our original homeland and in the 90s during the struggles of the Lost Decade, so we know that if we work together and embrace the principles of social solidarity that together we can get through adversity and make ascension visible on the horizon once more.”

Sabina’s comment appeared to cut through the room, with the neko in front of her even appearing to look guilty for his actions.

“Just remember what Sakura Saito said all those years ago, behind a heavy door there is always a blue sky,” Marcel added.

In response, the previously angered neko bowed in apology to the pony that he was in an earlier argument with and returned the food packages, “...I apologise for my selfish actions and will seek to learn from them and do better in the future.”

“It’s all good,” the pony replied with a shrug seemingly accepting the apology offered by the neko, “I expected that we’ll see tensions boil up like this, maybe we can share some of this ration pack? I am not a fan of some of the vegetable offerings.”

“If they are the TDF rations then they can be a bit of an acquired taste but as a former conscript I can teach you some of the tricks we used to enhance their flavour,” the neko said walking off to aid the pony

Sabina and Marcel could only sigh a breath of relief before getting back to work helping the rest of the locals and refugees.

Cerne, Malgrave

Cerne was an absolute disaster.

Tambelon’s return had generated an earthquake which had devastated several buildings across the city, and the generation of the technological exclusion zone had resulted in further destruction, as four MalTra aircraft in the process of landing at the local international airport had found themselves plummeting into the city itself.

It was a nightmarish level of destruction which had only been made worse due to the heavy and often brutal fighting that had started to emerge between units of the Territorial Defence Force and those loyal to Grogar, with many other structures destroyed as conscripts raced between defensive lines in their attempt to hold on to the regional capital of the Research Colony.

Sub-Lieutenant Izabella Pasternak was one such conscript, as an officer of the 1st Reserve Infantry Division she had initially been tasked with establishing contact with the civilian and refugee population in the city, however, after that mission had received some rather unexpected assistance she had been reassigned to help hold the rapidly fluctuating frontline.

“Just work for once you stupid antiquated piece of scrap,” Izabella said as she slapped her now often unreliable AR-2 in frustration, a few bullets striking against a hostile Grogarite which fortunately fell to the floor.

“...thank the ancestors,” Izabella said with a sigh of relief, a few conscripts moving behind her with fresher and more reliable AR-3s to complete securing the area.

“I don’t think the ancestors are watching over us now, Sub-Lieutenant,” a young soldato said in response to Izabella’s relief, “It’s up to us now to advance against the enemy and secure Cerne.”

Izabella simply rolled her eyes, “I know that our fate is within our own hands, as the ancestors will not intervene but that doesn’t mean that they aren’t watching,” she said, “I also don’t think we are doing much but securing ground that we lost earlier in the week, Mira.”

Mira frowned in response, “It may be true that we are securing old ground now, however, with the support of the Imerians we’ll soon be making the big push to break the spine of the Grogarite forces here.”

“In that case, I hope I can get a new AR-3 in time because I do not want to be fighting with the AR-2 for much longer,” Izabella remarked, “...or maybe even something Imerian as I did learn to fire the KVG in basic training.

At that, Mira Soból and Izabella Pasternak could only think of the future and the hopeful end of the partial Grogarite occupation of Cerne.

[Tambelon]

The white and red flag snapped on the flagpole over the parade ground, a last serene outpost of an Empire that had once spanned the globe. Nova Illiani was the last known surviving outpost on Earth of the once-great Midlonian Empire.

Day by day the people did their duties, with pride and satisfaction knowing that they were better than all others, they were the chosen people.

Portals of smoke-blue darkness opened in the middle of the town square of Rimblebottom-upon-Sea, and the tranquil smugness of the people ended in storms of gunfire as the Steelborn of Tambelon emerged, guns blazing.

The people clamoured with alarm as the troops filed out of the portals, letting loose shots into the fleeing crowd. These Steelborn were different, the footage would later show, enamelled with a deep blue with golden stripes down their bodies, in varying patterns to declaim their position in the personal guard of the Dark Lord.

When the square was secured, Grogar himself floated forth on a disc of pulsing darkness. He turned his face to one side and then another, but passed no comment on the massacre, on the dead, some so young that they had not yet been inculcated in the local ideology, others so old they remembered when they had been able to think their Empire would never fall. The Steelborn had been given no order to take prisoners, and so they had spared no one.

Resistance was slow to occur, marred by deep incompetence and lethargy, but it did happen, and the people brought forth their great weapon, the DeMat Gun. No tale told of how it had come into their possession, but they had long prized this weapon as a deterrent even against the C’tani, for the ancient texts of madness that it had been found with had suggested it could remove any being or even a whole culture from time and space.

They brought it from the Cathedral of St. Powell and their best and brightest fought against the intruders as they climbed the hill from the town, until at last a young man levelled the revered weapon upon Grogar himself.

He placed his finger upon the trigger, and a sound wheezed through the hillside, groaning and warbling for a moment, all present thought that it was merely the sound of the Gun, but it was not.

The Gunbearer fell, weeping, beating his face, and the weapon was nowhere to be seen.

The Steelborn’s weapons were still present, and a moment later he was shot through the stomach twenty times, howling his agonies before the uncaring legion of Tambelon.

And so the Dark Lord continued on to his prize, the ancient Library of the Harmonic Seas, which had stood here five hundred years ago and possessed a great wealth of magic.

Nothing awaited him there, no stone upon stone, only a statue of a potentate of the Midlonians casting books into a fire. At its base were the words “The Sun Needs No Ponies to Shine Upon Midlonia.”

‘Bring the survivors before me,’ Grogar said to his Steelborn, his voice level.

In twenty minutes the survivors, some wounded soldiers, and some civilians were herded before the Dark Lord.

‘You have denied me a prize, not through your achievements but by your ignorance,’ he said, though only those in the front of the huddle would hear his soft voice. ‘Now you will know my anger. I speak words that will be forever true, and I lay my curse on you, not to be broken until the moon passes behind the Sun and the last of your enemies beseeches all the Powers for your mercy.

‘This shall be the fate of all your people upon this World.

‘You shall never again see the sun; to Gaia, you shall be confined, your spirits never to leave, neither in their living houses nor as unhoused ghosts save when time and madness take their last wits.

‘You shall sleep when the sun shines, and the moon glows, only to wake in the darkness of the coldest nights.

‘You shall never know wealth, you shall be cursed to be the lowest in all the lands to which you travel.

‘Your faces shall ever reflect your mewling essence.

‘Never again will you breed, no children shall come to you; those who are now your children will forget you and take the ways of other peoples.

‘Never shall you rule, you shall only be ruled over by others.

‘My curse lies upon you and shall hang about your necks until your unhoused spirits are ground to nothing by the long millennia. I have spoken.’

The people fell into a swoon before the Dark Lord as he spoke the last word.

‘Unroof the town buildings,’ he said, to one of his captains, and turned to pass back through the portal.

[Princess Luna]

The Castle of the Two Sisters, Equestria

Princess Luna woke with a start.

Evening sunlight streamed through the curtains and she shifted slightly to block it out with her mane, which was forever a cooling starlit sky.

She had a long night ahead, and she had much to do, but a part of her didn’t want to leave the bed. She had retired after all, at least from her royal duties in Equestria, and that had been intended to allow a new generation to spread their wings. But tonight she didn’t want to do anything if she could avoid it.

Sadly, she could not; not in good conscience. She had taken a week to recuperate from her ordeal and returned with her sister to their old childhood home, she’d have preferred the house in Silver Shoals which she used for some real privacy but there were far too many ponies who wanted to fret around her and insist that healers and guards be in constant attendance. The vast Nightspire was arguably better defended but it was also too busy.

She reached out with one hoof to the spot beside her on the wide bed and frowned slightly. A moment later a wet warmth smooshed through her mane, a gesture that was both greeting and scent-marking called slubbing. ‘Hi Tiberius,’ she said, waking up at last. The opossum skittered to the edge of the bed.

She rose to her feet, and breathed in, deeply, before stepping into the bathroom, ‘One moment,’ she said, taking off with a flap of her wings and then used a cantrip to blast warm rain in a micro-tornado, waves of soap and coat conditioner following, a storm of lavender scent, before she paused to comb her mane, which protested and twisted at the affront. The glow was magic, and she still had a mane in there, after all.

A mouthful of dentbots from the necrontyr-scripted box followed, and she ran her tongue over her teeth as she could feel the gel-like micrites working, before she pranced out. She paused at the edge of her bed, going down into a low bow to let the small opossum to clamber up to her withers.

She opened the door and trotted through the halls of the restored castle. She’d done most of the damage to it that had left it a ruin for centuries, but when she, her sister, Starswirl and Melvin the Manticore, whose home it had originally been built over, had constructed the castle they had woven powerful magic into the stonework, and restoring it hadn’t been too difficult, the wall hangings and books, carpets and more had survived in remarkable condition.

She’d not chased the spiders out of her suite, of course, and the ceilings were an intricate lacework of cobwebs, she looked up with a smile as she headed to the royal dining room. She had been on a restorative diet, Tambelon had taken a lot out of her, and even by doctor’s standard, of course Equestria was not a subtle country in its cuisine.

‘Thank you Alphabittle,’ she said to the cook who laid a series of rolled pastries in front of her, and she shifted slightly in her chair. The tapestries were original, but Rosman had been through here too, the Imerian pony had apparently decided the best thing to do when she was imprisoned was “improve” her furniture and accoutrements.

She took a pair of pills with orange juice and downed them, knowing that Alphabittle would inevitably tattle to her sister if she didn’t. It’s unbelievable that in this day and age we can’t do this with leeches she thought.

The Alicorn was regarded as a goddess by many ponies, but while she could heal others with magic, the fundamental maintenance of the living body wasn’t something to skip with magic. She took a munch from one of the pastries and interrupted the cook as she took the pill tray away.

‘Excuse me Alphabittle,’ she said, ‘Do you know where Morning Star is?’

A look of professional affront crossed her face, ‘He went into ponyville to buy more Zap Apple Jam,’ she said, ‘apparently the pantry doesn’t have enough,’ she said.

‘Zap Apple Jam? Why?’

She gave a shrug, ‘This is the third time this week he’s done that,’ she said, ‘I think he’s developing a strange obsession, your Highness.’

‘I’ll have to have a talk with him about that, thank you,’ she said, and floated a stack of newspapers over to her.

The top one was the Equestria Daily, followed by the Canterlot Chronicle, following these she moved abroad with the Neocoritan True Guardian, a C’tani paper, before moving abroad to the Valitora Times, Arnhem Chronicle, Calihain Herald (currently printed out and stapled together), Royal Malgravean Times, Times of Kurton (not presently printed in Kurton) and Silverline News Network.

Between munches of breakfast she scanned each for news that was either highlighted by the luminous markers used by their political secretary Valenshy, or her sister’s blue ink notation, but also glancing through the rest for items of interest.

Last, though not necessarily least was the Flankfurt Worker, which was still a surprising change to her, replacing the Flankfurt Times.

The revolution was… a complex topic. She didn’t like to tell ponies, or anyone, what to do, and telling ponies what to do tended to be ineffective, but she had her suspicions of the way that the revolution might go in the end, though she had not revealed them to anypony other than her sister.

When she was done, she took the plates in to Alphabittle’s kitchen and put them into a dishwasher, before moving into the study where several boxes of documents awaited.

Luna sighed, and looked down at them, the first was a set of reports from Grandeur Diadem, the principality’s representative to the World Assembly, she was slightly pleased with the latest news on the resolution at vote, Star Gazing Day, which was going well, but there was also a legal note about a recent resolution vs. C’tani actions in TurtleShroom. She raised an eyebrow and made a note, “This is barbaric, tell the GC we oppose it, they can beat TS without doing warcrimes ~ L.” on the document, moving on.

The next was on the Equestrian expedition, with her own small Night Guard contingent attached, against Tambelon. Stormin’s hand was dense with military detail that could broadly be summed up as, “There are far too many Tambelonic troops for this to make a difference,” she shuddered at the thought of the armies of Tambelon. They were largely comprised on people brought into being only to be used, in some ways children, and she felt clear misery for the enemy, even as she hoped they would lose.

And last but not least, there was a report on the situation in Maretime Bay…

[Dyste]

Captain’s Office, Deck of the Invincible-class Airship Maltet

Unlike his predecessor as Knight Commander, Ares Darkclaw was not as fond of the old fortress the Royal Knights once made their home, preferring the bridge of his airship that he had used as a mobile base when he was still the leader of Dyste’s largest band of mercenaries. It had many practical applications for his work, too; it was easy enough to hold meetings wherever necessary. And for his next one, he was highly anticipating the report from the specialist he had recommended for the mission in Tambelon. Considering they ultimately succeeded, it seemed he made the right choice.

The Dark Draconid didn’t have to wait in his office for too long, as soon enough, said specialist arrived; it was hard to miss him. Helvos Venja was a Suidan, or pig beastling, and he had the rotund body to prove it. Wearing an open red vest and simple white pants, he didn’t seem all that assuming or special, but Ares knew that he was a Great Wyrm-tier adventurer for good reason. “Ah, Helvos, welcome,” he said with a smile, offering him a seat. “I hope things have gone well for you?”

“Oh, sure thing, Ares,” Helvos made himself comfortable at the seat; he was hardly a stranger here. In his 28 years of adventuring, he had taken several jobs on behalf of the Black Army, Ares’s old company, often acting as an assistant or a trump card for a tough case. Many people might’ve underestimated him in his life, but Ares had never done so; he had quite the eye for talent, it seemed! “So I guess you want to hear about how my mission went, that sorta thing?”

“Indeed,” Ares had, of course, gotten a few briefings after that, but he wanted to hear some of the details straight from the horse’s - or in this case, pig’s mouth. “So, why not start at the beginning, then? Tell me how you entered Tambelon.”

“Oh yeah,” Helvos folded his arms, “See, we arrived on these Imerian ships, and, well, we couldn’t exactly land normally, so they turned us all into seagulls! Gotta say, I’ve been polymorphed a lot before but never into one of those before!”

“... right,” Ares said, “Well… on that note, who were your companions for this?”

“Oh, well… there was this mermaid from Thalassium, for one… name’s Noelani. Also a Knight from Brehaim called Nils, followed some weird faith that didn’t have any dragons in it. An Android, too, I forgot where she’s from. There was also this Mal idol who drove us all crazy with her songs… wait a sec-”

“You are not crazy or still in the land of Tambelon,” Ares pre-emptively told him.

“Yeah, yeah, I figured,” Helvos could only hope. “Oh, and also the Lunar Knight, I think he’s some sort of pony superhero or something. There were some in the other team, too…”

“Yes, we can get to that later on,” Ares knew there were two teams dispatched for the mission, “And yours was launched second, correct?”

“Right, yeah! Hence: seagulls. So when we landed, it seemed they already put up an alarm; this bell rang, and lemme tell you, it did hurt a little each time it did so! Of course I could handle it, but I was worried about a lot of my companions there; we needed to rush, and not just because of that, but this fog chasing us!”

“The fog… chasing you?” Ares wrote down some notes; something to keep aware of if they needed to launch another assault, later. “So when did you encounter direct resistance first, then?”

“It was by this bridge, where one of those… golems? Erm, I can never remember their name-”

“Steelborn, I presume,” Ares suggested.

“Right, those. Well, Nils ended up taking down the biggest one and Lunar Knight fired a few bolts to take down the rest. Admittedly I was a little disappointed I didn’t get to use my avalanche technique then, but, y’know, more stuff to deal with. So then while we’re crossing this bridge, there was this big shadowy creature in the distance, and it turned out to be this huge dragon! Noelani tried to teleport it into a maze, but, well, it got out, so Nils got me to fly up to punch it out, which I did!”

“So, you punched it a few times,” Ares said, “And then what happened with it?”

“... it died because I punched it a lot,” Helvos said, rather bluntly. “What do you think I meant?”

“... right, sorry I asked,” Ares groaned, “So you went to the bell tower, I believe?”

“Yeah, that’s right!” Helvos shuddered a bit, “That’s when we met Doom Man…”

“... Doom Man?” Ares stopped for a moment, “Who is ‘Doom Man’?”

“Well, apparently Lunar Knight wrote about him in a comic book or something?” Helvos said, “I dunno the full details, but it’s like Grogar made him real? Y’know, it’s like if I met Spider-Bold and Grogar made The Mammal real! You know about The Mammal right? All the powers of a mammal, like body hair and warm blood…”

“Right, right, a truly terrifying foe,” Ares tried to keep him on track, “So you fought and beat him-”

“Well, no,” Helvos’s smile faded, “Tried to, of course, but my punches and Nils’s sword didn’t do anything. Apparently his weakness is Zap Apple Jam or something like that, and Noelani shoved him into some sorta maze, I dunno. When we met up with the other team, we got the mage there, Lissah, to summon some for when he returned. There were two other dragons, so even though I could probably have punched ‘em down, we didn’t see it as worthwhile, so we just climbed the tower. When we got to the top, there was a wall, and I tried punchin’ it for a while, until Annaleise just blew it up. And there meeting us was Luna… or I guess she’s called ‘Nightmare Moon’ when she’s all evil and such?”

Ares had, of course, gotten a bit of the news already on this point; apparently one of the reasons Grogar had captured Luna in the first place was to transform her into Nightmare Moon, by using the powers of the Shadow Plane and Tambelon. “So how did that encounter go?”

“I first tried to reason with her,” Helvos replied, “But she seemed to try and restrain us, but then she tried to take over my mind! I suppose she realized how strong I was and was gonna use me against the others, but Nils thankfully helped me out, and then the two of us… well, I dunno how else to say it other than, we… beat the evil out of her?”

“You… what?”

“We beat the evil out of her. What, you don’t believe me, Ares?”

“It is the fact that I do believe you that scares me, Helvos,” Ares put his hand to his face. “Alright… so then you needed to escape, correct?”

“Ah, right! So, well, at first they were considerin’ going down, but I told ‘em that maybe we should break a hole in the tower and fly out, use our teleport stones… we couldn’t use ‘em inside the tower, did I forget to mention that part? Oh, and before that, Luna wanted us to burn down a library, so we did. It was an evil library, to be clear!”

“I am sure it was,” Ares motioned for him to continue.

“Right, so we broke another hole in the tower, flew out and then warped outta there, into Hippocratia where Celestia was. Then, we talked rewards and potential vacations, and that was that. Seems only one member of the strike force actually perished, some Imerian on the other team. In fairness, it did seem that he went out in a very Imerian way from what I’m told!”

“Charging into battle for the glory and honor High King, understood,” Ares sat back, taking it all in, “I do wish that I could have helped more, even potentially going myself, but as it turns out, being the leader of Dyste’s military forces happens to involve much more desk work. I think in the end, you might have gotten the best deal out of all of us, Helvos; you can go wherever and help whoever you want.”

“Hey, always happy to help, Ares,” Helvos chuckled, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a vacation to go to, and a spaceship to collect!”

“Space… what?” Ares blinked. “You have a-”

“Spaceship, yeah,” Helvos showed him a picture they had given him to show the specifications, “That Great Civilization place offered it to me, even said I could name it whatever I want! Thinking ‘The Flying Pig’ or somethin’. Figured it’d let me travel to more places to adventure and such! Anyways, gotta go, y’know how to contact me if you need any more help!” The pigman left, setting off on a well-earned rest.

Ares meanwhile had much himself to handle; those golems they were building for the overall conflict still needed some testing, and much more military restructuring was needed to help with the incidents in Rohane Alista. But at least he could feel a bit of satisfaction in his choice for that mission. Helvos was an adventurer, not a soldier, but at times like this, that mindset was better suited for such an operation. He would keep that in mind for future missions; sometimes, you didn’t need an army when one pudgy pig who could punch really well would do the job.

[Legokiller]

Written under the perspective of what Lissah Hornheart earned from arcane rolls and so on in the Tambelon Raid.

Title: Diplomatic and Special Operations Report
Encryption: Very High
Author: Lissah Hornheart

To Silverdale and its allies,

As the Ambassador of Silverdale, assigned to Equestria and focused on foreign affairs across the Pony Lands, I have returned from the Tambelon Raid to provide some insight from the ground of the city-state itself. This analysis will be limited from my experience within the mere minutes in a life-or-death situation, which requires further analysis. What I’ll provide is an observation of details that are likely confirmed by our shared intelligence.

To address the gravest matter in regards to the city of Tambelon, it is, by definition, an impregnable fortress that is, in its current status, capable of enduring both any form of assaults to its runic protections within the walls to absorb nuclear explosions and large scale weapons of mass destruction. Alongside this is an unkillable sapient shadow entity that can use negative energy to kill anything that doesn’t serve or is subdued by Gorgrar and permeates the city under its protection. As it is proven to have many casualties within the Imerian naval, its effects on units in various sizes can destroy it upon contact. Alongside this, the shadow is capable of healing its umbral dragon defenders and potentially others as well. To top it off is the bell that can identify anyone who isn’t an ally of Grogar or a part of his forces and deliver defeating sonic blasts.

Unless we discover a way to nullify and render these layers of defenses, we cannot, at this time, assault the city, even in our current position in this war. Any future raids can be proven difficult as it is, as the best of us struggled against it. Any special forces will have a slim to zero percentage chance. My part of the team sabotaged what we could, from slaying a councilor archmage to damaging a planar resource extraction from the plane of earth. But for this moment, this is what we’re capable of achieving alongside the destruction of Grogar’s library of arcane and vile literature.

Fear not, my friends. I shall suggest a potential solution when it comes to the elimination of the layers of Tambelon’s critical defenses. I learned from the field that dispelling the malevolent shadow entity is possible. As it is a living fragment from the shadow plane, we can try dispelling it. Normal means would take sustainable weeks of effort from any ground mage, which is bound to have severe risks from counterstrikes. Instead, we must prepare a megaspell that can not only dispel the entry but also channel light energy and kindness to eliminate it. It’ll take a significant cost in materials, research, and arcane preparation, perhaps a physical structure, to do so. If we achieve this feat and dispel the mist, further operations, from destroying the rune defenses to the bell itself, are possible. In this process of elimination, we can mount a siege of the city itself when we're able to.

For now, I implore my home nation to give far greater aid and resources to the Northern Pony States to combat the forces of Tambelon. As our overseas lands from Brassdale to nearby islands are nearby, we can accept refugees who need asylum. Alongside this are reliable weapons platforms and munitions that are functional . That must be supplied to our allies, alongside magical items from scrolls, wands, staves, etc. This is a mere recommendation, as from what our partners did for us in the Winter War to the dire state in Northern Pony Lands, we honor them and commit what resources we have. Even forms of humanitarian aid are needed.

- From Ambassador Lissah Hornheart.

[The Lords of Gallifrey]

‘What’s the time?’

It was a simple question.

In other places quite a trivial one too. But there was no way to know the answer to the question here. ‘How should I know?’ Kyntyra Saluſtri asked a question in answer to the question itself.

The sun in the sky was not a sun, the ground they stood on was solid but it did not turn, and the sun never set. Kyntyra was a student of magic, and she knew enough to know whatever this plane was, and the understanding of how a whole planar space so vast could be constructed was abstruse to her, it was one where time had little meaning.

It was impossible to know how long they had been there, they did not need to eat in this space, nor did they age. Kyntyra had a suspicion that this plane moved much faster than the Prime Material, as a way of achieving with slave labour what could ordinarily only be accomplished with more effective automation. They heard the bell, and she’d estimated it was a few days or weeks - certainly, it was multiple long and exhausting days - between strikes. When they’d been on the material plane it had been mere minutes.

The girl who had asked the question gave a frown, ‘You have a watch,’ she said reasonably.

She looked down to follow the eyeline, ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘that doesn’t work. It never has.’

‘Why is it ticking then?’

Kyntyra’s face furrowed in confusion, and she lifted the strange silver object from her pocket, examining it, shaking her head, ‘Oh it’s just an odd sentimental thing, it never worked.’

‘It’s ticking.’

‘I mean, that’s strange…’ she said, she could hear it too. But there were no clocks, no watches, at least no mechanical ones, here at all.

‘Open it.’

‘I can’t,’ she said, a slight tension in her hand stopping her for a moment, she squeezed the object.

‘Why not try?’

She pushed her thumb down on the object, and she felt a moment of terror as her mind was folded up and put away.

‘Sixteen thirty, it’s time to be leaving,’ a woman said, a moment later. She stood where Kyntyra had, and she wore her clothes, she wore her face but her accent had changed, and her posture had changed too.

The prison camp was a vast complex of slate and steel, grey under a grey sky. Fleshcast soldiers patrolled constantly.

‘How?’ the girl asked, unaware of the change.

The woman who’d been Kyntyra slipped a hand into her pocket, replacing the watch and lifting out a shard of metal with a constellation symbol imprinted on it, that glowed with a soft gold light, warm to the touch.

‘I just need a source of electrical power,’ she said, ‘not even much of one. Do you have a phone?’

‘A phone?’ the girl asked and shook her head, ‘Why keep it, it’s broken?’

‘I just need the battery,’ she said.

They stood in the centre of the small barrack, there were dozens of others around them, and many more passed out and catching the fitful sleep that drained and brutalized bodies could search for.

‘Does anyone have a battery?’ she asked.

A lot of personal equipment had been ignored, the tambelonic guards and overseers had but while there was a thriving trade in anything edible or anything that could wring a little more joy out of broken lives, even so, it seemed that no one had kept any such thing.

There was no furniture, and there wasn’t even any weather in this place so the barracks was little more than a flat rectangle of earth under an awning that kept the light down a little so that the prisoners could sleep more efficiently.

‘What’s your name?’ the girl spoke casually.

The woman who had been Kyntyra looked at her strangely, ‘I don’t remember now,’ she said.

‘I’m Syphya,’ the girl said.

‘Nice to meet you Syphya,’ the woman said. ‘Do you have parents…’ she said, hesitating at the word.

‘I don’t remember now.’

The woman frowned, ‘Well, I don’t suppose it matters too much. I don’t know that we’ll ever get out of here unless we can find something electrical.’

‘What about the fire-lances?’ Syphya asked.

The woman shook her head, ‘They are only carried by the larger fleshcast, I doubt I could take their weapon.’

‘Not alone…’ the girl said.


It was always a shock when people who had been assigned to toil and die rose up. It didn’t happen as often as people who lived in comfort imagined, in fact, it was a rare enough event that often oppressors imagined it would never come. That was a great asset.

The woman who’d been Kyntyra wasn’t the best fighter there, but the dugout barrack held dozens against only four fleshcast. The moment they attacked the fleshcast pivoted to bring their fearsome weapons to bear, flame lances cutting down everyone in a line from their emitter outward, but before too long the business was done.

Syphya breathed heavily, the child was bruised and burned, but she did not cry out, a desperate hurting expression on her features. ‘Is this what you need?’ she asked, holding up the flame lance.

Kyntara’s replacement took it, breaking open the casing with an expression of sharp concentration, she reached out to hold a pendant with a wide flat surface, almost like a small trowel or similar instrument, as she hooked it up to the power it began to glow a brilliant gold, the air shimmering around it as it drank electrical power.

She knew what would happen next, there were a little under two dozen people left, and the shouts of guards outside could be heard as they closed in, and the whole prison garrison would be flooding in in the next few moments. It did not matter, now, she hoped.

There was no sound, as a structure faded in, little more than a wider support with a narrow crack in it. She held up the shining object, sliding it into the crack which folded out to reveal a brightly lit white interior.

‘Everyone in,’ she said. ‘Everyone.’

[Malgrave]

In spite of the chaos that had been caused by the return of Grogar and the establishment of the technological exclusion zone, the very nature of the maglev technology used by MalTra in their high speed routes meant that with a bit of effort the company was able to maintain some manner of limited service between Cerne and Luban, which since the start of the conflict had been used for evacuation and to ferry reinforcements to positions near the front.

Unfortunately, the existence of the technological exclusion zone meant that a lot of the facilities offered in a standard MalTra train from electronics to the restaurant services onboard were unavailable, and so Rylux and Zahhak could only be offered a self-heated bento box and some pre-bottled drinks for refreshments, although, in the case of Zahhak he did have some meat options which had been specifically designed with kobold tastes in mind.

It meant that the passengers had received at least two apologies from the MalTra crew assigned to the service, especially, as the creation of the technological exclusion zone meant that the train was running at a slower pace compared to usual and it was effectively gliding towards its final destination, a tertiary station built for emergency situations such as this that wasn’t used in peacetime.

“What is the overall strategy for when we are able to arrive in Cerne?” Amelia asked the eccentric scientist in the process of cleansing the table in front of her with some anti-bacterial wipes, “I imagine that we’ll make a direct route for this young nekos apartment complex? I assume that Sabina Campo can direct us to that location.”

Sabina nodded excitedly before pulling out a physical map of the area, “Luana’s apartment is around a quarter into the city? It is close to the first major public park in the city,” she said pointing to a small chain of apartments, “It means that we’ll be closer to our exit point when we eventually find Luana, however, I have heard reports that the Grogarites are pushing really hard to try and cut off the city at this point so we could find ourselves in the middle of a rather nasty firefight.”

Amelia frowned at that revelation, “It is fortunate that we have the golems with us in that case but I would like to avoid a major confrontation if possible, she said, “Do you know if Han Ji-min International Airport is still in friendly hands?”

“Yep, it isn’t really valuable territory at the moment but is within the territory that falls under our control.” Sabina replied

“In that case I have a somewhat eccentric plan albeit one that relies on ance...magic and engineering to be successful.” Amelia admitted.

“So, in other words,” Rylux said, eating some of the bento box’s contents, “A usual Amelia plan.”

“Best plan!” Zahhak added, chewing down on what the Malgravean equivalent to a ‘meatball’ must’ve been.

Zahhak would soon discover that this version of the Malgravean meatball was made out of cluckbold, with even the accompanying pasta made from the meat which indicated some of the work that the locals had put into making the meal comfortable for kobolds.

Amelia almost looked ready to argue against Rylux’s remarks, however, stopped when she realised that she couldn’t really fault his logic, “It is just a backup plan in case the route to the station we’re presently heading towards, however, if the nearby airport is far safer then we should be able to rig up the train shuttle which I understand has a connection with our final destination?”

“Yep, a few weeks ago the central hub for the railways in Cerne became a battleground and was taken offline as a safety measure,” Sabina said, “It means that we’ll be stopping an emergency tertiary line outside the city itself which I suppose was constructed for situations like this? It also serves as an express station for access to the airport, so we should be able to use it if we can get the trains running again.”

“I am confident in my ability to fix this train, however, I would be grateful for your support as this technological exclusion zone is difficult to contend with,” Amelia told Rylux and Zahhak, “I heard that a cyclical mending spell has been attempted but I don’t think that approach has met with much success.”

“I can certainly offer my assistance there,” Rylux considered it, “I may not be an expert on transit, but I work with devices often in my line of work. You recall the bracelets I gave to you, no doubt?”

“I do, an invention that helped me in rather strange circumstances,” Amelia said even as she grew curious, “How does it help us out here?”

“I did not say it specifically would be useful here, just a point of my skill with such devices,” Rylux replied. “... but on that note, it would make for a good disguise if needed.”

“I would be thankful for any assistance you can provide, Rylux,” Amelia said, “Plus I have a feeling that Zahhak will have a far easier time speaking to the people we’ll be escorting to safety.”

Zahhak and Rylux would be able to notice that the train was coming to a gradual stop, as the world around them started moving past at a far slower pace compared to the positive blur it was during the high speed portions of their journey.

In the distance they would be able to see the platform, a relatively simple affair as it was very clearly a station designed only to be used in emergency, with a few island platforms offset by a few outer bay platforms, the latter of which contained a small service that appeared to connect this station to the nearby airport.

On the stations themselves, a large number of conscripts could be seen disembarking trains on other platforms, walking across the bridge which connected the platforms together or walking towards a small building on the outer edge of the station which included a number of disused ticket stations and an exitway which led to the city of Cerne.

“Seems we will have to be careful moving forwards,” Rylux said, “If we have to end up in a fight, Zahhak, please be careful.”

“I can help!” Zahhak protested. “Give good words, make you fight better! But will try.”

“That is all I ask,” Rylux nodded, “In the meantime, try not to get in the forces’ way.”

“It is all a bit chaotic? I think that is the best way to describe it, a stream of conscripts moving to receive their new orders further in the city itself.” Amelia said as the train came to an eventual stop within the station.

In fact as the doors opened Rylux and Zahhak would be able to hear an effective stream of machine gun fire and light artillery, as conscripts deeper within the city of Cerne itself struggled to fight off assaults from Grogarite forces.

“Just be careful, Zahhak,” Amelia said, a rather hypocritical request given the dangerous position the scientist put herself on a regular basis but a genuine one, “Cerne is location to fierce trench and street to street combat, a type of violence that hasn’t been seen in Malgrave since the civil war.”

In the background the cargo was being unloaded, a number of beastlings and Breheimians being used for this task due to their inherent strength advantage compared to Malgraveans like Amelia.

“Do you want to retrieve your golem companion, Rylux?” Amelia asked

“Ah, naturally,” Rylux tapped a spot on the necklace he has by his cloak, as the golem walked out of the cargo towards them, “Hm, seemed unharmed, but it has a self-repair function even if it was.”

Naturally, the movement of the golem caused a fair few surrounding conscripts to move out of the way, and create a reasonable corridor for the Dystan creation to reach the group without much of a fuss, although, a few conscripts looked to be interested in the design and likely would have taken pictures if they could use their MalTec devices.

“You remember the apologies that we got from MalTra staff because of the altered timetable caused by Grogar? It would have been minor compared to the apologies we would have received if the golem was damaged in transit, a lot of pride wrapped up in their ability to transport goods on time and without damage,” Amelia replied, even the engineer finding the behaviour of her fellow Malgraveans a tad eccentric, “I suggest that we find a local command centre and introduce ourselves, we wouldn’t want to head into a combat zone without making people aware of our presence and I suspect they’ll have some intelligence about the apartment our neko friend is in.”

“I completely believe they would be like that, even if this golem would be fine,” Rylux said, having spent enough time around Amelia to understand that. “But yes, that seems like the best idea.”

“Will find him, save him!” Zahhak nodded. “Promised!”

Amelia didn’t respond verbally but motioned for her friends to follow her as she guided them out from the temporary railway station, a few conscripts moving out of the way of the group as they made their way through the entrance hall.

Rylux and Zahhak would be able to see a large group of conscripts forming up within the entrance hall itself, a portion carried the old AR-2 platform, a bullpup design which they had seen when visiting Malgrave itself and had served in a variety of conflicts from the winter war to the civil war itself, although, the rest carried a new design called the AR-3 which was said to harness the power of Tesla energy to incapacitate its foes.

Alongside the local conscripts, the Dystans would also recognise a variety of flag patches and personal emblems on the uniforms of a few soldiers that indicated that not everyone in the uniform of the Territorial Defence Force was a Malgravean. With Silverdaleans and Breheimians making a large contingent of the foreign soldiers, although, a few symbols indicated that Dystans or those with some connection to Dyste were also present.

“I do not know the reason for the foreign flags, although, I suspect that we’ll know more once we meet whoever is in charge of this section.” Amelia admitted, a sign of the trouble of communication between Cerne and the rest of Malgrave which had resulted in gaps of information.

In peacetime, the emergency station was connected to the rest of Cerne via a nearby metro station and a road which contained space for a tram and extensive bus network which ensured a reliable connection to the city.

Unfortunately, the arrival of Grogar had resulted in the metro network turning into a deadly battlefield which was far too dangerous for civilian transport, and the road network itself had been effectively ripped apart and replaced with an extensive series of trenches and bunkers that truly encapsulated the fact that the city itself had turned into a battleground.

Amelia said nothing for a few seconds as she moved forward, the Malgravean had seen a fair bit of destruction since the start of her travels but witnessing one of her cities become a battleground was a bit unsettling, especially, as her only comparison point was the destruction that many had suffered during the civil war.

“Follow me and I will take you to the command centre! Keep to the trench network and you’ll be fine,” Sabina said, the young conscript raising her voice slightly to be heard over the sound of nearby artillery fire, “...are you sensitive to ancestr...magic, Rylux? If you can sense changes to it like Malgraveans then I do have some extra information for you.”

“Naturally I am,” Rylux said, adjusting his glasses, “And these help me detect magical auras, which includes the likes of ancestral energy.”

“In that case you may feel a certain lack of comfort in sections of the trench network?” Sabina replied, a certain amount of uncertainty in her voice due to her relative inexperience in dealing with Dystans, “It feels quite sterile? I believe it is a side effect of the focused ancestral energy used for healing, although, I am unsure if a Dystan would feel that but I thought it best to give you some warning.”

Rylux concentrated on the area, “Ah, I see… the healing magic used here isn’t quite like the type we use at home… the type we use there tends to feel more calming and warm, so areas with a lot of healing feel comforting, in a way… this feels far less comfortable, yes.”

“It usually feels comforting in Malgrave as well, however, when used on an industrial scale we have found that it becomes more sterile,” Sabina said, “It has been theorised that a concentration of healing magic in a single area is responsible for that but I think work is still being done to confirm that.”

Amelia nodded in understanding, “Malgrave traditionally relied exclusively on technological solutions to healthcare problems, but this technological exclusion zone has forced us to embrace other methods of healing,” she said, “Fortunately, we had started to embrace ancestral energy in the health and social care sector a long time ago. You have met Celeste before, so you are already familiar with that.”

“Indeed I have,” Rylux nodded, “I think a balanced approach is best; there are some things that technology can fix that magic is not as skill at, and vice-versa.” He used to not think that, but being on a starship with such advanced medical technology had opened his eyes to a different way of thinking, one he hoped to bring to Dyste in the future.

“We could certainly use some Dystan warmth in Cerne,” Sabina said as she led the group forward, the conscript instinctively shivering as she remembered some of the cold rain that had struck the region, “I hate the cold.”

In spite of Sabina’s grumbles about the local weather she was able to expertly guide them through the trench system, a strong testament to the core of engineering talent present within Malgrave and the evolution of the trench itself, with large portions of the trench itself being positioned underground to protect troops from aerial assaults and artillery.

Beyond that, Rylux and Zahhak would be able to see various rooms and tunnels built into the trench network, with the group passing medical centres, sleeping quarters and a few kitchens and canteens until they stopped before the entrance of a fortified structure, a sign written in Malgravean Ancient, Breheimian and Mystrian Common indicating that it served as a local command office.

Upon stepping inside Rylux, Amelia and Zahhak would be confronted with what could only be described as organised chaos, as a host of conscripts worked to relay information to a secondary team that stood positioned over an image of Cerne and their immediate surroundings, an obvious ongoing effort to keep up to date with the flow of the battle despite the influence of the bell.

In the middle of the room stood Divisional General Aurelia Necch, a deep frown on her features as she looked over the map, an ever changing landscape that was clearly pushing the local defenders to their limits.

Upon first inspection Aurelia herself appeared immune to this pressure, with the Divisional General sporting a freshly pressed uniform that marked her differently from the rest of her colleagues, however, the firmly gripped tea flask in her hands and the visible exhaustion in her face indicated that she was also feeling the pressure.

It wasn’t the arrival of Amelia or even Rylux that caused the most commotion in the room but rather the presence of Zahhak, as a number of conscripts could be seen loudly whispering to each other and stealing glances towards the kobold in question, with one conscript even bringing out a plushie of the famous kobold.

“Plushbold!” Zahhak waved when he saw the plushie of himself, “I sign if want!”

“I would say that is a unique occurance, but it is far from the truth,” Rylux sighed. “I think he might have ended up becoming the most famous of our group…”

Amelia smiled at the display, although her subtle and near constant hand movements indicated that she was feeling slightly uncomfortable with all the attention.

“I don’t enjoy the attention associated with fame, so I am pleased that Zahhak seems to enjoy the loving fanbase that he has earned in my homeland.” she said

A young otter beastling moved forward with a plushie in his arms to present to Zahhak with a simple request, “Herobold sign? It would make me happy.”

“Rylux Crescent? I wasn’t aware that we were going to have a VIP visit the frontlines, as these types of media event are usually communicated in advance,” Aurelia said, the Divisional General taking notice of the famous adventurers in her midst, “...but then again that cursed bell has made it harder for Epping to contact us about these things.”

Zahhak happily signed the plushbold, making a little kobold head alongside his name, “There! Makes it much better.”

“I admit, I did not wish to bring too much attention to our arrival,” Rylux replied to Aurelia’s remark, “I worried that if our presence was broadcast widely it might put a bigger target on us. Perhaps my cousin would be more receptive to the challenges it would bestow her, but I have never been one to try to court danger, only respond when it is needed.”

“You are correct in your assumption and have chosen wisely, Comrade Rylux,” Aurelia replied, a hint of pride in her voice, “In response to even minor victories we have been met with unmatched aggression from Grogar and his proxies which has even resulted in a few of our conscripts being captured.”

“Captured? For what purpose?” Amelia asked

Aurelia simply shook her head, “All I know is that I would raid that prison in a heartbeat if I knew its location,” she said, “...but enough about our problems. Why are you here, Rylux?”

“Well, long story short,” Rylux summarized to the best of his ability, “Zahhak here got a message from someone who seems to be trapped within the city, so we are here to rescue them and anyone else we can find that is still in danger around there.”

“They call me!” Zahhak said, “In head!”

“It is deeply unfortunate that Grogar chose to return when our city was looking after so many refugees, as we have been struggling to safely evacuate them but I suspect that Grogar carefully planned his return date to bring maximum pain,” Aurelia said as her hands moved over a large improvised map of the city, “Do you have a name of the individual that sent this message?”

“Luana Caivano,” Sabina replied while motioning to a small grouping of apartments situated near a public park, “I met her while helping a group of Silverdalean refugees, so she should be in this residential sector.”

Aurelia’s frown returned.

“I know of this residential sector, although, I wouldn’t strictly define it as one now on account of all the destruction,” she said, “We have been attempting to organise an effective withdrawal of the civilians in that area for a while now but the steelborne presence has made that impossible to achieve without endangering lives, and I don’t want to oversee a massacre. If we had some armour it would be a lot easier but that infernal bell prevents that.”

“Well, conventional armor will not work well,” Rylux smirked, “But I can summon magical barriers to help, not to mention I believe my golems will be fully functional within the bell’s grasp. So It might be easier for us to travel as a smaller group rather than as a full force, less need to spread our resources thin and more likely to escape attention from unwanted sources.”

“We are presently coordinating a large counteroffensive to halt a potential encirclement of the city so we don’t have the forces to support such an operation.” Aurelia replied, “A smaller task force is the only option we have, so it is fortunate that it is the most effective path forward. How many of these golems do you have with you?”

“Three,” Rylux pointed to an amulet he was wearing, “The version that we have is linked to each of us three, and this specific design could not work with multiple versions. That said, my colleagues back home are working on producing larger versions of the ones that can be used en masse, and a method of transporting them that would avoid having problems with the current issues happening, like that peal.”

Aurelia looked over the amulets with interest and then scanned the group.

“If you require assistance then I should be able to dispatch a small squad to aid you,” she said, “It is in our interest to ensure the safe evacuation of the civilian population, so I can spare six conscripts.”

“I think that would work with our quiet approach?” Amelia replied, the eccentric scientist somewhat unfamiliar with military tactics, “We also have a local to guide us.”

“Excellent,” Aurelia said, “If needed you may rest and gather medical supplies here before you start your operation.”

“That would be ideal,” Rylux said, “I know Zahhak is eager to get going,” as the kobold seemed to be chatting with some of the troopers there, “But preparation is key in a dangerous area, especially since we might need some medical supplies for those we are rescuing.”

“In that case please speak with Lieutenant Stanislaw Wrona,” Aurelia said, directing them towards a beaver beastling.

Stanislaw bowed in question to the new arrivals before giving a more formal salute to the group.

“I’ll be joining you on this evacuation mission with a few conscripts,” Stanislaw said, the beaver pointing to group of five conscripts which included one kitted up as a combat medic, “We have medical supplies with us and additional supplies of food to give to the civilians that we come across. Can you think of anything else?”

“Perhaps something to keep the mind of the children off the war?” Amelia suggested, “I don’t think any of the engineering contraptions I worked on as a child would work here though.

“Or maybe,” Rylux looked over to Zahhak, “... perhaps they need a little boldliness to lift their spirits?”

“Liftbold?” Zahhak blinked. “Not very strong to carry much!”

“Zahhak is quite popular so his cute boldiness would definitely lift the ancestral energy of the civilians.” Sabina replied

Stanislaw looked surprised, “Zahhak? I should have recognised you earlier. My daughter has a plushie collection of your group and wants to become an adventurer herself now and move to Dyste.”

“Plus we are going to see a train, a marvel of engineering that will also keep people’s minds occupied,” Amelia added “How are preparations?

“Just putting the final parts together,” Stanislaw replied pointing towards his team, “We have some basic sleds and an ant beastling that has volunteered to be our muscle.”

“Perhaps we can speed things along a little,” Rylux activated his Shield Guardian, “with a little extra help we might have things moving a bit quicker.”

“If you bring plushie, I sign it!” Zahhak nodded.

“It’s safe with my daughter in Pakosc but I will keep that in mind,” Stanislaw said before turning to bark some directions towards his conscripts who were now working with the shield guardian.

Amelia looked pleased, “All the benefits of mechanisation without the downfalls that cripples our standard supply chain,” she said,” Dystans are quite remarkable in their ingenuity.”

Sabina returned to the group looking quite red in the face, “All is loaded up but I say NEVER get in a strength contest with a shield guardian and an ant beastling.”

“I would hope we are,” Rylux chuckled seeing Sabine, “Add my cousin Tynah and her half-sister to that, Sabine, there are just some times you need to know your limits… but it is a thing to remember about this age, Amelia. With all the advancements, it would not do to simply focus on one sort of development; if everything ran on it, when you come across something it would break down against your efforts are greatly hindered. And if you lack the means, maybe a friend has them. Ingenuity and cooperation are key traits to bring into this new age.”

Amelia nodded, “I certainly learnt that lesson on our adventures, as without a cooperative attitude and some key ancestral energy I would have died…well beyond the times I was resurrected.”

Stanislaw chose that time to return to the group, the officers eyebrows raising in surprise.

“Just a series of eccentric events, Comrade,” Amelia told him, “I was also dealing with my own personal trauma so wasn’t the most polite individual now but I try my best.”

“I’ll leave matters of resurrection to the ASG,” Stanislaw replied with a wave of his hand, “We are all officially loaded up and can commence our rescue operation.”

“Excellent,” Rylux tried to hide it, but he was excited to get into the field again; while content with his desk job, he rather missed the chance to go out like this. Maybe it was the adventurer’s spirit in him…

“Good!” Zahhak exclaimed, “We save fan!” On the other hand, it was pretty clear what Zahhak’s motive was.

All around the mood in the camp seemed to surge, as conscripts gave encouragement to the departing troops and wished them luck in their ultimate mission of rescuing the trapped civilians.

Amelia herself looked rather excited, although, she suspected that she’d soon get a message from Virgil and Sahaeli about putting herself in harms way again when they were trying to start a family together.

“Yes, Zahhak. It’s time for us to rescue those that Grogar has tried to harm and show everyone what happens when Dystans and Malgraveans work together.”

Amelia’s remarks caused a second round of cheers to break through the camp, with one conscript even managing to find a Dystan flag to wave around as the adventurers made their way out the camp and into the city proper.

[Legokiller]

Cernes

In the medical encampment in a friendly block, the chatter spoke out as the crystalfolk Peridot granted as her left eye was shot and placed with an eyepatch over it. “I blame everything on goats! Fuck those robothings! Fuck them all! I want my greenie and AH!!!”

Nania let out a loud sigh as one of the nurse ponies gave Peridot a ‘safety’ shot to numb part of the pain. “I have channeled so much energy from Gaia and the world… just for you.”

“Why thanks!” Peridot sighed.

“Um…” One of the shocked pony militia spoke up. “How are we going to tell those um… Malgraveans about the whole looting problem?”

Lilie gave a sigh as she rested her bruised up self with a banded eye pack after the reckless entanglement with a dragon. As the war continued, people began to get more desperate, and the less savoury people began to exploit the war for their own ends. Either to repay the loss of material wealth, get extra food, or some other reason, they began to break into abandoned homes to take their belongings to take items from the fallen. A black shame for all Silverdaleans in Lillie’s eyes. There were even reports of her home in Silverdale being picked up by scavengers.

The only answer for one of the reasons why was a doofus young gooseling girl who was caught with extra noodle cups from a now deceased family. All tied up close by and awaited judgement by a Malgravean officer. “Well we do have one here.” Lille spoke up. “You think those folks will bark at Jess for a few hours?”

“Come on girl!” Jess honked. “I ran out of my week's rations. Give me a break! We’re all going to die here! There’s no hope! We’re being used as fodder for heartless Malgraveans that are ready to discard us once we’re all dead! We’re DOOMED! DOOMED!”

When Silverdalean refugees had started to volunteer for local duties, they had been given a lot of independence on the field, a sign of both the difficulties being experienced on the front and the trust that the Malgravean people had in Silverdale, so when Peridot and Nania arrived at the medical encampment they had been given a respectful amount of room in order to perform any work that was needed.

Yet, the escalating tension in the room combined soon meant that they were soon joined by a local Malgravean conscript.

“What is the problem here, comrades?” Sub-Lieutenant Izabella Pasternak asked the group, “Do you believe that you are being used like canon fodder?”

“Yes!” Jess then honked.
Lillie quickly stepped up. “Jess is having a freakout after we caught her stealing noodle cups.”

“Well it’s likely the shock from the battlefield itself.” Peridot added.

Izabella frowned at the response from the gooseling, “If we threw away the lives of our soldiers by treating them like fodder then we simply wouldn’t be here, as Grogar would have captured Cerne weeks ago,” she said, “If you need additional rations then you can file an official request with either the Territorial Defence Force or the Ministry of Social Solidarity, and as volunteers if you don’t want to fight or take part in civilian efforts then you can join the next wave of people leaving the city and return to Silverdale.”

“Easy to say. It’s like… You know, next time.” Jess shook the chair. “But there won’t be a next time! How long before the next wave of dragons comes to destroy the people here?! How long until our food stocks go low again? If ever. It’s all over! Just like my unit.”

“You lost your unit?” Izabella asked rhetorically, the Sub-Lieutenant clearly surprised by the information, “In that case I hereby relieve you of any frontline duties effective immediately and order you to report to the nearest medical centre for therapy,” she said, “We may be in a difficult position here, however, we are still professionals and won’t throw people into combat who lack training or aren’t mentally fit for service.”

The group was dumbstruck by the decision, as Jess eyes popped up. “Ah?! Wait… Really? I’m not DOOMED?! I… I…” Jess began to cry wildly as Ninia frowned.

“Oh dear…” Ninia said.

Izabella appeared quite confused, “Yes? It would be rather harmful to force someone into combat who isn’t mentally fit, and would present an increased risk to other troops and civilians in the city that is not acceptable,” she explained, “Does anyone have any other issues that they wish to raise?”

Jess continued to weep uncontrollably as Lillie approached Izabella. “Ahem, sub-LT Izabella. I know there are plenty of folks eager to leave the city, but there is a bad apple problem. A whole looting problem deal. It’s crazy, but I noticed some folks breaking into a damaged home to take any valuables and food during the night. It’s crazy you know.”

“Yes, we have started to receive reports of some looting which is quite disappointing and lends towards a breaking down of social solidarity,” Izabella replied, the Sub Lieutenant bringing out a strange looking pistol that looked like it belonged in a science fiction series, “We have been using modified Teslas and AR-3’s to take down suspected looters non-lethally but any assistance you can provide would be appreciated.”

“I knew it! The firing squads are real!” Jess cried out.

“Really now?” Peridot groaned.

“Well I think I can help out. Being a spooky dragon too helps.” Lillie said. “Just a few hours and that whole wound will be gone.”

Izabella sighed, “I can assure you that being shot at with a non-lethal stun weapon is quite different to being shot with a lethal firearm,” she explained before motioning to a nearby medic to escort Jess for professional treatment, “All those that wish to volunteer for this duty will have to undergo training, as we don’t want any accidents to occur.”

Outside of the injured, a line of about eight Silverdaleans came up to Izabella for the training. Lillie attempted to join in as well, but Ninia intercepted to pull the girl away.

“Lilly.” Nania spoke up. “I cannot allow you to do this.”

“H-Hey! I can do this!” Lillie protested.

“You’re already injured and pushed yourself too far to fight. How many shots and dragon brawls is it now?” She gestured to the bruises and injuries across her body. “Too many. You’re at your limit, and… Ahem, we should return home.” Nania said.

“B-But there is still more to do!” Lillie protested.

“That’d mean bringing our family safe.” Nania put her foot down. “We aren’t soldiers, and that is not the future I want for you.”

“H-Hey! I don’t intend to care for flowers while people are dying around us!” Lillie said.

“We have done enough!” Nania snapped. “I don’t want to lose you or anyone else in the family. We came here to have a life: not a bloodshed. There were too many close calls, and I want a future for you. This is not it.”

The two eyes glared towards each other. All taking a long moment to see who cave in or not as Jess was dragged away.

Isabella found herself feeling trapped as the family drama played out in front of her, an awkward moment that she didn’t remember signing up for when she agreed to remain in the TDF.

“If you are injured then you shouldn’t be fighting without clearance from a medical professional,” Isabella reminded, the Lieutenant deciding to stick to the facts here, “You also aren’t being forced to fight here, so you can join a column leaving and return home whenever you wish.

“Eh?!” Lillie gasped. “Well um…”

“Come, we need to return home.” Nania said.

“This isn’t fair! Give me a few more nights.” Lillie protested. “I can see a doctor!”

“Enough. We need the family to be safe.” Nania put her foot down.

“But…” Lillie let out a defeated frown as she averted her gaze away.

“All is organised and settled then?” Isabella asked the duo, “If that is the case then we can go and get you on the next convoy out of the city.”

The Frontier Lab

Within the war front of MARC, a small knob in what appeared in the middle of nowhere forest was a secret entrance for a laboratory. The Experimental Zone demiplane. A world of gates was built by the Sharena Arsenal as one of its testing grounds by the gunsmith mage herself for the R&D team to study the effects of the Shattering Peal at its ground under various camouflage sights and tree fort bunkers.

Shining Chariot knew her task was to 'reinvent the wheel' regarding firearms. The whole weapons system, from triggers, pins etc to avoid potential breakage by the anti-tech zone when the firearm was in full use. So, a challenge that inevitably the team had to result in this whole thing that may be questionable given the inspiration. One that annoyed her fellow unicorn friend Glimmerdew on that fact.

"Staff guns? Missile Lances?" Glimmerdew shook his head as his swirling glasses stared at the supervisor. "Are you serious? At this rate, we can pass so many magic tomes and wands instead! Toss the people the instruction manual, and we're done. Not give something that reminds whole nations of their enemy's weaponry."

"Excuse me, but it'll be easier to weapon bash two systems and imbue a few spells on a staff than rebuild a whole…" Shiny Chariot pointed to one bizarre black box rifle with a few gem clusters, a magazine, and an opening for a rush of air to bust out. "That! We can use the same Ameno Crystals to launch bullets besides the Arcanus Cannon matrix. Besides, the weapon is bulky and lame."

"Better than literal staves and lances," Glimmerdew argued.

"You're focusing too much on aesthetics. What the frontline needs is to use their ammunition without worrying about the triggers breaking and so forth. This will change the tide of war for our allies’ favor." Shiny Chariot said.

"Maybe, but I'm not sure if our clients in the theatre will agree to purchase these firearms," Glimmerdew said.

"The important thing is that stave guns work no matter how low grade the magical close is. Now, let's focus on finishing the prototype!"

[Dyste]

Valitora, Dyste

Jubel Glacos had only been the Vice-Director of the Construct Department for about five years now; the Thaumaturge did think that perhaps the position would’ve gone to Zardram Fulmine if it wasn’t for what the Jarlsberg Institute was calling the ‘Mirage Tower Incident’, where he employed his constructs known as the Einherjar in a plot to try and frame Melux Whitewing, the then-chair of the DSA Council, of a plot. He never did figure out why someone with that promise decided to go down that path, he was a legitimately brilliant Mage, who had come close to finding the truth behind the origin of Draconids and how Rohanian anti-magic worked. That said, he was currently imprisoned, with no contact of any sorts. He understood why, but he did wish he could at least learn a bit more about how he made the Einherjar work, it would’ve made this much easier…

The Shifting Mail and Bags of Preserving were being launched on time, but it had taken some time to deploy the amount of golems they wished; turns out making fully automated statues or iron, wood, stone and mythril took time, who knew? If he could figure out Einherjar, he could’ve deployed them as well, but their own tests were not to the standards that Zardram’s could’ve done; he was able to use it to summon copies of famous heroes, with their full set of abilities and gear nearly up to their actual standard, but any tries they had seemed to lack It appeared their first shipment to the front lines might have smaller numbers than they had anticipated, but at least they were able to aid their allies at a point it was needed.

That said, none of this would matter if the means to transport them wasn’t finished, which is why instead of a full day in the Institute in Calberona, he was now in Valitora to see how production of the airship was going. Rather than going with one of the largest manufacturers, there had been a smaller company that had just recently been formed that managed to impress them the most with their prototype, as he went into a hanger labeled Flights of Dawn.

As the silver Draconid entered, he could see the airship looming over him; it was a bit smaller than the Lufenia-class standards, but with a sleeker design not really seen on most Dystan-build airships. Painted in a pale green, there was a pair of wings on the side with the word Highwind emblazoned in brass. As he admired the work, a kobold with yellow-orange scales in a jumpsuit ran up to him, waving at him; when he did so, it was clear his left arm was made of a clockwork-based construct. “Hi! You from the Institute?”

“Ahem, yes,” Jubel cleared his throat, “And you must be Ratix Dawnscale, correct?” According to what he heard about him, he used to work for one of the larger companies, but after an incident with one of their ships, he left to work with Ares’s mercenary company as an engineer on the Black Army’s main ship. That was, until the Winter War, where an attack caused him to retire. Apparently he was back in the airship crafting business now. “How is the Highwind doing?”

“Going good!” Ratix beamed; apparently some trip in space inspired his design choices, quite different from the blueprints they originally intended, but that was part of why they had decided to let this small company take the project. “Levistones working well, test flights done! Ready to ship out when you ready!”

“That is a relief for sure,” Jubel said; the Highwind-class was made in order to still function within the boundaries of the bell’s range, having been made primarily on a magic source than a technological one. It was for this reason the Mages had been working alongside them to make this work; there was no point in trying to ship out golems and other supplies if they would be stopped in their tracks before they even reached the front lines. “Of course, one alone will not be enough for the frontlines, so we may be employing more help for this project. That said, Ratix, I think perhaps you have done what most airship designers have only dreamed of; making an entirely new airship class.”

“Not stopping there!” Ratix said with confidence, having a wind drake construct bring over what looked like a spellbook at first, but as he opened it, it seemed to be some sort of control device, as he showed a picture of some more models, “Soon, airships go to space! I find, if airships go to air, can later have them in air above air! Work with other people, make it possible! Spacebolds!”

“Heh… you keep that dream alive,” Jubel said, a bit bemused. Would they really have spaceships soon? No matter, currently he was concerned about making sure their efforts in Tambelon were going smoothly. By all estimates, by the end of the month Dyste will have a proper aid to them, and not just in the form of sending pigmen to punch dragons or a heroic kobold to rescue people. They would see the power of Dystan ingenuity for themselves; adventurers weren’t the only ones who seeked to overcome challenges.

[Imeriata]

Operation koursairs, Kouralia, rear HQ

With a final lunge the sled finally came to a halt and the door was opened by waiting pages. The cold was making her chin redden and sting as her breath lingered in the air with every breath that filled her lungs with chill air. Only kept at bay by the heavy fur coat Harald was covered in from top to toe and kept most of her hidden away bar the opening in the front where an officer uniform could still be seen with all it’s ornate splendor. .

“My Lord Commander!” A snap voice said with a salute as her leather boots hit the ground and she could see men and officers alike gather around, presenting arms and striking their chests in salute. She returned the salute and the sound of heavy boots hitting the ground behind her told her that her aid had jumped out of the sled that they had used. The officer that had greeted them had a moment of bewilderment as he finally caught sight of her face, suspicion and outrage seemed to play over it for a moment as his eyes narrowed until they finally came to rest at her hips. The sash seemed to drive away any hesitation and misgivings and his face turned once again back to more military manners, “Ah, Just another man” she knew his mind quickly sorted her away as. But the hesitation had still been there while she always took such hesitation with a hint of joy there was hardly any time in the middle of a campaign and as they walked she undid her sash and tied it around the fur coat and just like that did she feel eyes vanish off her. “Ah, Just another man” they seemed to think as the warriors that seemed to suspiciously eye a woman in uniform realized that she was just one of them and went back to whatever duties that needed to be attended to.

Her trek was not a long one as they finally made their way to the house that had been requisitioned as a military HQ, spellwork had been weaved in around them, deflecting shells, making satellites and drones look other ways. All was there in the common stone tablets she had seen carved and placed around it. All through the walk did men salute her, servants bowed deeply before scurrying away to whatever task had been imposed upon them by their betters.

“If my lord squire commander would allow me…” the officer that led them started before the loud shriek of a woman made all of them freeze in place, hands on pistols and blades about to be drawn did she and her retinue scan the area around them. Their guards had their rifles at the ready for any trouble. The cause of the shriek became clear soon.

Three young cadets were playing in the snow, throwing balls of snow at one another and the loud female shriek turned to come from them as one of them had taken a ball of snow down her neck as one of the larger boys seemed to laugh and curse as he took vengeance for an especially well placed snowball by shoving fistfulls of it down the neck of a young woman. No, not a woman, the sash around her hips pink and blue of regal command rather than red of the cadette uniform made that clear.
“Ah, just another man!” Harald thought to herself as she turned around the door open as the warmth was inviting her and a servant offered a hot cup of brackish tea.

---

Operation koursairs, Kouralia, Artillery park

The snow laid heavily on the ground as the artillery piece was moved into position, not it’s normal design but one of the quick refitted for fighting under the effect of the bell, it’s wheels had been replaced with skis and the barrel had been attached directly to the chassis instead of using an axle the entire warmachine was raised with the aid of a large tripod and pulleys that a dwarf mammoth that the artillery crew had named “Bosse” pulled to raise the machine.
“THAT IS ENOUGH! TIE IT DOWN!” Came the command from the computer, a young lady named Shi who had been forced to run from battery to battery to help confirm the calculations that the officers had run and decided that this angle was sufficient. A pair of large beams attached to the skis in the front while a pair of hinges that somehow were designed to be used without an axel, a spherical lock she had been told, were used to get the artillery piece to rest in this angle, normally they just send her them by letter and the electronic warbooks that the battery constable had but for the importance of this operation were instead forced to let her calculate the angles of the artillery directly. Especially when the shells they were going to use came into place.

Shi gave the artillery piece at it’s weird angle another look. It would need to be repositioned when it had been fired but at least they knew the angle it was supposed to have now. God above she missed when they could just use the damned axles and raise the cannons the normal way. She tiredly rummaged through her satchel and pulled out a ceramic bottle sealed with a cork and a vax seal carrying the heraldic emblem of the maker of the kampbrygd that kept her going these days. A fruit flavored sweet juice with enough caffeine and other stimulants in it to keep a man going for a few hours instead of sleep. She swept the drink and grimaced, apple flavored, she really should start to look at the bottles she picked up, she gave the heraldric emblem a quick glare, Fjardvaga’s bryggeri, yeah that explained it, they had a quite bad reputation when it came to taste but then again the daughter of the house that owned them were married to a cousin of one of the high ranking officers in charge of procurement if she had understood it. So the guard brought it in large quantities and they were able to claim that it was a drink for true warriors.

Shi made a mental note to check the heraldry more often to get the bergsdagg ones instead, their products were at least enjoyable.

Her eyes stopped for a moment as she had started to walk away to get to the next battery, they ended suspiciously at the shells.

“Lord battery constable? Those shells are…” She began suspiciously as the man in charge of the battery looked up from giving an artilleryman what seemed to be a verbal assault for not having been too quick on the positioning of the howitzer.

“Aye, a magnificent sight are they not jungfrau? Even the skies themselves will be draped in royal silver when we begin the assault!” He said with a smile as he sent the soldier off with a twapp with his cane.
The shells were of an odd shape and painted red at the top, she could see etched warnings in the shell case that surrounded them as the soldiers were busy either loading the artillery pieces or putting them down into quickly built earthen ramparts designed to protect the crews would the shells go off.
“This much though my lord battery constable?”
“Aye, wizards at command apparently had a new ritual worked out, they have been placing combat runes all over the place and they needed some way to summon the spirits of flame to aid our glorious troops!” he said with a smile that spread over the red coloured cheeks that protruded above his large silver beard.
“Fair enough my lord battery constable!” She said with a bow and started to head out, she had more batteries to inspect.
“One moment, Jungfrau!” The officer called out and she turned back to him, a her eyebrow raised in puzzled confusion.
“For your good work!” The old man said and threw her something, she almost caught it, it hit her chest and she had to stumble a bit, fumbling with her hands as she tried to catch it again. Ultimately it came to rest in her hands rather than hit the snowy ground.

A ceramic bottle with an unbroken wax seal around the cork, a wax seal with the heraldic emblem of the bergsdagg house.
“Nobody should be forced to drink that Fjardvaga rubbish!” he said with a smile as he turned around. “OLOF I SWEAR TO SHIMMERING BEL HIMSELF I WILL TAN YOUR HIDE!” he roared and went off waving his cane as one of the gunners seemed to all of a sudden be a lot more attentive and focused on his work.

---

Operation koursairs, Kouralia, rear HQ

“As you can see my Lord commander, the enemy bell is here and according to my lord commander’s instructions have our men been positioned in accordance with my lord commander’s battleplans!”

“And the storehouses?” harald asked as she looked over the battleplans, small miniatures of guardsmen stood arrayed around a map depicting various formations of cavalry, infantry, dragon flights, even a formation of Malgravean commandos had been painted up that depicted a small force that they planned to use to exploit any breakthrough, while the federal elite troops were going to be used to either roll up enemy positions when a breakthrough had been established or to smash through enemy weak spots would these fellows be told to infiltrate through the enemy lines and then cause trouble, a very Malgravean way of life she imagined.

“Full and we are ready to keep up an offensive for several months at this rate my lord commander! Horses are ready to pull sleds back and forth to the frontlines, mammoths are ready, all in all our logistical situation is fully prepared!” a voice came from a female Neko, one of the ranked adjutants attached to trossen.

“Now this spell of yours my lord cleric… are you sure this will work?” She inquired and looked at an elderly cleric, his red robe with embroidered flames on it made him stand out as a cleric of the chronicles. He was old and frail but his eyes were harsh and determined. His hands were scared from where fire had kissed him in holy rituals. A sign of devotion.

“Aye my lord commander, the runes have been carved and have been distributed amongst the frontline, it is not yet active but it only needs the appropriate sacrifice and my clerics to say the right rituals to spread the influence over the battlefield!” He said, quick and to the point.

“I have studied the spellwork… mayhaps you can tell us in detail what our glorious warriors can expect my lord cleric?” She asked nodding for him to go on, she knew the jist of it sure but she wanted a more detailed explanation for the man himself. Especially if this battle spell was going to be used more in combat.

“Aye, well we have looked into a lot of effects, some of them more designed to be helpful in the future as well against other foes. Some inspiration came from this large spell that we are fighting in right now, the spellcraft that they have used for this spell have partially been used by our own mages to cast this spell!” He explained as he placed a runestone on the military table.

“Instead however from using one, or a few bells, like our foe are using will we rely on several powerful runestones brought to the front to encompass a large area, we are also however able to switch this around and do the same with a large centralized runestone or a combination of both methods, all depending on what kind of situation we find ourselves in!” He explained pointing at the runes carved into the stone.

“I understand that the pure damage is multilayered? Either through summoned creatures or through a pure flame attack that will target enemy positions?” One of the adjutants asked, giving the stone a closer look.

“Aye, the spellcraft is partially fueled by our own warrior’s fighting spirit but also by drawing fire and air spirits to the area This means that it will be the more effective the closer it are to the more of our troops, someone near a small section may notice some things but someone at the full force of a massed regiment attack will face an almost overwhelming spell. They can either be given form and attack our foemen on the field of battle or they can directly strike out against targets the spell itself targets, the effect is essentially that either can fire beings be brought into this world and strike down our foe or they can be light ablaze, regular non magical armor or shields will be of no use against the later one as the flame will materialize around their body, this is something we have been working on for a while and it is not entirely perfect against foemen equipped with technological marvels far beyond our own but a man in a power armour will burn just as well as a man in a coat of arms if the fire sprouts inside his armour!” he explained with a sadistic smirk. “No longer shall we leave foes claiming that no of their warriors were slain in combat!”

“And we picked fire because our current foe is especially weak against it?” An officer asked, his uniform marking him as a foreign volunteer.

“We picked fire because fire is holy!” The cleric pointed out.

“Right, and the other effects of this combat aura of yours my lord cleric?” Harald said, waving her hand to make the cleric go on.

“Several, some are merely there for visual flair, which in turn will demoralize foes and embolden ours, the air itself will sing federal combat hymns, soldier songs, and sing praises of His royal highness, blessed eternally be His house, similarly will the eagle gold be visible in the clouds and in the sky, our foes will see federal warriors all around, not all the time but the idea of visual can be seen amongst and behind their lines will make them hesitate and worried, not willing to trust their own eyes, while we cannot guarantee this effect is universal for all foes have I also made my best to make the effect also work with computerized sensors too, if the computer itself, a combat computer attached to a helmet for instance, are able to see through the spell will a backup still affect the troopers where they will think the helmet is telling them our warriors are around them, again this is not a universal constant for all foemen and who will be affected will sadly enough be random, same as with the fire elementals and the fire burning up our foes, we have tried to make this work on groups so in a combat scenario will not an entire frontline see specters constantly but an entire section will see the same collective illusion if this goes according to our plans, this is of course not limited to the troops but the chance is that such an effect will also apply to the leadership, making a command area seeing federal breakthroughs that they need to plug in the best of scenarios!” he explained as everyone was nodding excitedly.

“And of course the best effect for us is that we will target hostile radios and communications, our own will work fine of course and we cannot break every spell defense ever however we can expect that drones out of enemy defenses can be targeted and that our foemen’s section communications can be overwhelmed if they are in close contact with our soldiers!”

“Ah, so if the enemy are in close contact with our troops in addition to all of a suddenly lighting on fire, facing fire spirits made manifest, seeing spectres of our soldiers all around them and hearing the songs of our might in the very air itself with the heavens themselves depicting our heraldic emblems will their communications stop working?” Harald asked for clarification

“oh not merely stop working my lord commander!” The cleric said as he threw a communication gear Harald as she caught it, Kouralian design. She put it on and all she could hear was federal slogans, hymns, and death rituals.

“Very smart, that ought to give them communication issues… and a drone?”

“If it can be steered with our slogans that are randomly given to it or it’s own spirit can control its rotor blades when the blades are only given the first verse of ‘Blessed be our King, Father and warrior!’, I would be very surprised!” The cleric said with a smile.

“Will they understand them though?”

“Aye, it will be understood even if you don’t speak the good old tongue, it will not sound like their own barbarian tongue but they will understand it!”

“And in the interest of curiosity, why do we use foreign hymns too? Would not your own suffice my lord cleric?” The foreign volunteer asked, looking a bit puzzled and in return he received a lot of odd looks.

“The Gods favor us!” The cleric said simply. There was no limiting clarification in that most Federal mantra.
The Gods favor us, to any federal subject there was no reason to clarify or expand on that mantra.
The Gods favor us, it was the mantra that made federal troops seek out spiritual guidance from the clerics of their foes.
The Gods favour us, it was the mantra that made the crown offer sacrifices to the enemy Gods.
The Gods favor us, ALL the Gods favor us, foreign or federal it made no difference.
The Gods favor us.

---

Operation koursairs, Kouralia, the air above the coming battlefield

Fagel Tarvaldssen felt the wind rustle his… feathers? The sensation was truly an odd one as his arms… wings he corrected himself took another flap to give him altitude. His eyes, sharp as a hawk, took note of the enemy before…. below him.

He had been given a bird shape and some training in how to use it and now dressed in the shape of a hawk did the soar above the enemy making notes about where they were, where their supply lines could be found and all the information that the command would need.

---

Operation koursairs, Kouralia, Artillery Park

“AT THE READY LADS!” Lord battery commander Fredrik auf Haraldsberg roared as he looked at the pocket watch in his fingers, the time was closing to the determined position. All around him was the artillery that was meant to pound the enemy into submission, calculated distances and flight paths had been handed to them and their machines were pointed in the right directions. Some of them were highly explosive shells, other shells filled with mines meant to detonate in the air behind enemy lines and litter their logistic lines with mines. Others still filled with chemicals meant to ignite in the air and rain burning flame down upon the enemy. Partially due to some weakness noted in the enemy physiology, partially due to some new weapons that the HQ had figured out and partially, most likely the main reason Fredrik thought was the fact that they were fighting a self appointed servant of evil and fire was a holy element.

Vile creatures driven away with holy flame was a common motive in art after all.

Their heavier artillery pieces were further behind than usual and while a lot of them were refitted with the new bar and ball lock systems that got around the axle issue had no good solution had been found to replacing engines yet and large crews now had to raise the barrels with tripods, wire, and pulley systems. It was slow and it was hard work with mammoths often being needed but it worked.
More so could he see even newly reactivated shell launchers filled with unguided self propelled shells dragged out of storages decades old. They had the same sleds and ball lock method to aim them. These ones had the advantage that they could launch ungodly salvos even if the same aim that one could normally expect from a shell guided by a spirit and a computer was nowhere to be found.
“AIM!” He roared as the men double checked their adjustments, looked over the angles their cannons had, and if they were pointed in the right directions.
“FIRE!” he roared and all around him could one only hear thunder and flame as the entire artillery park opened fire from their entrenched positions. There would be no hit and run he knew as other units were earmarked for counter battery fire but he and his battery as a combat battery had to rely on their fortifications to save them. They had no good way of moving the heavy artillery pieces so they decided to get their money’s worth out of the heavy fire.

---

Operation koursairs, Kouralia, The frontline

The night was cold and dark, however to the keen eyes of the Neko fighters did the night look akin to day were it not for it’s lack of colour. Sha’Shola sat and waited for the order to advance as the thunder of artillery started to rumble behind them, explosions light up confirmed enemy strongholds, not nearly with the same vigor or horrific speed that would have churned up all before them would the normal rules of engagement be true, however with the lack of axles had the artillery corps been forced to improvise.

Sha’Shola gave his rifle one last look, as he looked at the men around him, some had opted to replace their battle rifles for storm loadout Mo’shal especially had gotten his hand on a stormrifle and Ga’shola had managed to get himself issued a flamethrower for the mission. They were all ready as could be with grenades aplenty shoved down in their belts.

“MEN! AND I SAY MEN!” The loud voice came from the squire, a human from Scandera, however his appearance told him that he too came from the sun realms originally. “BEFORE US STAND A WRETCHED FOE! SERVANTS OF A DARK LORD! AND VILE INVADERS OF THIS SOIL! THE PEOPLE THEY HAVE DEFILED AND IT IS UP TO US TO STOP THESE VILE BEASTS!” He continued to roar, they all looked at him, thankful for a moment’s respite from the anticipation and the dread that came with the knowledge that they were above to go over the top at any moment, facing death and led once more.

“NOW THE FOE CLAIMS TO BE LED BY A SO CALLED DARK LORD! BAH I SAY, THERE IS NO LORDLY QUALITY TO THIS PETTY DESPOT THAT LEADS THEM! HIS ONLY ClAIM TO LEGITIMACY COMES FROM TERROR AND A STRENGTH OF ARMS, NO DIVINE AUTHORITY NO RIGHT GRANTED BY BIRTHRIGHT!” he continued as the cat eared people around him paid attention, feeling the impact of his words. Sha’Shola however felt his mouth dry and his hands started to slowly shake with anticipation.
“NOW YOU KNOW WHAT WE CALL SOMEONE LIKE THAT? A MAJOR! NO DARK LORD BUT MERELY A MAYORAGE WE FACE!” The officer continued as Sha’Shola could feel every moment drag on for an eternity as he tried to will time itself to keep him safe in their protected positions

“THERE IS A HUGE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE END OF A KINGDOM AND THE END OF A MAYORAGE! CAN YOU TELL ME HOW A KINGDOM FALL?” He called out and Ga’Shola stepped forward with his flamethrower resting at his shoulder.
“Through the decadence of it’s king! The self-serving whims of the aristocracy and the disloyalty of the commonry!” he called out the text book response.
“ARE OUR KING DECADENT?!?”
“NO! HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS, blessed be his name, RULES JUSTLY!” The soldiers shouted
“ARE OUR ARISTOCRATS SELF SERVING?”
“NO! OUR BETTERS REIGN JUSTLY!”
“ARE OUR COMMONRY DISLOYAL?”
“NO WE SERVE GLADLY AND WILLINGLY!”
“FOR A KINGDOM TO FALL ALL OF THESE MUST BE TRUE! FOR US NONE OF THEM ARE! NOW TELL ME SOLDIERS…. HOW DOES A MAYORAGE FALL?”

The soldiers did not respond but simply attached their bayonets, the answer was obvious, a mayorage ended at their hands.

All of a sudden the sky lit up as incendiary shells exploded in the sky as the heavens turned bright as white fire rained down on the enemy positions.
“NOW MEN! WARRIORS! FOLLOW ME!” The squire roared as he drew his sword and put a horn to his lips. With a loud horn blow that was repeated all over the front did the troops start to move forward. Warcries and praises to the Gods above filled the air and more so, Sha’Shola could hear the very air vibrate with hymns and songs about federal glory, that if nothing else filled his shaking hands with resolution and determination to drive onwards. For he knew that behind them awaited more men, if they did not succeed to pin down the enemy positions would the next wave do so, and when the enemy was pinned down would grenadiers, avatars, and other elite formations shatter the enemy weak points.

---

Operation koursairs, Kouralia, Air above the battlefield

Fagel Tarvaldssen could see the world around him as clear as if it had been day, his mighty wings moved, though struggling, with no sound as he made his way through the air. No longer a man nor a hawk but this time did he have the shape of an snow owl.

All around him could he hear explosions and he could see men moving forward, the very air itself seemed to loudly sing the praises of their King and His domains. Then he was where he was supposed to be, out of the darkness could he see the enemy position, he made a quick turn just before them, were they but men would they just see a bird emerge from the darkness itself, unseen and unheard.

He felt his claws let go of what he was carrying as he let his momentum once more drag him back into the darkness of the night, just him though. The shell he was carrying though continued, carrying through the momentum towards its intended target.

---

Operation koursairs, Kouralia, artillery crater

The fire was born, a fickling hunger as it crawled up from the raining fire that had touched the cold wet ground. It sensed the world around it, a world of cold and wet but with plenty for it to consume. It felt it’s body, arms, legs, and a head, all made from dancing flame that hungered. It looked around itself once again, behind it, it saw men advancing, good men, not men to burn it decided. Why it could not tell, but it knew them to serve the same flame as it did, not for burning, thus it looked around, it saw other people, enemies, it knew. Men of wet and cold.

Things to burn it knew.

Quickly it moved with wrath and fire, towards the enemy, it roared a roar of crackling flame and burning fire rather than one of word and sound.

[Urmanian]

Somewhere in Hippocratia

Heavy and depressingly soppy snow filled the trenches.

Sorrelian strategy was fairly standard: establish several concentric, interconnecting rings of trenches, exercise enough pressure on the foe to lure them into going on the offensive, then do a managed retreat-in-force to the next ring of fortifications while inflicting as many casualties on Tambelonics as possible; then attempt to exploit whatever breaches emerged in their ranks.

The trenches were deep and sturdy, reinforced with rows of wood and sandbags. Earth pony and kirin abilities further serving to pack the soil, make it strong and rubbery with plant shoots, have lifeless logs grow firmly into the ground, and strengthen it with thick magically grown roots. Pillboxes and blockhouses, some of fabricated concrete and some of magically reinforced wood, guarded key areas. Such trenches would be more than formidable in a conventional conflict with far more shells and missiles flying around; here they held like iron against waves of fleshcast and steelborn.

"You have any fives?"

Zuberi was a seasoned warrior. The rough zebra stallion stalked the underground tunnels of Vorradia, he charged in the landings against the slavers of the Eight Republics, he even shortly served in raids across TurtleShroom before he was called back to Sorrelia: firstly to defend the government against the Marksist lunatics, then switch sides to secure the Revolutionary victory. Now he sat in the trenches in the foreign land of Hippocratia a captain; perhaps he could have rose higher, but he never cared.

"Just two." his opponent, an unicorn mare private said.

"And I have none. Go fish-"

PHWEEE-WOOOSH...BOOOM

Of course, the sort of battleplan that Sorrelians employed sorely required artillery, to put constant pressure upon the Tambelonics. The hundreds of thousands of barrels that the Republic could normally field were, naturally, useless within the area of effect of the horrid Peal. But they had other solutions to compensate. Slingtail behemoths tossed bombs until they were too tired to do so, and were left to peacefully graze to restore their strength. Pegasi, hippogriffs and griffons launched raids - mostly at night - to toss small explosives from clouds upon Tambelonic ranks. The most popular and effective form of artillery were however primitive rack-based rocket launchers that could even be mounted on clouds - nicknamed "Shining Path Organs" - flinging volleys of simple unguided rockets against Tambelonic formations all day long.

They had 155 millimeter howitzers too, but those were nightmarish to operate for lack of hinges or axles; each multi-ton thing was hefted upon a cloud and had to be manually raised or lowered by the sheer muscle strength of multiple ponies before firing. Zuberi occasionally threatened soldiers with "howitzer duty" as a punishment for slacking off and messing up. The Motherland was also developing and producing hinge-less railgun cannons and tanks at a breakneck pace, however the Hippocratian front only had enough of those to count on one pony's hooves; they said homeland defence needed them more, but for what purpose..?

..Zuberi revealed and folded his cards, before acknowledging his defeat tossing his alcohol ration over to the beaming victor private.

"It is Hearth's Warming Eve soon." the Zebra noted, turning his head towards the Moon as it dimly shone through the grim overcast clouds above Tambelon.

"Hah, not quite what we've all imagined our next Hearth's Warming being like, huh?" an earth pony stallion nearby chimed in, clutching his fire-staff and nursing a self-heating ration against his muzzle for some warmth.

"I bet my family is getting the Hearth's Warming tree dressed right now..." the unicorn mare shook her head as she opened the small packet filled with gooey 90 proof alcohol paste and promptly imbibed it.

"Did someone say...Hearth's Warming tree?!" the voice was unmistakable as that of Cloud Ray, the Commissar of this very infantry Regiment. The white-coated pegasus mare wearing the liveries and the peaked cap of her station landed in the trench with a hefty stomp, rousing nearby soldiers to attention. With the help of a couple other pegasi, she carried a firm spruce in her hooves - which she slammed down on the ground, the magic of nearby earth ponies quickly helping it take root and rise above the trenches in its natural majesty.

"Oh...you actually did it. Our very own Hearth's Warming tree." Zuberi smiled. He approached the spruce to hang a smoke grenade from one of its branches, like a makeshift decoration. Other soldiers soon followed up with pieces of scrap, painted cloth, emptied MRE containers and spent munitions, soon making the spruce into a somewhat grim approximation of a fully decorated Hearth's Warming tree.

"The Motherland would never leave her soldiers without holiday cheer," Cloud Ray exclaimed enthusiastically, before procuring a small booklet, clearing her throat and taking a deep breath, "Now...shall we sing some carols?!"

On the first day of Hearth's Warming, the Party gave us
One million new tractors

On the second day of Hearth's Warming, the Party gave us
Two billion tons of steel
One million new tractors

One the third day of Hearth's Warming, the Party gave us
Three new aircraft carriers
Two billion tons of steel
One million new tractors...

Despite the somewhat...unorthodox lyrics, many soldiers throughout the trenches took up the tune, yearning for the Hearth's Warming times during the more peaceful days. The magic of celebration and camaraderie filled the dark and damp trenches, flooding them with light and warmth.

"Load festive shells!" Commissar Cloud Ray shouted suddenly once she had finished the whole carol. She pointedly ignored quite a few of the soldiers bowing in prayer to Princess Celestia as the holiday dawned.

"Aye, aye comrade Commissar! Loading festive shells!" the artillery crews nearby complied, hefting unusually bright, pastel-colored shells into the breeches of their howitzers. Moments later, the sky erupted with deafening constellations of multicolored fireworks as the artillery batteries fired their barrages.

"Happy Hearth's Warming, and long live the Vermillion Republic! Most of us won't be able to see the Presidium's holiday broadcast over here, so I will have to fill in, heheh. It might seem that we stand alone against the forces of darkness, but that isn't true! Four billion hearts are set ablaze today, longing with hope for our common victory. Grogar had tried to throttle our Revolution, but he had failed, and now the Vermillion Army is knocking on the gates of his vile citadel. The whole world quakes at the triumph of Marksism-Shining Path Thought! Hooray!" Cloud Ray exclaimed, her voice carried throughout the trenches by the way of a digital microphone.

"Hooray!"

"Hooray!"

The claps of fireworks continued in the sky throughout the night, banishing the darkness of Grogar, as the soldiers pooled their alcohol rations in large punch bowls mixed with packets of jam. Hot Hearth's Warming meals were brought from field kitchens in the rear - cranberry rice and sweet puddings may have been not very presentable being jumbled together in big metal pots, but they tasted familiar and homey all the same as the Sorrelians shared them in the trenches. Meagre gifts in makeshift boxes were exchanged - often nothing more than surplus rations being traded around - but the contents were worth far less than the cheer put into them.

At exactly midnight, the Sorrelian Anthem was being belted out in unison throughout hundreds of miles of trenchwork, followed by another round of festive bombardment. To the ponies, zebras, kirins, griffons and sundry others laughing and celebrating mirthfully in the dirt and snow it was more clear than it was ever before - victory was inevitable, darkness could never hope to take over this light.

[New Dornalia]

OOC: Part I of III

IC:

Rear HQ, Kouralia

While Harald spoke boldly, he was not alone. The Dornalians were also participating in the briefing, namely in the form of their commanders General Mercedes Garza, CRE Army, and Lieutenant General Fyodor Stormcaller, of the Commonwealth of the Westfall Realm

The two would make a distinct impression, if the mere fact of being Dornalian didn’t do so already. Garza was clad in a Dornalian Winter Officer’s Uniform with a mug of coffee within easy reach. As she was a gata, her cat’s ears perched upon a human face and head perked up, as did the cat’s tail on her otherwise human form. Next to her was her second in command, Lieutenant General Fyodor Stormcaller, of the Commonwealth of the Westfall Realm. The Lieutenant General seemed to be much calmer and less responsive to the cold. Then again, the fact he was bedecked with an oddly medieval-looking uniform clad with furs seemed to suggest he was better prepared. He too came with a mug of coffee, sipping effortlessly as he too looked at the map. His wolves’ ears and tail didn’t even perk up.

Garza’s reply was an optimistic and ever present Dornalian smile. “The Gods favor us indeed.” Peering at the map with a kind of curiosity, she added, “If I may? I believe that the Dornalians fighting and dying alongside the brave heroes of Imeriata as your men have seen so far could prove of value here.” Pointing to parts of the planned map, Garza added “You’ve seen what my people’s columns can do. And I think more than ever we need to stand with the brave, heroic men and women leading the charge.” With a nod and a respectful bow, Garza said, “At the risk of being presumptuous, I can have elements of the First and Second Divisional Combat Teams provide assistance to the Malgraveans engaged in the infiltration maneuvers. Especially the Dathomiri Ranger Regiment detachments, who are trained as light infantry and can serve excellently as infiltrators and scouts.”

Garza then added, “As for other Dornalian units…we have other units from the First and Second Divisional Combat Teams act as the ‘spearhead’ and ‘exploitation’ units more precisely.” Looking over at Fyodor, she added, “I am sure that the Commonwealthers wouldn’t pass up a chance to charge bravely into the thick of it.”

“Indeed. The Dragoon units would definitely be useful to exploit any breaches in the enemy lines, while the more conventional units among Garza’s men would be able to aid the Imerian regulars in punching through in the first place as spearheads,” Fyodor added. The bonk then said, “Besides, I think the men have been looking for action for a while now, yes?”

“Indeed they have been, indeed they have. And with the Imerian magics just discussed, they should be quite able to see and make action at a time and place of their choosing.” Garza replied. The two looked at each other--indeed, Fyodor knew that it wasn’t just strategic and tactical concerns which drove Garza to volunteer her men for Operation Koursairs, as the Imerians called it, or Operation Denver as the Dornalians called it. Fyodor knew that both Los Angeles and Admiral Krueger down at Fort Apache had been demanding results from Garza. Garza’s New Model Army concept had basically upended the conventional military order and gave rise to the Division Combat Teams, the units designed to fight in the Denied Zones using an anachronistic combination of guts, glory, small units, and magic in combined arms “columns” like an army of tabletop adventurers. Reality had clashed with those dreams, however--a combination of Imerian command and Dornalian bureaucracy and skepticism had diluted the gata’s dreams into something more…wishy-washy. The dreams of landing behind enemy lines with dragons and gnawing away at the enemy’s insides using magic missiles was not to be, and the Dornalians found themselves being used roles which while unusual, were a bit more conventional than she had planned.

Now, it appeared from reports that Garza’s bold experiment was being met with increasingly chilly feet down at Dornalian command, and there were even rumors that the “Dungeon Mistress” as she was known would even be fired and replaced with someone else. After all, while Garza’s forces were giving good yeoman service and Dornalian humanitarian and lethal aid was successfully coming in, the brains down in Los Angeles were wondering if a regular Dornalian force with regular Dornalian organization was more worth it at this point than Garza’s hot-house grown experimental units of soldier-adventurers designed to punch above their weight.

Now, Garza had the chance to prove them wrong. There would be columns to gnaw at Grogar’s insides. There would be columns jumping down Grogar’s gullet and forcing his jaws wide for the Imerians to deliver a killing blow. And, there would dragons to punch Grogar’s solar plexus, for when he was exposed.

And Fyodor hoped Garza wasn’t overpromising.

[Shimmering Equestria]

It was hard to fit into a society based on friendship with antisocial personality disorder. Even by that standard, Cozy Glow was a pariah, more than a congenital lack of empathy she had been unnaturally ambitious as a filly, and it had earned her great infamy.

She had always known she wasn’t quite getting it and by the time she’d figured out what it might have been she had already set grandiose goals. Everypony around her was so easily manipulated, and she’d found her plans worked, until they didn’t.

The thing was, there was no way that she could be changed, that wasn’t how it worked.

She folded her wings against her flank as she passed through the Canterlot gardens, past the alabaster walls. Not all the statues were alive, but many of them were those who had committed crimes against Equestria that were deemed all but unforgivable. More than a few glowed with Hearth’s Warming lights and all were dusted with a thin layer of snow.

‘Doesn’t it trouble you?’ Luster Dawn asked, as she sat down next to her in the open-air cafe, as she sat down, next to the golden-maned unicorn, ‘being,’ she faltered, frowning, ‘I guess not, huh?’

Behind her, on the wall, was a poster of Marechal Fizzlepop Berrytwist, with the slogan She can’t do it alone. Equestria had a very small and antiquated army, consisting largely of the Royal Guard and no navy or mechanized air force worth speaking of; of course it had enough friends that meant that it had little security needs in a conventional sense, but for all that, the Grogarite war reached even here.

‘No,’ Cozy said with a smirk, looking over at Tirek and Chrysalis, both of them sill transmuted into stone thirty feet away. ‘I don’t want to go back there, and thank you for the help…’ she said. She tossed her mane, a short bob of pale blue candy-striped hair.

Luster Dawn smiled, ‘How’s the job going?’

‘I think we’re near to a breakthrough,’ she said. ‘We should be able to talk about going international soon,’ she said.

‘Any problems at work?’

‘No one trusts me,’ Cozy said, there was a small sigh, ‘I know why, and I try to make them like me, but…’ she trailed off. The cafe’s waiter pony set a tray down in front of Luster, and gave a glance over his haunches at Cozy as he stepped away.

‘You shouldn’t really try to make people like you,’ Luster suggested.

‘That’s all I’ve got,’ Cozy said, lifting up her tea and sipping from it, ‘if I don’t try, then I just make people hate me.’

‘Hm,’ Luster said, ‘I guess not. But I guess a lot of ponies don’t approve.’

Cozy nodded, ‘It hits hard, not maybe the same way, but,’ she paused, ‘I have an image of myself that makes and when that’s not working out for me, it’s hard. I want to make them feel like I’ve been punished enough, but…’

‘It’s hard to do that when you tried to take over Equestria?’

‘Empress of Friendship was a bit of a reach,’ she said, ‘but I’d like ponies to respect me.’

‘Maybe that’ll happen,’ Luster suggested, ‘but it will take time.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Cozy said, ‘a thousand years of stone sleep gives everypony the idea you’ve suffered, but really all that it does is cut you off from everypony you knew. That’s not really too much of a punishment for me, I don’t have any friends, six weeks or six thousand years, it’s all the same. I guess maybe having to adjust to the future might be bad, but I guess I’m rambling.’

‘It’s better, you used to be very guarded with your speech.’

Cozy sighed, ‘My therapist says I should try to be more open,’ she said, ‘but I don’t want to put people off.’

‘Well, let’s work on it, so, Grogar’s Bells,’ Luster said.

‘Scintilla Nova thinks that because they’re made by the same hoof, that we can work to undo the new one with the old one. Which is why she wanted me on the project.’

‘Because you’ve used the Bewitching Bell,’ Luster said, ‘probably more than any-pony but Grogar himself in fact.’

‘And magic that powerful leaves a trace, an aura.’

‘So they think that it might be possible to learn more about it from you?’

‘I’m a unicorn pincushion!’ Cozy wailed softly in mock-distress, but then smiled to put Luster at ease. ‘But they are learning about it, there’s maybe a way to use the Bewitching Bell to drain the magic from the Sundering Bell,’ she said, ‘that’s its function after all, and Grogar’s own artefacts might not be able to resist one another?’

‘If they want to look at it so much why not use the bell itself?’

‘That’s the problem, it was taken south shortly after,’ Cozy gestured with her hoof, ‘to go to a secret storehouse, I believe, but only Twilight would really know where that was. And if anyone’s got it out of there, well, who’d tell me,’ Cozy said.

‘I can see why some might think that’s wise,’ Luster said.

A crease of irritation flickered in Cozy’s face, ‘Well, yes,’ she said. ‘But I’d like to be more than a test subject. I don’t need to be a hero, but... I want people to think better of me.’

‘Because you want them to see you closer to your self-image?’ Luster prompted.

‘Yes,’ Cozy said, ‘I don’t really care what they feel, I never will, that’s not how this works. I want to be happy in myself though, and taking over the land didn’t work, so I think it’s a bit more mature to want to be seen to be pulling on the same reins as everypony else. I volunteered for the army you know, but they wouldn’t take me. Maybe if Scintilla will let me do a bit more, or Twilight, that might still make ponies hate me less?’

[Tambelon]

Eastern Hippocratia

The life experience of a fleshcast was a bleak one, they were born by being carved from the flesh-vats deep beneath Tambelon, and pressed into a humanoid shape, only existing in a shambling protoplasmic shape until they were injected with the knowledge of the form they needed and the skills that were required to serve the Dark Lord.

Many Dark Lords, Emperors, Kings, Revolutionary Leaders for Life, and Poorly Supervised Intelligence Agencies had tried their hand at making a perfect warrior. The goal was always broadly similar, they wanted either a super-soldier, or a disposable one, or both.

Grogar had settled on two major lines of creation. The Steelborn were superior to most humanoids or equinoids in battle, but had a higher cost than most, but the Fleshcast, they were abundant.

When the singing echoed out of the Sorrelian trenches, the opposing formations were occupied by these troops, thousands of them at little more than a rifle shot away, they had not dug down so much as built earthworks upward, revetments and sandbags.

The ground between them and the Sorrelian trenches was littered with their dead, as their training had emphasised nothing so much as using the weight of their numbers to assault the enemy. In its way they had overcome many enemy positions, but rarely without cost.

‘Why are they making that noise?’ asked fifteen.

‘Do you think they know something we don’t know?’ Twelve said. ‘Perhaps it is to aid their morale.’

Fifteen nodded his head, thoughtfully observing the enemy through a viewing slit in his firing position.

‘Why do they love tractors so much?’

‘Tractors help the war effort, perhaps.’

‘That is logical,’ twelve said, and then shouted loudly, ‘We will destroy your tractors!’ in Equestrian. While they did not have much knowledge of civilian matters, the fleshcast were inculcated with understanding of Equestrian, Mystrian Common and Tambelonic.

Northern Kouralia – Tambelonic Reserve Positions

Zeus rarely left his mountain, and so it was with Grogar. The Dark Lord had entrusted the Battle of the “Second” Bell to one of his generals. The stereotype of ponies who turned their back on the values of their homelands was usually of unicorns, but this was an Earth Pony. General Hemlock diminutive compared to her towering steelborn guards, but no one would mistake her for what she was, her eyes glowed with a crimson flame that spilled from them and trailed smoke, while her hooves struck sparks with every step.

The campanile structure that they had constructed was a replica of the one in the City, smaller, but six sided, enslaved labourers toiled to build it while thousands of troops had been dug in around it, in concentric rings and mutually supporting positions, ramparts while under heavy guard from elite steelborn troops, the bell itself stood in a tent of midnight cloth with a magical shield protecting it, and a dozen goat officers twitching nearby; they knew they were bait, while the steelborn and fleshcast troops guarding the position had no such knowledge.

Hemlock looked over the Imerian lines arrayed against her, holding a field glass in one hoof, she looked at the allied army arrayed before her, blue and white flags prominent among them.

Months ago, they had dared to mount a naval raid on Tambelon itself, it had been turned back but, in the confusion, Princess Luna had been rescued, now the task of restoring the reputation of the Eternal City fell to Hemlock and the forces under her command.

She had no intention of failing in that duty.

The thunder of the Federal artillery fell hard on the troops before her, and she lowered the spyglass from her eye, it was a magic piece, that showed the troops under her command from miles distant with unnatural clarity.

The sky blazed with fire and burned with holy eagles, and the morale boosting tunes of the enemy echoed from the heavens. Hemlock watched the display with satisfaction.

Northern Kouralia – The False Bell

The bombardment took the detachment around the bell itself by surprise, two brigades in strength, they were positioned across a circular frontage as if expecting to remain in place for some time, and they had a mixture of trenches and dugouts, and the faster above-ground fortifications that they had been using in many areas due to the paucity of enemy artillery.

The Federal Artillery hit them like a hammerblow, sending hundreds to meet the gods (who would not know quite what to do with them) in a tornado of fire and conjured fire spirits. Mages among the Steelborn – created with such powers in their gemstone-lined forms.

Even the small areas that they could dispel were not enough to quell the thunder of the physical guns though.

Before long, their own artillery spoke, rockets streaking back toward the Imerians, their launchers traversing on pneumatic and hydraulic systems designed to minimize their exposure to the peal, their crews racing to slide new rockets home after each launcher exhausted.

The artillery duel was not the greatest ever on the continent, but within the Peal, nothing of the like had been seen before, as crews of Steelborn and Fleshcast toiled to try and defend the mighty relic of the Dark Lord, loading and firing rockets southward as fast as they could.

There was tube artillery too, but less of it, firing with a thud that punctuated the steady swoosh of the Tambelonic reply.

The force assigned to the Bell wasn’t enough to daunt the redoubtable Imerian army though, and soon the Federal commanders and their allies would have the upper hand, perhaps enough to commit Dragoons, or the Dystan Golems, or the fearsome bayonets of the federal warriors.

Northern Kouralia – Above the Battlefield

Fagel Tarvaldssen could see with eagle eyes, but the clouds below were dense, a black mist that accompanied the Tambelonic horde wherever they went. Hemlock’s spyglass could see through it, of course, but there were few ways for other magics to do so. Fagel though, could see to the east that the fog was denser, but moving, slowly, perhaps simply in response to the stirring of the air from the Kouralian spirits being called to aid Federal troops, but perhaps for some nefarious reason.

[New Dornalia]

OOC: Part Two of Three

Operation koursairs, Kouralia, The frontline

The night was cold and dark, however to the keen eyes of the Neko fighters did the night look akin to day were it not for it’s lack of colour. Sha’Shola sat and waited for the order to advance as the thunder of artillery started to rumble behind them, explosions light up confirmed enemy strongholds, not nearly with the same vigor or horrific speed that would have churned up all before them would the normal rules of engagement be true, however with the lack of axles had the artillery corps been forced to improvise.

Sha’Shola gave his rifle one last look, as he looked at the men around him, some had opted to replace their battle rifles for storm loadout Mo’shal especially had gotten his hand on a stormrifle and Ga’shola had managed to get himself issued a flamethrower for the mission. They were all ready as could be with grenades aplenty shoved down in their belts.

“MEN! AND I SAY MEN!” The loud voice came from the squire, a human from Scandera, however his appearance told him that he too came from the sun realms originally. “BEFORE US STAND A WRETCHED FOE! SERVANTS OF A DARK LORD! AND VILE INVADERS OF THIS SOIL! THE PEOPLE THEY HAVE DEFILED AND IT IS UP TO US TO STOP THESE VILE BEASTS!” He continued to roar, they all looked at him, thankful for a moment’s respite from the anticipation and the dread that came with the knowledge that they were above to go over the top at any moment, facing death and led once more.

“NOW THE FOE CLAIMS TO BE LED BY A SO CALLED DARK LORD! BAH I SAY, THERE IS NO LORDLY QUALITY TO THIS PETTY DESPOT THAT LEADS THEM! HIS ONLY ClAIM TO LEGITIMACY COMES FROM TERROR AND A STRENGTH OF ARMS, NO DIVINE AUTHORITY NO RIGHT GRANTED BY BIRTHRIGHT!” he continued as the cat eared people around him paid attention, feeling the impact of his words. Sha’Shola however felt his mouth dry and his hands started to slowly shake with anticipation.
“NOW YOU KNOW WHAT WE CALL SOMEONE LIKE THAT? A MAJOR! NO DARK LORD BUT MERELY A MAYORAGE WE FACE!” The officer continued as Sha’Shola could feel every moment drag on for an eternity as he tried to will time itself to keep him safe in their protected positions

“THERE IS A HUGE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE END OF A KINGDOM AND THE END OF A MAYORAGE! CAN YOU TELL ME HOW A KINGDOM FALL?” He called out and Ga’Shola stepped forward with his flamethrower resting at his shoulder.
“Through the decadence of it’s king! The self-serving whims of the aristocracy and the disloyalty of the commonry!” he called out the text book response.
“ARE OUR KING DECADENT?!?”
“NO! HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS, blessed be his name, RULES JUSTLY!” The soldiers shouted
“ARE OUR ARISTOCRATS SELF SERVING?”
“NO! OUR BETTERS REIGN JUSTLY!”
“ARE OUR COMMONRY DISLOYAL?”
“NO WE SERVE GLADLY AND WILLINGLY!”
“FOR A KINGDOM TO FALL ALL OF THESE MUST BE TRUE! FOR US NONE OF THEM ARE! NOW TELL ME SOLDIERS…. HOW DOES A MAYORAGE FALL?”

The soldiers did not respond but simply attached their bayonets, the answer was obvious, a mayorage ended at their hands.

All of a sudden the sky lit up as incendiary shells exploded in the sky as the heavens turned bright as white fire rained down on the enemy positions.
“NOW MEN! WARRIORS! FOLLOW ME!” The squire roared as he drew his sword and put a horn to his lips. With a loud horn blow that was repeated all over the front did the troops start to move forward. Warcries and praises to the Gods above filled the air and more so, Sha’Shola could hear the very air vibrate with hymns and songs about federal glory, that if nothing else filled his shaking hands with resolution and determination to drive onwards. For he knew that behind them awaited more men, if they did not succeed to pin down the enemy positions would the next wave do so, and when the enemy was pinned down would grenadiers, avatars, and other elite formations shatter the enemy weak points.

Northern Kouralia – Tambelonic Reserve Positions

Zeus rarely left his mountain, and so it was with Grogar. The Dark Lord had entrusted the Battle of the “Second” Bell to one of his generals. The stereotype of ponies who turned their back on the values of their homelands was usually of unicorns, but this was an Earth Pony. General Hemlock diminutive compared to her towering steelborn guards, but no one would mistake her for what she was, her eyes glowed with a crimson flame that spilled from them and trailed smoke, while her hooves struck sparks with every step.

The campanile structure that they had constructed was a replica of the one in the City, smaller, but six sided, enslaved labourers toiled to build it while thousands of troops had been dug in around it, in concentric rings and mutually supporting positions, ramparts while under heavy guard from elite steelborn troops, the bell itself stood in a tent of midnight cloth with a magical shield protecting it, and a dozen goat officers twitching nearby; they knew they were bait, while the steelborn and fleshcast troops guarding the position had no such knowledge.

Hemlock looked over the Imerian lines arrayed against her, holding a field glass in one hoof, she looked at the allied army arrayed before her, blue and white flags prominent among them.

Months ago, they had dared to mount a naval raid on Tambelon itself, it had been turned back but, in the confusion, Princess Luna had been rescued, now the task of restoring the reputation of the Eternal City fell to Hemlock and the forces under her command.

She had no intention of failing in that duty.

The thunder of the Federal artillery fell hard on the troops before her, and she lowered the spyglass from her eye, it was a magic piece, that showed the troops under her command from miles distant with unnatural clarity.

The sky blazed with fire and burned with holy eagles, and the morale boosting tunes of the enemy echoed from the heavens. Hemlock watched the display with satisfaction.

Northern Kouralia – The False Bell

The bombardment took the detachment around the bell itself by surprise, two brigades in strength, they were positioned across a circular frontage as if expecting to remain in place for some time, and they had a mixture of trenches and dugouts, and the faster above-ground fortifications that they had been using in many areas due to the paucity of enemy artillery.

The Federal Artillery hit them like a hammerblow, sending hundreds to meet the gods (who would not know quite what to do with them) in a tornado of fire and conjured fire spirits. Mages among the Steelborn – created with such powers in their gemstone-lined forms.

Even the small areas that they could dispel were not enough to quell the thunder of the physical guns though.

Before long, their own artillery spoke, rockets streaking back toward the Imerians, their launchers traversing on pneumatic and hydraulic systems designed to minimize their exposure to the peal, their crews racing to slide new rockets home after each launcher exhausted.

The artillery duel was not the greatest ever on the continent, but within the Peal, nothing of the like had been seen before, as crews of Steelborn and Fleshcast toiled to try and defend the mighty relic of the Dark Lord, loading and firing rockets southward as fast as they could.

There was tube artillery too, but less of it, firing with a thud that punctuated the steady swoosh of the Tambelonic reply.

The force assigned to the Bell wasn’t enough to daunt the redoubtable Imerian army though, and soon the Federal commanders and their allies would have the upper hand, perhaps enough to commit Dragoons, or the Dystan Golems, or the fearsome bayonets of the federal warriors.

Operation Boulder, Frontlines

Amidst the din of the Imerian artillery and the charge of the Imerian nekos, the Dornalians did not hesitate. Garza’s unconventional conventional forces did what they were ordered to do, and pushed forward with the fury of a thousand suns as the spearhead of the Imerian offensive, paving the way for their comrades in arms.

Many of the Dornalian spearhead units, in a strangely appropriate manner, raised battle standards recalling any number of references and injokes only Dornalians would get. One of these banners belonged to Sergeant De La Cruz’s men. In this case, Private Mario Morales was chosen to bear the battle standard, which was now strapped to his backpack. It was a depiction of an old symbol common to the Dornalian gatas. It was of a woman surrounded by a halo with turquoise robes, flanked by two gata women--one with glasses, one without--stomping on a skeleton dressed in turquoise robes, a demon, and a bandit and opening fire on demons with pistols in each hand. While Sergeant De La Cruz wasn’t enthusiastic having Private Morales wear such an obvious symbol on his back--after all, it meant the enemy could shoot them that much more easily--it was decided to do so nonetheless.

And so, De La Cruz’s men got into the thick of it. Unlike their Imerian counterparts, in a strangely un-Dornalian manner, De La Cruz’s charge into glory preceded with the old Texan commanding his people in a simpler, cruder speech.

“Mount up, boys and girls!”

He then unsheathed his saber--which had tasted many a fleshcast’s flesh and at least contributed in breaking apart a steelborn--and then worked the slide on his 1911A1 pistol with one hand as he said, with a turn to the horizon ahead:

“It’s time to throw chingasos with that damn goat! Move out!”

With that, the Dornalians let out a mighty battle cry, and the whole crew charged forward.

To a man, the Dornalians were trying to move ahead of the Imerians--as befitting their spearhead status--and also to maintain momentum in their own particular way. Namely, they engaged in a very aggressive bounding overwatch with the signature Dornalian problem solving tool--volume of fire. It helped that the Dornalians recently received what the brains in Los Angeles dubbed “Electronic Firing Kits”--basically, an attempt to rework the firearms being used by the Dornalians to make them resist the Peal’s anti-technology cloud. So far, they seemed to work as bursts of gunfire erupted from the Dornalians’ small arms. In the case of the one they called “Shenanigans”--formally Pvt. Lydia Herrera--the bursts were longer than others. She was the team’s automatic rifleman and as such, had the key job of laying down suppressing fire so as the Dornalians could punch through. Morales contributed by lobbing grenades forward at the enemy. Meanwhile, Corporal Guerrero, the designated marksman, fired from his KVG at the baddies, darting from shell crater to shell crater.

Those that closed within melee distance felt either the bite of De La Cruz’s sword, or the blast of his 1911 pistol--or both even. Others brought knives, rifle butts, machetes, kukri knives, or even bayonets to bear.

Either way, momentum was to be maintained, to force the enemy’s hand and to enable the Imerians to deal with the cursed objective once and for all.

De La Cruz maintained momentum, and Guerrero followed suit.

At one point, the old Texan ducked behind cover and said simply, “Corporal!” as he moved to reload his 1911.

“Yeah, Sarge!?” Guerrero said, firing off a pair of shots at a distant foe.

“Got time for a song?” De La Cruz said, as he made ready to advance again.

“What sort?”

“Any kind that inspires the men and women to push forward would be nice!” De La Cruz said, as he hacked away at the enemy.

Guerrero then paused, and began to sing.

“Somebody once told me…the world’s gonna roll me….”

De La Cruz raised an eyebrow, and shrugged. It would have to do. After all, Guerrero wasn’t quite a bard yet, and though the Thaumaturgical Aptitude Tests seemed to peg him as such due to his musical ability, Guerrero still needed practice. So, here they were.

***

Of course, as the enemy’s front line began to collapse and the inevitable exploits would begin, the Commonwealth Dragoons would not wait. To a man, the sky would begin to fill with dragons of all shapes and sizes--all of them the mighty descendants of the legendary old Kadrian dragons brought to the Westfall Realm, fierce, bellicose, and uncompromising in their physical strength and killer instincts.

The pattern would be the same. The Dragons would belch fire, acting as close air support and either setting the enemy ablaze or harrying them to and fro before landing and disgorging their contents. The contents being of course, a horde of angry Commonwealthers. To a man and woman, they cut a distinct impression with their choice of wargear and their preference for close quarters battle. Namely, whenever they saw a fleshcast, steelborn, or other member of Grogar’s army, they would rush after them with explosives--magical or otherwise--and close with a mixture of shotgun fire, shield bashes, or axe swings designed to cleave the foe in two like they were cordwood.

All of this was delivered with a mighty and bloodcurdling “URRRAAA!”

Not that the Commonwealthers would take all the foe for themselves after all. There were only so many of them, and so many more Imerians. Still, there were skulls to be split, and the Commonwealthers would not be remiss in fulfilling that task.

[Dyste]

Onboard the DRA Del Norte Marquez

After the work was done by Flights of Dawn, the first few airships of the Highwind-class were ready to take flight. The very first one, simply called the Highwind, was kept behind for the Jarlsberg Institute’s own use, while the other four would be ready for aiding the Tambelonic front. This included the Haze, the Previa, the Fabool, and the one that the head of the Dystan forces chose as his own ship, the Del Norte Marquez. If one would ask him why he did so, he simply liked the name the most.

Vorek Okras - or rather, Sir Vorek Okras, he still needed to get used to it - was one of Ares Darkclaw’s finest mercenaries and one of his first choices to join the Royal Knights once he became the Knight Commander. The Water Draconid wore blue armor to match his scales, a design not from Dyste itself but from his time training in Kirnbor in the past, a style that the samurai of the area used. Having been part of the Black Army since near its inception, his commander knew full well of his capabilities and considered him the most suitable option for this. He was even almost chosen for the rescue of Princess Luna, but Ares had in the end chosen Helvos for the role, which even Vorek acknowledged was likely the better one; while he was older than the pigman, the legendary adventurer was more used to dealing with the unknown and winning over the seemingly impossible. For a more protracted campaign commanding troops, though, Vorek was Ares’s best option outside of going personally.

Vorek had wished for a larger contingent of troops, but between this, the conflicts in Rohane Alista and Catedonia, Dyste had already been running thin on their own forces, which combined with the overhaul of their armed forces and leaving forces for defending Dyste itself, led to precious few soldiers under his command. However, being loaded into these vessels was their solution.

Within the four airships, golems were loaded in, each one focused on a different type. The Haze had the Iron Golems, hardy and strong, the oldest design of the four having been designed by Jarlsberg Thaumsmith himself over six hundred years ago. The Previa meanwhile carried Crystal Golems, the blue crystalline figures shining with a psionic energy. The Fabool had the Mythril Golems, taller but lighter than their Iron cousins, able to morph themselves with liquid metal. And finally, Vorek’s own ship was carrying the newest model, Clockwork Golems, their parts having manual aspects alongside magic making them less magic-intensive on the upkeep, leaving them easier to be able to be controlled en masse.

The project leader, the Thaumaturge Jubel Glacos, arrived on the deck of Vorek’s ship with a Malgravean man, “Sir Vorek, this is Chou Jhoon, one of the main engineers of the project. It was him who made the breakthrough we needed for the Clockwork Golems.”

Jhoon bowed, “I used a mix of my studies on ancestral energy and the details you had on golems already in order to make these; they’ll have better coordination in larger groups than the previous models.”

“A form of this… what was it you called it? ‘Social Solidarity’?” Vorek still wished he had more troops, but he couldn’t deny the fine work they had done. “I command your work. So in that case, have you determined the Mages who will be coordinating them?”

“We have a few members of the Institute handling those on the other ships, Sir Vorek,” Jubel assured him, but as for these… well…”

“I intend on handling it myself,” Jhoon finished Jubel’s thought. “I might not be the most adept at ancestral energy, but I still have some ability at it, and nobody knows this design better than I do.”

“You have a son, right?” Jubel asked, “It will be dangerous there even for the support crew. Are you sure about this?”

“It’s because of Yu-Jun that I wish to do this,” Jhoon replied, “I wish for him to grow up in a world without threats like Grogar or Garyx. I originally came to Dyste to see if you would be able to help cure MIDD, but turns out I now have much more to look after here now!” Between being impressed with the work that Dystans had made with inventions with such energy, Sage Rylux’s Crescent’s efforts in curing MIDD, and finding love with a local and starting a family, Jhoon had properly immigrated to Dyste a few years ago.

“As long as you are capable of handling it, I am fine with the idea,” Vorek drew his blade, “Perhaps along the flight you might allow me to test my skills with one of them.” He wasn’t doing this solely to kill time or test his own abilities, but also see how well these golems stood up to a strong opponent and Jhoon’s own abilities in guiding them.

“Just please do not break them,” Jubel groaned, “I will be heading the Crystal Golems on the Previa, so I will leave you to it.” he left the two men to let them play with their new toys, as the ships took off for the Tambelonic front, where they would be put to the test…

[Imeriata]

Operation koursairs, Kouralia, 6th royal Ikashur regiment

Sha’Shan’s grey and black mustache bristled in the wind as he carefully awaited the order to advance, his keen green eyes survived the situation before him. The enemy was being assaulted by the regulars, catfolk like himself and several others of the night seeing species like Goblins, trolls, and dwarves kept up the assault, behind him did he know that humans, elves, and similar awaited the breaking of the dawn to launch their own assaults.

Around him on the other hand were the best of the best. Ikashur, proper ones too, not like those upstart catfolk grenadiers that had tried to usurp the name. No his warriors were temple trained and temple owned.

Owned was mostly symbolic nowadays he knew but he and his very much saw themself as part of the temple barracks they had been raised in. Sure people could leave now but such weaklings did he have no respect for. No, when he had been a proper fighter back in his youth had things been much better, he had been properly temple owned. Bought and paid for, raised from childhood and then trained hard.

These young ones did not know how good they had it nowadays with royal favor and krigsmakten rasing entire regiments of them to fight. In his youth people feared the extinction of their line of work, Scanderans had no use for slave warriors, they had even less use for Non-humans back in the day. How quickly things had changed in merely a few short decades Sha’Shan thought to himself as he saw non-humans carrying out brutal assaults on the enemy frontlines. Falling and dying in the snow, screaming their hatred and fury out as they threw themselves as fleshcast and metal monstrosities alike, an honour previously reserved for humans They had been born and raised under a king that held them as true subject as any human. And it had not made them weak.

“Sire?” A big burly Ikashur said wich draw Sha’Shan’s attention away from the battle, the large youth towered above him in his thick green fur lined tunic, his ornate turban seemed to have fur lined with it, partially to shield the Neko’s ears from the chilling wind and partially as an accessory, amongst the jewels, golden chains, and pearls that decorated the large turban. Next to the Neko stood a troll, not an Ikashur, no never, the temples bought only Nekos for the ranks of the temple owned. The troll was not even of the zunthaal but his grayish skin and black hair was braided in the Sashi fashion. His uniform and even armour was made in the style of Scandera. As was the heavy storm rifle he wore with what looked like a grenade barrel integrated into it, A new rifle designed for larger species meant to carry out assaults. Sha’Shan knew that the large unwieldy rifle was too big for him and his, but he cared not, he was certain that he could slap the upstart into submission would it come to it.

The troll gave them a bored look, before he glanced in the direction of the battle. Seemingly having taken in all he needed.
“No word on the assault just yet!” Sha’shan said to the younger neko, in the good old tongue rather than the zunthaal for the benefit of the troll.
“Will your men be ready?” He continued looking at the troll this time.
“Me and my assault section will be able to bring support…. sire squire lieutenant, worry not about that!” the troll said, hesitating a bit with the title, something that was understandable. He was a Scanderan warrior after all, molded in the Scanderan fashion, he would have expected to add a noble title to combine with the military one. The idea of a commoner in charge of a formation was quite an odd concept to him Sha’Shan knew, he could see the troll looking a bit conflicted as the large brute tried to figure out if there was any good way to add a double title. Ultimately the troll gave up and decided to not add anything but sire-squire lieutenant.

“SIRE! THE ORDER JUST CAME IN! WE HAVE BEEN DELEGATED A SECTION DETERMINED AS A WEAK SPOT! WE ARE TO ADVANCE!” A roar came from the radio operator and Sha’Shan gave his two companions a look.
“My men will prepare for the assault at your command my sire squire lieutenant!” the troll said with a quick nod and a wave of Sha’shans hand made the large lumbering beast start to head out, his heavy armour clanking as he moved and put on his helmet. Sha’shan could hear muffled conversation as the speakers in the helmet allowed him full contact with the rest of his squad. However what really drew Sha’shan’s eyes was the large fearsome axe that the beast slung over his shoulder as he readied his storm weapon.

“The divine manifestation?”
"They are awakned right now my sire squire lieutenant!” The radio operator said with a small hesitation as he checked, something that became obvious as a bright light shone up to their right and left as one of the large constructs became imbued with divine will and fury. This one in the image of the Fierce Unconquerable Sun, a golden teen with four arms, the straight sword of the sun realm and a small buckler in one set and a large bow in another. Even from here could Sha’shan see how the golden image of the God was awakened, filled with His power, yet Sha’shan had to struggle with the imagery and had to remind himself this was not Him, just His image. Even at the distance could he feel Him call for His warriors to do battle, the inspiration and the burning imagery filled him.
“THEN ORDER THE ADVANCE!” He hissed, drawing his own straight blade and roaring.
“ADVANCE IKASHUR! SHI-SHO! SHI-SHO! SHI-SHO!" he roared, a call that was slowly being taken up all along the line of elite Ikashur warriors and even amongst their attached troll allies.
"SHI-SHO! SHI-SHO! SHI-SHO!"

---

Operation koursairs, Kouralia, rear HQ

“My lord commander!” Came a voice as Harald was overlooking the reports that came in, she like most of her fellow officers were looking carefully at a map of the battlefield where small wooden cutouts depicting regiments were carefully moved around by adjutants who had access to precise positions. Currently the night assault continues with purpose as they had planned.

Having dropped the heavy fur coat allowed Harald to move more freely as her form fitting uniform were neither dragged down by the weight nor did she have to fear that the thick fur would get snagged in something.

“One moment!” She said as she continued to look over the expenditure of the ammunition and gave a curt nod to the adjutant who had handed her the paper, so far were the mules, and sleds able to keep up the barrage as they had prepared for. Ammunition seemed to be expended as they had foreseen, both through the continuous rate of fire that the artillerymen kept up and through expected counter battery fire as supply hubs or battery stores took hits of their own. Even the losses of animals and sleds were as expected as the brave fighters in the logistics also passed on. Of course the casualties were heavy, the federation bled for this push and it bled heavily. But it bled as well as they had planned.

Had she been a woman she would have been horrified at the numbers that came in, ammunition vanishing by the cartload every minute, men falling in horrific numbers, horses, oxen, mules, dragons, and mammoths all were falling next to the warriors.
Yet, ground was gained, that damned bell was within reach, what wonders could it tell them. What insights might the mages infer from it.
“Thank you, keep me informed about those numbers! Where is that report about the grenades? Yes what is it?” She finally said looking at the interrupting adjutant, she noted that he had her own rank embroidered on his left sleeve and a rather junior knot embroidered on his right, one of her’s then.

“The scouts came back with this report, my lord commander!” The adjutant said and held out an electronic warbook that showed an electronic map updated constantly depicting a black mist drawing closer and closer.

“Origin?” She said sternly, no this she did not like at all, it was outside of their plans. Yet, they had taken surprises into the considerations, she just hoped it was well within what they had prepared for.

“Unknown my lord commander! Could be the local spirits could be a hostile curse!”

She grunted in displeasure before she looked up towards the two Dornians, General Mercedes auf Graza and squire general Fyndor auf Stormcaller, one of them a woman in uniform, something that raised a bit of ire in her. Most of her men seemed to glance in the direction of the general at times, a combination of curiosity, condemnation, and distress. This was a place of warriors and there was men's work to be done. Of course nobody said anything but there was a hint of worry in the air and hope that the Gods of war would overlook this.

“Jungfrau General Auf Graza!” Harald said to get the attention of the Dornian woman, hybridizing the Imerian tradition of combining military and civilian titles with diplomatically keeping the foreign rank, something that was hard to translate anyway. At least she assumed the woman was unmarried.
“My Jungfrau General said your men wanted a chance to prove themselves in combat, from what I have seen have your men done well so far, Thusly do I have a new job for your men!” She continued. Holding forward the electronic war book where the approaching mist was clearly marked out, “I want some of my Jungfrau General’s dragon wings to approach this mist supporting three of my own dragon wings that will lead the reconnaissance-in-force, look into what this mist is and determine it's threat to our forces in the region, please inform them to keep our command in continuous communication with our command central as they approach and enter it, same as my own men, and explore what awaits us, if they face resistance that they cannot handle are they to withdraw as we formulate a response!” She finished, hesitated for moment before saying.
“It’s a dangerous duty but one I am sure my Jungfrau General’s men can accomplish, honour awaits those that return, tell them that any price rates will be increased at my expense!” She gave the general a short nod before turning back to the rest of her men.

“Tell my court mages to start scrying on the mist too, I want all the information we can get out of it as soon as possible, arcane and otherwise! And relay that information to the scouts that approaches” She continued before turning to the map, especially their own prepared defenses and entrenched lines that served as a springboard for their assault. Currently her men pushed forward hard in three directions, straight towards the bell itself but two other assaults were also pushing at the enemy’s flanks, intended to clear up room to maneuver and to create firing and flanking positions to aid the main assault.

Behind them though was a staggering and ever expanding position of federal fortifications and trench lines. “Tell our reserves to be at the ready, and draw up more of the strategic reserves in the rear, if this turns sour because of that thing do I want to have a fortified position to fall back to!” She ordered as she looked over the map once more trying to figure out what was happening.
“And tell the clerics and mages to be damned ready, if that thing turns out to be hostile do I want whatever spells we can get up and ready to protect our own soldiers! Best case I want them to be able to continue the push but I also want them to be able to withdraw unharassed if that first option turns out to be impossible!” She remarked before she once again looked to push. She saw how the man behind her saluted by striking his chest with his clenched fist, before turning away and she could hear his heavy leather boots hit the ground repeatedly as he withdrew to carry out her orders.
“Order 4th warhound attachment to advance here, that position is flesh cast according to the reports and the recent advance by the 67th regiment of the line should allow them to advance to the foe’s flank!” she remarked quickly, pointing to the map with her officer’s cane. Nods came around and orders were barked, another paper was handed her, a request for more ammunition and shells, all of it according to what they had planned. She nodded and the continuous grind of the advance continued, in the command positions just as it did in the brutal advance in the front.

---

Operation koursairs, Kouralia, Artillery Battery

Fredrik auf Haraldsberg directed his battery still, the brutal artillery duel was starting to take it’s toll as yet another artillery piece went up as a shell found it’s way past the dugouts their artillery hid in. He could, despite that, see how the men worked as if nothing happened. They pushed as the ball bearing mounts that the cannons were fixed on turned them around before the artillery pieces were raised with the pulleys and held in place with the adjustable poles. Workaround after workaround, not efficient and stuck, but the Imerians could return fire. And return fire they did, artillery roared in great numbers as howitzers unleashed hell, multiple self propelled shell launchers roared as unguided missiles flew off in huge numbers at enemy rear positions. One particular artillery piece he noted continued to throw minelayer shell after minelayer shell into the fray turning whatever supply lines that they could identify into horrific pathways of death. But for each shell that flew out, another came in, they could not run and instead he and his men continued to fire and put their faith to the Divine and whatever fortifications they had already dug.

[New Dornalia]

Somewhere near the frontlines

For the Dornalian side, Operation Boulder’s theater of violence and valor was moving apace. But while the Dornalian GIs were charging, fighting, and showing themselves as brave, overly eager fighters, more machinations were moving apace.

It appeared that several detachments of the Dragoon forces were reassigned to a new task.

And sure enough, the men and women of the Dornalian task forces arrived for their briefing. They were an interesting collection, for sure. The Commonwealthers in their neo-Kievan Rus wargear were the first to file in. Having doffed their helmets to see and hear what was going on, many of them bore the ears of elves--but many more bore the ears of elves and also wolves’ ears and tails as well. Meanwhile, the Dornalians came in, a mixture of men and women of all sorts entering the hangar, clad in the wargear which made them stand out from the rest. Finally, a group of Dornalians--some pale and others not--wearing a curious mixture of Dornalian military equipment and some tribal flourishes came into the room as well. The others paid them heed and did so with a bit of nervousness. The Dathomiri Rangers after all, never played when business came about.

In front of this particular group was one of the neo-Kievan Rus. Her bearing suggested a woman of high-born status, as did her insignia of rank and even some other customizations to her uniform. She stood, with a pointer and a powerpoint screen, showing off maps. Mercifully, the power point was brief, as she gave the briefing in a loud, booming voice which somehow came off as both Slavic and Scandinavian all at once. Next to him was a Dornalian man wearing Dornalian BDU’s but in lieu of an M1 Helmet, he wore a brown Stetson hat.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I am Polkovnik-Colonel Westfall-Tereshkova. You know who I am. You know my Dornalian Counterpart, Major Willis. We have fought together and bled together and supped together. Now, you will know the mission we are about to perform.

The long and the short of it is this. We will depart from this airstrip and augment a force of Imerian dragon-riders. We will conduct reconnaissance-in-force. We will determine if it is a threat. We will keep in contact with command. And, our orders say that if we face resistance too terrible to handle on our own, we will fall back and await instructions from above.”

The Commonwealthers and the Dornalians laughed at the last part, before the Polkovnik’s glare shut them up.

“Now, you know how to handle your mounts, you’ve done reconnaissance in force before. You know how the Imerians fight. You know that this is a dangerous mission. But I trust all of you to carry it out. No one here lacks courage. No one here has any sense of timidity. And all persons here know what to do when it is time to do it!” She then moved around and shut her pointer, pacing around the team and then with a look that dared the participants involved to do more and also looked like a proud parent, began to chant as she pointed to them all with an outstretched hand, moving from group to group as she spoke, entering into an old Dornalian ritual.

“Because you are all the ROLEX WEARING!”

At that, the assembled in the room shouted a feral, falsetto battle cry.

“WHOO!”

Now, Westfall-Tereshkova’s demeanor changed, and she developed a long grin across her face as she continued the old call-and-response ritual.

“DIAMOND RING WEARING!”

“WHOO!”

“KISS STEALING!”

“WHOO!”

“FIRE’ DEALIN’!”

“WHOO!”

“LIMOUSINE RIDIN’!”

“WHOO!”

“DRAGON RIDIN’!”

At that last part, the assembled seemed especially, enthusiastic.

“WHOO!”

“SONS OF MOTHERLOVIN’ GUNS!”

“WHOO!”

Then, the commander shouted a mighty conclusion, building to the climax of the ritual, as the energy of the room became inflamed with eager energy. Even the normally proud and taciturn Dathomiri Rangers looked emotionally invested, their faces showing loud and proud determination. The air was electric. And Westfall-Tereshkova was the electrician about to complete the circuit with a booming voice that carried far beyond the hangar.

“AND WE’RE HAVING A HARD TIME HOLDIN’ THESE ALLIGATORS DOWN!”

“WHOO!”

“NOW GIMME TWO CLAPS AND A RIC FLAIR!”

Two thunderous claps could be heard, and a loud, final, triumphant, energized, falsetto, “WHOOOOOOO!” could be heard, one that shook the hangar where they all sat.

Now, Westfall-Tereshkova looked motivated, and as fired up as the men and women under her charge. Raising her Combat Shotgun proudly, with its engraved, solid wood stock and foregrip, it’s proud blued finish, and most prominent feature, an affixed axe-bayonet head that made it look like the formidable melee weapon it was, the commander shouted out one last charge to her charges, lowering her voice to a dramatic whisper worthy of a Shakespearean actress.

“NOW, GO DOOOOOOOO……THAT VOOOOODOOOO….THAT YOU DOOOOOOO….SOOOOOO WELLLLL!”

The Dornalians then fell out to a man shouting various war cries, rushing to their dragon mounts, putting on their helmets, and making all due preparations with all due speed. The dragons, which had been resting and getting ready to go, were stirred by their masters’ determination. It proved infectious; the Dragons roared and seemed to grin at the prospect of action.

Then, once the forces were prepared, the Dragons would wait for the signal--and when given, they took flight, moving in majestic formation to their goal.

As Westfall-Tereshkova flew on her steed, Alyosha, she grinned mightily. Grogar was mighty. But her ancestors, both Dornalian and Old Kadrian, had felled mighty foes before. She knew the Imerian orders were clear. Fall back if resistance was too great. And those were sensible orders. But if the Dragoons were to fall back, then they would make Grogar’s hordes that much thinner in the process.