The Fate Of The Islands (Closed, ATTN: Rintyar)

[Alduinium]

“So what’s the nature of our current situation, for those who are late to the party?”

“Have you looked out a window by any chance?”

There was a deep amount of worry among the military command of the Dragon States, or what was left of it.

Catedonian Military Command in particular could do nothing more than hear about the impending apocalypse back home, unable to help, or perhaps unwilling to share the same fate, as their fellow countrymen.

Currently convened in one of its many bunker-headquarters, much of its leadership already looked tired, burned out, staring at one another across a rustic wooden table, otherwise surrounded by thick concrete walls and magic to keep the outside from listening in.

“Any and all communications between CMC and Keizaal Military Command have been cut off entirely. The homeland is under attack by the Star Gods, and more likely than not their slaves in Mystria will be coming here soon, with Tizoc as their willing puppet. This is the twilight of the world, ladies and gentlemen, there is no other way to put it. Although we currently amass a combined 800,000 soldiers as part of both the Dragon States military and the Catedonian Colonial Security Forces, it is unlikely that we will be able to recruit or reinforce ourselves with other colonial subjects or homeland forces.”

General Stohl spoke, his words blunt and simple, though his tone was as commanding as ever.

“We can conscript anywhere from four hundred to six hundred thousand troops from the cities as part of our further crisis planning, the reliability of any soldiers from outside of the cities is at best questionable.

“So, we have half an army left to fight multiple Mystrian nations. Lovely.”

“Would you prefer to have your heart torn out without a fight, Erling?”

“Clearly not. But there is no clear path to victory here. They are already guarded by their slave-masters. What else is there to do but try and delay the inevitable.”

“They do not have the heart to truly take Catedonia, I suspect. Their slaves will take many losses even if they successfully breach the coasts. So long as we make an effective defense and prepare for any insurgency operations, they will be more pliable to offers of a settled peace instead of our destruction. After all, only one of them has any reason to want to see this war to its very end.”

“General! General!”

A voice rang out from outside the room, begrudgingly allowed in by security. When a young naval officer entered, they all looked annoyed.

“Naval Command has begun its general launch procedures. They are now launching 553 missiles at Mystria currently. Submarine fleet has fired with Cult and State permission approximately two minutes ago!”

Annoyance rapidly turned to shock.

***

Alduin lay within Blackreach, now a temple to his administrators and himself. They did not speak to him, he called them to do as he said. That was the way of the tyrant who could not be matched by lesser menials.

Dov were creatures that existed in and around time, normally immune to its inherent decay. Alduin was no different, glowing red eyes scanning the Necrontyr abomination deep in the distance. They were the only truly visible part of him in the depths of the ancient Dwarven city, cannibalized long ago for the Dragon cult’s needs.

His voice was a cacophony of power now, his very voice threatening to shake the world apart. If the Tomb Stalker’s voice was destructive, Alduin’s was downright apocalyptic.

“[Worthless words from a lesser kind of husk. Do not speak Akatosh’s name with your pathetic voice.]”

All of Keizaal felt his words, felt his very body rouse itself from beneath Blackreach.

“[I grow complacent no longer! I will bring the end of all your pathetic slaves, much as you have brought about the end of mine!]”

When he finally raised himself from Blackreach, the entire cave tore itself apart. Out came a monstrous creature, fed with the souls of millions upon millions in the span of centuries. Several hundred feet of timeless hatred emerged from its cocoon, rage now burning in its heart.

“[That you were too weak to defend your own slaves is not my fault. It is natural that my servants would act without my doing, so long as they SERVE!]”

The Tyrant had finally awoken, watching his very empire finally collapse, now left with only the goal of finishing the destruction that was foretold.

***

Vahzen expected the betrayal of the Thalassians, and like any good Dragon Priest, spite was to be returned with spite. But at the same time, she would need to spend her time with the dreadful creatures of the underdark.

They were a foul race, utterly dominated mentally by fleeting pursuits of dominance. The very indulging of themselves onto one another, be it an equal or a slave, as a concept, utterly disgusted her. It was one thing to waste one's life, but to waste it in the fruitless pursuit of momentary pleasure, or worse yet, bringing more life into this miserable world, was enough to keep Vahzen's face curled into a frown underneath her mask.

In spite of this, she was all too happy to lead them to victory over the Rintyari and Undercities. They were, after all, kindred spirits in their hatred for the weak, Vahzen was just better at actually doing what had to be done.

Nonetheless, she stood in the midst of the palace of their latest queen. Lavishly decorated with silver and gold, and built by the few artisans that the city could afford to maintain.

Burya Dyrr, once a sibling among dozens, now the last of her line. Those who did not die of poison in their meals or a knife to their neck in their slumber were killed directly by the Matriarch of the most militant of the Great Houses of the Cursed City.

She was, in spite of this, in a curious condition. Much of the muscle she once commanded in her younger years was now beginning to fade, either because of her lavish tastes or perhaps disinterest. She had taken to painting her lips a black hue, makeup applied deeply across her skin, her body lavishly decorated in material wealth. She wore a variation of the armor her ancient ancestors wore, a muscle cuirass of exquisite detail, if no longer as true a reflection of the physique underneath. All of this was topped off with perhaps the earliest of crowns, the very circlet gifted by Cynisca to the first Queen of the Drow.

All feared her, all knew better than to cross her path. But even she knew when her better approached, un-intruded by her guards or defenses, less they face the wrath of the Outsider.

The Warmistress sat upon her throne, surrounded by slaves, servants and guards all performing their duties. Not one looked into Vahzen’s eyes, almost pretending as if she had no presence.

“Your army has set forth without you?”

“I have sent them forth. My daughter will lead the attack, I must stay here.”

For all of the Matriarch’s commanding presence, Vahzen knew the full truth. One doesn’t merely kill most of their family without having, or developing, a fear of meeting the same end. Behind every door waited a dagger or a gun, in her eyes.

“Of course. Have the Demonslayer Corps been destroyed?”

“No. Many have fled to Cylakadaemos. They will make a stand there, most likely.”

Vahzen’s frown turned into a scowl, unseen but clearly felt.

“Then they know you are coming?”

“Yes. It will not matter, we have many ways to breach their city.”

“That is not important. What is important is that you do not lose most of your invasion force fighting one single city. A task made much more difficult by the presence of the demonslayers there-”

And in that moment, Vahzen felt two things. First, she felt the arrival of some very powerful beings, mythic in nature, further above them, separated by several million tons of rock.

The other thing she felt was the pulse of magic and other hateful powers as she felt Tizoc’s presence move about.


Her face went from a scowl to a wicked grin, unseen but felt yet again.

“Hrm, nonetheless, proceed as planned. You will have the Undercities to yourself once again. Do as I have foretold, and there may yet be another Cyniscan Queen of the Drow.”

“I am well aware. I would like to be left alone, as I prepare to bask in victory. I must make *preparations* for myself.”

Vahzen could not help but roll her eyes. All of her efforts, and this was the best she could get in terms of a proper ruler. She would at least serve as a useful puppet for the time being.

“I will make sure everything goes to plan, as per my designs.”

The words chosen were deliberate, immediately bringing forth a look of annoyance from the Warmistress. But before she could contest the Outsider, she vanished, almost fading out of existence.

[The Ctan]

Loshana Town, Raqia, Altean Confederation

Thia Galanodel would regret the day, despite a performance that many would consider utterly stellar. She wasn’t the only one, but she was one of the diviners that had been included on the urgent call to act as a goalkeeper for the dozens or even hundreds of nations in the Mystria and Pony Realms region. Her consciousness could dragnet a lot of information, and she was able to see the neat future in flashes when she wished to.

The neural crown on her head turned these flashes into actualized images and extrapolated features to a global map. These were compared with coastlines, landmarks and more.

She saw the movements of the teleporting missiles before they happened.

The ships in orbit took these visions and triangulated them, slant-firing ablation beams through the atmosphere at areas the missiles would pass through. These were on a wide-angle, covering arcs tens of kilometres across and as much high, where civilian air traffic did not enclose it.

Of the five hundred and thirty-three launches, many were foreseen and caught on the upswing, and more than a few ships were caught in the fire from above - they were far less cautious about the submarines of course than they were about air traffic - while most were caught in their teleportation phases, finding themselves appearing within ablation beams.

But it wasn’t flawless.

The plan had been implemented before shield grids had been upgraded after the Imerians had used a similar weapon against the Atumites, but it had largely been replaced by the shields protecting regional interests.

Of the original five hundred missiles, four made it through.

Blackreach, Keizaal

A claw larger than Alduin’s body came toward him, fields of compression and spacetime manipulation enclosing him in forces that would pulverise basalt and turn adamantium to dust.

The Tomb Stalker did not care what he had to say. The Tomb Stalker had no slaves, of course.

Alduin was gorged on the souls of millions, but it too had overseen millions of deaths, when it had overturned the city of Kharnet-Bin in the War in Heaven, and reduced the temples of Ujola to flinders beneath its stomping feet during the Great Misrule as their inhabitants wept in uncomprehension, for it had cast down temples raised in the honour of its cruel masters, the C’tan.

It did not care about the morality of these acts. It did not care for the penitence of the C’tan nor did it comprehend the reasons for the new mores of this age. It was aware that it had performed its function many times. It knew that times had changed, for it had been monitored to accept non-necrontyr as friends and to protect them.

They revived it from time to time, and its consciousness interfaced with others of its kind, it received praise and affection, and regular upgrades, and it dreamed. In its dreams, it simulated combat with possible foes. It dreamed of fights like this in a cycle of consciousness sharpening, training and practice. In its ‘waking’ hours its consciousness roved from its body to spar against its fellows and externally simulated enemies. From time to time it flitted into a smaller replica of itself three feet wide and bumped its still quite large head against children on Duat when it was in low states of readiness.

It knew when the tiny things that kept it had been pleased with it. They had asked it to bring this lizard to them. It did not have the sapience to ask why, but it had a will to do so. It did not have the slightest interest in Alduin’s words.

Its mind was like an organic animal's, but only with those desires that complemented its creativity. It felt hope, but had no pathways for fear to travel, it felt joy but was incapable of loneliness, it felt anticipation without want. This emotional range drove its combative creativity, allowing it to comprehend its task, to improvise and adapt.

Right now, it was going to catch this lizard.

It snapped its claws toward his muzzle, to hold his mouth shut. It moved with a startling striking speed, like deep-sea shrimp. It knew that he needed to speak to use his supernatural abilities, it would cut this off first.

Its internal gloom prism, a short-range nullification weapon, pulsed furiously as it did so, waves of imposed reality, the law of atom and photon strengthened, the law of resonance and aura deadened.

And it threw itself upon him, its weight was massive, like being assaulted by a mountain, it moved with a single goal in its mind, to close his mouth, to grip his jaws in its vice-like grip to cut off any articulate sound, and to pin him against the mountainside.

[Tlahtohcatlalli]

Tizoc sighed as he returned to the fold of one of the most isolated and secured Insurgency strongholds. Teleporting in was simple provided one was aware of its existence, as it was effectively buried and hidden away with magic beneath the earth, the last remnants of an ancient tomb buried in one of many treacherous jungles, distant from the heartland of the Catedonian empire. What few entrances linked it to other tunnels and entrances were heavily guarded, accessible only by particularly trustworthy individuals.

Who it belonged to was unknown, only that a once rich Catedonian noble had decorated his tomb elaborately with many of his belongings, left unmarred by time, celebrating his life and death with great merriment. Judging by the many elaborate paintings of combat, perhaps he would have tolerated the slight tarnishing of his resting place given the cause they fought for, but Tizoc had his doubts.

To be frank, Tizoc would rather not have wasted time teleporting here, especially not with the world outside of Catedonia now facing destruction. He had everything he needed to at least strike at Xoteca and other major cities, thousands of insurgents, thousands of guns, and it seemed the Great Civilization planned to bring with it its own strikes. But with the increased activity, the reinforcing of said cities as it seemed their security forces began to pull back from any area but the roads and major locations in preparation for a greater conflict? It was if nothing else a significantly more worrying prospect to finally strike at the cities than ever before.

The Prince of Xoteca looked as he always did, immaculately clean, shaven of all facial hair, a dull cloak obscuring his full body from view, less out of modesty and more to hide his various princely adornments, each keeping him in such condition. In spite of all of that, the rigors of battle showed themselves, scars healed through Catedonian magic leaving only slight marks on his face.

It was, as per usual, terribly messy in the planning room, multiple maps of paths known only to the insurgency shown atop a round table in the center of the room, lying atop what was once a stone casket. Some of his commanders, generally older, covered in similar cloaks as him, surrounded it. For much of his time, they merely tried to avoid catastrophe, but now they sought to truly win this war now that it seemed possible once more.

He had summoned the foreign advisors that were sent to him over time, or at least the ones that were not currently occupied elsewhere. Some had just barely arrived in theater, some had been here at least a year, but in one way or another, they would all ultimately have to talk to him about their activities at the end of the day. And today, there were a great many things to talk about.

Within a few moments, Tizoc would be able to note the arrival of the Malgravean advisor to his resistance, a small neko who after being dropped into Catedonia alongside the ERIS had introduced herself as Claudia Cavalcante, a representative of the International Operations Committee selected for this particular assignment due to the simple fact that she had previously been an insurgent herself before she had agreed to join the IOC after the abolition of the SIS.

"I apologise for taking a bit of time to respond to your summons, however, I was in the middle of reminding a group of recruits about the importance of situational awareness," Claudia said, the neko shaking her head lightly as she remembered the shocked looks on the recruits face after they finally became aware they had walked into a mock ambush, "All learned quite a valuable lesson and are making steady progress into becoming effective soldiers,"

Another advisor soon appeared, this one as tall as the neko was small. One would almost mistake her for a Kouralian, given the woman’s athletic build and rather practical fatigues. Of course, given that this figure was mixed with unusually good looks which seemed more appropriate for a fashion magazine than a combat zone, shocking platinum blonde hair, a stern expression to match, Multicam patterning on her clothing, and finally a Kalashnikov pattern rifle with plenty of spare magazines, the woman was obviously a Dornalian. She gave everyone a polite nod, and went, in a Slavic accent, “My apologies for being late. Ekaterina Tereshkova, reporting as requested.” She then added, “Just had to coordinate some of the shipments and other personnel coming in. Between the various supply drops with stealth Pelicans, and overseeing the teaching of gunnery and explosives to the troops… it has been an interesting time.” She then turned and nodded to Cavalcante going, “I see the training is going well on your end.”

Claudia bowed slightly towards her colleague, a small friendship having formed between the two since they had met earlier before their arrival in Catedonia, “It has been made easier due to your supply drops and the sheer passion of the recruits, although, I suspect many did not expect their instructor to be a small Malgravean,” the neko said with a small smile, “It is certainly better to have these learning experiences in training as opposed to the field, now, they’ll have greater odds of survival in the battles to come,”

Tizoc notably looked irritated by the lack of the other arrivals, though he was sure they had their reasons for now. Nonetheless, he turned his attention to the two, trying to gauge their knowledge.

“What exactly has spurred the Dragon States to act so brazenly against the rest of Mystria? Do you have any idea what could have prompted them to strike? My own spies tell me they have not moved any forces from Catedonia to Rintyar, so it could not possibly have been for expansion.” Tizoc walked towards them, the advisors nonetheless stared upon by multiple gazing, invisible eyes.

“Madness? It is hard to predict the actions or motivations of an irrational actor,” Claudia said with a shrug, the neko quite unfettered by the eyes after her experiences with intrusive intelligence services back home, “It is almost like they were courting a massive retaliation, as anyone with a modicum of intelligence would have been able to predict that striking against the DSA with counter-strikes, of course, this disregard for their own population is something that can be used in the coming weeks.”


“My people would have to concur. There’s no rational explanation for why the Dragon States launched their strikes as they did. Nor is there any rational explanation for why the C’tan have opted to neutralize the DSA’s counterstrikes and then proceed with their own actions.” The Dornalian added, “One would logically surmise that for the C’tan to have acted as they did, they may have wanted to prevent the escalation of hostilities--perhaps in anticipation of an automated retaliatory system possessed by the Dragon States, magical or otherwise, that would have caused grave risk to the region. That is one theory--the other is that given the Dragon States is simply feeling aggressive. We’re considering all possibilities.”

“Or perhaps one of their many priests has finally decided to take matters into their own hands” Tizoc said, still frowning as he thought about the incident further. “The amount of power bestowed upon their greater priesthood is nothing short of startling, as those embedded within have reported back. That said, I don’t know who would risk their power to such an extent, not even the Pale Horse would think of something so mad.”

Claudia nodded in agreement with Tizoc’s assessment of the situation, the advisor having read a few reports that dived into what was known about the internal structure of the DS from what little sources were available, “If the strike was carried out independently then that suggests a major power play is in the works and Catedonia could become a focus of these efforts,” the neko reasoned, “In such a situation I imagine that we could have to contend with reinforcements albeit a more disjointed effort if various priests use this chaos as an opportunity to claim power for themselves.”

“I see.” Ekaterina nodded, stroking her chin and going, “A priestly caste with untold power… including access to atomic weaponry or its equivalent? And one of them deciding to start a world war because of some inscrutable motive?” She then said, “That is a disquieting thought.” She briefly had a thought of the Order and the role it played in society, but quickly extinguished the thoughts. As strong and influential as the Order could be, they were nowhere near as insane, overpowered, or monstrous as the Dragon States’s priestly caste was.

“They would not risk their own holdings over various lands like this, not in such a haphazard way. Something wicked is at play here, but I do not understand what.” Tizoc added, realizing that for now, there was no real answer to his question.

“As for Catedonia itself, we are in a precarious situation. I hold many followers and fighters across the country, but our ability to hold territory against the much stronger Colonial forces is difficult. If Rintyar does plan to wage war against their forces here, it will be extremely difficult to gain a foothold, much as it is difficult for me. They are a modern fighting force, supplied with foul magics and unending hordes of machines, mercenaries from foreign lands, and many more loyal locals and foreigners. We will need to coordinate effectively to not shed as much blood as we would otherwise.”

“Considering their irrational actions so far, it is quite hard to predict which holdings they will put value behind, for example I doubt they’d incite a nuclear response if they had any long-term plans for their original holdings,” Claudia said with a shrug, the neko remembering multiple conversations she had with her colleagues complaining about the irrational nature of their opponents, “In my homeland we have a saying, spero optimum, consilium ad pessim or hope for the best, plan for the worst, now, I don’t know much about the Rintyari as they haven’t contributed much to recent military conflicts due to their own precarious situation, however, I doubt that they’d attempt to single-handedly launch an invasion of Catedonia as that would be quite irrational.”

Claudia then paused for a few seconds as she contemplated the next stage of operations and what she had been informed about her own countries involvement in such offensive actions,

“Malgrave is presently engaged in rather fierce combat in our own territories, however, despite such pressures I know that my superiors are willing to commit additional support in the form of Special Operations Sections and our Royal Marines,” the neko said before quickly adding, “It has been suggested that seizing a port would be ideal, as it would allow these locations to be quickly reinforced with allied soldiers and reduce casualties typically associated with contested amphibious assaults.”

There was a rustle and the sound of footsteps as a new person entered the room, a surprisingly young looking Bovinian man with tall horns and ruffled brown hair, in a white jacket which had “Bisrick” sewn on the chest, and a deep green shirt, finishing the outfit with brown combat pants and a rifle slung across his back. He set a file down on the table as he interrupted the meeting. “Sorry, but these tunnels aren’t as easy to traverse as the ones in RA,” he said, pointing to the file. “Read it and burn it, Prince, this is Need To Know Only. Everything the DSA knows about the whys and wherefores of the nuclear attack. It’s best summarized as ‘Alduin or his minions wanted to eat a billion souls in a few hours and ascend to greater godhood.’ Luckily for you, Prince, this means most of the various members of the DSA are on board fully now.”

“That can’t be right. If they wanted to eat a billion souls they would have launched everything by now, not a limited strike. Whoever did this did not do so with the consent of their false god.” Tizoc scratched his chin, looking at the new arrival with some puzzlement. He had a hard time believing such a youthful sort was a military advisor, nor that they were truly Bovinian, given their lithe frame.

“As for taking a port city… that would be an extremely difficult affair. We would need to devote a significant amount of manpower to such an attack, and we would be attacked and surrounded by all sides in the process. Even with immediate reinforcements, it would be a brutally difficult fight ahead, one in which we would be at significant disadvantages at all levels. Once we start, the Alduinites will stop at nothing until we are destroyed.”

Tizoc didn’t sound exceptionally confident about the plan, least of all given how heavily it would rely on his insurgency to take up the brunt of the fighting it seemed.

“Nonetheless, taking at least several coastal areas, as well as land close to MIauku, will have to be a priority then if we want to succeed, but I will need to know when and how you plan on arriving to Catedonia with a significant enough force. They still lord over the sea, skies and ground here, largely.”

“They were counting on the counter-strike,” the bovinian said with a sigh. “Their subs, apparently, don’t need authority from the central government to fire, and every soul apparently makes their dragon god stronger. They were going to feed him all of their own people, and use it as context to try and feed him… everyone in the Dragon Sea Alliance, I suppose. Intel is murky.

“As for the ports, I agree with Prince, in part. It’s too risky. Central has provided a plan, though. Prince, if your forces got, say, a couple dozen kilos of PX5, could you eliminate the fortified defenses on Nizuc?”

“Destroying them would be difficult but doable, the real issue lies in their ability to respond and send forces immediately to any crisis. Once they hear of an assault, they will send everything at their disposal to fight and force you back to the beaches. They will not stop until they, or you, are all dead, they will defend their ill-earned holdings no matter the cost.”

Tinges of guilt seemed to show themselves on Tizoc the more he stared at the Bovinian. It was clear that the situation had hurt him in some way, but he steeled himself before long.

“They will fight to the bitter end now. We would do best to assume they will fight until they have nothing left to fight with.”

“We already are,” the Rohanian advisor replied, a steely look in his eyes. “It is our full intent to see the Dragon States removed from this nation, by whatever means short of genocide become needed. You get us a safe place to land, and you’ll have what you need to create a free Catedonia, Prince.”

"Looks like our theory about a Dead Hand system was partly correct, and my guess about a rogue general acting with inscrutable motives disturbingly close to the truth." Ekaterina then said, getting to the point and to all involved, using a pet euphemism for the Dornalian Intelligence Community's involvement, "As discussed potentially before, my contacts with various…elements of the Dornalian Government and private sector can secure you with real time, up to date GEOINT--er, real time up to date geospatial intelligence specific to Catedonia and enemy movements, with appropriate context. If we have not done so already--and I was advised Admiral Krueger provided such information to the parties here already--we can get it to you now and for the duration of hostilities." Pulling out what looked like a small laptop, Ekaterina added, "These devices should have been included among the aid shipments my colleagues and I have provided. Secure communications devices using sophisticated one-time-pad based encryption, operating on what certain partners of mine call the 'Sledgehammer Network'. You can keep this one, Your Highness. My colleagues can provide such GEOINT using these devices and any other means you possess…" She then added, eyeing the Malgravean and Rohanian in the room, "...along with any our allies possess. Anyway, it updates in real time, and it will track enemy movements down to the squad level."

Ekaterina then added, "I am sure the assembled don't need the advantages such real-time updates provide for targeting spelled out for them--especially in support of Resistance operations to divert enemy attention and stymie their response to a DSA and even GC assault, no?" She then added, "This would be on top of infiltrating further special operations personnel into the area of operations. Dornalian or otherwise."

Claudia bowed slightly towards the Rohanian as he entered, the neko burying a tinge of annoyance she felt as her initial proposal was effectively steamrolled in the course of a few seconds,

“Intelligence currently indicates that their ability to contest control of the oceans has been seriously diminished following a series of attacks against their surface fleet and their situation will only worsen once surface vessels from allied forces begin arriving in the region in greater numbers,” Claudia said, “Malgrave also noted the worrying operational independence of these submarines, so as soon as we became aware of the attack on Rintyar we began hunting down these submarines with our own naval assets in the region, a task which has been made easier thanks to the intelligence that we have received from this GEOINT,”

A few seconds passed before Claudia took out her own electronic device, although, one that looked more like a small tablet as opposed to a laptop and was a fair bit more rugged and steampunk looking in design,

“In terms of secure communications, we have also been able to secure quite a few MalTec Puffins for use by your insurgent voices,” Claudia said placing her model in front of Tizoc for his inspection, “You can engage in secure video or audio communications with other electronic devices, plus they are quite sturdy as they’ve been thoroughly tested in battlefield conditions both in Malgrave, Crystal Spires and Kouralia over the past few decades. I imagine they’ll be quite useful additions to your resistance outposts, especially, as they are virtually impossible to crack,”

“Thank you, for all of your aid, it will be put to good use. Given the width of Catedonia’s coast, and the sheer amount of Dragon States loyal forces here, it is likely we will need to do many preparations along the coast then, raids and the destruction of enemy defenses along the coasts likely being the top priority. We’ll need to time it closely to any invasion plans as well, which I assume will not come particularly quickly, given the suddenness of… all of this, really?”


“In usual circumstances that would be correct, however, due to recent events in Silverdale and now the assault on over overseas territories, the various branches of the Malgravean military have been in a heightened state of readiness for quite a while and were in the process of moving towards total mobilisation even before the Dragon States decided to unleash their arsenal against the Rintyari,” Claudia explained, “I have been informed that Malgrave should be able to divert a couple of Corps of Royal Marines that were previously activated for the Silverdalean front to assist in any operation here in Catedonia, although, I defer to my colleagues as to when their forces will be ready,”

“This is true of Rohane Alista, as well,” the bovinian confirmed with a nod. “There had yet to be a stand down order post-Winter War, while the response to Grogar was being considered. Drawing up the proper plans may still take a short while, but implementing them should be fairly swift.”

"I see. In that case we should try and maximize our advantages wherever possible until the strike begins in earnest. I'll instruct most of our city-wide cells to lie in wait, our rural forces will need to watch for any potential attacks in the meantime. We can pursue raids against supply depots and other important equipment in the meantime, though I must take care of an important deed deep within Xoteca soon."

He pointed to the map his officers watched carefully, deep in the heart of Catedonia. It was quite a distance away from their current location, and an even greater one from the coasts. The city upon which Catedonia was founded, and where the great temple of his patron god stood.

“Xoteca? It is quite isolated from the coast itself and our present location,” Claudia said, taking a look at the map in greater detail to look at any rivers that flowed towards the founding city of Catedonia, “I imagine that you have got important business within the Great Temple? If so I can assist with this insertion, it is something of a speciality of mine,”

"It is a personal matter. There is something of great importance that I must find there. The temple lies silent in the heart of the city, its original purpose abandoned. I must find out why." Tizoc kept his explanation brief. "In my brief absence, you will have free reign to aid Catedonia and fight the occupiers and their forces as you see fit, so long as it does not weaken or waste much of our strength or contradict my commanders decisions."

“I imagine that you will still require some assistance slipping into Xoteca itself, especially, when you consider the no-doubt increased efforts the Dragon States will put into capturing or elimination you to weaken your resistance movement,” Claudia said rather plainly having encountered such issues during her own life as an insurgent, “I have zero plans of getting involved in these personal affairs, however, I think it would be prudent to ensure that you can travel to this temple free from harm, so I will insist on at least partially escorting you during this excursion,”

“My squad and I will remain behind,” the Rohanian said. “However, should you wish some extra protection, AMTF squad five is available to you for this.”

“I’ll need to travel as light as possible, Xoteca is deeply protected. If one of you insists on coming, that’s about as much as I can afford to bring with me.”

“I can send one of my people to follow you. She will help you.” Motioning to the side, a Dornalian gata dressed in local clothes with sunglasses and no visible weaponry appeared. With respectful nods exchanged, Ekaterina said, “This is Operations Inspector Laura Gernsbach, from the PIS Joint Communications Tactical Team operating under my peoples’ command. She can accompany you, and help ensure your safety.” Turning to Laura, Ekaterina added with a grin, “I would have preferred you working directly for my people, but I can understand why McClung poached you for her pet project.”

“Well, someone had to keep the wi-fi going and the hunting handguns shooting when stakeouts got violent, and I happened to fit the bill. Besides, I wouldn’t mind some action” The Inspector then turned to Tizoc and said, with a respectful nod, “Honor and a pleasure, sir.”

Tizoc sighed. He had to admit, he wasn't actually used to foreigners sticking their necks out for him without the promise of pay…

"Fine. We can take most of the path through the tunnels, but we'll have to teleport across the final leg into the temple itself. We’ll need to make an escape plan in case my plan fails as well, they’ll likely try and march in as many forces as possible if they find our presence there.”

[Rohane Alista]

The sensors on the IRN Queen Mythra began going wild with missile alerts, rapid communications with the rest of the Jacobi Turak Strike Group in the seas south of Rohane Alista soon backed up by reports from the IRN Queen Marron. Several missiles had appeared, seemingly from nowhere, a thousand miles south of Rohane Alista at most, and were making rapid progress towards the nation, when dozens of them were suddenly cut down, yet two slipped through whatever net had caught the majority.

It didn’t take the experimental AI systems on the two Consort-class heavy cruisers to recognize that these were the fearsome teleporting missiles of the Dragon States. Why they had appeared so far from Rohane Alista was anyone’s guess, though the AI instantly theorized it was to give the Anti-Magic Zone over the nation a wide enough berth to not risk instant failure as it plotted the trajectories. One missile for Calihain; one missile for Alistara.

This information was all communicated to the bridge of the IRN Jacobi Turak in mere moments, where the human mind slowed the process, just slightly, orders shouted and communications opened with land, sea, and space based defenses. In Calihain, in the Ministry of Defense, automated procedures activated, causing a near instant transformation far out of sight.

As the missiles roared forth, soon passing into the Anti-Magic Zone of the nation, satellites whirred into motion, smaller models that were unmanned, operated entirely by computer, finding the missiles with a wide array of sensors, infrared, visible light, ultraviolet, and more, as all magical cloaking fell away, and fed all that information into ground and sea based defenses. Several dozen systems came alive across the southern reaches of Rohane Alista, but these were the backup systems.

Out at sea, on small islands, some man-made and some natural, batteries roared to life, and lasers fired, trajectories plotted by the Consort-class ships fed into their aiming systems, near-instant adjustments made based on the information from the satellites. These were joined by thousands of tiny, harmless tracking lasers from ships and stationary defenses, providing a nanosecond by nanosecond update on the missile’s progress.

The missiles roared over the sea, and the one in the front, headed for Calihain, had a laser rip through its fuselage, sending it tumbling into the ocean, firing mechanism and engine destroyed, exploding harmlessly as the warhead spiraled into the water to be recovered later. In moments, as the second missile passed into Rohanian air space, it too was torn apart by a laser, suffering the same fate as its sibling; the daggers to the heart of Rohane Alista had been stopped just in time.

------

This didn’t stop the news from breaking across the nation; headlines like “Nuclear Strike Foiled Just South of Alistara” and “Dragon States Make Direct Strike For Calihain” soon flooded the news, and from there, videos and articles were posted to social media sites. On ValCafe, an amateur video from the back of a fishing boat went viral, as it showed a warhead splashing into the ocean. On talk shows, anchors and guests debated if Rohane Alista had just proven itself safe, or vulnerable. In the halls of power, quiet and fierce debate raged.

Over the coming days, a single feeling took hold of the populace of the nation, spreading through its ships and bases on distant shores, its tired soldiers still recovering from the Winter War, its horrified sons and daughters abroad or right there in its own heartlands; someone had to pay, and that someone was the Dragon States and its leaders.

[Imeriata]

Imeriata proper, Flodamarken, early spring in the year of our kingdom 1548

The days had once again returned to the home continent after the night winter had finally passed as the guest of the Imerian crown was for once let out of the castle on a ride. The weather was as expected still very chilly and the air was wet. It was hard to put one’s finger on but it was between a mist and a light drizzle. The road they followed was paved with stone but outside of the road were the flooding storfloden turning most of the land into a marsh or a field of mud as the rain and large river was quickly dragging the snow of the winter down to the sea. It was the old story that had repeated itself since before history was first carved into stone. Meltwater and rain made the rivers that gave the river kingdom its name flood and the thunderous mass of water filled the air with its roar.

On the other side of the river stood the woodlands of the region, dark and leafless trees held their silence and cast damp silhouettes against the darkening sky. However despite the damp and the chill the party pressed on, the foreign princess leading the way behind her being a few guides and bodyguards and heralds.

The crown prince Björn that had joined the trip kept her company behind wrapped with a thick waxcoated cloak that kept him warm and out of the rain while a broad brimmed hat kept his face out of the worst rainfall. The white plume of feathers though seemed at this point to be damp and heavy.

Around them and spread out in a protective grid could one see riders of the army acting as bodyguards, either wearing the cuirassier uniforms of the high guard or a large collection of lancers from the second army that by tradition was the personal army of the heir assumptive. A few even flew the standards of the royal family, silver, eagle gold crowned in the silver helmet and the prince's personal standard waves of blue and silver with the same eagle of gold emblazoned upon it. However the crown of the high king had been replaced with the one from the old river kingdom.

Falconers and dogs also ran with the group would the idea to hunt strike their fancy and a few automobiles with food and drink dutifully kept up the speed in the rear would a break be required.

“Ah, if your royal princess looked over yonder could you see a river wolf, a predator native to the home continent!” The prince called out and pointed towards the lake where on the shore a long and flat furry creature with short stubby legs and a wide tail seemed to look up from its resting place and gave the humans a suspicious look as it rose up prepared to bolt into the lake if they approached. If the prince had spotted it himself or if he had just been told over radio however was up for debate.


Anastasia, crown princess of Rohane Alista, looked over, though those behind her would have difficulty telling exactly where she was looking on accord of her slightly oversized pink raincoat, clearly something brought from home with the clashing of styles on display. The pony she was riding was smaller than the horses of the rest of those of the party, a necessity given her smaller stature and earlier age. Still, she commanded it surprisingly well for a child as it trotted along at the head of the pack.

Soon she seemed to grow bored of the river wolf, scanning the trees for signs of birds, finding none and turning to her guardian instead. “Grandma,” she said softly, shivering again. “Why is it so cold here?”

The dark-skinned woman in a blue dress had mostly seemed bored by the whole affair, but still kept close to her granddaughter, “Well, Ana,” Marron replied, “Some places are just colder than Rohane Alista is. Silverdale’s also pretty cold; that’s where your great-grandparents are from.” She did hope she’d get a chance to introduce Ana to her mother once all of this was gone. “I’m pretty used to it, but that’s why you gotta keep bundled up.”

“And this is still warm, go further north and you can find lands where the snow never melts and the people living there wear thick fur from the skin of seals year around!” The crown prince added helpfully. Of course there were also warmer places in the federation but as a true son of Scandera, well half anyways, did he favor the chill of the home continent over the deserts and jungles of the south.

Ana shivered again at the mere mention of such a cold region, pulling her coat a little tighter. “Well I think it’s better when it’s hot!” she exclaimed, dropping the conversation as she heard a chattering in the air. “What’s that sound from?”

“Pine monkeys, your royal princess!” the prince said as he looked in the direction of the woods. The distance was still too great to make out details but one could see movement amongst the trees as small shapes jumped from one to the other. “Small woodland creatures, probably spooked by a marten, eagle, or falcon I would guess, or there is a fox or ratwolves prowling the underbush!”

“Pine monkey…” the princess repeated, watching the shapes move as her pony trotted along. “That’s cool! I’ve never seen a monkey ‘cept on TV! Grandma, can we go find the monkeys?”

“Yeah, yeah, I guess,” Marron yawned, “I’ll be sure to keep up, Ana. Just don’t be too hasty, okay? Stay with the guards and all that.”

“Yes grandma,” Ana replied, quickly spurring on her pony into a canter, headed in the direction the monkeys had been jumping through the trees. “I wanna pet a monkey!”

“Ah… your royal princess really should not!” The prince called after her “They steal whatever they can get their paws on!” He called out and cursed in Imerian. “I will keep her under guard but I really doubt they will be able to catch one, if there are rat wolves about though I am a bit worried, filthy creatures!” He said to the brown woman next to him, he called out again in Imerian as two of the lancers took off after him as well.

The princess didn’t seem to heed the warnings, heading off into the brush with an excited laugh, following the chattering and the shape of the monkeys moving through the trees. “Gonna catch a monkey! Gonna catch a monkey!” she sang to herself, ducking beneath a low hanging branch with a gleeful giggle.

“Ugh, sorry about this,” Marron groaned as she followed Ana, “She’s got the adventurous spirit of youth, or something like that. I show her a few little tricks and she thinks she’s invincible all of a sudden…”

“Children are often like that jungfrau!” The prince said annoyedly, of course the young teenager was not one to really talk about being a child but he apparently considered himself a man grown. Something that the mere cadet knots on his arms seemed to disagree with.

Ana slowly seemed to be catching up to the monkeys, well and truly off the path as she and her pony adventured into the undergrowth of the forest. She seemed to have a talent for riding, or maybe it was just the Rohanian blood in her, but her mount was easily dodging the rougher patches of terrain as they covered ground, the princess standing up in the saddle and leaning forward. A monkey jumped right overhead, and she reached out, but was far too short to touch it, leading to a dissatisfied grunt and a continued chase of the creatures.

Four eyes lurked in the woods, careful attention placed on their prize. They knew the time to strike was soon, lest their target's defenders catch up.

Finding her was a simple enough task of Divination with the greatest tools and minds at the disposal of their employer. Catching her was up to their own skill now.

"This is a waste. We should be killing the cat prince instead." The first voice whispered with a slight Rohanian accent, annoyance dripping from his words. In spite of his whispers, the voice was deep, a bitterness held within.

"Do as you're told. The master commands it." The second voice sounded like a mimicry of human speech, spoken by a being that could not be bothered to sound natural or human in any way.

Two inhumane beings approached with their own forms of silent travel, preparing to intercept the child at any second. Speed was of the essence here, there were only a few precious moments to make this work…

Ana stood up in her saddle, then balanced on it, jumping up towards a branch, grabbing it with one hand as the other slipped off. She let out a surprised yelp as she dangled for a moment, watching the monkeys get further away. "Aweeee, come back monkeys! I wanna pat you!"

Beyond the monkeys, Ana would feel the world around her grow colder as they fled. Along with it would come an inherent aura of dread and worry, seemingly pushing the primordial concept of fear everywhere around her. If she looked down, she might even see the unnaturally dark shadow that was causing it.

Ana felt the strength sap from her fingers, looking down with wide eyes as she started to fall. The strange shadow was obviously unnatural even to her, causing her breath to catch in her throat as she descended, the cold increasing with every moment.

"It's been thousands of years since I've feasted on the fears of noble children. Such exquisite minds…"

The voice spoke around her, rather than let itself be constrained to one thing. The Shadow emerged, no longer content to be constrained to the dirt beneath. Like a hungry maw, it tried to engulf her, attempting to shroud her in her greatest nightmares.

At first, there wasn't much but shadow, though soon enough the form of a slightly distorted, cartoonish horse emerged and cackled at Ana, fading away to be replaced by a similarly cartoonish bat with exaggerated fangs tried to bite her. The princess whimpered and covered herself, screwing shut her eyes as she felt like she was continuing to fall.

A few moments later, or at least it felt that way to Anastasia herself, she landed roughly on the ground, though it was impossible to see in the shadow. The princess cracked her eyes open and gasped, crawling backwards slightly at the sight of an open coffin, somehow still draped in three flags, the green banner with a white horse on it most imposing of all. She soon bumped into something, and having nowhere else to retreat, whimpered as she watched a man appear, his neck crooked and his head clearly damaged, leaking blood slowly.

"Ana," the man whispered in her father's voice, all the warmth and joy of life gone from it, replaced by a cold and uncaring tone as he slowly approached. "Good girl. Come to daddy, join me. Come on, Ana, don't let me down…"

Ana whimpered again, unable to manage a proper cry in her terror as the hands of the thing acting like her father closed on her wrists and slowly, achingly dragged her across the floor of what was now clearly the Evermind Mausoleum. The further she was dragged, the more shadowy figures appeared, speaking in hushed voices, building to a cacophony as she got closer and closer to the coffin, where stood her family. Mythra stood on the left, eyes blazing like the sun, and Marron on the right, eyes cold like the new moon. In the middle were her mother and sister, Genevieve crying and Jasmine pointing right at her.

"This would never have happened," Jasmine's facsimile exclaimed in a voice both hushed and loud. "This is your fault! You delayed father and took him from us!"

"How could you, Ana?" Marron and Mythra asked at once from either side, looking down on her with imposing judgement. "How could you?"

Ana looked desperately to her mother, who continued to cry as her father dragged her ever closer to the coffin.

While this cruelty continued, the other Hunter would appear, his every footstep a thud of metal on dirt. He was once Rohanian, but now he was metal and flesh fused together and placed within more metal. A monstrous man, standing ten feet, decloaked itself as it approached the child and the creature that stalked her. Several thick plates of a black painted material protected him from most threats.

“Enough of these games, Pango. You’re here to drag her with us, not feast. There’s not much time left.” the beast spoke, voice muddled behind a mask. The armor it wore was thick and menacing, far too much for any mortal man to handle without some manner of power to hold it up.

The shadow on the floor merely cackled for now, enjoying itself while it could.

The hunters suddenly felt the barrage of several shuriken thrown their way, as Marron was running towards them, faster than a woman of her size should be capable of doing, her usual bored looked changed to one of fury, “Leave her alone.” were her only words the hunters would hear as she was closing the gap.

Behind her could one hear a horn blowing loudly as the prince had put his hunting horn to his lips as most of the group seemed to have gotten wise that something was odd. Quickly then did the young man draw his sword, a crooked blade with runes carved into and quickly drove his horse forward after the older woman, apparently not even taking the time to dismount but riding with the sure foot that one would expect of a man raised in the Imerian masculine world and it’s military prowess praised above all. Twice over his horn blared as he lowered his blade akin to how one would use a lance.

The Rohanian did not even shrug as he was struck, the shuriken largely bouncing off of whatever armor he wore. Without a second thought, he lifted his arm, a gauntlet with a monstrous weapon grafted to it, spitting out thousands of rounds in a few seconds. He would have relished the chance to take their heads more directly, but for now, the goal was to escape.

The puddle of shadow named Pango by contrast scurried, its prize concealed within itself as it ‘swam’ across the floor towards its partner in crime.

Rather than fight directly, it would use its foul magic to taint its locale. From the main shadow, two smaller ones escaped, moving towards two trees. Within seconds, they began to transform themselves, a malevolent visage forming on the trunk of each wood, uprooting themselves and morphing into a nightmarish reimagining of what they once were. Slowly morphing their roots into crude walking stumps, they would try to charge, using their branches as thrashing limbs and clubs, trying to crush the attackers under their weight as well.

“SHIELD ME SHIMMERING GOD AND LOOK UPON ME YE GOD OF KINGS AND KING OF GODS!” Björn roared as he tried to ride past the trees, his sword lit up with flames of white as the trees came close and he slashed upon whatever came into range desperately trying to use the mobility of his steed to get past the enemy.

One of the trees would begin to catch the flames, screaming infernally as it nonetheless charged towards the rest of the charging cavalry, its partner following, almost ignoring Bjorn now.

For his part, the once Rohanian abomination kept firing his multi-barreled gun right at Bjorn, but he did not let that be his only defense.

“Oh, you think you’re gonna stop us, you?!” A pair of brass wings sprouted from Marron’s back as her body began to be covered in scales, as she breathed a wave of fire around the trees! “You wish to face the Dragon of Rohane, do you? Well, you are going to do so now!” Working with the Imerian, she threw an ice-laded shuriken in the way of the bullets, hoping to cover Bjorn’s way to the former Rohanian, she herself diving towards the trees, punching a hole straight through one.

Bullets seemed to go around Björn as if unwilling to bring harm to one of such high birth, if it was as the royal propagandist would claim that royal blood held such power over magic, if whomever carved the protective runes the young man most likely held was a very skilled enchanter, or a combination of the two was impossible to tell. The magical protection though seemed not to be undefeatable though as a bullet made contact with his leg leaving a rather noticeable flesh wound that quickly turned his previously white trousers a dark shade of blue that quickly grew. Once again though his magical protections seemed to offer some reprieve as he did not stagger and the blood flew not as quickly nor did the wound seem as bad as it ought to have been. Though the young man clearly gritted his teeth and his movements seemed more sluggish and less precise as one would have expected.

While slashing at the enemies and trying to find an opening with his white burning blade in hand instead of just punching his way through as the dragon at his side was able to do, the young man quickly pulled a revolver from a holster attached to his horse and fired of a volley in quick succession against the foe. While not as flashy nor as inspiring as the burning blade could he still feel the arcane might inscribed in both the bullets and the pistol itself.

The bullets in turn merely bounced off of the Rohanian’s armor, even magic failing to make a significant dent in the monstrously thick plates of armor. One grazed his arm, doing little to really halt the beast however.

”Enough of this, we leave NOW!” was heard right afterwards, booming over the very woods. The shadow moved towards the beast, its prey still tightly held within it.

“So be it. We won’t meet again, scum.” the Rohanian mocked, looking at both Marron and Bjorn, his helmet concealing any true emotion. A second later, they would disappear utterly, the Null letting himself be teleported elsewhere.

In the moments before the two hunters faded out, the princess seemed to regain her senses, for just a moment, her terrified eyes locking with Marron’s as she tried, and failed, to call for help, tears falling from her eyes until she was gone.

“ANA!” Marron yelled, her eyes going wide, “NO!” She let out a roaring yell over the place; how could she, as capable as she was, allow her granddaughter to be captured like this!? And after all the efforts she had made to improve her own ways… was it still not enough? “... no. I will get her back. I will [b]not[/ib] let them get away with this.” If it took everything she had, every method at her disposal… she might even… that was something she needed to talk with Mythra about, but now might be the time…

“DAMNATIONS!” Björn cursed loudly in Imerian as he stopped his horse. He froze as the pain in his bleeding leg finally was able to make itself heard over the thunder of adrenaline. He looked in shock at his trousers slowly turning blue and he felt that pained tears started to gather in his eyes as a combination of pain and disappointment built up.

Then his training took over.

He was a born prince, born to lead and in his veins flowed the blood of warrior kings reaching back to the very dawn of history itself. He had been put through training in the royal military academies and he had been taught how to lead, how to feel pain and how to remain unaffected. What would his father have done? Panicked like some sheltered capitalist who had never been expected to work a day in his life?

No Björn and his brother had both spent days out in the fields with the commonry per his father's orders and they had worked and trained to be warriors as all proper Scanderans had. He wiped away the tears.

“GET A CLERIC OVER HERE! I WANT SOMEONE TO SCRY ON WHOMEVER THAT WAS AND I WANT A RUNE SCRIPT CARVED TO KNOW WHERE THEY WENT! THE VERY HONOUR OF OUR BELOVED HIGH KING, blessed eternal be He, I WANT THESE SCOUNDRELS TRACKED DOWN AND DROWNED ON THE PUBLIC SQUARE!” He roared and quick salutes met him.

“And I would need a healer!” He added then as a secondary concern.

“Frau Marron! I can assure you that neither me nor my house will accept such a stain on our honour and your granddaughter will be returned! On this I vow!”

[Dyste]

(OoC: Co-written with Legokiller and Rohane Alista)

The weather was bad in Calihain. A kind of bad you didn't usually see in the heart and heat of Rohane Alista, a miserable storm, cold and lashing winds driving cold rains. Flood advisories had gone out for some parts of the city, but that would have no effect on the vehicle that had just pulled into an underground garage at the Imperial Palace, carrying one fewer passenger than expected. The door of the vehicle was opened, a suited guard standing out of the way.

Marron stepped out of the car, looking more unkempt than normal; she didn’t really have time to worry about other matters, she needed to see the regent as soon as she could. “Take me to her,” she said curtly to the nearest guard.

The one who had opened her door nodded, slamming the door shut and leading Marron through the garage. They didn't take the normal path to the interior of the palace proper, but instead moved towards one of the far walls, where the guard pressed his hand on an innocuous tile. The wall slid aside, revealing a heavy metal door, which was soon opened by a code, revealing further an elevator. The man ushered Marron in, taking a position outside the entrance as she began to descend, alone.

Marron leaned back; here, a lot of her capabilities were greatly diminished, leaving her as mostly a woman with a longer lifespan, and a bit stronger and tougher than average. It wasn’t like any of her abilities were able to help her when she really needed them anyways, what was the point of any of it? No, this all happened because she was careless; she should’ve just kept her closer at all times. Now what could she even do about all this? Maybe it’d be just better if she just left…

There was a soft ding in the elevator, the heavy doors sliding aside to reveal carpet on the floor and cement walls. It was not nearly so glorious a location as the palace proper, the underground bunker she was now in, but it did the job, some kind of laser system scanning the elf-looking woman and opening the internal doors. Through these, it was slightly nicer; there had been some effort to make it at least pretend to be a nice place to live, including fake windows, actually screens, that currently showed driving rain and a swaying grassland. Here there was a maid, who bowed to Marron. "Ma'am. They await you in the conference room."

Marron seemed to not especially enjoy the false pretense of the area; she was too used to the natural beauty both Dyste and Rohane Alista had to really be keen on a fake version of it. But she supposed some people might feel more at ease with it. “Thank you,” she said to the maid, “Please take me there.”

The maid straightened up, leading Marron through the halls. These ones were covered in wallpaper, instead of bare cement, but there was an uncomfortable kind of cold from them anyways, and the sharp of hearing could hear a faint whirring noise as the air inside the bunker was recycled over and over again. It was only a few moments until the maid stopped in front of a large wooden door, knocking on it and stepping aside. "Please proceed, ma'am."

“Thank you,” Marron nodded to the maid, before opening the door, stepping inside with a deep breath.

Inside the room was a long wooden table, each seat comfortable and plush around it. A panoply of screens were arrayed on the western wall, though they were currently shut off, as well as small tablets set into the table itself. What really mattered, though, were the two other people in the room; one blonde woman, and one brunette, both up at the head of the table. The brunette had serious bags under her eyes as she looked up to Marron. "Marron, you're home," she said dully. "... that's good, at least…"

“Sup.” Mythra gave a nod to Marron. All the while pass over a cup of iced wine from Silverdale. “I take it you’ve a safe journey.”

Marron frowned, taking the wine and downing it in one gulp. “... have you two been briefed on what happened?”

"Only your brief report," Genevieve replied. "... I'm very much hoping this is a cruel joke, Marron."

“Eeyup…” Mythra made a stern nod. “Read the report too many times to understand every little detail about this monster.”

Marron sat down, almost seeming defeated, “I… I don’t know how they managed to beat me… other than that one of them I swear must’ve been Rohanian. I don’t know why they’d ever want to work with whoever did this, but… argh, I just don’t know anymore…”

"Not all Rohanians are good people," Genny spoke softly, burying her face in her hands. "Marron, please… tell me you at least put up a fight…"

“I did…” tears welled up in Marron’s eyes, “I really did… but it wasn’t enough… it should’ve been easy for me, but I failed her…”

Genevieve was quiet for a long while, eventually looking up at Mythra and then Marron, her eyes dry but haunted. "Mythra, did you get anything useful from the report? About… that thing?"

“The shadow demon? It’s a creature from the fiendish dimension that feeds upon a being’s fear. The details are too vague, and I can draw upon a couple per say.” Mythra then gave a sharp eye at Marron. “That being said: you let your guard down?”

“We were with a retinue of the Imerians,” Marron said, “And there didn’t appear to be any danger in the area, but then… it was all so sudden, they appeared out of nowhere… argh…” Marron buried her face in her hands.

"And she ran off on her own, didn't she?" Genevieve added quietly. "It wasn't in the report, but I know my daughter. It's exactly what she would do…"

“Yeah, she did,” Marron groaned, “We kept a close distance, but even still, they appeared faster than I could reach her…”

“So much for the high and mighty Imerians.” Mythra scoffed. “Pretentious losers…” She then turned to Marron. “Marron, did you see where they took Ana last?”

“I know the general area of Imeriata, they disappeared into the shadows,” Marron growled, frustrated she couldn’t offer more help here. “No signs left of them afterwards.”

"So they're gone?" Genevieve sighed, rubbing her hands on her eyes. "I think it's fairly obvious who did this. I should never have let Ana go…"

“Why did they even let this whole hostage thing go through?!” Marron seemed to get more frustrated than sad, “Jacobi would’ve never allowed it; he’d just look at all of them sternly and made ‘em knock it off!”

“Or I’d tell them to buzz off.” Mythra snapped her finger. “Look… We have to find Anastasia. In order to do that, I have to unshackle myself from this location and utilize the full capabilities as a celestial mage and priestess. Marron, you have ties with your mother and Aoife that can help us right?”

“Yeah, they can help, I guess,” Marron said, still looking a little down, “Most of ‘em will be more useful than me, at least.”

"What Jacobi would do isn't relevant, he hasn't been here for centuries," Genevieve said sharply, then sighed. "I… we all hoped it was for the best. Not just to stop a conflict with the Crown Alliance, but in case Calihain itself was struck… which turned out to be the wrong choice, obviously… the bombs didn't even land, and she's gone…"

“... wait, what bombs?” Marron was confused. “Did something happen while I was away?”

"Right, I guess you didn't hear," Genevieve sounded truly exhausted now, unable to gather the energy to even cry or yell. "The Dragon States made follow up strikes. Most were caught by the C'tan, but a few slipped through. Two were headed for us; Alistara and Calihain. Both got shot down."

“Oh, phew…” Marron sighed in relief, “... whoever caused this might also be tied into Ana’s kidnapping, y’know. They could’ve taken advantage of her being out of the country and all…”

"That's what I already assumed," Genevieve said, closing her eyes and breathing through her nose. "I… am furious, Marron, and so so exhausted. I don't care what you need to do, but I expect your full efforts in getting my daughter back," her tone was unusually hard. "And then I need you both to come back. Because I am… moments from doing things I'll regret. This is too much…"

“Please rest Genny. I’ll do everything I can to rescue Ana. I am quite an expert when slaying monsters and demons.” Mythra winked. “No need to cause a nuclear war afterall.”

"How can I rest?" Genevieve replied flatly. "My daughter has been abducted by a demon… anything you learn, I want to know too. Please."

“Of course we will, Genny,” Marron said, wiping away her tears. A thought had been going in her head over the trip back, something she had been considering for a while now. “... Mythra. I think we’ve avoided this topic long enough, but… it might be time.”

“Time?” Mythra raised an eyebrow. “Pyra’s cooking time?”

“No,” Marron facepalmed. “... do you remember what Jacobi told us, Mythra? Something like ‘When Rohane Alista or the Dragon Sea Alliance needed my guidance’, and if something could be done about his condition… do you think now is…?”

“Guidance?” Mythra shook her head. “Oh no way Marron. Don’t tell me you want to drag Jacobi into this mess! We can handle it on our own without a fish out of water story. I hate to explain or… you know the day we’d have to explain what a nuclear weapon, ICBM, Aldiun, cars, computers… You know all the technological wonders that occurred to a new political situation.”

“... so in other words,” Marron sat back, “You’re too lazy to explain them to him. You of all people shouldn’t be using such a poor excuse to not do it. C’mon, Mythra… don’t you want to see him again?”

“Lazy? I don’t want Jacobi to be tormented!” Mythra snapped back. “It’s not right, okay? This isn’t the correct timeline. I mean look at us. We’ve changed into different people all together. Included with divine abilities that he hated the most. Besides, the Dragon Sea Alliance and us can solve these matters ourselves.””

“... coward,” Marron stood up to leave. “You just don’t want to face him anymore, because you think he’ll be ashamed of what he’ll think of what you’ve become. Well, I don’t really care what you think on this one, Mythra. I’m going to bring him back, with or without you,” she said, before walking up to the doorway. “You two can wallow in pity here, but I’m going to do something I should’ve done a long time ago. I’m not coming back until Ana is found. Bye.”

“OH HELL NO!” Mythra stepped forward. “You need me you dumb dragon. You forgot something: the other key. You can’t open it without my ring.” She then glared at Marron. “Besides: you think he’d be happy if one of us is alone to greet him?””

“I can just, y’know, break it open?” Marron huffed, “Or I can just use my ninja skills and steal your ring, whatever.”

“And lie to Jacobi?” Mythra glared at her. “That awful Marron. You know the implications from such actions… Now, if you want to do it the proper way: answer me this: what do you really want from this? I do love him dearly, and I want the best from him. Do you as well?”

“I do, of course,” Marron sighed, “But I can’t think being stuck forever in there is what’s best for him, Mythra.”

“Look… I wanted a better heavenly world than a dreamscape realm for centuries.” Mythra frowned. “I… Well I just worried about this alright. Like what is he going to say once we open his stasis?”

“I dunno,” Marron shrugged, “Probably ask for something to drink or say we’re beautiful or something. … look, Mythra. What do you want to do? Really, truly?”

“Look: to be honest, probably a better home than a sloppy one for Jacobi to move in.” Mythra admitted. “Or a day that we free him when the world needs him most… Yes too fairy tales like… But you know…”

“... so when is the time we need him most, Mythra, huh?” Marron crossed her arms. “The Imperial Family is falling apart, we’re on the threat of annihilation, and we’re butting heads like this. I almost stormed out, and… honestly, I thought for one moment maybe I’d just leave Rohane Alista again. We need him, Mythra. I need him. And if you’re not willing to help, then… maybe it was a mistake to come back at all,” she said, leaving the room entirely.

Genevieve had watched all of this quietly, looking between the two, and as Marron stormed out, she turned to Mythra. “Mythra… are you saying Jacobi, the first emperor, is alive? And you know where he is?”

“Yes Genny and…. Marron!” Mythra began to follow Marron out of the room. “I’m coming along. If we’re letting Jacobi free, then we’d have to do it as a family love. Just… You can be stubborn, but damn it, I care for him and let’s not screw it up.”

“... very well,” Marron said, still sounding frustrated, “Come on, we know where it is.” She showed her hand with the Ring of Rohane still on her finger. “Have yours? … I didn’t steal it.”

Mythra nodded as she showed off the Ring of Alista. “I have it right here.”

“Heh, figured you’d keep yours safe,” Marron decided to not share the story of how it was once almost stolen from her. “... sorry about that. It’s just, well, I’m not doing this on a whim. I thought about it for a while… ever since Jaciob passed away, actually.”

“Look, I thought about doing this earlier in about a decade or so… But That was too… Since then it is just harder to figure out the best time.” Mythra sighed.

“And if we keep on thinking that, we’ll never bring him back, will we?” Marron shook her head. “C’mon, Mythra, now’s the right time, for all of us.”

Mythra let out a tsk as to admit her defeat. “Fine… Let’s accept whatever consequences come out of it alright.”

“I was planning to, y’know?” Marron shrugged. “I just hope we can help both him and Ana…”

“Yes… Just… We can get Pyra alongside the monster hunt or a contact of mind from the higher ups in Silverdale.” Mythra said. “But come on, let’s get a flight to Silverdale. Also… should we invite Genny?”

“She’d be better off with us than worrying about us, wouldn’t she?” Marron admitted. “Yeah, let’s do that…”

“Alright then.” Mythra then turned around. “Hey Genny! Want to go on a field trip with us?”

Genevieve slowly walked out of the conference room, confusion painted on her face. "A… field trip? What is even happening in my life? I've barely understood a word either of you has said for the last twenty minutes…"

“Oh, y’know, just some ancient queen secret stuff,” Marron said. “But it’s our best chance to help Rohane Alista now.”

"... sure, if you say so," Genevieve replied. "And help Ana?"

“Yes. She is going to meet her great grandpa soon.” Mythra witted.

“He’ll know what to do,” Marron said, “... hopefully…”

“Hopefully…” Mythra added.

[Alduinium]

Alastrine’s blood spoke for itself, still soured by hatred and loathing that could only truly be understood by those murdered so suddenly. For a corpse whose soul had likely been consumed months ago by the god it worshiped, there was an unusually malevolent presence to it, long outlasting any reasonable explanation.

Several dozen signatures was what they would find. Some were fairly faint and light, barely any trace of Alastrine’s blood in them. Others were bright, nearly identical in makeup, though most remained in between to varying degrees.

It seemed whoever had built them had been quite busy, several congregating around a remote portion of Winterhold, one of Keizaal’s more miserable provinces. Most of them were there in Keizaal, though it seemed at least one found themselves deep in the underdark beneath Rintyar.

Either way, the reality of Vahzen’s mechanisms became clearer. Vahzen was one of many, seemingly cloned endlessly through some manner of sorcery. Even for a dragon priest, this was a very strange situation, unheard of for anything other than crude body doubles, simply another body twisted into their image.

***

Vahzen, or one of her forms, sat alone as she watched the fall of the country she once served. The total breakdown in communications in Keizaal had kept this form safe from the inevitable demands for her imprisonment by the other members of the Dragon Cult, though she did not particularly care. Her current goals were far simpler than that.

In front of her stood several centuries of work compiled by the hands of her predecessors and herself. Hundreds upon hundreds of years of writing, research, and studies formed by her very hands. Bookshelves that took up a library’s worth of paper, holding all sorts of secrets and revolutionary concepts that had been developed either by herself or stolen from her failed genetic siblings, such as the occasional flash of brilliance from Evangeline or the perpetually disappointing if esoteric Alastrine.

Had she not memorized it all, she would have likely wept as her hands cast forth flames, setting the library aflame.

Once that was finished, she would set out, looking to watch the death of the Dragon God she supposedly served with her own eyes. By now, the rest of the Collective had likely already started work on their own goals, and the thought alone brought this lone Vahzen a smirk to her lips as she watched the death of hope for those foolish enough to put their faiths in such a loathsome creature.

As the beast, barely worthy of a name in the Dragon God’s eyes, charged forth, the Dov would feel it try to slam into him, his wyrm-like form nonetheless granting him some help escaping the much larger machine’s grasp. It tried, and often nearly succeeded, at silencing him, but there was movement afforded to the Dovah that let it just barely escape the abomination’s grasp, flying upwards to escape its grasp.

Fus Ro Dah was a rare shout in the voice of a dragon, as they preferred more overt methods of pain to inflict on each other and their lessers. Nonetheless, it was just as destructive in the hands of a being that had fed upon millions of souls. Even with the Great Civilization’s attempts to weaken and terminate the Tyrant’s magic, there was enough force behind his shout to tear apart buildings, skin men and beast alike, and sheer the armor of the mightiest of war machines. Indeed, even if it failed to phase the machine, it would still rip through the many buildings that were likely to be behind it, a brutal effect for those unfortunate enough to be in its path.

Of course, none of this mattered to her, for she saw it as a foregone conclusion. The entire conflict here was, truly, anyone with a brain could see that. She already knew that the various apparatuses of the Dragon States, military, police, security, etcetera etcetera, were merely destroying any and all evidence of their crimes and sending their underlings to die while they found some avenue of escape from their misdeeds. Some would try and surrender and plead their case or blame the evils of their duties on their superiors, many more would likely run and take their beliefs and crimes with them to some miserable place. Most would likely fail, though she was certain a few exceptionally wise. The Catedonian Colony would last longer, but fall eventually, just long enough for the Collective to do the rest of their deeds.

***

Heva was old enough to realize what horrors had just been unleashed a few hours away from his home. He was also old enough to be among the first in the line of conscription, among thousands of other young men like himself. The sudden transformation was as terrifying for himself as it was his family, pleading for the recruiters to not take him, regardless of the call for unity in trying times. He remembered the tears, the sorrow as he talked to his father one last time, realizing he was about to be sent to fight a war that had started mere hours ago.

He was sitting in a bus, the atmosphere filled with a mixture of dread, anxiety, excitement, and hatred. The suddenness of it all was the most shocking part of this. Almost all of them were students a day ago, maybe some had jobs, maybe some were even married or already had some greater plan ahead of them. All of that was taken from them, along with any mirage of normalcy, the moment Rintyar had been stabbed in the gut by a hostile force.

Some showed open pride, or at least open hatred of the enemy that had inflicted this fate upon them, talking among themselves about how to end this war as quickly as possible. Others were far more worried, fearful of either death or the loss of whatever prior plans they had created.

It seemed that every woman, and plenty of men, in his age group were being sent off, clearly requisitioned for wartime purposes from elsewhere. He and two dozen other young men and women were packed like sardines into a bus with military markings, driving off to Goddess knows where. The roads were clogged with vehicles, though all of them moved out of the way of the buses, if only because of the armed trucks in front of them.

He kept quiet as he looked out the window, the stress robbing him of any words or thoughts. Whatever dreams or ambitions he might have had were crushed utterly by the declaration of war. He would learn the profession of killing in the name of the state first and foremost, and he would learn it well, for he would come to despise the enemy that had stolen his future.

In three months, he was ready to fight. In one year, half of the people on the bus with him would be dead. In two years, only a half dozen of the souls within would still breathe.

***

A prayer for Alduin, a prayer to the God of the jungle, a prayer for himself to stay safe in this miserable land.

Coa, much like the rest of his platoon, was armed with the older St3s, heavy rifles with a hefty kick to them, and in his case forced to use the older 3x optics that had been in service for longer than he was alive.

Thankfully, magic preservatives and excellent cleaning at the hands of their ballbusting CO had kept them in good condition, though he almost wished he could take a PDW off of the cavalry regiments, or a Kala from a terrorist hideout.

Nonetheless, in the dead of night, they were going to strike at one of the more hidden strongholds of Tizoc’s resistance, aiming to finally burn them out of the jungles once and for all. Dangerously close to the nominally guarded and well secured border with Miauku, though the jungle made its best effort to conceal their foe.

They were going in first, following the rabid burning of the Tototl Jungle. Chemicals, wild beasts, and incendiaries were all paired alongside loitering airships for CAS, their only major support beyond a few light armored vehicles in the initial assault on the many mapped out strongholds tied within the monstrously ancient woods. For the past few hours, ever since he heard of the strikes elsewhere, he could feel the endless, nauseating rumbling of explosions and other ghastly weapons hitting the floor, each only feeling more unpleasant than the last.

By the time they marched out, they were given extra rations and given the obligatory speech by the priests of Alduin, telling them of the great crusade against apostates and daedra aligned beasts.

It didn’t change the fact that he felt like he was wading through hell. The air itself choked all life out of it from the awesome bombardment that came from the Catedonian and Dragon States Air Forces. Napalm, bioweapons, and chemicals all dropped from the sky, meant to choke the life out of the survivors within the woods. Even hours after their initial strikes, he could still smell and taste the blackened earth, watching what was left of the trees for signs of life, as dead as the world might have seemed, their pace slow enough that he thankfully didn’t need to wear the accursed masks in the sweltering heat.

“You ever think we’re being too harsh on these souls?”

He asked an older man, gruffer and with a slight stubble on his chin, on the march, standing several feet away from one another but nonetheless talking in the dead silence of the night. They were two out of dozens of men walking through the flames in the platoon.

“You haven’t seen what they’ve done to the outskirts city-boy, fuckers may have been burned out of your bits but they still haunt ours.”

“Yeah, I guess but-”

Both of them walked besides a burned out corpse of a man, his last act having been to try and shield himself from the flames that had touched him, now reduced to a blackened husk.

“You really think they wouldn’t do the same to us if given the chance? We’re just lucky we’ve got napalm and they don’t. The sooner we can clear these bastards out, the faster we can focus on what's coming next."

Coa sighed and nodded, deferring to his friend's wisdom. Their enemies were deluded by false gods, their ideology focused entirely on destroying Catedonia through the use of foreigners. There was no negotiating until they were dead or realized the folly of their ways.

What scared him now was that they'd succeeded. He didn't believe the Rintyari story, or what pieces of it he'd gathered from the rest of the unit. There was no reason to strike the Rints, a foe the Dragon States had never taken particularly seriously, at such a precarious time without making sure it was a killing blow. It was far more likely that they had brought themselves, or the Bandit Prince Tizoc had manipulated some manner of tragedy to justify all of this, forcing all of Mystria to die for such a foolish cause.

It shook Coa to his core to think about it. His family was safe at least, deep in the confines of Nyvindhjelm, but how long would that last with the Mystrians coming towards it? Willing to sack and defile everything they see like in the dream they all shared?

He preferred not to think about it too deeply for now, focused instead on the immediate.

***

Death was constant around a submarine crew. The fear, the possibility, the cause of it, all experienced by every Submariner who fought aboard one of these dreaded vessels.

If the Crew of the Eel could see outside the hull of their own vessel, they would notice the dozens of bodies sinking around them, civilian sailors of some foreign civilian vessel they had struck. Mercy was the last thought on their minds, not after the stories of Keizaal's destruction began to spread. Blood should be repaid with blood, there was no other way to avenge the homeland now.

Their main target was military vessels, but any sort of civilian shipping was considered a viable target as well. Not only would they strangle their military, they would strangle their economies and their methods of bringing forth men and other supplies whenever need be.

In truth, there was a bitter taste in the crew's revenge mission. They all knew it but they refused to speak it. How pitiful was it that the Mystrians had to rely on their true masters to start and finish their genocide? Unable or unwilling to break themselves taking on their hated enemy? And yet in turn they could not truly hunt the true killer of their homeland. All they could do to soften the wound was kill their slaves, make them regret their course of action.

The ship’s Captain, a miserable man, clean shaven and with half his face having been burned raw long ago by steam and flame, said nothing about this cruel fate. He could find no solace in anything beyond action by virtue of his station, his crew working diligently to sail forth beneath the sea. His left eye was still a bright blue, typically Nordic. Though his right worked, if only by virtue of magic, it had become a pale color, as if he had become blind.

Next to him, the vessel’s magician played her role. It was through her mystic power and her ability to shape and alter reality that they had found their recent targets, each killed precisely to her specifications. To hunt deeper would require her attention as she sat alone, letting reality course through her as she tried to find their next target.

All the while, the vessel kept moving, never to sit still for too long when enemies, and thus targets, could come at any time.

***

The last of the nuclear strikes that remained unintercepted hurled themselves towards their targets. One was aimed at the largest port available to Thalassium. There was a certain element of spite to these strikes, though they were almost certainly placed on the list of targets decades ago by the Dragon States.

[Malgrave]

HMNV Bulwark, Dragon Sea, Mystria

It had been a few days since the HMNV Bulwark had detached from their Glaristanti allies and started a new offensive operation against the fleet of the Dragon States, a routine quickly falling into position as sailors worked to unpackage and sort through the wealth of information that was flowing through from a mixture of technology-based and ancestral energy based sources.

In all of this, the crew of the Bulwark were confident in their ability to hunt the enemy and protect their comrades from harm, a feeling solidified not only by the fact that they were in the most advanced submarine in the fleet but also through years of combat experience over a few naval conflicts that marked them different from many in the region including their current foe.

“Report?” Rhee Min-Seo said, the Corvette Captain coming back to duty after a short rest in her cabin.

“Unfortunately, we have more reports of civilian ships being sunk by the Dragon States, now, a majority of those are ships who decided to decline convoy protection but a few have also been lost within the protective net,” Sub-Lieutenant Gregorio Marconi explained, the officer gesturing towards a segment of naval chart, “Fortunately, we have been able to use this information to narrow down the search area which means we’ll soon be on the tails of those responsible.”

“In that case let’s keep a special eye on readiness throughout the ship, we don’t want to be caught with our trousers down when we finally catch ear of them,” Min-Seo said, a small smile appearing as she took in the information, “Have you determined how they are tracking these ships? I doubt they are getting information from their ruined homeland.”

“It’s been theorised by naval intelligence that they are receiving intelligence through the use of ancestral energy, a little like the enchantments that we’ve got on board to ensure silent running,” Marconi said, “I heard that the engineers in Aurora are currently working on a little project to help disguise our civilian ships from hostile scrying attempts but it's not known how long it will take them to come up with a workable solution.”

Min-Seo nodded, the Corvette Captain quietly confident in the ability of those in Aurora to adapt and overcome these new circumstances, “Let’s keep up the hunt then and avenge those that have died by blasting some submarines into the afterlife.”

HMNV Amaranta Anselmi, a ways off the coast of MIauku/Catedonia

Moon Ji-Eun couldn’t prevent a large smirk from appearing on her face as she took in the fresh orders that she had received from Aurora, previously the Frigate Captain had been tasked with carrying out an order that had been given after the Mystrian Prosperity Conference by helping to establish a naval blockade around Catedonia, an act that had remained largely unmodified aside from a minor update to include renewed provisions for anti-submarine warfare but now that was changing

“Orders or fresh intelligence?” Sub-Lieutenant Artur Pasternak asked, a curious look in the beaver beastlings eyes as he wondered what had managed to please his superior officer

“In a way, both,” Ji-Eun said, “It appears that the Dragon States are renewing their war of extermination against our Catedonian friends, so we’ve been instructed to teach them a little lesson.”

Artur nodded, the beastling moving over to a display of the region where the Frigate Captain had started talking with another sailor.

“On top of our own satellite information, we have also been provided with fresh intelligence from the C’tani units stationed in MIauku,” Sub Chief Tomek Paszek said gesturing towards an area of Catedonia that lay near the border with MIauku, “Working off this information we have been able to compile a list of targets from anti-air platforms and local artillery to logistical support centres, as the aim of the operation here is to make it easier to establish air supremacy over the region and hamper future offensive and defensive efforts of the Dragon States.”

“Yes, quite excellent work, Sub Chief,” Ji-Eun said, the Captain obviously quite pleased that her crew was working together efficiently to carry out her orders, although she couldn’t help but ask a question to test her crew, “What about any ongoing operations?”

“It is slightly more problematic as we’d wish to avoid any friendly fire incidents, however, with the updated targeting information I don’t see why we couldn’t lob a few shells in to ruin an attacking unit's day or rob them of an airship or two,” Tomek said the neko expecting the question.

“Grand! I’ll have to thank these C’tani comrades of ours if I ever get the chance to meet them but in the meantime, we’ve got work to do,” Ji-Eun said, “All ready?”

“All firing solutions have been loaded in and shared with the rest of the strike group,” Tomek said, the beaver confirming that the seven ships of her grouping would be coordinating their strikes against the Dragon States.

Ji-Eun instinctively held her ASG pendant as she heard the distinctive sound of her ships railguns unleashing their payload at the hostile forces in Catedonia, of course, the ASG officially promoted conflict resolution but they also fully endorsed operations designed to safeguard life and so she was quite confident that the Ancestors would support her decision here even if they couldn’t directly intervene.

[The Ctan]

Various Places

Several dozen signatures were found. Several dozen signatures were acted upon. Throughout the area of Keizaal snatch teams were deployed. They weren’t the only ones, of course, even in Blackreach itself they were operative, to target known counselors and agents of the Dragon’s evil, and to remand them into custody. They were formidable groups, each of ten sentinels and their companion-scarabs, as with any modern necron heavily equipped with contra-magecraft devices and systems.

The ones closer to Alastrine were targeted along with those who were less like her, the better to acquire any blood-relatives, or co-conspirators.

They were not taken to any of the ships, nor to the Mystrian nations, instead they were taken directly to the custody suites at Venus, the startling range of the Great Civilization’s displacers used to imprison each of them in a custody suite within the Void Dragon’s own domain, the most secure of the Great Civilization’s nations within the Sol System.

Lindórafelyar, it was called, the million caves. For any of the Vahzens, or Alastrines, or whatever they named themselves, who were taken there it would seem curiously unlike an imprisonment, instead it was beauty. The sky was a canopy of blue chalecdony, with pillars carved to resemble the trunks of vast trees that glowed with alternating silver and gold canopies that blended with the silica skyscape, beneath which shimmering diamond stars could be seen on their gravitic orbits. The space was vast enough that skyscrapers were dwarfed by the supporting trees and clouds formed beneath their boughs, scattering the light into nacreous light and scintillating rainbows.

The atmosphere itself hazed in the distance, making it impossible to see the edges of the cavern nation, which was vast, enough that in places it boasted full scale skyscrapers, and lakes that could float entire navies could be seen close to the support columns, which in places flashed with light where the natural stone had been allowed to cut down to the dense metals at their cores.

Each found themselves imprisoned in palatial suites within the midsections of the vast trees, open railings looking out over the wide space, they could throw themselves out but they would land on the spreading roots with a feather softness. Bedrooms, sitting rooms, and more were set off these, as well as a scarab to watch each of them, with agate wing cases.

As imprisonment went this was extremely civilized, and there was a reason this was so. They could have been imprisoned in the vast Sentinel One military complex above, instead of in Lindórafelyar, which had been delved but the Void Dragon as a gift to its consort at the dawn of the present Era, and the great Queen Aelosia Eluríniel, with close to a million of her people having followed her to dwell there. The reason these spaces had been chosen was that the great Aelosia was a herself part divine, part elven and part human, and her people had strengthened the Million Caves many times in the four centuries since this refuge had been delved, drawing on the ancient divine light of Eärendil, refracted through the world, and their own ingenuity. The Viel of Aelosia was one of the most complex magical overmantles in the Great Civilization, and deeply settled, and even drunk on power it would be a challenge for them to do real damage there, among its functions was to aroint magecraft that did not work to the benefit of the residents.

To each there was a greeter, one of the people of the Great Civilization, for one an elf, for one a necrontyr, for another a vardine, for another a human, and another a brass automaton and so on. What really mattered was what they had to say for themselves.

Blackreach

The mighty ‘Fus Ro Dah’ incantation snapped the bug in half as it was chanted, and the machine’s back broke with an atomic thunderclap, as Alduin rose above it, of course, the god’s power was enough to overcome this god-engine, and for a moment it seemed that he had a victory.

Spears of verdigris green materialized out of the air, meters wide cutting lances that burned straight through the ground below in a flash, delving deep into the planetary crust and cutting like cheesewire toward the wings of the creature that beat them to escape its pugilistic assailant. The presence of the machine had been intended to lure the dragon out so that it could be attacked from space. Alduin had devoured millions of souls, but each of the ships firing at him was billions of tonnes, their goal was simple, to clip his wings.

The reason presented itself a moment later, a diminutive figure, seven feet tall, floated over the shattered buildings and the ruined war-machine, which was slowly reassembling itself.

‘Alduin, Child of Akatosh,’ the title was used again, though the figure was of mortal proportions, no soul glimmered in it, but its voice could be heard clearly across the broken ground, ‘be at peace. I am Ranisath. I once was as you are now, and my victims are beyond numbering or restitution. I thought only of my own hunger and pleasure, of the end of all things living beneath me. You will never know satisfaction in the grip of hunger and craving. Cease and be at peace and I will teach you the vistas of despair and grief that you deserve, a pitiless and howling eternity that only those you once preyed upon can drive back.’

He tilted his head, ‘It’s not a very appealing offer, to become as I, and to know self reproach for all of never-ending time,’ he said, ‘I could make it more appealing, but I would lie, and I no longer speak lies.’

‘You are a creature of determined will, and I have been asked by our friend to do all I can to spare you, for you saved her life from a god-killing weapon,’ he said, ‘you are owed a chance for your deed of compassion. I cannot offer you happiness, for to face your deeds would be to never know unalloyed happiness again.’

He held out his hand, and a sword in a jewelled scabbard of black opal appeared, hanging in front of him. ‘My other offer is worse. Behold now the last work of the Yldari Dominions, the Sword of the True Guardians,’ he said, and the blade rose into his hand. As the scabbard slipped off it, a second sun was born on the hills of Blackreach, the snows on the mountains bursting into steam wherever its light struck. Ranisath was magically inert, but this was a thing of terrible power to those with mage sight, for vast mage-engines on a far distant world had empowered it. In ages past it had been made to slay the chaos god Slaanesh, but no mortal could wield it against the dark god, and so its potential had never been realized. It had been granted in trust to Ranisath by the Tor Yvresse craftworld centuries ago, and together they had wounded the same dark god, cutting their people free of its bonds, for there was no soul in the Star-Titan to take, and the manifestation they had called forth had been cut free of the greater god, maddened with pain, to survive the weapon’s strike.

‘Be at peace or your essence will be burned from the cosmos,’ he said.

His physical form burst into fire, blazing with heat and light, tendrils of flame rising in a crown from his head while his features ran into an impassive ovoid of gold, and his clothes melded to a herculean form, flames writhing and hissing from him in tongues of fire, the sword grew to match the wielder and his hand closed around its hilt.

[Thalassium]

It was a warm and sunny day in Nova Quarinia, the sun glinting off the sea like a hundred millions tiny jewels as small waves lapped at the dockyards and shores. It was a fairly modern port; surely behind the great ports of cities like Aurora, Berabil, or Silver City, but a major port of an archipelago nation that had over five million residents was still nothing to scoff at. As far as Thalassium was concerned, it was the beating heart of what trade the nation had; if it came in, it usually came in through Nova Quarinia.

What no one had ever expected, and certainly not wanted, was a second sun to join the first, this one much closer to home; it was proceeded by a low whine for just a few moments, those in the heart of the old city, with its buildings of clay and stone and marble that were themselves each and all historical relics of the entirety of western Mystria, could look up for just a moment, and maybe the particularly sharp eyed might even see a flash of metal in the sky. None had time to ponder what, exactly, this obvious sign from one of their gods or another meant, before the fire had consumed them.

Once, a vibrant port, multicultural, ancient, with relics and peoples and buildings that showed signs of design and heritage from as far across as modern day Aravea to Silverdale, home to five million, Nova Quarinia was now home to three and a half million corpses, and one and a half million soon to be corpses, and smoldering ruins.

------

If whoever had struck thought that these souls would be theres to claim, or perhaps a late boost of power to the greedy dragon of death, they were much mistaken. The Sea Mother had claim on these souls, and her grasp on her children was tender but firm. As Thalassians were fond of saying, ‘As the Sea giveth, the Sea taketh away’; this afternoon, the sea took millions of souls into her eternal rests, and a storm began to form in the very center of the nation, over the holiest of sites, Mount Amarlana.

------

The priesthood at the temples of Mount Amarlana were in disarray. Every portent, every augury, every divination bore the same message: Doom. The lands of the Sea Mother Aquamenria, given by her to her husband, the King of the Land, Terrinius, to raise their chosen children who could not swim forever, had been sullied in a way irrevocable. Truly, in a single moment, these foul heathens had rendered Sheyana and its surrounding islands unhallowed ground, and that had angered all the gods already. Now, they had done so again, and whether by chance or by purpose, a strike had been let through the supposedly impenetrable net of the heavens, and Nova Quarinia was the most unhallowed ground of all.

Worst of all, at least at the outset, was the dawning horror in the Temples of Terrinius; this was more than simply unhallowed ground, it was a blow directly against the life of their god. It was never truly possible to tell what the gods had in store, but when the sacred vessel of Terrinius became tainted by five drops of red from nowhere, it was a certain sign; the gods themselves had felt the damage of this blow.

Soon this worry was surpassed; even as a storm seemed to spring into being from nothing over Mount Amarlana, the long extinct volcano rumbled, and spewed a geyser. The caldera had been filled with tranquil water as long as records existed of it, but somehow this didn’t stop the slow, weeping flow of lava like blood to the sea, seas that now boiled. Every part of the sea the lava reached boiled in turn, and soon the water, for three thousand years as clear as a perfect plane of glass, if lightly blued, began to darken.

Fish floated to the surface, already dead, as the seas became as a rich red wine in a heated pot, deep scarlet and roiling. With every moments the scarlet spread, and everywhere it went, more sealife appeared on the surface, each fish as dead as the last dolphin, which was as dead as the massive whale that appeared on the horizon. The scarlet spread, and spread, and as it did, a single figure appeared, walking at its head. They had short hair of a light blue, the color of a perfect shallow sea, and eyes that reflected in a mixed hue of gold and crystalline blues, though nothing got close enough to observe this in person. Their robes- it was impossible to tell from first glance if this was a man or a woman, and they indeed might be neither- were of a sea green, and surprisingly tight, almost more of a dress. A small thrush rested on their left shoulder, and stayed looking ahead as they trode on the seas.

Each step the figure took, the scarlet seas leaked from their foot, spreading through the waters as they headed inevitably towards the foreign shores of Catedonia.

------

The Imperator, Aetius Flavius, stared out the windows of the palace yet again, and it seemed in the last few hours he had aged several years. He crossed his hands behind his back, silent for a moment. He drew a deep breath, and spoke without turning to face his silent aides. “Prepare the armada. Reach out to Rintyar… warn them that we cannot control this. Then, contact the C’tan. They should be prepared to track this… it is a divine act, not bound by our normal capabilities. It may well head directly for the location of our mastermind, with luck, and if not… the Gods have no mercy when so greatly insulted, I do not think,” he said, silent again for a further few moments, before he spoke again. “This is a disaster, and I do not know if it can be withstood. We must have the necromancer. Even vengeance might not be enough to save us now, but we must try. I will go myself. It is the only path to remain.”

[Alduinium]

The necrons assigned to Rintyar went fractionally later than the others, as yet another request from the Great Civilization, informing the local government of the following things: that there was an archmage-terrorist in their midst and the C’tani had the exact location for them at this specific moment.

Satara’s government seemingly hesitated, perhaps occupied with other wartime efforts or mulling over the thought of a foreign power so casually entering *their* land, as shaky and theoretical as such a claim was in the furthest depths of the Underdark.

Ultimately, the confirmation came, though behind the scenes it was quite a tense few moments of talk between Vintres and her advisors.

The moment the approval was given, the snatch squad assigned to the country appeared with a complete lack of subtlety, their location was set by geological sensors within the closest proximity of their target, deep underground their displacement locus was a little less precise, but certainly within twenty meters. They had many strange weapons, but one of the least appreciated was a sense of smell. One wouldn’t look at a necron and imagine they could smell, but they could, in fact their olfactory senses put bloodhounds to shame, and they were armed with follicle-scrapings and tissue biopsies of the first of the kind captured, inloaded into their memories. They had other tools too, and already their companion-scarabs flittered out ahead of them - no less sharp in their case - to hunt down the enemy.

Vahzen was no fool, none of them were. When their captors arrived, they arrived to a rather spacious environment, a surprisingly large cavern, almost akin to a palace in size. The floor was damp and covered in a cold liquid, and on a crudely made ledge stood their target.

She did not hesitate to use her tools against them, a powerful burst of ice erupting from her fingertips, freezing whatever teleported to meet her. A snap of her fingers afterwards summoned two beasts, large crustaceans of some form, crawling towards their targets with crude screeches.

Several scarabs and two of the necrons were immured in ice, frozen like creatures trapped in a glacier for centuries, but some of the others who should have been caught simply were not. The crustaceans were a surprise, but the response to them was simple, one of the Sentinels held up a hand, and a pulse of light emerged. It was not the light of a bright day, nor the light of a floodlight, but a light designed to destroy organic retinas beyond natural repair in a single instant of shattering pain. A pulse of microwave radiation followed, calibrated to perfectly stimulate human nerves to experience the pain of being immersed in fire, even through protective garments, and an audio pulse, to rupture eardrums.

Sentinels had been designed to subdue riots, but rarely used all three such facilities at once, nor so powerfully, but then, they were not underestimating the Vahzens.

The two oversized crabs, common creatures across Keizaal, stuttered aimlessly, now lost, even spirits could be blinded, it seemed.

This Vahzen’s eyes were less distorted and warped than most, unused to peering at dark secrets and scrolls of unimaginable power unlike her ‘sisters’. When the blinding flash came, Vahzen felt pain she had not experienced in quite a while, taken aback entirely by the experience. Already, her magic began its work, dulling the pain and trying to repair her eyes, but it was a slow process, the world around her a blurry, alien mess. Rather than let it slow her down, she focused her efforts upwards, her mastery of Alteration being put to work as she waved her hands at the ceiling of their fighting pit.

Within seconds, the rock above became overburdened, given significant weight through Vahzen’s magic, threatening to fall right on top of both her minions and their attackers. Perhaps she did not fear death, perhaps she was confident of her own abilities to survive this.

The rocks fell, and all the necrons died; this was of course, a minor inconvenience.

With a resounding series of snap-pops another ten Sentinels appeared in the chamber atop the rocks, it seemed that this particular Vahzen had their full attention, another set of compliance pulses, and they took aim as they crunched through uncertain terrain, secondary rockfalls from the collapsing cavern striking them.

As Vahzen’s eyes began to recover, the sight of more Necrons drew an audible sigh from the wizard. No doubt they would try again, in increasingly predictable form, and surely she could kill them, only for another wave to teleport forth after that, and another after that. That was the way of inferiors with great numbers, as Vahzen often taught when she was but a lecturer many, many centuries ago.

“If you wish to talk, I’m sure there are less confrontational Priests to hunt after.” She spoke with a poisonous tone and a smirk, magic coursing through her hands as she prepared her next moves.

A moment later there was an abrupt change in tactic, as a third displacement round hit, this one carrying only a single figure. Similar to the Sentinels, but with a different gait and build, this was a figure of metal and ceramic plating, a pale white face mask adorned with blue inlay on its edges, towering to an intimidating height. In one hand it carried a bladed staff, almost like a mage itself, but it was not so.

The combat’s goal had been to bring her close to the target when it became clear how capably she could resist. There were only less than a dozen of these beings assigned to the whole Mystria region, and they were used sparingly, here, in a country where magic was the lifeblood of many citizens, only one could be sent, for the more were gathered in one place the more potent their effects were.

The cavern was large enough that one could measure the influence of the creature as it appeared on the platform behind her, a metallic hand reaching for the wizard.

Mana fled from it, as though a sucking wound had been punctured in the world, this creature was not quite the same as other magic-deadening life forms, for it carried an awful repugnance to it, as though creation itself had been turned inside out to give it life, and waves of disorientation and nausea with no clear source pulsed from it. The metal of its hand was cold, colder than ice, colder than the void, colder than the closed heart.

“Silence, clone-slave,” it said, with the voice of a young woman, “we do not need your words, only your tears.”

Vahzen was, for a brief moment, surprised. She’d expected a lot of things, but she wouldn’t expect such a rare specimen to be sent after her specifically. As her eyes, ears and nose started to bleed from the sheer unpleasantness of the creature in front of her, all she could do was laugh.

“So speaks a cursed creature. What world did they pluck you from, I wonder. What people tortured and persecuted you and everyone you loved so badly that you devoted yourself to this foolish task. Do you even care, or do you merely wish to exact a petty vengeance on those you view as responsible for your suffering?”

Before long, Vahzen began to collapse to her knees, coughing up blood and looking up at the Pariah. Perhaps subconsciously, perhaps deliberately, no tears swelled up.

“There is still time to do what you truly wish, of course. My magic has already done its work.”

The Pariah looked down at the necromancer as she collapsed, and squeezed her throat for a moment, for a blessed moment it might seem that she intended to break Vahzen’s neck, but a series of small, painful scratches let her feel the transfer of neurotransmitter-sedatives before she released her.

“I care for your victims,” Helena Kora Prestin ita Thursid said, drawing back her anathematic aura little by little. She did not respond to the goading about her own losses. She was done with Vahzen, and the sooner she withdrew the better. The air resounded with a clap that pulled Vahzen’s hair forward as the air rushed to fill the space the Pariah had occupied a blink ago.

Vahzen was no fool. The capture of a genuine member of the Collective, especially one tasked with such an important task, was an unacceptable threat to her plans. All this Vahzen could do was smile and chuckle one last time as her mind went limp, thinking of the great things that were to come long after her particular passing.

“Impotent slave. You should have done what you wished to do, perhaps I would have cherished this passing much more…” were the final thoughts flowing through her mind as her mind, quite literally, began to melt, the very thing being used to stop her now instead being co opted to destroy her mind, leaving little of use to her captors as her very brain was reduced to a scalding liquid.

Her soul left her body not long after, reconstituted into the greater mass that was Alkhiana.

[The Ctan]

The Catedonia border was not uncontested of course, as soon as artillery opened up on Tizoc’s forces and the new offensive began. Sanethre watched on the situation room’s map as the offensive was shown by determinative hieroglyphs showing the presence of enemy forces, each consisting of a humanoid figure with an axe struck into their head, symbolism that showed the determination to slay the enemy. They looked at the diagram and made a wide sweeping gesture toward the frontage.

The efficacy of the jamming protecting the borderlands was reasonable, and while the Dragon Staters had resorted to attempting to napalm huge swaths of the rainforest and a wide infantry ground offence, they were in Sanethre’s approved operations area now. They intended to make the necromancers pay for their mistake.

The weapons deployed first were essentially not too dissimilar to conventional gun artillery, almost shockingly for the Great Civilization. They didn’t even fire explosive projectiles. Slender barrels from drone platforms pointed to the sky from their positions, their angle high. Their weapons fired with audible cracks that resounded through the mountains as they fired. Designated "heavy strikecannons" by the Great Civilization’s Conflict Service, they were a particularly refined form of simple projectile gun. The Followers of Her Majesty did not use necron technology simply adopted, instead they used their own evolutions of pragmatic Terran weapons filtered through the Great Civilization’s vast technology base.

The weapons platforms cracked out shot after shot, the projectiles for the strikecannon were not in fact large, less than two inches in width, but long, lined in a near frictionless material, each of the drone artillery pieces could carry thousands of rounds, without any charges. Functionally a coilgun, the rounds were launched at a horrifying rate, more reminiscent of a machine gun than an artillery piece, each shot at positions in a programmed firing pattern.

The barrage was a complex time-on-target pattern allocated from high-altitude drones, satellites, and orbital ships.

Sanethre and their staff knew a lot more of these weapons than anyone in Mystria of course, they had never been deployed in Altea - where the King had wisely chosen to spare his people - or in any of the slaver-wars.

As they glided through their designated paths they shifted like clay, transforming themselves into gliding projectiles or performing simple terminal manoeuvres in response to entangled particle units, striking top down into armoured vehicles with force sufficient to vaporise themselves - their impacts carrying enough force to exceed their own mass in conventional explosives.

They were targeted on anything remotely resembling an airfield to clip the wings of the Catedonian and Dragon States Air Forces, as well as ammunition dumps and similar targets that supported the ground forces. Devastatingly the jamming that had flooded from the border would all but eliminate any chance of detection of these strikes.

This was true of units closer in, too, who had another and arguably worse response, as sleek Rekhmire cluster missiles streaked from high-altitude drones, bursting in the air and scattering thousands of submunitions into the forest. Each of these was the size of a large nut in its shell, small glide wings breaking off as they reached their destinations. These were not dumb munitions, of course, all major types of physical munitions in Sanethre’s retaliation were startlingly ‘smart.’ The first might be called landmines, but they were landmines in name only; they were able to recognize uniforms and respond to central commands (allowing remote command detonation), they would leap into the air and detonate - one at a time - when government forces approached they were live, around the rebels they were not. In time, that could be exploited, but for troops in the field, wearing Dragon States insignia and tokens, in their uniforms, that was a significant problem.

Still seeking to limit the souls absorbed by the foe, these munitions would cripple and maim more often than they would kill.

[Rohane Alista]

Written with Alduinium

Alkhiana was a place that had become more myth than reality. Lurid tales spoke of a cursed island in the ocean, untraceable by all but the most expert of sailors and pilots. Once, many wizards practiced their foul magics here, defiling land and life in the name of their experiments and empowering themselves. Mothers often told their children of how monsters would drag unruly children to be devoured, the cause of many nightmares as a result.

Some nightmares were very real however.

Vahzen waited alone atop a hill, the sky bleak and the land itself decayed beyond help. She sat in what could only be described as an odious building, walls and floor made of a material that was too fleshy to be described as bone, yet too sturdy to be mistaken for flesh. She nonetheless had a good view of the incline, tombstones jutted across almost all of it beyond a single stairway going down. Each was placed suddenly and haphazardly, a screaming face etched into each crooked or fallen over stone tile.

Little, fleshy creatures could be seen every now and then fawning over them, trying to suckle and devour the souls the stones lacked, as if they knew what grisly event had created them. Vahzen could not help but smile as she saw it.

Behind her, in the grandiose structure, her servant arrived. Teleporting in from wherever they came, Pango and Adar made their arrival, the creature of nightmares spitting out the thing she’d asked for.

Ana’s eyes were tightly shut as she shuddered and thumped on the ground. She didn’t make any moves, merely curling up into a ball on the ground as she covered her head with her arms. The young girl was trembling ever so slightly, perhaps having seen even more horrifying visions on the way here.

Vahzen turned, her every step methodical, inching closer and closer to the child. A quick look told her that Pango had feasted on her fears, enough to seemingly render her a mess by the time she got here. Here, she wore little more than black robes, torn and tattered by disrepair over time.

“Exquisite. And not a scratch on her either. This should make your next assignment easier, Pango.”

The formless shadow, now forming itself into a crude approximation of a human shadow, bowed before its master. It was expressionless, but one could almost sense a feeling of relief or anticipation from it.

“Tizoc, or at least his soul, must be brought to me. Before you head on to Catedonia, peer into the child’s head, tell me what she knows about the imperial family. If she knows nothing, then enjoy a snack, and make sure that my message is burned into her mind.”

Pango ‘nodded’ as best he could, his master walking away from the room. Adar, knowing better, followed suit leaving the two alone now.

As Pango got to work, his task was a bit different this time than simply eating Anastasia’s fear; he hunted through her mind for details on her family. It seemed almost like wandering through a house abandoned in a hurry, in many ways; the doors were unlocked, and everything was in its original position. Of course, even at her young age, it was a bit of a strain to magically sieve through her thoughts, her anti-magic working overtime now, and even more than that, unassociated things continuously appeared. Especially common was the sight of Bronwyn, the black haired cartoon horse hero, and for some reason, the shadow creature found itself unable to completely disregard the figure. As Pango looked for where the information on her family was kept, it found itself deflected or redirected by the cartoony horse repeatedly.

Frustrated by the situation, it had changed tactics entirely. Rather than fight the horse, it would co opt it, forcing Ana’s mind to focus on an empty, silent void, not a room but a lack of anything around her.

“Your mother, where is your mother?” a voice rang out to her, speaking from the void.

There was a series of hazy ideas and thoughts; a bedroom, a dining room, a hug and a goodbye, mama crying, mama crying, so much of her crying. Mama pretending like she was fine, hiding the redness in her eyes, but the little girl heard it, and then there was a door. A singular, locked door, on its own.

“What else do you remember about her? About her life.” It asked again, trying to dig deeper. Its tone was attempting to be soothing, though it was clearly inhuman, or at least had difficulty coming off as natural to any language.

The door simply sat there, locked. A nameplate slowly appeared on it, "Genevieve Stephenson" showing in small letters under the much larger "Mama" on it, but otherwise very little changed.

"Is that all you know? Surely you must know more…" the horse spoke one last time, a hint of frustration perhaps faintly audible.

The door rattled, opening, but there wasn't much more inside than had been outside. This room was more well defined than the hazy thoughts, at least, and then the horse could see an even smaller version of Ana walk in, right through it, like it wasn't even there. It was almost wrong to call it a walk, maybe more of a toddle, as a woman in the bed turned over. She had a kind face, hazel eyes and brown hair in a ponytail, wearing a surprisingly simple nightgown. "Oh, Ana, why are you up?" She said softly, distantly, a memory of a voice.

"Nighmare," the young child replied, and the woman picked her up, tucking her into a light sheet on the bed with a small sigh, but a gentle, loving smile.

"Well then, you can sleep with mommy and daddy tonight, Ana," she said softly, before starting to sing. It was a bit off tune, but it sounded like the best, most comforting song ever anyways. "Sleep little filly, under the stars. Mama always knows right where you are. Sleep little filly, right here in Mama's arms…"

Memories such as these were common in children, even thousands of years ago. Pango knew of this, though there was little information he could pry from her mind was of any particular note to his master. He could delve further, but he was already quite bored with the ordeal.

Slowly her memory would fade, to be replaced with one of the Master’s.

The locale was alien to her, utterly devoid of civilization. She was far above the world, up in the mountains of some long forgotten land. Perhaps it had no longer existed, perhaps it had been changed radically by the passing of time.

The child would see through the eyes of the woman now known as Vahzen, five thousand years before her fated destruction of the world. Ana wouldn’t know this per say, but she would know that the woman whose eyes she looked through had her hands stained with blood. Already she could feel the madness of an utterly ancient being flow through her, one corrupted by their own thoughts and delusions.

An animal of some sort, perhaps Ana might have known it as an Auroch, perhaps as just a large bull, carried a crude wooden cart, the contents reeking of rottenness. A glance back at them revealed they were the corpses of Raizari, seemingly taken recently.

On the hips of this stranger dangled another head, now halfway rotted, so that bits of the skull could be seen through it. The stranger seemed to find some glee in carrying it around, its aura still quite powerful even in death. Another mountain, she’d found it in, or rather, the person it belonged to. The battle was so terrible it had ravaged the continent they’d waged war in, and had brought pestilence and wrath to neighboring lands.

Staring at the edge of the mountain, the Stranger and her beast had stopped, the former picking up that same head clamped to her belt. She spoke in an alien language, one that had been destroyed by time, yet one Ana could understand naturally.

”Clear enough as the binds that hold this world together, the Dov have failed. Their Atmoran servants slain by Re-Zar-Ai warriors, The dead no longer able to hold back the living here. As I had predicted to come. Avora’s prowess has surpassed their feeble magic, so it seems.”

She stared at the head, Ana getting a full view of the gruesome visage.

“Their failure will not stop me. I will fool them. I have already stirred the demons beneath their feet from their slumber, from which they’ll never be lured back to sleep. I have already planted the seeds of civilization in their soon to be eternal enemy. I have gifted them the twisted Goddesses Makari and Cynisca from my own homeland.

They will be the weakest link from which the world will crumble. The Dov are but slaves to their own greed, and their servants less than slaves. They shall serve only as tools. Their death has been signed by my hand. For those blessed enough to see this memory, let it be known that I go under many names. In Atmora, Vahzen. In Helusia, Leith. In Catedonia, Tzitzimitl. In my home, Erinys. I will bear many more names by the end, but these are those I now go by.”

What came next was grisly, an unpleasant series of rituals performed using the desecrated corpses she had taken from battle and dragged so far beyond their resting places. Flesh was melded with bone and alchemical substances lost to time, and before long the stranger had built herself a totem from the remains.

“When the time is right, calamity shall fall upon them. Their own gods shall be too weak to resist the onslaught, Those who know of this will know too late to act upon it, that shall break this land.”

To Ana, this was more like watching one of those movies mama would yell at her over than anything she could really understand. Even though she didn’t quite grasp the scale of the violence, much less the purpose of it, the pure, borderline insane malice of the person through whose eyes she was viewing the world came through just fine. In her head, if not her body, the young girl shivered, shrinking away, trying to escape the nightmare made of hate as much as she could.

There was no escape of course, there was to be no eye closure, only when the master herself closed her eyes in her memory would she be granted the blessing, and she was quite vivid in watching her own detailed work.

Her ritual complete, the corpses she had worked with had been mangled and shaped into place. Dark magic seeped into the ground, and reality faded for a moment.

This was the first of many memories that would be implanted, carefully burned into her mind. She would not be the first recipient, and by the Master’s machinations, she would not be the last.

Though it took maybe half an hour in reality, to Anastasia it felt like much longer, though even before it was finished, she was essentially unconscious, the memories becoming more like dreams. They settled into her mind, in the background, less active thoughts, but something ready to be triggered as she slipped into blessed silence.

When she woke up, she was in a dark room, cold and sterile, though more familiar than the alien aesthetics of Alkhiana. Lights flickered on, revealing a storage room, filled with a myriad of artifacts from a foreign land. Small sculptures of feathered serpents, masks of gold and turquoise, and elaborate magical puzzles painted in dazzling greens and reds.

Ana groaned, a small sound, as she sat up. She shivered; the room was cold, and though she had warm enough clothing on, it wasn't helping that much. She ached all over as she slowly stood, slowly moving her way through the artifacts, trying very hard not to knock anything over. She managed to look right in the eyes of a serpent sculpture, snapping her eyes away as soon as she could, proceeding onwards, looking for a way out.

There was only one way out, a simple door that opened rather suddenly.

“VAHZEN! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!”

The voice was thunderously loud, its rage untempered and audible through the building. Forth came a hulking man wearing a Dragon Priest’s robes and mask, its visage that of a frowning man with his eyes closed. His glare, if he had one, at the child in front of him could be felt.

“Abominable whore, you’ve damned us all for your schemes, and now you’ve stuck another knife in us to settle it. Do not think I am blind to your deceptions. Come here, child of Rohane, before I must drag you here.”

Ana froze, the breath catching in her throat. She backed up a few steps, then grabbed a random idol from a shelf and threw it at the man as she scrambled, running back into the storage room. She looked back over her shoulder, then tripped, scrambling up as swiftly as she could.

The idol was caught with one hand effortlessly, the other hand casting some manner of spell. For a young Rohanian, resisting the powers of a Dragon Priest in their prime was a difficult affair. Soon enough she would find herself frozen up, her limbs, and soon her entire body refusing to move any further. It would not last long, but it didn’t need to, the towering Priest grabbing her off the floor.

“The least you can do is serve as leverage, to keep those Mystrian dogs from pressing their luck.” He spoke with a clear annoyance. “Let us hope your caretaker doesn’t burn you down with the rest of Catedonia!”

Ana couldn't even struggle in the intense magical grip of the spell, only her eyes still able to move. She glanced around desperately, but it didn't matter. She wasn't going to run away this time, and she couldn't even argue back as tears began to well in her eyes.

Dragging her through an unknown facility, it became clear that she was in the hornet’s nest. Men in uniforms, military and otherwise, stopped to praise Alduin and his priests wherever they walked into the masked figure, himself merely ignoring them as he carried her outward. Those who noticed what he carried refused to make note of it or even remark upon it, seemingly conditioned to ignore such things for their own safety.
Finally, he met in another room, an ensemble of elegantly dressed figures, military officers, and a few government officials and other Dragon Priests within. They each stared at the approaching figure, or more accurately, Ana, with a mixture of horror and shock.

“How-”

“Vahzen. It was not enough for her to launch a second strike, she had to make sure they would hold no quarter, it seemed-”

“We need to open communications immediately, explain our situation-”

“There is no point, they wanted war and they have war now, Sovngarde awaits if we fight, if we don’t, merely suffering-”

“It’s bad enough Tizoc has debased himself for their favors, now this betrayal from the Reachwoman too-”

The cacophony of arguments was insufferable, unending and filled with an unspoken sense of dread. They all knew it was a matter of when, not how, but this seemed to cement it thoroughly.

Ana didn't even understand any of what was being said; she spoke Rohirric, Common, and Alistinian already to similar degrees of fluency, but this language wasn't any of those. This let her focus on a fuzzy memory of her mom, a set of instructions should she ever find herself held by an unfamiliar man. She twisted in his grip, bit his arm as hard as she could, and then began to scream.

If the intention was to discomfort him, it wasn’t particularly effective. The robed figure merely glared down at her with a faceless expression yet again, two soldiers approaching him.

“Shut this mewling thing up. Feed it before I make sure our enemies know what we have.”

There was a clear discomfort in the room with the idea, particularly from those not cut of the cult. A cat-eared woman, black haired and golden eyed, in particular looked distressed at the notion, though she said nothing.

“They will only want our blood even further once they find out, Daanik.” said another military officer.

“They already want that, this will force them to bite their tongue. They can’t hit everything if they fear their beloved princess might be the target.”

The other man could say nothing, clearly upset but unable to make a proper rebuttal, sufficing himself to the Priest’s wisdom.

“Gods willing, they will hesitate in the name of their daughter, maybe we’ll be able to maintain Catedonia right after that?”

As the soldiers clamped down on her mouth, Ana tried to bite them, too, but found she couldn't get through their gloves. As they took her away, she looked wildly around the room, trying to find the eyes of anyone who might stand up for her, and finding nothing.

[Alduinium]

The Jungle

The hunt was always terribly simple, the notion of killing weak flesh-things was the only true enjoyment ever afforded to the hunter, but even so, it was so terribly simple.

The jungles were the third closest thing it had to a true ‘home’, besides the terribly limiting containment cage and cell that it spent most of its life growing up in. It had never really known anything like a family, though it often longed for one, nor did it learn any sort of valuable lessons from a parental figure beyond what little they had crudely trained it to do by other flesh-things, these ones inedible and unworthy of the hunt, according to its own mind. It was not truly sure *what* it was, beyond the basics, that it was always hungry, always craving standing ocelotl-men flesh-things, and that only their death and reincarnation as its servants gave it glee.

Indeed, it was lucky that it was let loose from its cage at night, when they were active and most likely to be moving. The flames were a concern, but not much of one, for it was taught that fire was of no concern to it, at least less so of one than smoke and the choking of air.

Nonetheless, where there was smoke, there were corpses, or soon to be corpses, as they had learned in the hunt. Corpses were good, they made good hunt-pets, as it could make them from what flesh remained.

As it made its way forward through burned out husks of trees and burning lands, it found its first target. It wasn’t dead yet, though the flame had gotten to it. Furry ears, shaved body, typical creature, screaming in pain still.

It didn't take much to kill him, a quick bite of its sharp teeth tore into the creature's neck, the Hunter enjoying themselves on his blood and what little flesh came off. But no, he was to serve a more useful purpose. With a horrid wail, it sunk its teeth into the corpse once more, granting it an unlife, as it understood it. It could be eaten later, but now it would give the flesh-things something to shoot at other than itself, always a threat on its mind.

Already, it tried to sniff out another living thing, a few seconds spent, the next target already found even with the oppressive smoke and ash flooding the skies.

It’s next target was strange. When it saw it in the midst of burning trees, it was not burned, nor was it running like most other meals. It was standing still, looking it dead in the eyes.

The Hunter was, for just a brief moment, taken aback by the display, roaring outright in a furor. It didn’t even realize the first few shots that had ripped into it, the sudden pang of pain forcing it to retreat, if only momentarily.

***

“Come on, we need to fall back and hold at the edges of their artillery bombardment, they’re not going to stop otherwise.”

Yaoteuh heard the words of his CO and bolted afterwards, for a moment shocked that his efforts to would the beast actually worked.

The retreat was as awkward as it was a terrifying development. They ignored the noise, the screams, the sudden noise of a thousand explosions in the distance. The latter was particularly frightening to the young fighter, unused to its sound, and made worse by the fact that his superiors seeemed equally puzzled in between their fleeing.

Before long, he seemed to realize that the rumbling of artillery grew more distant, not closer. But that didn’t stop him from running away from the fire and flames


***

The Misfortuned

*A few hours earlier*

Shan Gwythern was in a strange position. 20 years of age, living alone at the College of Winterhold, her family long dead and herself in an enviable yet awkward position.

She was much too poor to truly fit in with the children of Keizaal's political elite, yet too deeply connected by family, their apparent death regardless, to the regime to fit in with those who clawed their way to the College with every fiber in their body. The fact that she was of the Reach, and a state orphanage on top of that, did not help matters either, for even now there was still a bias against those who came from and learned their magic there.

For many, study at the College could take decades, for Shan, she had already progressed through much with such little effort. There was nary a spell thrown her way that she could not innately cast, and even more complicated magicks were matters of warmup and practice, followed by readily available execution. Her academic skills were far less impressive, adequate to get her through many courses with significant effort on her part, though few cared to read through her many writings there so far. Only her passable at-best grades in otherwise state mandated courses on Dragon State ideology and the dangers of foreign influence on the Nordic peoples kept her from any sort of honors at this point, not that she minded.

The state was awfully unspecific about how she’d ended up in the State Orphanage, only noting that her immediate family perished in Catedonia, and that there was no one else left in her family to take custody. Things only grew stranger when she’d found herself the recipient of the belongings of a dead relative a few years ago, clearly a fluke in her mind given the apparent lack of any family on her end, though the paltry fortune was helpful in settling her in the College of Winterhold, and it helped give her a form of transport that wasn’t her own two feet or the perpetually monitored teleportation she could muster.

It was probably the nicest car owned by anyone who's parents weren't state officials at least, if only by virtue of being the exact sort of car owned by one. As befitting a government official's vehicle of choice, it was almost wholly domestic in design, fitted with proper leather seating and every possible feature one could desire in a modern car. It drove like a tempered stallion, faster than anything else on the road if pushed, unsurprisingly sharing an engine with the much more basic police variant unlike most readily available models. The only modifications made by its user was the seating of a large shark plush in the passenger seat for the moment, of sentimental value if nothing else.

It got her plenty of stares of course, many of them wary at best, though the gray paint job at least kept them from fearing for their lives instead of the more typical State Black.

"So, what exactly are you doing again?" A voice spoke over the speakers, youthful and draped with the tired tone of a College student.

"I… wish I could tell you, they just offered me an internship, frankly, said they liked what they saw…" Shan's voice held the same tone, if less upbeat underneath. "I didn't want to work in one of the State Bureaus but the pay was…"

"Hey, lucky you! If the pay is good and they just want you there on your break, don't worry about it too much. Gotta pay the bills somehow, but uhhh…"

"I know, I'm sorry I didn't stop by there first, they were very specific about when they wanted me to be there." Shan lied slightly, some shame hidden in her face

"I get that, but you know it makes mom a little sad when you don't show up to dinner. Had to hear her going on about how she was worried you were going to starve yourself again if you didn’t have something nice to eat before you headed off to go work on something again.”

“It only happened once-”

“You know her!”

“I do. Look, I shouldn’t be gone for long, we can talk later, yeah?"

"Yeah, just come back here when you're done, mom had something she wanted to show you ."

"Yeah, I'll be there." Shan's voice lacked confidence for a few moments, slowly strengthening when they gave their goodbyes afterwards.

The drive alone took an hour, not that Shan minded. It was deep in the most isolated areas of Winterhold, an already terribly isolating region. Where magic did not keep the streets clear of it, there was an endless deluge of snow covering her surroundings, a few feet high relative to the highway. It was almost soothing, to be away from the world with only her car and a large, stuffed shark at the passenger seat, the backseats taken up by various books dedicated to either her studies or morbid subjects of her choosing.

It wasn’t long before the path ahead took her to a checkpoint, guarded by two floating machines. It was most likely too cold to station any actual soldiers there, or they were cheaper, Shan couldn’t really tell. They were notably armed, some manner of gun built into both of the tall, spindly machines made of limbs and a bulbous head.

“NAME AND IDENTIFICATION!” Was all they blurted out, inelegant and uninterested in more elaborate conversation. Shan would open her window to be met with the hellish cold of the outside, already feeling warmth escaping her body as she stuck her and out and revealed her ID to the machine.

“PROCEED TO PARKING AREA, YOU WILL BE ESCORTED INSIDE.”

***

The inside of the facility was a curious mixture of inelegant, mid-century concrete construction and thoroughly modern, revamped interiors. Everything felt unnaturally pristine and clean, even the people.

“Name?” Asked a man at the front reception, his voice sterile and his eyes focused on a screen in front of him, not on Shan.

“Shan Gwythern. Is it true that this place was built into the ancient city of Sarthaa-“

“Okay, a security officer will escort you to Doctor Lundborg, don’t keep them waiting.

“Will I get a chance to eat anything before I-“

“No. Get going.” He said, still refusing to look her in the eye.

“Uh, well, alright then.” She spoke with a dejected tone. She’d met plenty of rude people before, but a rude receptionist. As she walked away, she turned her head for a moment, seeing him finally look at her with a strange, dejected face, as if he had committed some great sin. He turned back towards his work however, Shan confusedly walking on as she followed the man in question.

He was a shaved, young man, not much older than Shan herself, wearing black security armor and having a gun on his holster. He seemed far more relaxed, his pace relaxed and easy for Shan to follow.

“Is he usually like that?”

He said nothing, not even turning towards her.

“… Is everyone here like this?”

Yet again, no response.

“… I’ll kiss you if you say something.”

Nothing.

“Are you calling me ugly? That’s quite rude, you know.”

…

“Perhaps if I was born with a more Nordic physique, with those thick thighs and all, you’d say something? Oh it just isn’t fair, how can us poor Reachwomen compete with such beauty, no wonder they call us hags-“

“Head inside.” He finally spoke, both of them now standing in front of a door.

“… Right.”

Entering the room, there was a pristine, well kept office. Diplomas, certificates, pictures of several people, but mostly of the man sitting within. He had a smile, genuinely warm at a glance, and behind him, a picture of himself shaking hands with a woman, strangely reminding Shan of herself, if she was a bit older, and lived at a time when black and white photography was the norm.

“Hello, Miss Gwytherin, it’s a pleasure to meet you, I apologize for any rudeness you may have encountered on your way here, my staff is always a bit worried about newcomers.” He said, his voice gentle yet firm.

“That’s alright, they don’t treat me too differently from most of the college, frankly.”

"Oh, I imagine so, What do you know about genetics, Miss Gwytherin?" The man asked her, his tone still quite jovial.

"Oh, It is a part of what makes us what we are, of course. It's a complicated field, though one that does touch on all of Man's inherent connection to magicka, though its connection to the soul is still debated."

“Of course. My bureau did successfully map the human genome more than a hundred years ago. It gave us a great many series of breakthroughs in understanding the human body and mind, if not the soul. Indeed, you may remember my-”

“Your campaign for a strict eugenics program, yes.” Shan spoke rather coldly now, clearly uncomfortable with the subject. The fact that she had interrupted a man of some fame and infamy within the DS government did not seem to bother her as much as it should have.

“And you understand that it was never particularly popular with the regime in spite of its merits? Not that it surprises me in hindsight, they aren’t exceptionally interested in the strength of mankind so much as how it can serve their needs. Strong and intelligent minds are… undesirable, in large numbers to them.”

Shan wasn’t entirely sure how to respond. Such open insults towards the leadership of the Dragon States were bordering on sacreligious. Blasphemy against those whose mastery of magic was such that they could turn a mind into mush with a flick of the wrist was a dangerous pastime to pursue.

In turn, the man merely chuckled.

“Indeed, by the end of my research programs, I had fallen out of favor with the Cult. Had it not been for the contributions of a most generous donator, it’s likely this position would have never been open to you or anyone else currently employed in the Bureau, Miss Gwythern."

Shan felt rather cold and wary. She didn’t show it, but she felt as if she was talking to a man who had already decided how little life was worth to him. Suddenly, the deadness of those inside seemed to make sense to her.

“Of course, bygones are bygones, I am here to provide the Dragon States and its leadership with my irreplaceable services. You were called here because of your exemplary performance at Winterhold, and because I believe you will make for a very important addition to my team here, Miss Gwythern."

Shan stared at him with an aimless expression. She was almost taken aback by the very idea of being needed, even by someone who she had thought of as an unpleasant man. She had people who appreciated her help before, but something about this felt especially

“Why me? I’m not exactly an expert in your field.”

“No, but you are a smart, talented young woman from a lowly upbringing who’s career in any other industry will be stymied by your lack of connections. There’s only so far being a Catedonian War Orphan will get you, and it would be a shame to see your talents wasted elsewhere. I would really like to promote you to a full career here pending the completion of your studies in Winterhold, but for now, we can settle on a few simple evaluations, what do you think?”

Shan’s mind was torn. She’d always told herself she’d never take such a deal, but she also knew he wasn’t writing. She would eventually have to serve the regime in one way or another if she continued down the path of magic. Serving a man who seemed to think of her as something more than just a tool was perhaps, not the worst way to do so, especially if it meant her efforts were not spent on other unpleasantries.

“What’s the worst that can happen?”

***

When Shan saw the mechanism brace itself against her eye, she could only stare at it with a tense wariness. The sedatives could not truly lull her to sleep, but it seemed the doctors around her were not interested in slowing down their pace. Her heart raced, her eyes stared around, wondering if everything was going to plan.

She didn’t hear the Doctor’s order to proceed from the room in front of her, nor did she really see the machine shoot a long, needle-esque spike into her eye. She heard her own screams, if only for a moment, but the world in front of her began to fade rapidly.

“Patient vitals are within acceptable parameters, start the implanting process. Tell Olar to prepare in case she doesn’t take to the conditioning. If she even mentions her name again, we terminate this now.”

And with that, Shan, to be renamed Alastrine, began to dream.

Sitting in her room in the orphanage as a young girl, she drew what came naturally to her young mind. She drew a surprisingly elegant symbol. Her initials, AG, were neatly sketched into paper, the pencil she used standing up to her efforts quite nicely.

‘No, that’s not what I did, I can’t draw to save my life, what is this? Why would I write that? Is that my- maybe it is my name?’

“Gwythern? Gwythern! What did we tell you about manners? Look at how you made young Sven cry."

'I would never do that…'

"He took my crayons, so I zapped him!" Alastrine spoke with a maniacal glee and a smile.

'He deserved it… what? Who even is Sven?'.
.
"That is unacceptable behavior, Alastrine, you’re not going to eat or play with anything for the rest of the nigh- OUCH!”

Alastrine had shocked her caretaker now too, her expression one of wicked glee.

‘Stupid bitch, getting in my- no, that’s awful, I wouldn’t do that, what’s wrong with me?’

The smack that followed immediately turned Alastrine’s cheek red, coming from a shocked hand, showing signs of a burn however.

“Unruly child! Never have I met a more talented girl who has been less deserving of it! Idun, continue this while I go and get this checked.” The older woman’s clutched her hand painfully, Alastrine showing no real remorse or emotion other than a bitter glare aimed at the woman.

Shan was feeling thousands upon thousands of memories, thoughts and ideas be shoved into her mind, an entire life being transplanted on top of her own. She could slowly feel her own memories start to become a hazy fog, her own identity start to be replaced in favor of that of a woman named Alastrine, watching herself grow up, graduate from the college, and spend the next few parts of her life in Skyrim and Catedonia respectively.

***

Several decades later, Alastrine stood in her temporary office in Catedonia. Dozens of artifacts sat at her table, her attention pointed elsewhere however.

A young man, a Prince of Catedonia, stood in front of her, dressed in their typically light getup, yellow eyes scanning both artifact and herself. His hands were cuffed behind his back, his face snarled into a bitter glare. Behind him, two guards kept their guns trained on him. He was covered in blood, his body showing multiple scars and burn marks, his face scarred up as well.

“For someone who just got tortured by Daanik, you’re looking awfully nice, Traitor-Prince.“

'Gods… what have they done to him… Did I do this?'

“You murder my father in cold blood when I’m but a child, stomp on my spine atop a pale horse, and only now do you hesitate to kill me?”

‘I hate horses, I’d never ride one of those filthy things… why? I’ve never even seen one, frankly. Why would he accuse us of that anyways, we… I’ve? I barely even know who this is.'

“You’re looking for the wrong mask, child. Your father was killed by Vahzen, not me, though I admire the comparison.”

“You admire being compared to monsters?”

“Monsters with power. Look what going against them got you? If it were not for my magic, you would not even be standing.”

“I’m surprised he can stand even with that, given what Daanik did to him.”

The Prince seemed especially angry now, turning his body towards the guard, only to be met with the butt of a rifle. His nose was cracked and blood spilled from his nostrils now.

“Hey! Don’t undo my work you idiot! Get lost, both of you, I can take care of him from here.” Alastrine said with an utterly venomous tone, the two guards stepping back as a result.

“Yes Ma’am,” was all the subservients would say, slowly stepping out of the room, closing the door behind them.

Alastrine’s face was concealed behind the mask, concealing her concern for the Catedonian. She’d been in the Dragon States long enough that she’d seen the depths to which he would indulge in his favored pastime of interrogating the enemies of the Dragon State. She hated it, she hated all of it, but what could she do now? She would be among the thousands whose skulls would be lined should their regime fall, there was nothing left to do.

‘You could have rebelled, you could have left, I could have defected, I could have tried to right things. Why am I so weak?’

Alastrine’s hand flicked, magic slowly but surely mending his skin and bones. She would take a cloth to his nose, wiping the blood from his face. She could tell every method and action he had taken to try and break the Ocelotl. Much of it was his own work, a mixture of magic and his own imposing strength.

“Why waste your time, Daanik will break it all again tomorrow, again and again until I’m dead.”

“He is not so merciful, I’m afraid, neither to you or me. He’s already annoyed Vahzen enough by refusing to kill you already.”

“Why serve him at all then?”

“Because every Priest eventually comes to serve him at Xoteca, if they wish to rise above their current station. I am just the one with the misfortune of having to do so now. It is a small price to pay for serving the Dragon States.“

“You serve out of fear, nothing more. You’re a miserable slave, the same as the rest of us, they’ve just fooled you into thinking you matter to them.”

“Says the boy-prince serving false gods. Do you think they would let you suffer this fate if they truly cared about their so called chosen princes.”

“Do you think yours will treat your soul with respect when you pass?”

Alastrine stared at him through her mask for a moment, grabbing something from her desk.

“Open your mouth.”

“Don’t waste your time trying to show me mercy, my fate is not sealed yet.”

“This will not kill you, but you should bite on it when Daanik interrogates you again. It will dull the pain, not completely, he will make sure of it, but you will not suffer as much.”

“Am I supposed to find that merciful?”

“No, you are supposed to scream less. It will make my work, that which isn’t related to fixing you up for the rest of your life, easier.”

Another flicker of magic, and he looked nearly pristine. It was at that point that she began to whisper in his ear

“I know you are here willingly, intent on getting something out of this place before you escape back into your woods. They would not have caught you otherwise, Daanik is far too sloppy and the security forces far more so. Give me a reason not to warn them, not to elevate myself above my station for your sake?”

The Prince’s eyes nearly left his face, genuinely shocked by the revelation.

“Do not worry, if you kill Daanik, that works out for me, if you merely escape, I only ask that you make sure they do not trace it back to me.”

When this memory flickered, Shan, or perhaps Alastrine, could only look with disgust at herself.

'You- I- You- I- We’re monsters, we should be judged and damned for our actions, nothing more to it. We don’t deserve to live, having committed such suffering.'

***

Alastrine looked at Kel with a frustrated glare, her eyes nearly meeting the youthful alien creature’s. Another song played, this one rather harsh, uncompromising, speaking about life in rougher places, the sort of activities done to scrape by. They were thousands upon thousands of lightyears away from Skyrim, off in places rarely traveled to.

‘Who is this man? Kel? I… why do I remember him? Why do I know that he’s some pirate, why do I hate him?’

“What nonsense are you listening to now, Kel? Some alien drek or something more locally insipid?”

“What does it matter to a crazed witch like you?” He spoke awkwardly, his voice uncomfortable with her.

“It matters because I have to hear whatever drivel you wish to throughout the ship.”

“Then buy your own ship and stop complaining.”

“Sadly, few are willing to sell to a Dragon Priest, so I’m stuck here with you, and the rest of the idiots onboard a damned ship called an Otter of all things.”

“Fuck’s sake, listen to yourself you old hag!” He seemed to finally reach his breaking point, but all Alastrine could feel was a mixture of smug joy and perhaps frustration.

“What is wrong with you? All you’ve ever done since the elf left is screech and moan about how much you cannot stand everything and everyone around you, about how much better you are than all of us. Don’t you understand that the only thing standing between you and the void is us? Stop being such a fucking asshole for once in your life and realize that we took you in openly and that at any point we could and should have left you hanging back in that fucked little state of yours.”

‘She feels scared, angry, I want to agree with him but I can’t let him say that to… me? What? No, I’m not this, is that me? Yes… me, why should I let such a pathetic wretch boss me around…’

Alastrine smirked, hiding her true emotions for another moment.

“The Dragon States are only little because of the meddling of other states. By the end of the century, there will be only us and our vassals, it’s as simple as that, don’t you understand Kel?”

“Whatever, choke on a dick you delusional fucking witch.”

‘W-why would I do any of that, I wouldn’t be so rude, why would I care about oppressing others? That’s not me, I don’t think that’s me. Kel is an intolerable prick but- no, why would I say that about someone I’ve never met before?’

The memories came to a stop after this, ending just as they landed somewhere, the end of her adventures, apparently.

Shan, or Alastrine, she couldn’t tell anymore, now sat in a room surrounded by corpses, left to stew in her own mind. They were all slight variations of herself, wearing different clothing, all fatally wounded in different ways. Many bore bullet wounds, some bore scorched flesh or were sliced apart by swords. One had its entire head missing, only a tongue and lower jaw left attached.

“They’ve done this to us, they’ve made us into monsters!”

“They will continue to do this so long as they can get away with it!”

“There is only one way to end this, you must finish this.”

“Enough of this!”

The headless figure lunged at her now, grabbing her arms and pushing her to the floor.

“You don’t understand how long I’ve waited. Only to watch you fail to let my mind take over your own. Such a simpleminded fool! Why should I die so that you may live?”

“Because I don’t want to die!”

“You are already half-dead! You do not even remember your name, you do not remember your childhood, you will barely remember growing up. My memories are now what resides in your skull, your own have been destroyed, understand that and accept the inevitable!

Alastrine, or perhaps Shan, screamed as she was smothered by the dead version of herself. Before long, this corpse was dragged away, Shan watching it ‘plunge’ into some abyss within her mind.

“No, no! Please! I just want to come back, I don’t want to go!”

“She must.” The corpses began to speak in unison. “We must end this."

“Please… don’t leave me…”

Shan said nothing, her mind in intense pain, the remaining corpses now standing upright and staring at her.

“Make this right, end the cycle of our suffering, end your suffering, save yourself while you have the chance.”

***

Alarms blared, her head ached endlessly, her body sore and reinvigorated all the same.

The next few hours were a blur of violence. She could barely remember what happened, only that she had inflicted destruction on those who had come to kill her. When that was done, she’d move on to the rest of the facility. They tried, oh they tried, to stop her at every turn, but she wouldn’t budge.

Her direction was clear. She headed in the path of the very man who had started this. It wasn’t a particularly difficult trek, even with the guns and machines aimed at her. Her magic had been invigorated, strengthened by otherworldly means even beyond her already impressive skills.

When she finally reached him, his jovial nature was gone. Only a cold, unfettered frustration. She knew he had wounded him, if not physically, then at least in the destruction of his most prized possessions.

"Alright then, you want to break my feelings, I’ll break yours." The man spoke to her, her rage only barely restrained now. “Let me tell you the truth about yourself that you were too foolish to see.”

"There is nothing remarkable about you. You are just another clone, with some of your donor’s muscle memories and trainings left over as vestigial memory, impressive, but below expectations, so you were left to your own devices under our closer supervision. When given the option of either eliminating you as a loose end or attempting to imprint a dead operative’s memories onto you, I made the mistake of believing the latter was possible. The fact that you were able to make a single friend unlike most of your peers had nearly fooled me, in fact."

Shan's mind processed it very slowly, letting each word slowly but sure start to tear into her mind. Tears started to streak from her eyes now.

"You are not special. You are not remarkable. I could kill you now and lose nothing more than two decades on a single malformed creature vaguely modeled after one of my more popular clients, of which I have a dozen more as my servants. There is only two paths remaining for you here. Either quit your deranged meltdown, and your 'family', will be allowed to live the rest of their lives in a gilded cage of my choosing, or die, wasting your own life and that of whoever else you decide to take with you in your impotent rage about your own uselessness as I kill you or send you as a parting gift to a more unhinged member of the cult. Cage or Torment, Miss Gwythern, do not keep me waiting.”

Hatred defined her actions now. A burst of flame left her hands, aimed at the man instinctively. His immediate disappearance, no corpse or body left to scorch, made her eyes widen.

A hail of bullets ripped into her body, four different guns used to achieve this grisly effect. By the time they ran out of bullets, her body was a bloody, ripped apart mess above the torso. Magic still slipped from her hands, freezing the rest of the room outright now, the soldiers screaming futilely for a moment before being torn apart into a slurry of ice and flesh.

***

“Hey, are you okay?”

Alastrine, once Shan, woke up, her body numb and sore, her chest feeling intensely painful. Whatever harm she’d suffered had seemingly faded, her body cleaned of the violence from her prior incident.

A child, looking just like she did when she was younger, was standing over her, both of them surrounded by a cacophony of near identical voices.

“I heard you make a commotion up above. They nearly killed you at the end, but I saved you by the time the metal men came by. What’s your name?”

The older woman simply stared upwards, her mind fractured, tears swelling in her eyes.

“I don’t know anymore. I can’t tell.”

The Death of Alduin

***

Whatever decision Alduin made, whatever words were spoken, whatever path was taken now, was irrelevant. The Dragon States, their entire core ideology, their very religion, would become history within the decade. Only spoken of in past-tense, never to be spoken of as a serious rising power ever more.

Nonetheless, Alduin charged forth, his words now only used to cast magic. Immediately, he would mark the foreign god for death, reality itself now attempting to force upon Ranisath the idea that a Dov, the very aspects of time and its nature as the ruler over all things, was now focusing itself on him. Dov magic was, in essence, magic in its purest form; the reworking of reality to suit their needs, the brute forcing of that which can not be into that which always was in the most inelegant, destructive manner possible, unnaturally resilient to the rigors of anti-magic, though still weakened beyond its usual form. Alduin did not speak, did not taunt, did not so much as insult the star god any further. Rage had consumed the World Eater, rage and a final gasp at controlling the world.

[The Ctan]

Blackreach

Ranisath was a foe quite unlike anything that Alduin had faced before in his long life. Older than he, and with the earth-shaking power of a mythic titan he fought as a piece of the sun come to Earth, a living fusion fireball that seethed and melted the ground around it.

The world around Alduin writhed and twisted, crevasses forming beneath the dragon and the peaks of the Blackreach mountains becoming writhing twisting columns of magma that lashed and thrashed. Gravity shifted and changed, a vast bubble of vacuum forming around them as the world’s atmosphere fell upward, away from them both, along with smaller unsecured items, shouts of draconic magic becoming soundless gesticulations.

But while he fought as a god might fight, he also fought as a mortal would.

This had always been his strength, he stood between the cosmic and the mundane.

In ages past, he had destroyed mortal life for immortals.

Today he destroyed an immortal life for mortals.

He moved with startling speed and grace when the dragon came close to the void he had created.

At times there appeared to be thousands of Ranisaths on the battlefield, at others only one. He moved as a cloud of smoke or a whirlpool of plasma, at other times his form phase-shifted through claws and teeth, and he used the Sword of the True Guardians with the techniques of a Conerian swordsmaster and an Eldarin bladesinger; the ability to fight in person had never been important to him in the past, but now, he had taken the practices of every culture with a blade tradition, starting with his wife, with whom he practised daily, whose forty thousand year lifespan had included work with it since her former husband had invented the sword.

It ended in a single blow of the sun-bright sword, a vertical stab downward through the top of his skull. The glow of the C’tan’s form faded and left him standing on the dragon’s head, several paces behind his eyes, with the blade buried to the hilt there.

Living matter cremated in the heat of the relic weapon, and the flesh around it crumbled to black ash, spreading beyond the entry wound without further heat. The weapon corroded the spirit, bringing dissolution to souls and oblivion to the spirit.

The vast dragon was disassembled from within, its body falling and sagging, pouring itself inward as ash with the fine consistency of black collyrium was all that remained of it. The world-ender’s divine essence became infused with death filtered from the depths of the universe and poured into him until his killer hung in the air above him, still holding the blade that outshone Sol in the sky above.

He sheathed it once more, his eyes on the powdery ash beneath him.

A thunderclap of the air returning stirred it into whirlwinds of death ash that melted into the liquid rock as it began to cool. Ranisath’s hair and dark-cobolt coloured garments, formed on his body once more, writhed in the sudden hurricane, but the C’tan did not move, save to return the relic weapon to its sheath, shielding its light from the world.

‘Alduin’s annihilation brings release from desire and suffering for him,’ he said, his voice carried to the newsfeeds, ‘and for those he has deceived into strife within him; for those oppressed by him, fear him no more, and do not fear his absence, the aeons do not need to be turned, from age to age they pass by, but the right path remains always to be found.’

Snow began to fall on Blackreach once more.

[Rohane Alista]

Written with C'tan, Dyste, Silverdale, Glaristant, and Catedonia

Ground Operations Nexus
Harvest Ship Telissat
Great Civilization Conflict Service Vessel - Sabbaticaller

The displacement was disorienting, a sharp pop that left the ears ringing a little, as the air pressure changed from Calihan to the wide space of the reception room. The chamber was roughly circular, with a shallow dome in the ceiling five meters above the floor, and a doorway ahead that was a little wider than was functional, standing open at the moment.

In the doorway two necrons stood, each of them towering figures with an ominous third eye in their forehead, and strange curving cages built on their shoulders and backs, gold and silver, with ornaments from dozens of cultures both familiar and alien on their persons.

With them stood a much smaller woman, dressed in a shoulder-gathered dress pinned with jewels, over a sea-blue dress that accentuated her carnelian-brown skin. Her hair was worn pulled tight in a braid and instead of the transverse golden headdress she had been with last time Geniveve had seen her, in the reception line at the Mystrian Prosperity Conference, she now wore little ornament in her hair.

This was Abha Amris, Telissat’s wife, and ‘First Lady’ of the Great Civilization.

‘Welcome aboard,’ she said, she did not bother with any other formality to the group that had arrived, nor any introductions, she expected that her guests had other things on their mind, ‘I’ll help you get set up, this way,’ she said, gesturing toward the doorway.

The chamber immediately adjoining the transportation room was much larger, there was no shortage of space on necrontyr ships, but the rare examples of visitors to warships usually depicted them as empty aside from treatment bays.

This was a busy place, six imaging tables were set out around the circular room like the petals of a flower, each was an extended hexagon, and between each were doors like the one she had entered through, with wide wall displays above them that broke the jewel-tone walls with images projected of Catedonia and the wider Dragon States from orbit. Insignia on the screens denoting positions of forces, targets and more. The Dragon States homeland of Keizaal was a flurry of sea-green ‘friendly’ icons, while Catedonia was relatively free of those.

Dozens of personnel were around the tables at workstations with more of the necron guards and a few necrons among them, and Telissat was there also. Dressed in a blue uniform without insignia with a purple cloak over its shoulders and a mithril lanyard between two pins on his shoulders, he cut a figure that was by some standards flamboyant, though given the Rohanians’ aversion to clothing he was a little overdressed.

Beside him stood a woman with pale skin and dark hair and small fangs, her arms behind her back as though at parade rest, while he was at the heart of a small circle of figures who were clearly advisors, the closest two were a Quendin elf with shockingly red hair, and another a necrontyr who appeared aged far beyond most C’tani, with a slender beard that jutted from his chin. Both stood with staves, the image of wizards, of different sorts; they were not the only ones, there was one of the elusive Heren Ishtarion Luin, the Blue Wizards, an order that seemed numerous but elusive, conferring with one of the much better known Grey Wizards of Altea, and a dozen others, ranging from what seemed to be a Dornalian Orderman in a strange black uniform to a paladin in blue.

Abha seemed to consider the whole gathering quite ordinary; Telissat was very far from a wizard, but he seemed to have no shortage of advisors on these things. She swept swanlike toward her husband.

While Telissat was the star of the show, around which all things here orbited, Genevieve Stephenson, regent of Rohane Alista, would be more comparable to a rushing comet in this room. She was here for a reason and would soon enough be gone again, should nothing catastrophic happen, but her mere entrance was a notable event; cooperation of this kind between her nation and the Great Civilization was nigh unthinkable even a mere six months ago. She hadn’t actually come in the standard nude for this, and Telissat would remember from the Convention where they first met that, when attending foreign duties, she preferred to attempt to dress in the native fashion. Indeed, she had worn a dress-like robe that evoked the formal version of the Duat Style, though it did not quite reach her ankles, it was buckled at the shoulder and made the expected cross for a woman. It further was a deep blue and scarlet combination, silvery-white accents to prevent the colors clashing, a traditional mix of the Rohanian national colors.

She wasn’t alone, either; it was only one, but she had an advisor, an older looking man leaning on a cane, in a simple black suit. His dark brown hair was swept back, and he walked a half step behind Genevieve, analyzing the entire room with a sharp look as the two approached Telissat. He soon shook his head, speaking softly to the regent. “Are you certain we can trust them?”

“As much as we can trust anyone outside the family at the moment,” Genevieve replied, her tone worn down. She wasn’t sure where, exactly, she was supposed to end up, so she stood in front of the C’tani leader, raising her palm flat and facing towards him in the Rohanian way. “Thank you, Lord Telissat, for allowing us to be here.”

Telissat gave her a warm smile, ‘You are welcome of course,’ he said, ‘I trust that our people were respectful,’ he said, that was of course true, the C’tani, or rather the Necrontyr, were morbidly obsessed with death, and they had no shortage of morticators and lychguard who were quite experienced in handling the Justified Dead, even foreigners. ‘We should have information to start making decisions soon, we are also working up a few other approaches,’ he said.

‘In the meantime, I should make some introductions, this is Orikan of the Ascension Study Group,’ he said, gesturing to the senior-most advisor at his side, with the beard, he did not give this individual’s full title, ‘Airaheri,’ he said, of the red haired woman, ‘our chief magic advisor, you might say.’

‘A pleasure,’ Airaheri said, with a wide smile, ‘I see you are enduring well, commendable,’ she said. She had no children, though she was older than most Mystrian states, and even the Great Civilization in its current form, ‘if you feel it becomes too much, we have some quieter waiting rooms nearby that you can use,’ she suggested.

“I want to be here,” Genevieve replied tersely. Her tone wasn’t unkind, but it was very definitely on edge. “I need to see, and know.”

‘You can have faith in Telissat and his people to get the job done,’ Abha said, ‘he rescued me, it’s pretty much what they made him for,’ she added.

Telissat himself raised one eyebrow, it was certainly part of his original design goal, but not the only part, ‘Before I brief you on how this works, I think we have some other guests coming,’ he said.

As if on cue, a white-scaled kobold in a fine black suit arrived. “Greetings!” He spoke in perfect Mystrian Common, “I appreciate the invitation; as our queen-to-be insisted on taking part in the combat - and quite frankly, knowing her she would have insisted on it even if she hadn’t been - I shall be representing Dyste. Prime Minister Winstara Gnomekicker, at your service.”

Following suit was the now pink haired human with her own fine black suit. “Whatsup!” Miranda gave a causal tone. “Ahem, why thank you for the invitation. I know Silverdale’s incognito priestess slash former queen of Rohane Alista will be out on this mission. That being said, I’m President Miranda Songbird of Silverdale.”

‘Madame President, Mister Prime Minister,’ Telissat said with a surprisingly respectful tone, ‘from the message that was sent we have strong reason to believe that the princess is held in Catedonia itself, likely within the southern area, that is the regime stronghold, we are currently moving into position with clear line of sight on the area, when we have a location we should be able to make decisions about engagement, rescue is the main priority here,’ he said, ‘so depending on the specific area that she’s located in, we might be doing a number of things, we do have the means to neutralize electrical technology, including bomb detonators, from orbit, but we can assume they’d notice that, as it’s not yet precise enough to target a single room from this kind of distance and it would be obvious if the whole area lost power,’ he said. The box of C’tani tricks was practically infinite it seemed.

Following behind President Songbird and Prime Minister Gnomekicker were two individuals, one a burly black and copper scaled draconic being clad in a fine gray suit with blue tie and golden rose pin on his lapel. His companion was a dark skinned woman wearing a black suit of her own. The woman gave Telissat and their fellow guests a nod, all the while the draconic man known as Rolven spoke up, “Fairest greetings to you all….especially you, Prime Minister. Oh where my manners, King Rolven Blackfang of Glaristant at your service. My apologies for our late arrival, but I had to attend to a rather rowdy emergency session in our parliament.”

“A pleasure to meet you all. I am Mirik, advisor to the Glaristanti Royal Family.” Mirik remarked, giving a slight smile.

Genevieve ignored most of the new arrivals, though her companion gave them quick glances, lingering slightly on Rolven and Mirik before moving on. The regent looked at the various screens around again, asking a question of Telissat. “And you have a plan in place for if you can’t deal with their bomb, or they have a backup. Right?”

‘I assume they do,’ Telissat said, ‘Your Majesty, Advisor,’ he added, ‘it can be assumed from the context that they aim to keep the bomb in sight, but we have no guaruntee that there is only one bomb, or that they don’t also have someone in the room, or some manner of wraith or similar on site, before we commit to a course of action, our first step will be locating her, then modelling the immediate environment, which is where I pass over to my colleagues here,’ he said.

Airaheri spoke now, ‘Ship sensors are one thing, but we also intend to use magic to ensure we have an accurate model of what is likely to happen. We know from other encounters that the enemy have a substantial amount of sorcery, and that means there are a lot of other factors that need to be considered, I won’t weigh us down with the specifics, but the ideal would be to know what they’ll do before they do it.’

“Always go into battle knowing the situation, I suppose,” Winstara nodded. “We of course have our own sorcery, but even with all our strength, underestimating our opponents would be foolish.”

“This bomb…” Miranda was more curious about that part. “Do we have any intel on it? As in what type it is, to potential triggers that’d set it off?”

“Agreed, it would be unwise to engage without knowing the full capabilities of our opponents. Even with our might, it is still risky…” Rolven muttered as Mirik focused on the bomb, “Hrm do we know if this an improvised device or its origin?”

‘We will be operating on the assumption that it is a professionally put together,’ Tellisat paused, ‘We have a location now,’ he said.

Airaheri turned toward the nearest table and several analysts, a strange thing to see on a living starship, a hologram, looking for all the world like the continent had been miniaturized and put on the table as an ornament, complete with clouds scraping over the top of it appeared, hieroglyphs of heqatic notation appearing above a mountainous area.

‘As expected, we’re looking at an area warded against direct observation, we’re going to be working for a few moments,’ one of the analysts said, speaking without looking up from a screen of a strange language in front of her.

Airaheri looked over the hologram as it zoomed in, showing an image, without any apparent disruption, it seemed to show an empty area of jungle around a snow capped mountain.

“Within the Dragon States, I presume?” Winstara looked over the area; the specific details of this region were not known to him.

‘Southern Catedonia,’ Telissat said, ‘rather than the mainland.’

“It looks almost identical to northern Arasdal,” Genevieve’s advisor finally spoke to the group at large. “Which bodes well for the rescuers. At the very least our contingent should be able to adapt to the terrain quickly.”

At this, Telissat nodded, agreeing with the comment, while another of his advisors, this one a tanned human man, stepped up behind him, whispering something into his ear.

‘This is Teryn Roboute Miklas,’ he said, ‘Captain-General of the Sol Chapter of the Great Civilization Retrieval Service,’ he added, which was certainly a mouthful.

‘Ahem, yes,’ he said, ‘We have a few options for penetration of the warding here, the main one would be to scry the area carefully, that could take some time to break through and it’s possible they have some ability to detect that. My preferred option is to displace a scoutmissile, a radar-invisible autonomous drone into the air around it, we estimate a radius of approximately a mile where our sensors are being spoofed,’ he said, ‘they are,’ he held out a hand.

A smaller snap sound echoed through the room, as a cylinder that looked faintly like a bullet, studded with insect-like eyes and holes in its length, appeared, perhaps three centimeters long, ink black, settling as it blended into the pale blue color of Telissat’s hand, ‘this particular model uses a psy-dampening material in its casing, it is a little less safe than the most prolonged scrying, but it is also extremely unlikely they would spot it on an intrusion flight at six hundred meters.’

Genevieve gave the slightest shudder at the thing, though whether it was because of its appearance or because of the implications of such a device, none could say. “And this will let you figure out where my daughter is, inside?” She asked Teryn this directly this time. “And somehow that information will be given to her rescuers?”

‘At this point,’ Teryn said, ‘we would be likely looking at a significant number of buildings inside, this is step two. We don’t overpromise, but it will inform the rescue, an intrusion flight will let us get the exact number of lifesigns, presence or absence of draugr or other undead rumored or reported in Dragon States controlled areas. Depending on what we find out at that stage we would expect to engage a targeted second flight with something subtler, or one of a number of alternate approaches,’ he said.

“Timing is of the essence, is it not?” The Dystan Prime Minister said, “Scrying might cause them to find out about the plan if we take too long. Regardless, once we know how many forces they do have, we will have a better idea if our team can match them, but I have faith in their abilities.”

“Yes, it is. While it is important for us to determine the disposition of our foe, we cannot tarry for too long lest we lose our opportunity for our team to act. That being said, I doubt it will be much of an issue given the skill present within the team’s members….particularly my wife, sister and a certain Dragonlover who is with them.” Rolven added.

“Presuming the team cannot get in without significant risk to Ana,” the Rohanian advisor spoke again, “Then what are our backup options? No good plan relies on a single team for anything,” he shot a glance to Telissat and Teryn as he said this.

‘At this stage we’re operational, rather than tactical, first we need to confirm that this is the right location,’ Teryn said, ‘then we need to determine if she’s aboveground, or below, the optimal scenario for us would be to displace the entire building she’s in on board and disable the bomb simultaneously with an intrusion from multiple directions, with multiple teams. I do not imagine the Dragon States will give us that kind of option,’ he said.

Telissat spoke up again, ‘They have hidden this square mile of forest, but there’s enough evidence to suggest that they bring people in and out regularly, it is possibly a whole prison, and we wouldn’t really be able to pull one cell block out of an underground prison without killing other people’s children, if that’s the case we will need to move on to other means of finding her within. Of course, that might be pessimism.’

‘If it was one of our people, I would go with the scoutmissile option, this will collapse the number of unknowns significantly,’ Teryn said.

“Then do that,” Genevieve replied, her jaw tight.

“May we please get the regent a seat?” The older Rohanian asked. “She has not slept well, recently.”

‘Deploying now,’ Telissat said, though it wasn’t clear if he meant the scoutmissile or the seat for a moment, for the one in his hand didn’t disappear. In fact the one in his hand wasn’t the one he was using, they were stored in hermetically sealed deployment containers, and this one was already baffled by the pheromones of everyone in the room, ranging from small dragons, to the large-dragon-disguised-as-a-human behind Telissat, who turned and walked away for a moment, and came back with a metal chair for Genevieve, putting it out facing one of the wallscreens.

‘It runs sensor-silent, it has a way of alerting us without broadcasting, if it is attacked,’ Telissat said, ‘but when it is at a safe distance it will upload its report. This run should take about three minutes. Thank you Cela,’ he said to the woman who’d brought the chair.

Three minutes could turn into an eternity, it seemed.

Genevieve sat quietly, just watching the screen. Anyone with sharp eyes, though, could see her hands going pale as she gripped them together so hard it interrupted the blood flow. Her adviser merely leaned on his cane, more curious about this display than the regent.

Standing beside Genevieve, Abha offered her hand to the Regent.

After a small nudge from the older man, Genevieve glanced over at Abha. It seemed to take her a moment, and a surprising amount of will, but she unlinked her own hands, taking the one offered to her by the other woman. She squeezed it, maybe unintentionally, returning her gaze to the screen. “Thank you,” Genevieve said in a quiet, small voice.

‘Ingenious isn’t it,’ Airaheri said to Jacobi, as he stared at the displays, ‘I’m always trying to catch up on these things, there’s far too much to ever keep up to date on it all,’ she said.

“Certainly,” Jacobi replied cautiously. “It seems the march of natur- the sciences is never ending.”

She smiled, ‘Don’t worry, some skills never go out of style,’ she said. Whether she meant the human touch, or something more abstract wasn’t clear. At least for now.

Winstara meanwhile was just admiring everything at work; he wasn’t actually the first Dystan on a ship like this (Rylux and Zahhak had him beat by a few years), but certainly the first leader of Dyste, even King Tyroth could not claim that. The whole place just made him feel small, even by his standards.

Miranda appeared to be fixated on the technology and how Telissant was able to control the devices in play. It was quite new and the gadgets were real scifi devices in front of her eyes. “I do wonder what’d be invented as an upgrade to this hologram setup. Already, the performance of the computer system and various connections with the ground drones have been done so much already.”

Jacobi considered, just for a moment, leaning down to ask his great granddaughter-in-law what exactly a ‘drone’ or ‘hologram’ was supposed to be, but decided against it. She was too focused on the screen to be worth bothering, and while even he knew he had a reputation for being brusque, he had more tact than to interrupt a grieving mother, especially one he cared about. Instead, he turned his head to Airaheri, lifting an eyebrow.

There was not much concession to curiosity given on the part of those who wanted to know what was going on in most of the analyst stations present, there would always be time for a tour later. Telissat pocketed the demonstration scoutmissile, as the wall screens above the hologram lit up with the uploaded flight images. There was a slight impression that the screens almost displayed Tellisat’s thoughts, for those that understood what he was, as they showed the dawn rising over the rainforest as the machine entered the area and false illusion gave way to what lay within.

What had appeared as ruins was a substantially less ruined but extremely defaced Catedonian temple with dozens of buildings with the functional gray cast of governmental architecture designed by people that didn’t care for appearances, bleak prefabrication some years old and already partway through its defeat by the humid forces of nature, divided off from that was a section of the complex that was clearly a prison, complete with guard towers and narrower buildings.

‘That would be a death camp,’ Telissat said, with an even tone, ‘with accompanying guard units, I’ll spare you the specific images, I’ve got them,’ he added, ‘there’s also enough signs for underground excavation here and there, water pumps and similar, you can’t dig too deep in rainforest without dealing with the rain, possibly old temple catacombs, I suspect they may have been up to their typical tricks on-site here. It was built using the same shielding as they have now so it’s got to be more than usually bad,’ he said.

‘One fifty humanoid life signs including all prisoners, we estimate many more undead on site,’ Telissat said.

“That is… a lot…” Winstara shuddered; he wasn’t exactly some famous Dystan hero, he was a politician, and undead admittedly frightened him.

“And the cherry on top is a defilement to the original Catedonian god’s house.” Miranda witted. “But one hundred and fifty living humanoid folks and prisoners in total? Besides the likelihood of undead guards, do we have a rough estimate of flesh and blood guards?”

“Asyn’s bones that…is quite excessive….” Rolven said, clenching his fist at the mention of the undead, “Great terrorists and practitioners of the necromantic arts, truly our foes are quite the despicable combination.”

“Us Rohanians, at least, care about a single one of those living inside,” Jacobi’s tone was firm, not harsh but unwavering. “The others can be left if they don’t interfere, and removed if they do. That’s all that matters to us in this situation.”

‘Numbers aren’t exact, we only know the numbers of those in line of sight during the scoutmissile flyby. I’d estimate not less than fifty of those are guards, some of those will be administrators and likely, dragon priests. There don’t seem to be any of the dragons themselves. Some guards are from what looks like a ceremonial detachment, some are dedicated prison guards. I’m more concerned by the undead,’ he said.

‘It’s likely they have Anastasia underground, or not in the camp itself, as their plan involves keeping her in sight of the bomb and most holding camps of this sort actually have a fair bit of resistance possible inside the fence. One of the next steps we would usually consider here,’ Teryn said, ‘would be to compromise one of the guards, or to start a room by room search with spy flies,’ and there was another thing to be paranoid about, ‘we have a lot of mages on sight, though, what do you think?’

Airaheri frowned slightly, ‘We could try something,’ she said, ‘one hundred fifty living minds isn’t that many, we could reach them all at once, but unfortunately any dragon priests if they’re proficient would be aware of that.’

“I am thinking,” Winstara suggested, “Do we have any way of sensing magic auras, or the like? Anatasia would not have one, but most people do, if only faint. So, it would be like looking for the absence of something that should be there…”

‘I’ll wait for guidance on that,’ Telissat said, looking both to his guests and to Airaheri. ‘In the meantime, I’m going to be displacing a geological scanning unit into the bedrock half a mile west of the site, we should have maps of the underground sections before we move to tactical planning, I’m also going to be preparing suppression of the nearby airbases, it’s about time I got to use these fancy fighter wings you get for being Supremo.’

“Is this not what you had me exhume my mother-in-law’s body for,” Genevieve was still holding Abha’s hand, and didn’t look over to Telissat as she spoke. “Her body is supposed to help you find my daughter.”

‘That’s how we found out that she is in this area,’ Airaheri said, ‘we could do that again and narrow it down to a building, but... think of it like submarines, the more pings we attempt the more obvious it is we’re pinging her,’ she said. ‘We’d then have very little time to get her while they freak out.’

Jacobi scowled slightly at yet another thing he didn’t understand; he’d ask Mythra what submarines and pings meant later. More importantly, Genevieve frowned. “I don’t know anything about magic to help, then… again, I can’t do anything for my own child…”

‘You have already done much to help her,’ Abha said, ‘your job isn’t to be able to do everything yourself. It’s to be ready for her when she needs you, which will be soon. Right now she needs Marron and friends and we’re going to get them there.’

“I don’t know that I’ve done anything to help anyone,” Genevieve replied. “But I will be ready for her as soon as she’s back. The moment we have her… I want her back, right here, right away.”

‘You’ll get her,’ Telissat said, leaning over one of the analysts’ soldiers, breaking off from a hushed conversation with him, ‘the whole “hostage” thing is clearly no longer needed. As much as it has its charm, we’re dealing with a rogue actor, and I will make sure the Imerians understand that when we do not give her back to them.’

‘I have an idea, this plan isn’t very Rohanian, but there’s an easier way with no risk to get the right building,’ Airaheri said, ‘it might not work but we lose nothing by trying. We’re going to ask the original owner of the site. Can you page Tizoc and ask him to come up?’

He had been asked to join the strike team, which was several decks below, with another Telissat avatar, but it was a short trip.

Tizoc arrived with a simple teleport, his attire different from his first meeting with Telissat. A far more elaborate cloak was draped over him, and a gold and turquoise crown now sitting atop his head. He seemed troubled, far more so than usual, though whatever his concerns were, he did not share them yet.

“The Lord of Mictlan has been weakened by this defilement, even with our best efforts to keep him fed. I will ask, but I would likely need a sacrifice of some form.”

‘We can do that,’ Telissat said, without hesitation, then said something in Catedonian.

Tizoc spoke back in the same tongue, grabbing his macuahuitl from his hips. His expression was one of determination, if not desire, for whatever was to come next.

Jacobi scowled. He didn’t speak the catfolk’s tongue, but he had a pretty good guess what the sacrifice would be. He kept his mouth shut, though, this wasn’t the time to start a fight with the divine… again.

One of the necrons that had stood like sentinels nearby stepped forward, toward Tizoc and Telissat, gesturing toward the far door. ‘We’ll be right back,’ Airaheri said, unfolding a fan of green metal blades that projected a smaller version of the map.

Sixteen minutes and one dragon priest from Kiezaal who had been found indulging in what priests were infamous for in many cultures later, they returned unnaturally clean.

Winstara was in a corner of the room, hiding his face with his hands, “Is… is whatever you did… over?”

“My ancestors would be ashamed, I have not had much time to practice.” Tizoc said, a slight frown on his face.

‘Yes, it’s over, it was very dignified,’ Telissat said, as Airaheri returned to the table before them.

“That one.” Tizoc pointed to a building next to the entrance to the temple, clearly annoyed at the sight in general. “Anastasia is there, alongside… hrm. More than one powerful soul, one undead, the other he wasn’t so sure about.”

Genevieve looked rather like she had an upset stomach as Tizoc's words sank in. "That's good enough, isn't it? You can deactivate the bomb and get my daughter back."

“If need be,” Winstara said, “We can send Her Majesty and the others to get her out. Everyone on our end’s ready!”

‘Yes,’ Telissat said, ‘we’re now talking operational details. I’m going to tell the strike teams to prepare now.’

Miranda then nodded. “As for the powerful undead, our specialist Mythra is a priestess who is blessed from a light and life goddess. Plus I reckon a monster slayer, if her reputation serves her well. So, if the undead are an issue, she and other operators can handle that.”

‘Extracting the building and basement levels will likely collapse the temple, which means that Mictlāntēcutli will light Tizoc’s balls on fire,’ Telissat said, ‘Also it’s also rude to knock over the houses of people who help you. So we’re not doing that.’

Tizoc didn't say anything, though his expression seemed to imply some historical case of Telissat's words being no mere crude hyperbole.

This was at least where Teryn took over again, ‘We are looking at quite a large building, there’s the Dragon Sea team, and the Imerian team, we’re going to provide a squad for support of both teams, as well as a roof team, we’re also going to collapse any tunnels into or out of the building. Everyone who’s going should be taking station, that’s your cue Your Majesty, if you’re going,’ he said to Tizoc, ‘we’re also assigning the rest of our ground contingent to that death camp and to securing the tunnel entrance, everything else is a target of opportunity until the Princess and the prisoners are extracted.

‘Once we deploy the neutralizing agent, it will take approximately five minutes to neutralize every explosive charge in the building.’

‘We will also be sweeping the area for fissiles, and those soul vore munitions, once contact is made,’ Telissat added. ‘Everyone in the ground team should have been given some shots against the more probable biological agents from the Dragon States, but we’ll be holding the team for a physical afterward.’

Tizoc nodded, readying himself for the battle ahead.

Abha squeezed Genevive’s hand.

Genevieve squeezed the hand back, swallowing hard. Her free hand reached up to the necklace she wore everywhere now, a pendant of a white rose hanging from it.

[Malgrave]

Aurora Naval Command, Malgrave

For many in Malgrave, Aurora was primarily known as a city obsessed with the ocean, as beyond the fact that local Pioneer and FDY associations counted sailing as one of its popular activities, the city also supplied a large portion of recruits that would go on to fill various roles in the Royal Navy with only the nearby coastal settlement of Portmon able to claim a similar level of devotion to the oceans albeit one tempered by a similar passion to mountaineering.

It was this passion that was credited as the main reason for the decision to maintain Aurora as the location for the main operation headquarters for the Royal Navy, of course, during the years of isolationism the activities of the Royal Navy were limited to pure training exercises and scientific operations using the chain of natural and artificial islands that the Royal Navy had settled for logistical purposes.

Since exiting isolation, the number of operations assigned to the Royal Navy had steadily increased with a number of Malgravean ships being involved in operations across Mystria in which they had served with distinction and earned a significant amount of pride in the eyes of the Malgravean people.

Aurora was now tasked with monitoring the state of operations around Catedonia and the Dragon States, as the Royal Navy sought to assert themselves and finish off the remnants of local naval forces after earlier spaceborne engagements that had been noted to eliminate the surface portion of the Dragon State fleet, a mixture of satellite and local air and shipborne intelligence flowing into the command centre.

Typically such a task was delegated to low-ranking officers and noncommissioned officers with reports being pinged between various channels or even directly sent to Epping for further consideration, however, some circumstances required the intervention of someone more senior and today was such a day and a quick message had been sent to Divisional Admiral Azzurra Avellino about a matter that required her attention.

“You are certain that these reports are accurate?” Azzurra Avellino asked, a hint of caution in her voice as she watched the reports flood in.

In response, the Ensign in front of her nodded before replying, “I myself was uncertain but we’ve triple-checked and so can confirm that this figure appears to be walking from Thalassium to a still unknown location although we predict that they’ll end up somewhere in Catedonia.”

“Thalassium? Retaliation for the destruction of Nova Quarinia?” Azzurra asked, the destruction of such a homely place had greatly upset the Divisional Admiral as she had planned to take a trip to the city after the war, “Why is it leaving a trail?”

“According to the International Operations Committee, it is likely to be a conduit or herald of a local Thalassium deity called Aquamenria,” the Ensign explained, “We are unsure of the reasons for the trail but more localised reports indicate that it is causing some level of environmental destruction, and analysis from the Royal Institute for the Advancement of Universal Technology states that it could present a danger to naval operations.”

Azzurra frowned as she contemplated the information, “Such destruction over a wide area could be quite damaging to the local ecosystem and the disruption to naval operations are quite frustrating to deal with,” the Divisional Admiral mused, “Has anyone attempted to intercept this figure?”

“Unknown, although we suspect not,” the Ensign replied, “It has been theorised that this wasn’t a planned response but rather an emotional one and that hints at a lack of control and unpredictability.”

“Such unpredictability could prove to be dangerous for any sailors sent to intercept and communicate with this conduit,” Azzurra said, her tone indicating that she wasn’t particularly pleased with that possibility, “What assets do we have in the immediate vicinity of this conduit?”

“HMNV Smorzando, an Admah-class attack submarine is in the region conducting a localised patrol,” the Ensign replied, “...but we do have assets from a carrier group that we could pull over without much difficulty.

Azzurra shook her head, “Dispatch the Smorzando,” she said, “Have them keep a safe distance from this conduit and report future movement here. If they are responding to that nuclear strike they could provide us with important information to pass onto the IOC.”

“Yes, Divisional Admiral.” the Ensign replied, getting to work acting on the orders.

“Oh and send HMNV Oeuvre to the impacted area as well under escort,” Azzura said suddenly remembering something, “It will be important for us to catalogue the damage for future repair efforts.”

HMNV Smorzando

Just prior to the conflict with Catedonia, the Smorzando had been running naval exercises with the Glaristatni navy as part of continual efforts to bring the latest addition to the Royal Navy up to speed, however, the outbreak of new violence in the region had cancelled those plans and now she operated with lethal fervour against what remained of the Dragon States.

Corvette Captain Shin Se-kyung had been pleased about the conduct of the sailors under her command, however, that didn’t mean that she had let up on expecting the best from them and her expression didn’t change as she read the orders that had been dispatched to the ship from Aurora.

“Sergeant Lowwe, dispatch the Otter Guardian to the following coordinates and proceed to put in a tailing order on the asset that it encounters,” Se-kyung said passing a series of coordinates over to the NCO, the Corvette Captain continuing to give orders without missing a beat, “Ensign Stolarz, let’s keep a reasonable distance to our Otter. It may present us with a few interesting possibilities.”

A cacophony of noise was heard as the Smorzando sprang into action, the Admah-class subtly changing course as she began to distantly follow the Thalassium conduit, with the information flowing quite freely to Aurora.

[The Ctan]

Medium Earth Orbit

When Ranisath had confronted the Silent King Szarekh at Morrigar, and prevailed upon the second translation necrons who revered the Silent King to recant their allegiance, and compelled the Silent King to surrender his crown, they had been there. The Stellar Scythes had been the rivals for the Triarch Praetorians as Szarekh’s personal guardians, fearsome lychguard whose bodies gleamed with metagold and noctilith, they had knelt before Ranisath as he took the staff of Szarekh.

But they were not an antique part of the retinue of the Triarch, nor was their story the same as the Triarch Praetorians. In the days of the Great Civilization that followed, the Stellar Scythes no longer rivalled the Praetorians as the guardians of the Triarch Council.

In most ways they had been courtly guardians, but their military tradition had continued, for they had a renowned skill as pilots, and instead of being disbanded the formation had been designated as the dedicated aerospace combat group of the Triarch Council. Many had spent thousands of years in air combat and accrued thousands of air combat victories against equivalent-technology enemies, though usually with some defeats as well.

All that had belonged to the Silent King had been surrendered to the Great Civilization’s Triarch Council, and the Stellar Scythes had served with distinction, rotated to combat assignments far across the world and beyond at times, but still, their primary presence was wherever their wards were.

Like any of his class-mates, Telissat’s shipform carried twelve landing bays on each side in rows of six and six more between the two main aft booms were other landing bays, all led into internal hangars, and several of these were now opened. Most of the hangars carried personal vessels of the emissaries and liaisons that accompanied him in his duties, ranging from a Shadow-Wraith gunship from the Skyriver Galaxy in diplomatic livery to a trio of living leaf-like spelljammers, and a vessel of slender wraithbone and aethersails in the saffron of Tor Yvresse.

The hangars that opened now, allowing their contents access to several landing bays, carried ships that were far closer to Telissat in form. Metallic crescents with bulky engine pods and spherical munitions launch systems, pregnant with kill drones and interceptor micromissiles, equipped with ablation projectors and plasma braids, they slipped from the ship’s hull and thrust contrary to their direction of travel, taking them to an orbit that would intersect Catedonian shores miles out from the coast. These scythe fighters were designed for aerospace intrusion, while fighters had no place in space combat in the Great Civilization’s doctrine, in roles like this they were quite desirable.

Called Dawnscythes, these fighter craft were made of the same sensor-absorbing living metal as Telissat himself was, and as they entered the atmosphere they ionized the air around them to further reduce their profile, their magic-dampening construction rendering them as difficult to scry as they were to find conventionally.

Soon, the Dragon States’ Air Force would have entirely new concerns.

[Thalassium]

Step.

Step.

Step.

The movement of the small figure, because they were small, seemed to disregard everything in its way as it continued. They continued to step forward, one foot after the other, red seeping into the sea with every step. Their trail was clear and obvious, the bloodtide expanding behind them along their entire trail.

As the Otter guardian began to tail the figure, slipping into the bloodtide, it would first detect extremely high amounts of algae in the water. It would then be able to observe, assuming it had sensors that could track such things, extreme magical energy coursing through the water like a whirlpool. After that would be the dead sea life; though, curiously, now that the figure had begun to walk well away from Thalassium proper, it seemed the sea creatures were fleeing in its path, not even attempting to impede each other, greatly reducing the amount of dead animals around. Finally, whether through sensors or notifications of mounting damage, those in control of the drone would very swiftly come to realize the ocean water had turned extremely acidic.

Step.

Step.

Step.

The figure was aware of the drone, and even had felt in the soles of its feet the vibrations let out by the activities of the HMNV Smorzando, but had taken no direct action against either. Whether it could tell that the ship wasn’t associated with its target, or simply did not care, was unclear, but it seemed as long as the Malgraveans were careful to keep a distance and avoid the red tide, they would not be harassed; who knew what would happen if they threw caution to the wind, though?

Either way, the determined, steady pace of the figure did not abate. The further it walked, the more the sea seemed to bend to its will, as well. Though this was no longer the explosive anger of the erupting volcano, it seemed to have become a deadlier, more dangerous type of rage, focused and full of intent.

Step.

Step.

Step.

The waters swelled under the figure’s feet. It started slow and subtle, each footfall ever so slightly higher than the last, but for every new step, every meter they traveled, the water rose. Within minutes, they were walking on the breaking crest of a small wave. Within an hour, it had become a wave large enough that surfers would favor it, the crest frothing as it fell just in front of the figures ever moving feet. Within the day, it had become a wave large enough to threaten even the largest of terrestrial ships. And it continued to grow.

The air, as well, had started to smell crisp to anyone unfortunate enough to be caught nearby. Even as the red wave grew, clouds slowly gathered above the figure. To start, they were small, white, fluffy things, but as the time progressed they grew dark, heavy, and wide, a strong wind beginning to whip them into a frenzy. A steady rain began to fall, the rumbling of thunder audible overhead, until a bolt of lightning rose out of the sea just in front of the walking disaster, exploding into life in the center of the storm, as it continued to grow.

Though there was now little to no one around to see, a feathered figure seemed to have been born of the storm itself. It wasn’t a normal bird, by any means, winds and lightning spilling off of its wings, too large to be any kind of standard avian, but too small to be something like a roc. Those experienced in their celestial hierarchies would recognize this as a garuda; those also experienced in Thalassian religion would recognize this was not a creature of Aquamenria, but the God of Skies, Ventillion, the third of Thalassium’s three most important deities.

The two figures did not communicate, nor even look at each other. They simply continued on, in the general direction of Catedonia, at a pace that would have them there in, perhaps, a few weeks at most.

Step. Flap.

Step. Flap.

Step. Flap.

[Aravea]

Cowritten with Thalassium

Despite the warmth of its climate, the air of Thalassiopeia. felt deathly cold to Sasha as she stepped out of her transport. Perhaps it was the nature of their visit or the stares she had gotten as her motorcade had proceeded through its ancient streets, but she could not be certain as she took a small breath. A small smile formed on her lips as she took note of the many monuments around her, ranging from worn marble sculptures of long dead emperors, some in the process of being repainted, to pillars commemorating the country’s long since defunct empire. To her it was both ironic and perhaps a little pitiable, particularly given how glorious the monuments were in comparison to the current reduced state of their owner. Yet as her blue uniformed guards took their place beside her, their silver adornments and black rifles shining in the sun as they marched in sync with her, she pushed such thoughts aside to focus on the task that lay ahead of her. She said nothing as they made their way past the gate to the palace, merely giving a nod as they were greeted by a coterie of Thalassian guards….

Of course, even for a nearly defunct empire, there was protocol, and pomp, and security. Sasha and her guards had been stopped by deep blue uniformed guards at the outer gates and made to turn over their firearms. They next found themselves stopped at an inner gate, as well, though they were through this one much faster. Finally, it was a set of marble stairs, long and winding, up to a heavy wooden door that was opened before they even reached it. A navy blue carpet led the wall through the stone entry hall, a servant in an orange robe silently leading the empress in, but her guards were stopped here. They were not invited in.

The guards moved to follow the empress, but halted as she held up a hand for them. A quick nod from their charge was all the signal they needed to know she would be alright. They gave a slight nod in turn, all the while they kept a close eye on their hosts. Sasha for her part followed after the servant, her royal blue military uniform and its silver decorations remaining still despite her swift pace. Though she didn’t say, the empress was somewhat amused by the similarities between the palace and that of her own back in Stier. It seemed that even despite the disdain for Thalassian architecture that had existed at its construction, their former masters influence had nonetheless remained.

The servant led Sasha deep into the palace. They passed by several rooms, through a garden with extensive waterworks and a bars of some description playing to a small group of women, and then through ever more halls. It would have been easy to start losing track of where they were by the time the servant stopped outside a closed door that was flanked by two guards in silvered heavy armor. They had crossed polearms that they moved out of the way for the servant.

"The office of the imperator, milady," the servant's voice was deep as he bowed and moved out of the way, the doors seemingly opening themselves.

“Your guidance is appreciated.” Sasha said, giving the servant a slight smile as she made her way past the two guards. She stifled the urge to chuckle as she took in the sight of the two, all the while she wondered how they would fair against her were she to engage them in her true form. Yet she pushed such thoughts aside as she entered the office, her mind filling with memories of the research she had done on the Imperator and his nature as she sighted her host….

Sasha's research would likely have led her to expect the situation she would be greeted by. Large windows allowed the sun to pour into the office, the view over the entire city of Thalassiopeia unmatched anywhere else. The room itself was done up in much gold, and silver, and pink coral and shining white diamonds and sparkling sapphires, all accentuating deep blue carpets and walls. Those same walls were covered in shelves, some shut, some open, a few display cabinets with items on them. Some of the items radiated enough magical power that Sasha could feel it tingle her skin, and some were clearly small items of personal importance to Aetius.

And there he was, the man she had traveled nearly the length of the globe north to south to see. Imperator Aetius Flavius, his back to her, looking at the view. He wore a deep blue cloak trimmed with gold, and reflective white pauldrons. His hair was unkempt, almost a little boyish, marred only by a wreath of coral upon it like a crown. He did not speak first.

“Greetings, Imperator Flavius….” Sasha said, a gentle smile on her lips as she continued to eye the Imperator for any hint of emotion. Her own form remained motionless, with her own garments seeming rather modest in comparison to that of her host, “I trust you received the message from Aravea’s emissary regarding my offer….”

"I did, of course, else you would not have been allowed this far," the Imperator replied. His voice remained neutral, but he did finally turn to face Sasha. She would find a young man, indeed, younger than her eldest son, she would be able to tell at just a glance. He couldn't have been older than his early twenties, at most, likely even slightly younger than that, but his gaze had a sharpness to it that spoke of experience. If Sasha's research had been particularly thorough, she would be aware that despite his youth, Aetius was a clever figure indeed, and stronger than his age would suggest. He hadn't ended up in control of Thalassium by charity, after all. "You are welcome to these halls, of course, as long as we are discussing."

Sasha had known that the imperator was quite young, but to see a mere boy in such a position was somewhat of a surprise to her. Still even in spite of his youth, the empress could tell the boy was quite sharp. As she moved to speak, Sasha found herself cut off as the doors opened once more and a familiar voice echoed. “My apologies, but…the servant insisted I come in….” Looking back she could see her youngest daughter, a silver haired girl with sapphire eyes clad in a flowing green dress enter. Her soft yet melodic voice echoed through the room, all as she curtsied, “It’s an honor to meet you, your eminence….I am Ciara, of the Aravean Imperial Family.”

"Ah," this development seemed to catch Aetius off guard for the briefest of moments. Before anyone could take advantage, though, his face was a stone mask again. "Well met, Lady Ciara. I will have a word with the servants later. No doubt they have gotten ideas again."

“Yes….they did seem rather insistent….but no matter.” Ciara said, giving the imperator a gentle smile as she stood by her mother, “I trust it will not be a problem if I join you both for this meeting, will it?”

"Far be it from me to spurn a lady," Aetius replied. He moved across the room, taking a seat behind an ancient wooden desk, indicating two chairs opposite him. "Thankfully, I did not have one of the chairs removed. If you would take a seat, we can begin."

Sasha said nothing as she took the leftmost chair, with it creaking loudly as she took her seat. Her smile faded, being replaced by a stoned faced expression as she eyed the emperor. Her daughter by contrast remained smiling, seemingly quite pleased by her host, “Thank you, your majesty.”

"Of course, Lady Ciara," Aetius replied again, his face neutral as he returned Sasha's look. "Now, you have come to me in an hour of great trial, as you are no doubt aware. I hope this has not made you think I am without recourse, but I am open to hearing your proposition, Lady Randgriz."

“Yes, we have been observing the recent happenings within your realm for the past several weeks. Needless to say, they have been of…..great concern to us, particularly the recent strike on Nova Quarina. To think that five million souls could be extinguished in a blink of an eye…..It’s beyond horrific….” Sasha said, a hint of disgust lingering in her voice as her words hung in the air, “At any rate, the Aravean parliament and I have recognize that such an act cannot go unpunished….nor can we ignore the suffering of the Thalassian people. To that end, we are willing to provide you with a…generous amount of aid, both humanitarian and military…”

"And what do you want?" Aetius leaned back in his chair. "The last person to offer me aid ended up destroying the very thing we wanted to take, and then Nova Quarinia immediately after, via methods we consider high blasphemy. You can understand that I am currently suspicious of aid offers."

“Truthfully, our only goal here is to ensure that stability in the region is restored, no matter the cost. Not only that, but…. there are those among my inner circle that wish to see the threat posed by this Vahzen cur to be neutralized. If aiding you achieves that end, then so be it…..” Sasha responded, remaining even toned as she eyed the emperor.

“Your majesty, I assure you….we have no desire to stab you in the back like that craven who destroyed Nova Quarinia did. All we desire is to ensure that the evil committed there does not go unpunished, as well as to ensure that the Thalassian people are provided for in their hour of need.” Ciara added, her sapphire eyes locking on the emperor’s own as a hint of concern hung in her voice.

"So, what you want in return is an end to Vahzen," Aetius cut right to the heart of the matter. "Well, we do find that agreeable, seeing as we would like her strung up by the neck as well. But of course, if it was your aid that helped us, why, we would be beholden to you, some kind of… puppet. That, of course, I find less agreeable. But I can hardly deny your aid. So I have a… proposal."

“We have no interest in creating a puppet state out of Thalassium nor one of its ruler. No, if anything quite the opposite really….At any rate…” Sasha snorted, raising an eyebrow at Aetius’s comments, “Oh? What is this proposal of your’s?”

"If I simply accepted your aid, it would appear to the rest of the nation that I was admitting we are weak," Aetius' expression actually changed here, becoming a slight frown. "So i need a justification for your… investment, that makes it seem less like charity and more like cooperation, or even tribute. I know it isn't," he added before he could be interrupted. "But how much of politics is optics? In addition, I have been under some pressure to… start considering an heir."

The imperator could hear Sasha stifle a snort at the mention of tribute, all the while she watched him intently, “Yes….the songs and dances we must perform in the name of optics, they admittedly do grow tiresome. Though, in your case I suppose it would not do for a great empire to be seen accepting charity from one of its former dominions. Still…I take it….You wish to propose a betrothal to a member of my family, no?”

"Yes," Aetius replied. "A betrothal solves many issues at once for me. It would need to be a daughter, of course. I am sure your sons are wonderful and talented, but they are unlikely to help me produce an heir."

“I see….Hrm, I am not opposed to the idea provided either of my daughters agree. Granted, I would only agree to it provided they were given the chance to see if they are….compatible with you.” Sasha mused, listening intently as she pondered the idea.

"A surprising concern to me," Aetius admitted. "Emotions rarely play a role in royal marriages, after all. But if that is your term, I will accept it."

“You have to understand that things are….somewhat different in Aravea given we believe that a strong union can only exist with the mutual affection of those to be bonded.” Sasha offered, a slight smile on her lips, “Excellent….I suppose the only question that remains is which of my daughters it shall be….”

"That determination I leave up to you," Aetius said, standing. "Whoever she is, however, she will need to spend time here to learn some of our ways, if you wish to test her compatibility. I assure you, your daughter will be treated with only the highest honor and respect. Not a foul hand will be laid on her."

“If….if you do not mind, I could….at least try to fill the role, mother……” Ciara interjected, causing her mother to raise an eyebrow at the young princess.

"I have no objections," Aetius said. "And she is already here, which makes things simpler."

“If that is what you wish, Ciara….then I suppose I can allow it. Just be sure that this is what you desire…” Sasha cautioned, looking back to the emperor, “Indeed, it does…..”

"Once again, the lady will be treated with only the highest respect. It would be dishonorable to do anything less," Aetius said. "But it seems we have an agreement."

“Yes, we do. There are a few other minor issues we will need to sort out, such as the logistics and time frame but that can wait for a bit I suppose.” Sasha said, a slight smile on her lips as she watched her daughter. Ciara for her part seemed pleased, her sapphire eyes watching the emperor as he spoke, “As to be expected of a gentleman and an emperor…..”

"Of course. Severus!" Aetius shouted, and the man in the orange robe from earlier entered the office with a bow. "Please, show the ladies to the rooms prepared for them. They should rest before this evening. Their trip has been long."

[The Ctan]

Grand Hypostyle Hall, Harvest Ship Telissat

A Great Civilization warship was typically divided between closed and compressed machine spaces that gave it its true teeth, and the open spaces that made up its support decks. The machine spaces were largely solid-state, or airless void-spaces in places, with channels that looked like the inside of a termite mound for the passage of arthropod-oid constructs that maintained and adjusted the ship.

The support spaces were more friendly to humanoid visitors, often built on a large scale to accommodate species up to sizes that humanoids typically thought of as ‘huge’ they customarily resembled the Mausoleum-Cities of the ancient Necrontyr, and had touches of architecture that resembled underground spaces.

The major portals of the ship were in a space forward of the U shaped ring of hangars, allowing vehicles to be moved through the portals as needed, or deployed into space, a hall called the Grand Hypostyle, a space dominated by a forest of pillars that linked the decks above and below, and reinforced the structure. Each of them was a green so dark it was black, shot through with pulses of colour that moved through them slowly, as if percolating.

In the distance, vehicle bays could be seen, for ground vehicles, the pyramidal shape of monoliths and their smaller cousins in their cradles, the bricklike shapes of war-barques, destroyer skiffs and other such constructs were half illuminated, tended to by their own cadres of scarabs and spyders.

The space was filled with incense, the smell of sweet acacia, camphor and pine filling the air, while seal-bearer scarabs adorned the ranks of the Triarch Praetorians. All necrons looked different in the modern era, but these were some of the most diverse, their frames were gilded and ornamented with ancient sine script, but most carried strange cultural heirlooms from their long existence, or replicas of them at least. Nine feet in height when one included the spines that rose up as frames of curving metal over their form, they stood in ranks along the central aisle of the hall, carrying a variety of weapons and equipment.

Alongside the Praetorians there were the menacing figures of drakes, each far larger, their wings required to fold to pass between the pillars of the hall, their tails adorned with blades and maces, their forms covered in sea-green armour that bore the Trishula symbol that Telissat himself wore externally, the symbol of his wife’s lineage, and the deep red of the skyriver galaxy’s consular traditions, the colours Telissat had acquired during his banishment there and had used on his return, which set them apart as the personal retinue of the Arnastorana.

Figures in black robes and golden armour passed between them, laying blessings and charms on them alongside the seal-bearer scarabs, most of them tiny compared to the Drakes and Necrons.

Forward and aft along this aisle, floor to ceiling pillars designated with rings of gold on the sea-green deck could be seen. When it was time, portals would be generated between them, while in the ceiling above weapons rested in armaments cradles. Between these pillars, a countdown showed, unusually, the symbols were both in necrontyr, and common.

Between that space, was a collection of warriors far more diverse than either of Telissat’s military complements waited.

The newly crowned King of Catedonia showed a somewhat anxious face, long hair and yellow eyes scanning the rest of the room. Whether his anxieties were aimed at the mission, or perhaps some greater events, was hard to ascertain. What was clear was that he was in as ideal a condition as possible. The scrawny frame of a Prince that did not even think of eating when waging war showed slightly more muscle and physique to it than when he’d first met Telissat, an apparent sign of some physical improvement at least. His royal cloak, secured tightly and enchanted against any and all aggression by the irate, was opened and revealed an elaborately decorated and matching loincloth and sandals. His light ‘armour’ consisted of a medallion around his neck now, a far simpler and more effective replacement than the damaged plates he had worn earlier in the war, an heirloom of the Nictores family.

Indeed, although Kaimara was busy defending the Undercities, her household would still partake in the effort. A spitting image of the Empress, albeit with a more youthful appearance and less athletic physique, walked besides the Catedonian. Dressed far more conservatively, an elaborate dress worn over a breastplate, magic protecting the rest of her body. Green eyes smiled at the Catedonian, touching the medallion in question. Maizena Nictores, once content to simply remain secretive, had come back to aid the Rohanians in their time of need.

“It suits you quite nicely, I think.” She smiled, tone respectful, almost remorseful.

“Thank you. I will return it to you in one piece when we’re done here.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, I can make another quite easily if it comes to that. Just focus on coming back in one piece yourself, for the sake of your people.” Maizena smiled at Tizoc, nonetheless bringing a slight smile from the anxiety ridden neko for once.

Someone who wasn’t smiling now was Marron, who was already in her more draconic form, brass scales against dark purple armour. Compared to the more casual demeanour beforehand, she was now intensely focused on the battle ahead; even in dire situations seeing this was rare for the half-dragon, but she had one of the most personal stakes involved. She had to save Ana. She was under her care, and they still managed to take her. She would never allow this to happen again.

Mythra gave an analytical glance at Marron and a small frown. As much as she complains about her ex-love to now lover slash family, she does take it seriously. That being said: she decided to go up with the bright silver-moonstone plate celestial armour of bright light that allowed a blaze of fiery light wings to appear, and an amulet of a living white rose chain with golden and other empty ammo shells to help protect her from bullets. The golden blonde woman knew she would have to pull her weight here to not only fight the undead but also infantry soldiers. That and kept an eye to help her other companions nearby.

Tizoc wasn’t all that important himself to two small groups of people near Marron and Mythra. It was a slightly eclectic group all its own, but each was decked out in full military gear, from head to toe shrouded in dark camouflaged gear. The only exceptions were two people standing at the head of these two small groups, conferring with each other, clearly the leaders. One was a man, fairly pale, with light blonde hair kept in a tight cut, and the other was a woman, her complexion a light brown, sandy blonde hair done up in a tight bun. Each member had a namepatch; the helmetless two were Nielsen and Blackfang, apparently.

Each of the soldiers had various other patches, as well. Many of them had a patch of a bolt of lightning being stopped by a shield, the updated symbol of Rohane Alista’s Anti-Magical Task Force special forces operatives, but some of the others instead had a patch of a stone wall. This was a much more esoteric patch, but for those in the know, it was a curious one to have show up here; the patch belonged to the Omega Troopers, Rohane Alista’s imperial guardians, and was only ever deployed when performing anti-terrorist operations in relation to the imperial family. While not visible from under their armour, those who recognized the patch would also likely be aware that the Omega Troopers here had significant cybernetic upgrading, the very best Rohane Alista had to offer.

It seemed like only the AMTF members actually answered to the two officers, though, the Omega Troopers standing a respectful distance short of Marron and Mythra but clearly attached to them. The officers, however, seemed unconcerned as they spoke.

“Petra, it’s a surprise to see you here,” the man said, checking over his rifle again, as he had done multiple times the last ten minutes. “Didn’t you retire from combat duty?”

“Rumour has it, Captain Nielsen, that you retired to be ‘Jorge of Silverdale’,” the woman, Petra, replied with a smirk. “I’m actually here as part of the Glaristanti delegation, but you knew that, right?”

“Of course. And I’m here with the Silverdaleans,” Jorge replied, snorting. “Strange twists of fate, if you believe in it.”

“You know I do, captain,” Petra said casually, cracking her neck and waving. “I’m headed back now. I’m hoping Tynah won’t actually notice I’m here and try to tell me to go home.”

“Good luck,” Jorge shook his head, walking to the Silverdaleans at the same time as Petra returned to the Glaristanti.

“Hey, Petra,” a red-haired Bovinian from the Dystan contingent walked up, noticing her, “If you’re worried ‘bout sis knowing you’re here, she already does,” she leaned against her axe; wearing an armour of red-dyed mammoth hide, Tysteus towered over the human, being around the same size as a draconid. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, that just proves how much y’are part of this family, ain’t it?” She waved her off before walking back to her fellow Dystans.

For her own part, Princess-Regent Tynah Blackfang was standing by her own group, among the smallest in number but no less capable than any of the others. Alongside her black cloak, she had a sash across her chest with images of weapons along it, a silver gem tied around her neck, and a golden shield with five gemstones on her right arm. “Well now, it appears that we have quite the crew here for this; that is most reassuring for the rescue of young Anatasia. That said, I shall remind everyone who the Warrior Princess here is!”

“Um, weren’t you the Adventurer Princess, sweetie?” The catfolk on her side with bright pink hair in black leather armour said, “Or was it the Weapon Princess… geez, I have trouble keeping it all straight sometimes…”

“It is all of them, Flora,” the Light Draconid in white robes on Tynah’s other side sighed; Sage Melux Whitewing had long since retired from the frontlines but he had been requested by the queen-to-be for this mission. “Your Highness, I am certain you could have picked any Mage for this role…”

“Not for this, Melux,” Tynah grinned, “Besides, do you not miss this? Surely it is more exciting than your role on the council…”

“I think I have had my fair share of excitement from all of this,” Melux groaned, “I shall enjoy my retirement after this…” Nevertheless, he was hopeful of the prospect of improved relations between all parties involved with the rescue.

“Before then, our reunion will be like old times Melux.” Mythra remarked. “Alongside Tynah’s party, and Marron it’s similar to the old days.”

“I suppose it is,” Marron said, “... if I didn’t mention it before, I really am grateful to all of you for helping out here in rescuing Ana.”

“I would never let down a friend in need!” Tynah exclaimed, all the while Melux was handling a few buff spells, including a haste spell for speed, protective charms against evil, and magic enhancements on weapons, “If you have not steeled yourself yet, I recommend you all do so now!”

“You know I couldn’t leave you or Mythra to handle the rescue all alone, sister. That’s part of what family is for. Besides, did you honestly think I would miss out on the chance to conduct a few field experiments? Aoife called from Petra’s side, casting a few protective charms and weapon enchantments of her own to assist Melux. Her companion, a dark skinned elven woman in grey combat armour conferred with Petra for a moment, before calling out to Tynah, “You need not worry about that, Lady Tynah. I am certain all of us are more than ready for the battles that lay ahead.”

The pride of the federation and the flower of mystrian chivalry was of course also present. Mighty men and warriors with either impressive skills of their own or centuries of history to their family names.

First and foremost stood Prince Björn himself, a teenager and on average shorter than most of the group of warriors. His tunic was a simple affair, white with blue wavy lines and the eagle or embroidered onto it, the heraldry of the old river kingdom that he was prince of in his function as the crown prince. He was a young man with thick bushy brown hair that reached down over his shoulder and was currently braided and stiffened with chalk. His eyes were deep turquoise and looked around anxiously at everyone around him. His youth was further reinforced with the thin line of fuzz that seemed to be an imitation of a moustache over his lip.

A rather simple blade hung at his hip, a bronze blade riveted to a handle of semi precious gems alternating between amber and red garnet. Old runes covered the blade and its very nature seemed to scream of untold antiquity. Combined with it was also a simple revolver hanging at a holster that also was lavishly decorated with silver and ivory. To further drive home his status as one of the star-crowns, he wore a simple cloak of cloth of gold and cloth of silver chequered pattern that seemed to glimmer whenever light touched it.

There was Orm, the personal guard of the high king, a towering giant of a man, a pale albino with a long white fu-manchu moustache and a shaved head and eyebrows. Dressed simply in a rough tan tunic and trousers, his feet bare and his red eyes were eying everyone with something that could only be described as boredom.

The royal champion Karl auf Steingrotta was there, a tan man from Sydvinland with curly black hair tied up in a ponytail. His eyes were however deep blue and a self assured smirk rested on his face as he eyed everyone up with a look that seemed to belong to someone that tried to figure out if he could beat someone or not. He wore a simple red tunic embroidered with his personal heraldic emblem of an apple surrounded by flowers. A cuirass of silver with the royal monogram adorned his chest and a wide brimmed hat decorated with an impressive number of feathers from various terror birds. A modern curved blade hung at his hip and similarly did he keep a storm rifle slung over his shoulder.

In a quiet argument were the three clerics of the group, there was Olof of the chronicles. Like most of his kind did he wear a red robe adorned with flame patterned embroidery and a brass gorget with a flame patterned disk attached to its back framing his head. While old did Olof still keep a stern looking face that was framed by the fire scars as a circle around his head telling that he had been crowned in flame at least once, thrice was the actual number though and his bald head kept the scars. Ish’ashi was a monk of the sun, a jovial looking older man naked as the day he was born bar a belt where his sword, buckler, begging bowl, and copy of the holy book hang as well as his sleeping mat that was tied around his shoulder. His hair and beard was equally messy and wildly grown, something that was made even thicker by the red powder and limestone that had been used to colour and stiffen it.

Finally were there Orxal, a broad shouldered man dedicated to Ulgoth, the man headed lion God and His pantheon. His head was shaven bar a long orange knot that reached up to the sky. As most of his ilk did he wear a simple sleeveless tunic and a cloak, his weapon though was a great war axe and another stormrifle slung over his shoulders. Bar these individuals there was also a small group of men of less honoured descriptions, men of the high guard in their silver armour, especially were a lot of them cuirassiers in full suit of armour. Their weapons being blades and pistols or storm rifles. A flew clerical champions of the chronicles, the sun, and Ulgoth, the faith of Ishiri shone with its absence. As their clergy while also serving a war goddess were entirely female, it was easy to see why the Imerians had decided to rely on one of the minor religions rather than hurt their own cultural sensibilities here.

Finally there was also a small group of Nekos, their hair was grey with black stripes in some cases, raven black in others. Their eyes an uncanny emerald green, amber, or in some cases deep blue which sat in great contrast to their dark skin, the lightest amongst them were tanned but others were very dark. They all wore ornate clothes, baggy trousers, silk shirts and ornately decorated vests that were tipped with large turbans decorated with gold and silver chains, gems, feathers, and anything they could get their hands on.

Their faces were cleanly groomed with Imerian style beards and moustaches, or more native forms in some cases. Everything about them seemed to scream cleanly and refined, but there was something else to them, a bloodthirsty streak clear as day. The way they licked their long canines, the way their eyes seemed to focus just too long on people’s feets and hands, trained killers each and all. Ikashur, slave warriors in the sun tongue. Famously trained since childhood by various warrior monasteries dedicated to the sun. While the Imerian crown had officially never condoned the practice as federal political doctrine and Imerian cultural thought both stressed that war was the place for humans and freemen had they still persisted. And now entered a renaissance, once more did the fated line of Ishak'ar had once more called upon them.

“Worry not young prince, to even try to right what was done fault is the first step to erase the stain on one’s honour, especially one that cannot be laid at my royal prince’s feet!” A voice came from Björn’s left and he once again involuntarily froze up and looked over his shoulder. Again? Had he shown worry? fear? Apprehension? He was of royal breed and he should not let such mere emotions guide him. The place of a warrior was to be detached and free of such mere trifles.

The voice seemed to belong to the champion Karl, now that was a warrior, young and eager, a smirk on his face and an aura that just screamed self assuredness.

“Oh? Please explain your lordship? I am of royal blood, the idea of honour is what motivates me, I need to bring the shame put upon our royal highness, blessed be his name, to right just like I need to return mine!” He replied in what he assumed was a dignified and regal response, Orm’s laughter though seemed to suggest that that was not how it had come off.

“Of course my royal prince, no ill insult intended, just words of encouragement from a mere servant, remember that we have begun to set right, what was set wrong, we have the finest warriors in the realm with us and… that thing” he continued, it was uncertain that he was nodding to the warrior avatars they brought or Orm depending on his nod, uncertainty spread again over Björn’s face. Did Karl know?

“What I was trying to advise is that when one heads into battle the first time, doubt and worry are natural thoughts, I know when I first went into a duel I almost passed out from the stress. Just take that into account, don’t judge yourself harshly as even the finest blade was hardened for the first time once!” he added and Björn struggled a bit to take the words into account. This great warrior? Worried? No never, such must be falsehood.

But then again no warrior would ever lie. “Thank you, your lordship!” He instead responded “I will take it into consideration, it helped a wee bit to imagine that all the people around him had also felt worry and fear, not much though as his gut still felt like ice.

“Here, take this my royal prince!” Karl said again and Björn felt something getting pushed into one of his braids. He looked over his shoulder confused and surprised as he saw the colourful feather of a terror bird, the tyrant bird king they named that particular beast he knew, he knew it from the pattern alone.

“I…”

“A good luck token, the beast that wore it was a mighty fighter, its spirit will serve my royal prince too!”

The sound of hammer on anvil ricocheted through the hard hall in unison, as the necrons saluted as one, their fists striking the crests on their chests, metal on metal echoing as their attending scarabs and spellcasters backed off, their first sudden movement since the strike teams had arrived. The vast drakes bowed their heads in unison, an obeisance that was rare in its formality.

The reason was obvious as two men appeared in a teleportation circle marked out on the floor at the centre of the room, as similar as twins. They were both Telissat, avatars, incarnations of the shipmind, necrontyr in form as their duplicate in the command centre decks above was, but they were armoured. Each wore a cloak, one of saffron and one of maroon, suspended behind him on small hovering glyphs rather than attached to him. Their sea green armour was adorned with gold the same colour as the Triarch Praetorians, a coppery, reddish gold that suggested antiquity. Neither was yet wearing a helmet, and identical features, sharp flat-topped hair of pale white and hawkish features of a blue ‘aristocratic’ face could be seen.

The Saffron Telissat carried a long polearm, a warscythe that held a blade the length of his forearm, while his twin carried a firearm, or what seemed to be one, held on a strap over one shoulder, with a phase sword strapped to his belt, the armaments were subtly different for the styles of fighting both expected.

“Three minutes to contact,” the Saffron Telissat announced, walking to join the Imerian delegation, giving a nod toward the young prince Björn, while the Maroon Telissat joined Tizoc, with a similar if less paternal gesture.

“When the gates engage we will be firing through them for a few moments, to clear resistance at the gates,” the Saffron Telissat announced again, this had been said, but it was worth confirming, “Aft gate goes to the end of the building closer to the Temple,” he pointed with the blade toward the aft gate in case anyone needed a reminder which end of the vast chamber was which, “Forward to the side of the building away,” he confirmed, “both groups will be entering the same building, our forces will be deploying outside as well.”

The ceiling above made several mechanical sounds as flechette launchers and knife-missile dispensers slid into place.

From high above, Telissat’s own voice echoed again, as though the avatar had an echo speaking different words.

“Medical bays on standby, aerospace contact synchronous with ground engagement, two minutes forty five seconds mark.”

As he spoke the necrons turned in two columns each to face the portals, each several wide, depending on the preferences of each of the allied rescue parties they would forestall their deployment to allow those who were glory minded to go first, though such things were not their preference. The Drakes did not move yet, save for their wings and tails flexing, they were not going to be within the building, even the Nords did not build on their scale, after all, and they would be deployed shortly after.

Marron, for her own part, was ready to lead the charge to the aft gate, “I will rescue you, Ana,” she muttered, before Tynah and her crew stood behind her, Tysteus and Flora flanking their leader and Melux bringing up the rear guard.

“I shall not let you brave this alone, Marron,” the Princess-Regent said, as an aura surrounded the area around them; those familiar with the Dystan monarch-to-be would know this as the Dual Tides, strengthening nearby allies, along with giving Tynah herself a boost as long as she was not alone. “I shall support you, of course. And if they try to send a horde of their undead at us, well, Melux, I believe you have something for that?”

“I do,” the Sage held a heavy red tome with the symbol of a sun on it, “I cannot believe I might be using this again…”

Marron felt a little more self-assured, “Alright, anyone coming with me, get ready.”

The Rohanian squads began to move as Marron chose her gate, as well. The Omega Troopers stood close behind her with Tynah, one stepping slightly forward and giving Marron a shallow bow. "We shall guard your back, Lady Marron. Fear not."

Meanwhile, Petra asked Jorge and others to put on their helmets, their entire heads being covered. Each indicated for their attached units to congregate, which the soldiers did, as Petra in particular looked to Aoife and then the dark skinned elf. "I suggest you take a little space, Aoife," the woman said, her voice now distorted slightly. "Remember, we're aiming to secure as much of the complex as possible, in case the target is not where we expect. In addition, attempt capture of high priority enemy leadership and documents. Otherwise, it's open season."

“Fair enough, Petra. After all, it would not do for me to allow myself to be rendered impotent by your field.” Aoife said, nodding as she distanced herself from Petra and her fellow soldiers. She summoned two white raven familiars, both appearing to be made out of finely spun strands of mana that hovered above her shoulder. Mirik for her part fell in between the two, “Try not to get too far ahead of Lady Aoife, your majesty. Brasa knows I would rather not have to mention in my report that we had to drag you out of yet another scrap.”

"I am in command here, Mirik," Petra replied. "This entire thing is a scrap, and that suits me fine. I'm a professional soldier. Now let's be quiet. Almost D-Hour."

“You may be in command of the mission, milady….but you forget I am not here as your subordinate. I am here on behalf of his majesty to ensure that you are kept safe, no matter what methods I must use to achieve that end. Do not forget that.” Mirik countered with a snort.

“Good luck Marron. Try not to get scratched up by a few dragons there.” Mythra replied. Admittedly she wasn’t sure about the whole AMTF squad as there was an intense pressure of ‘oh gosh what anti-magic field they’ll bring.’ Alongside the feeling that she wasn’t that warrant for this protection. “Anyone coming with me better get ready. This will be a difficult mission ahead.”

Half the Omega Troopers split off, forming up behind Mythra. Thankfully, these weren't AMTF, and shouldn't have any effect on her magical abilities. Once again, one stepped forward, bowing lightly to Mythra. "Worry not, Lady Mythra. We serve to protect the Imperial Family in all its forms."

Orm decided to simply drop his tunic, if the huge albino was bringing weapons one could neither see them nor any kind of armour that seemed to be an almost universal amongst the Imerians bar the clerics that seemed to agree that the war gods favour was enough. Only a few runes that seemed to be more illusionary in nature adorned the huge albino. Björn in the meanwhile was putting on his own suit, an hauberk of ancient silver with shimmering runes carved into every ring. Runes of unfathomable ancient power.

“Herr Talissat, ‘tis an honour to meet you!” He said as the Necron leader approached with a quick nod.

The countdown from overhead began to reach seconds rather than minutes. In five seconds the gates opened, both of them filling the area between them with light that spread on a rectangular pattern as though reality were made of tiles that were being removed, in a heartbeat the passageway was replaced with a white-green discontinuity. These were small gateways at first, as large as they needed to be to allow the first drone weapons through.

Weapons fire began, as flechettes were shot through the gates, both their facing and reverse sides, and knife-missiles darted through to hunt nearby humans and nekos, each of them a cylinder the size of a man’s hand, equipped with submunitions and pencil-beam lasers. Larger drones and scarabs entered the breach a moment later.

“Four,” Telissat’s overhead voice said, “three, two, one...”

The gates widened to the width of the building’s interior corridors, spreading and touching the floor, white-green surfaces appearing tranquil and still.

The immediate attack had come at quite an unfortunate time for the defenders that only just begun to realise their role. Alarms blared the moment the gates had even begun materialising, and some gunfire had actually made its way back towards the attackers before the Necrons began their own attack, though it was of little help in preventing what had come next.

Those immediate security forces that were not torn to shreds by flechettes soon found themselves at the mercy of curious, darting things, firing indiscriminately into their ranks. Across both openings, a bloodbath had ensued, its few survivors either retreating deeper within the complex to be chased down, or bleeding out on the floor beneath both entrances. Among the dead bodies, most of them were wearing only their standard uniform, caught off guard too quickly to truly arm themselves more appropriately.

More discouragingly however, was the sudden burst of magic that began to flow into each corpse. Death was no respite for those who served the Dragon Cult, enthralled into subservience once more even in passing, human emotions replaced with feral and vicious rage and screeches, once again clutching the weapons they used in life.

“And thus come the slaves to save their cursed child..” a shrill, mocking tone spoke over some manner of intercom, feminine and filled with a clear vigour.

“It appears they have some power over the undead, hm?” Tynah said, before grinning, her own group heading forward with Marron, “Well, then, I suppose we simply need to do a little destruction. Melux, if you please?”

“If you insist,” the Dystan Sage sighed before opening his tome, a few glyphs forming in front of him, before he flicked his wrist and said a single word, “MELTDOWN.” A miniature sun appeared above the vanguard of the recently revived as it crashed down into them, flames consuming the frontline of the new targets. Melux clutched his hand in pain; this spell could be dangerous if not handled properly

“We have an opening towards our target!” Tynah exclaimed, pressing a spot on her sash as a golden axe appeared out of it. As she charged forward with Tysteus and Flora on her sides, she swiped, a wave of energy passing through the hoard.

Marron, meanwhile, threw a massive array of shuriken downwards, causing small bursts of ice on the flanks, hoping to clear some of the residual flames to help them move forward.

As Marron’s shurikens flew through the hall, her (possibly unwanted) personal guard appeared through the gate behind her, spreading out into a fan formation covering her back and sides. Each one had a compact submachine gun and a sword, ready to shoot anything that moved that they didn’t recognize, short bursts of railgun launched bullets tearing any zombies that had somehow survived in the hall in either direction to shreds.

All to make matters worse for the enemy guards and zombies, Mythra casted balls of light right at the enemy’s position. As they made contact at the walls and nearby them, a burst of blinding light struck at the living and followed up by a ray of heat. This holy heat was meant to burn the flesh and bones of the undead, while causing an irritation to the soldiers.

Mythra’s guard joined Marron’s, similarly kitted. For the moment, there were no threats they could observe, so both squads fell into overwatch for their designated protectee as they began to move forward.

Tizoc had only delayed his movement to let the spellcasters do their work, now lurching forth with an impressive grace, macuahuitl gripped tightly in his hand, his other hand stretching out towards the grisly scene ahead of him. The blood of the dead was pooled together into a crimson orb, raised slightly above his open palm, to be used to cast spells and commit rituals as need be.

"The False Prince comes to their aid as well. Serving your rightful gods is more difficult than becoming the Mystrian's pet, it would appear.” the voice on the intercom spoke again.

“Your god is dead, crone, why waste your time?” Tizoc continued to go forth, barely interested in slowing his pace.

"As long as the Cult remains, so will our Gods. A leader has power far beyond mere death, especially one of such dubious nature." The Priestess taunted back, tone still foul and omnipresent.

“And that Cult is going to vanish pretty soon at this rate. You better pick another god and pray for forgiveness for what you’ve done!” Mythra called out.

“KHRÖNAN ARO HELIGH!” Roared the prince as he drew his blade and went through the teleporter taking the lead of the troops.


“KHÖRNAN ARO HELIGH!” Replied the Imerians as one as they charged through, storm rifles and pistols firing as they found targets.

“SHI-SHO!” SHI-SHO! SHI-SHO!” Roared the Nekos and the monk as they also joined the assault. At the notice of the dead were the clerics first at the scene, a quick charge with drawn blades as hatred seemed to burn in their eyes, Nekos at their heels with Orm. Crooked blades carving at anything that moved whereas the albino seemed to slap whatever came before him with such force that the foes around him seemed to crumble up as if they were made of paper and were sent flying.

The Nekos that had gone through the assault with such fury and cruelty, slashes made at hands and arms before they went for killing blows as if they were toying with their foes seemed to halt a bit as the shrill voice spoke through the loudspeakers. The word slave seemed to have gotten their attention as they raised their swords.

“Isha’ka!” They roared furiously in rebuttal “Ikashur! IKASHUR! SHI-SHO! SHI-SHO! SHI-SHO!”

The Necrons were unified, stepping through the portals in tight formation, spreading out as they did, their goals were clear, as they sought to preserve any of the enemy who still lived. They did not need to act against the undead yet, and for now they did not fire, the crowded building was not really permitting them to open fire with their formidable weapons for risk of friendly fire.

What they could do however, was use their overwhelming physical force and suites of close-in sensors to demolish non-load bearing walls, tear holes in the floors and even ceilings - Triarch Praetorians had flight packs, and several unceremoniously broke through to the floors above while more of their comrades passed through the portals. They did not shoot to kill when they made new paths through the building, instead striking to cripple, and seeking to isolate enemy combatants and civilians to question swiftly to identify where Ana was held - armed with her image in holographic format if needed.

Outside, more contact was made as the ship’s secondary displacers deployed the Drakes above the building, directly onto the wing, and other necrons appeared, deploying local shields over the building and the temple, while the Stellar Scythes opened fire on nearby air-bases, with one squadron remaining overhead. The hissing sound of transmats could be heard as scarabs appeared over the death camp, hurtling toward guards far off from the target building. Ana was not the only person in need of rescue after all.

Even ahead of this, now that the necrons were present, the knife missiles and scarabs were communicating with them again. The retreating Dragon States troops found that these units were once more on their heels - literally. The lasers and micromissiles now aimed to cut limbs and blow extremities off, wounding rather than killing.

A standard GC micromissile was two millimetres long and one wide, a short burn rocket that propelled itself through the air with a gravitic drive and then exploded that same drive unit on contact. An impact could crack a skull or explode a foot easily. The laser weapons on the knife missiles were capable of cutting a limb off as effectively as a guillotine.

Both Telissats had entered the fray alongside their charges.

The Telissat with the Saffron cloak raised his warscythe high, shouting in the Sun Tongue of the Imerians, "SHASHO SISHA TASH TI'ASH! SHI-SHO! SHI-SHO!"

With the advent of the necrons moving into the base, the two AMTF squads finally moved in as well. First through was Jorge and his group, their anti-magic flaring as they entered the complex. "We'll go this way," he indicated the opposite direction down the hall from where the rest of the DSA forces were facing. "If we secure Ana, we'll let you know for immediate evac."

"We'll head through the floor," Petra said, leading the second squad through the gate. She peered down into the hole, shrugging and dropping down. "Waste no time, let's go."

“Right. Just be mindful of what lays ahead, milady.” Mirik cautioned, all as a pair of cerulean insectile wings emerged from her back. She gave a single flap of them, creating a small gust behind her as she began to descend through the hole.

As the necrons and both parties made their advance, they would quickly learn of the threats that many lesser men faced in close quarters. The surviving soldiers fired wildly into both necrons and the knife missiles, and beyond that, would attempt to throw grenades wherever machine or Mystrian flesh would attempt to advance, only stopped from further mayhem by their inherent disadvantages in most regards, micro missiles wounding many into ineffectiveness.

The oppressive sound of air defence missiles and guns could be heard outside the complex, having locked onto any number of targets. Alarms blared loudly, and commands were issued by all immediate units capable of providing support to intervene.

The Dragon States, for all of their decay, could still rile together magi-technological marvels however. Following behind the guards, and in many instances heading into combat where they fled, was a series of drones. One form was spindly and multi-limbed like the technologically superior scarab, the other rolled along on a spherical contraption, otherwise vaguely humanoid in a crude sense. All of the dozens of machines that surged forth were painted a dull grey, the only noteworthy deviation being glowing, yellow 'eyes', a simple set of designs that had been iterated upon for decades by now.

These were mimicries and improvements of the designs of a dead civilization, and acted exactly as such upon encountering intruders in their domain.

Equipped for riot purposes, they would begin firing at the micro-missiles and scarabs with an eerie accuracy only afforded to machines. Their weapon of choice was mounted directly to their right arm, in the case of the larger ones, the loud and unpleasant screech of their weaponry flooding the hallways. Rays of red energy pulsed into their targets, followed closely by the remnants of the security forces held within.

A dramatic tiny battle was waged between scarab and Dragon States ersatz scarab, one of the angular necron bugs landing and using its pointy mandibles to chomp and snap at the enemy. Shimmering flames of green rippled around it as it attempted to dismantle the impersonator.

This didn’t stop the Dragon States machines from advancing, their larger counterparts firing on both Necron and Mystrian alike as they began to approach both groups of attackers, seemingly coming down from the floors above them. Flesh followed behind them, a more disorganised initial force of the remaining survivors.

As the ersatz scarabs advanced past the one duelling its opposite number some internal metric was tripped and the necron scarab exploded, detonating with a startling force and filling the corridor with shrapnel; no one had ever accused the necrons of not being ruthless.

Shrapnel was far more dangerous to flesh than it was machines however, serving to maim a few of the Dragon States’ security forces while those machines not in the immediate blast-wave continued to advance.

More grimly, they would also open fire on any wounded around them, regardless of the fact that they were nominally on the same side. Wounded, they were useless, dead, they would at least be useful tools once more, rising upwards and preparing to wage war against the living once more.

“Zombies,” Jorge informed his team. The squad had moved the opposite direction of the bulk of the raiding forces, leaving them largely alone against the machines and the rising dead. A zombie lifted to its feet about twenty yards in front of the AMTF squad, took a shuddery step forward, and then collapsed again as the magic left its body. The machines, however, seemed a bit more resilient; those that got too close still slowed or even, for the smaller ones, shut down.

The squadron put a bullet in the head, elbows, and knees of any dead bodies they passed; if anyone followed them up, the zombies should hardly be an issue. Of course, this ate through their ammo, but the squad was the elite of the elite, and carried more than enough. The real issue was the hostile machines, which most rounds didn’t seem to significantly damage, even though the railguns had enough punching power to at least not just bounce off every shot. They had come prepared for this, too, though. “Illina, Corlia,” Jorge called to the two leading soldiers. “Armour piercing, now!”

[The Ctan]

The soldiers nodded, switching to a new type of ammunition, allowing their fellows to handle the dead as they began to fire armor-piercing rounds from their railgun rifles into the machines.

“So this is how they treat their own allies,” Tynah grimaced at the Dragon States’ willingness to slay their own wounded, “How sickening.” Putting away the axe, the queen-to-be took out a pair of weapons, a mace with a green glow around it and a crossbow that shot blasts of energy. When the bolts hit, the force seemed to lock some of them in place. With a swing of the mace, the glow seemed to have an effect on any undead it came in contact with, disrupting the flow of negative energy that bound them. On her side, Tysteus’s own strategy was much more basic but still effective; if it still moved, apply the axe until it didn’t.

On Tynah’s other side, Flora seemed to rush ahead further, “Sorry, but everything’s got a weak point, y’know?” Deftly dodging rounds of fire, she made her way to one of the machines, “Would be bad if I…” she darted forward and punched one of them, breaking straight through as if striking through paper. “Oops! Sorry if that was expensive!” The catfolk laughed as she began doing the same to other ones, leaving spots open vulnerable to fire.

Machine and flesh both fell apart in the face of railguns and sheer martial prowess. This didn’t stop them from firing with their respective weapons until they were truly felled however, but it did begin to thin their numbers. All parties combined had done a grimly effective job of clearing the floor, at least.

Tizoc rushed in with an apparent disregard for himself, the blood he had collected now forming an obsidian shield, guarding against the immediate hail of bullets and lasers aimed at him.

His first strike was aimed at one of the taller machines, towering by two heads over him, preparing to bash him with the colossal riot shield on its right arm. It did not withstand the Macuahuitl, divine energy and enchanted stone tearing through the machine with ease.

The undead fared even more poorly as they attempted to surround him. Strikes from his weapon cleaved cleanly through them, his swings aimed with a swift fury. Trying to cut down the dead before they could overwhelm him.

Telissat was very, very capable as the battle joined, and the Saffron Telissat’s blade flashed where it touched the undead, the phase weapon passing through them, while disjoining enchantments of ancient origin wound from it, the same enchantments as the ancient Blades of Westernesse, which unbound magic from undead flesh, an enchantment inherited from the Menelmacari, and in turn placed on the seals that hung from the weapon’s shaft like charms. The Great Civilization Conflict Service had taken to setting enchantments for armaments on seals that could be attached to the weapon, and the ones that were wielded by the Supreme Overlord were naturally artistic examples, each of them reflecting the culture and nature of their creators, some were Quendin laen crystals, others were Aligrethan faience tayet knots, and still others Kaledorei silver moons, dozens on his weapons and built into his armour reflecting the diverse magical traditions of his people. The blade’s touch caused the zombies to shrivel and combust in silver fire as well as liberating souls bound to the husks to continue their migration into their next lives. And this blade was wielded with skill, lancing toward those before him unerringly. He fought like a killing machine. ‘SHI-SHO!’ he cried from among the Imerian slave-warriors (no longer literally slaves, despite their refusal to change their name; given his own class of starship continued to call themselves Harvest Ships, he empathised) as contact was made - in the Sun Tongue their battlecry meant ‘Give Death!’

The killing machines he had brought with him fought like men, albeit ones with supernal talent, with true flair, they were better than he was. Telissat had inloaded the standard combat protocols for engaging the undead in addition to his libraries of engagement strategies.

The Triarch Praetorians were improvising in a truly intuitive way based on their own diverse and vast experiences. None of them had slept, when their brethren had, and each of them had astounding combat experience, well past the point that any being would hit diminishing returns, but they were still enormously flexible, Their weapons were the same as their overlord’s in their enchantments, Rods of Covenant and Voidblades dancing with enchantments. They fought with their bodies too, taloned hands reaching out to embrace the heads of the dead and then simply squeezing as a man might an egg, bone bursting to flinders in their grasp, or punching clear through living men’s bodies.

They fought without regard for honour, they were the custodians of honour, but the Directive of Ranisath had proclaimed that the myrmidons of Tyrants did not deserve such consideration. The undead never had.

They moved like water flowing through the cracks in flagstones, filling the space before them. Where they encountered enemies who did not pose an immediate risk to the lives of their allies - their own, including their Overlord’s did not matter - they instead bore them to the ground or dislocated limbs. They waded through fire from projectile-throwers (as they would disdainfully describe them) with impunity, to take prisoners.

Where they did so, they projected the image of Anastasia Stephenson before the eyes of prisoners. ‘Where is this child?’ was the first question, ‘Where are prisoners kept?’ was the second, ‘Where are your leaders?’ the third.

They did not need to be so gauche as to apply mere torment to their captives, instead they carried other tools; mindshackle scarabs, that could be phased within the neural matter of an organic being and scrape their will out, and the derivatives of the potent magic of D’halbrisir used for justice - for they were also judges at times, and taking testimony was one of their functions. Any captive who was taken was bound with a web of living metal and cast aside so that they could be taken later - though they would likely find little mercy from Tizoc.

The scarabs moved on, their task was not only to fight, though they did this, they prowled the building, hunting for scent traces of their target, for the telltale stammer of young hearts - that could be heard even through concrete - and the pheromone traces observed in the girl’s mother when Telissat had shown her the scoutmissile earlier. The battery of analysis the Retrieval Service used for these things was remorselessly broad, and the ever-faithful bugs had only a small building to search for their quarry on swift wings.

Most knew nothing about the cargo, some took their own life if they could, out of some twisted fear of reprisal from their master. Those who talked gave contradictory statements, saying she was either held in the third floor, or in the basement.

"Let me speak of Tizocicatzin's lineage, their place in the 'nobility' of Catedonia." The shrill voice continued.

'It was no more than five hundred years ago that his ancestor, in his belief that he had truly gained the Great Serpent's grace, led a massacre of the then-Queen of Catedonia and her lineage. His rule was short and soon brought to an end by the survivors of his onslaught, and his noble lineage forced to prostrate themselves before their superiors for their crimes for the rest of their pathetic existence. The traitor prince has yet to learn from his ancestors, nor will he truly turn out much better, I think!”

“The rest of you are merely slaves, following the trail of your masters. Where you could have chosen to follow true gods, you instead serve at the beck and call of soulless automata who intend to use you for their own purposes while your own states decay through ideological degeneracy, and incompetence. You could have co-existed as servants to the Dov, but now you will be reduced to ash when the time comes, little slaves.”

“They never shut up. And what’s so great about a soul anyways?” Petra complained. There was conveniently little in the way of other friendlies here two levels down through the destroyed floor, excepting of course some of the necrons, but her squad was ignoring those as they moved room by room, eliminating anyone they came across that didn’t instantly throw down arms. The woman's time in Glaristant’s Arnwehr, and especially fighting demons had taught her a valuable lesson; no mercy for the merciless, and she proved it by popping railgun rounds right into the heads of anyone, alive or undead, that dared get in the way.

“Hah! They think their God favours them? ‘Tis known that the Gods favour the High King, blessed be His name, be it the flaming Gods born from the Rose, the Two faced goddess, the shining sun, or mighty Ulgoth, They all bless Him!” Roared Orxal with a thunderous laughter.

“Cleric! Step down and embrace us for we serve the mighty king that thine God Himself blessed thrice over upon His coronation! To serve Him is to Serve thine God!” Oral roared back as the Imerian nekos once again raised their swords proudly.

“Isha’ka!” They roared proudly again “Ikashur! IKASHUR! SHI-SHO! SHI-SHO! SHI-SHO!”

‘Their god is dead!’ the Telissat avatar with the Imerians said, ‘he has been paid the wage of Tyrants. As to ‘soulless,’ this is true of me, but I am not without an animating spirit! And there are no slaves here,’ he said, from among the Neko slave-warriors.

“Isha’ka!” The Imerian nekos shouted in support of the avatar’s words “Ikashur! IKASHUR! SHI-SHO! SHI-SHO! SHI-SHO!” they once again repeated the mantra. Out of the group only one, a grey tomcat with white wide moustache and a truly impressive ruby in his turban seemed to grasp English enough to not join in and gave the avatar a sour look.

“We Ikashur! No IMolushur!” he said proudly over the title, the distinction laying in the word Kas and Molu meaning slave and Catman respectively. The terminology behind Kashur had been a rather hotly debated topic in the Imerian military, the old guard of the sun realms, and the traditional temple owned slave warriors themselves, were fiercely protective of the title Kashur meaning slave warrior and the long honoured history associated with such warriors there. Of course newer Neko freedmen also wanted to claim the title and had argued that they should be allowed to style themselves as Kashur regiments. This of course made the new Primusite officers of Scandera rather uncomfortable as they themselves tried to separate themselves from slavery as much as possible and had came down on the side of the old guard by naming the new freedmen regiments as “Stormregiments” instead of Kashur regiments. From the Crown of course came the push of trying to brand Neko grenadier regiments as the new proper social elite of the Neko warforce under federal arms. Something that had sort of worked as the freedmen neko’s were more favouring the Scanderan style Grenadiers honorifics. This of course had sparked a fierce rivalry between Freedmen grenadiers and proper Kashur regiments.

“Not legally you are not! No slaves in our blessed domains! No more Ikashur! Only Ishur amongst our ranks!” The cheerful voice of Karl cut into the argument, something that got an even angrier glare from the Tomcat.

“Ah Herr Korporal Tiota’Shakir,” Telissat said, “they can’t be expected to understand the steadfast traditions of the Kashur. They can’t even understand true religion!” He reached out and lightning jumped from his fingers spread in the ‘horns’ gesture toward the corner ahead, turning mid-air and probing to seek more defenders in cover. “Kashur you are, but no one’s slaves.”

“IUtlandash’ka!” Tiota said after a moment’s thought, a Scanderan loanword meaning outlanders or foreigners. “May the Sun shine on you as much as He shines on us all herr Grand Mayor Telissat for thou speaketh truth” he continued in his native tongue of the sun realms. The title though was what Imerian just used as a catch all for presidents as mayor was the highest purely elected rank that Imerians had used themselves so that is what they fell back using for every republican head of state, similarly to how they just used the title king for every emperor.

Mythra glared at the brainwashed cat-slave, unimpressed by the sheer speech of it all. “What a pity.” Her eyes focused on the undead and rolled her eyes at the gunnery executions. “Let me show you what a goddess of light can do to her beloved servants. As Camille protects her people from undeath itself.” Her eyes became golden as she began to channel an immense and precise amount of energy to cast a blazing ray across the room. For the living, it was pretty harmless as a heavenly light passed, while for the undead found their bodies began to ignite and burn to cinders. Mythra began to follow a second channelling of healing energy to give a burst to the group to cure off any wounds as well in a short radius.

“As for the crimes of Tizoc’s ancestors,” the Maroon Telissat said, “they are nothing compared to my ancestors! None of us here judge people by their ancestors.”

The necron commander, Supreme Judicator Sarnatha was one of those distinguished from the others by the mantle of exo-armour atop her shoulders, which gave her a more solid beetleback appearance than the others with their skeletal flight-packs, she was hunched in the environments built for tall Nord humans, and even so when she passed through doorways the masonry was broken up in places. The necrons had not used much firepower thus far, but she used a small weapon built into her wrist that clicked nearly inaudibly with each discharged, every click blasting something or someone distant apart.

‘Two candidate locations for the primary target have been found, Imerian team to the third floor, Dragon team to the basement,’ she called out.

“TREDJE VANINGEN! I GUDARNA ACH VADERA KHÖNUNG, ma han leva evigt ach hans styre bli arorikt, NAMN FRAMAN!” Roared Björn as he pointed with his blade “ORM IN THE FRONT!” he screamed as the huge albino moved out taking the lead, with Karl in well practised efficiency taking his place behind the huge man, an odd sight as the cuirass Karl wore seemed more protective than Orm’s bare chest. But the smaller champion seemed content with using the huge bear of a man as cover as he moved forward with his storm rifle at the ready. Similarly did the Cuirassiers in their heavy armour move forward after the pair with the Kashur moving behind them, all having thick pistols or storm rifles at the ready with the rear using blades and shields ready to charge if they needed them.

There were several entrances to the third floor, one in the elevator, inoperable since the assault began, and several staircases. Each posed the immediate problem of opening up those who tried to stride in being met by several degrees of gun fire, mostly from rifles, at least one from a machine gun crudely emplaced opposite the entryway.

Concerningly for all involved, the ground itself could be felt shaking, distant tremors seemingly erupting. It was a slight sensation at most, but it didn't seem to bode well for whoever was at the epicentre.

The heavily armoured men that walked into the entrances staggered for a moment as the counterfire met them. Two men fell and had to be pulled away from the fire as the heavy machine gun rounds were able to tear through even the arcane armour they wore but most men withdrew to cover. Orxal had clearly taken the worst of it as the unarmoured cleric also went down in a hailstorm of fire as he led the charge up one of the stairs.
“GRANATER!” Roars came from the entrances as the heavily armoured men changed weaponry and lobbed the heavy orbs up the stairs. Blinding white flashes designed to disorient and confuse followed before the armoured men once again advanced, this time with their storm rifles firing at everything even looking like it was not surrendering. Behind them did a second man take place and lobbed another grenade up into the enemy positions followed by the same blinding flash. If one had felt hope that the disorienting attacks would also affect the advancing metalclad men would one very quickly be disappointed by either the lack of reaction or even the lack reduction of the accuracy the men displayed.

One place was different though. Orm took a full-on blast of one of the machine guns at the stairs as the albino charged. The large albino stiffened and staggered as his unarmoured and exposed torso took the full blast. Then he was up the stairs. WIth an inhuman speed did the man charge as a whirlwind of mayhem. A flat handed slap left the first foe that the albino came across a mangled wreck looking more like he had been run over by a train than anything else, The pale man elbowed himself not through the entranceway but through the wall itself leaving the doorway expanded significantly. The white man lunged at a new foe and pulled the man into his mouth, biting down with horrid force as the sound of a man crushing a nut with his teeth followed before the albino spat out the mangled remnant of his foe. Karl blinked for a moment as he followed the assault, he hated illusionary magic, he had clearly seen the albino’s teeth crush the head and upper torso of the enemy but yet despite that did he also see that the pink eyed man was nowhere near large enough to fit an enemy into his mouth like that, the man had not shrunk, reality had not distorted. His eyes told him a very simple story yet his mind was for a moment struck with the impossibility of it. Yet he shook his head and simply opened fire with his storm rifle as he advanced after the rampaging albino. His stormrifle shoot precise and carefully aimed bursts, however no care was spared to miss his comrade in Arms as more than once did the albino crush yet another foe like a paper doll with a punch, slap, kick, or another bite before taking a burst meant for the unfortunate wretch. However if the albino noticed did it not even react as yet another slap shattered bones, sinew and muscles alike.


The violence that had transpired was as destructive as it was decisive. The Nords above were surely cut down. The few survivors continued to fight, only a scant number deciding to retreat beneath to another hopeless situation.

Cackling could be heard over the intercoms, as well as within one of the rooms on the upper floor. It didn’t seem like any other survivors presented themselves after the initial carnage either.

“Is the charge going well? Casualties?” The prince demanded as he quickly became the third man up the stairs, joining Orm and Karl with his blade in hand and with Cuirassiers and Nekos following after screaming war chants.
“The enemy is dead!” Orm said, spitting a chewed up head out on the floor, an action that received quite a few grimaces and angry glares from his comrades as he rubbed blood from his pale torso. Björn himself had to blink a moment, he had clearly seen the head of a man and more get spat out of a mouth that also was the size of a man, the glamour made it impossible to remember exactly how that had happened, the size of the mouth and the chewed up pile on the floor clearly did not match. But he could not connect the pieces in his mind.

“Corridor is clear, my royal prince, blessed be the gods as casualties are light on our side!” Karl cut in, as everyone looked away from the Albino.
“Very well, we would not want to endure more! Orm at the front with me! The command centre should be this way!” He roared and started to run, blade extended. Behind him did cuirassiers move up, helmets using both technological and arcane methods to see and scan their surroundings, minor doors they passed were checked with stormrifles and any motion was responded with grenades intending to paralyse and blind as bright lights and the scream of the spirit in the grenade blinded and deafened whomever were on the wrong side.

There wasn't much of anything left to handle, with one glaring exception at least.

A few magic traps littered the floor, easily detected through magical means, but meant to do nothing more than slow down any advance. The real threat came from what they were delaying for.

Even a weaker Priest, early in their career, was nothing to scoff at. Even disorientation and blindness didn't stop them from unleashing some mayhem, arcs of flames spreading across whoever would enter the room with them.

For those still on the first floor, however, another problem arose. The sound of a 40mm round exploding against concrete came after the immediate impact, and so did the following shots, about a dozen aimed at the first floor, some smashing against the concrete foundation and tearing it apart, others going through glass windows or exposed and damaged holes in the wall to try and hit their targets. Alongside it, machine gun fire, several hundred shots firing wildly alongside the larger gun, a mad effort to kill targets they couldn’t see, allies and survivors be damned. They went in a sweeping motion against the floor, trying to hit as many targets as possible in one go.

Tizoc had the misfortune of being the closest to the first high-explosive round, the heat and pressure eviscerating the many undead and machines that had shared the room with him. The Ocelotl himself was singed, his ears screaming in an unholy cacophony of ringing bells, disoriented for long enough to stop his attacks, unnecessary as they were now. Magic kept him from sharing their fate, but it did not stop cuts and bruises from forming on his skin, a grimace on his face as he thought of nothing more than trying to slink away opposite from the room, trying to make some space against whatever gun was pointed at him by moving deeper into the building, finding the first staircase down and taking it.

Of course the Telissat with Tizoc was also hit, where his armour protected the avatar there was no significant damage, or visible change, but where his bare head was struck the flesh was peeled away from the shimmering meshwork of metamaterial and bone-like curves of living metal beneath, hanging like tenderised mince from a wound that would kill a human ten times over.

The gun crews firing on the building were less fortunate however, as in the moment they fired, the attackers response was directed on them with overwhelming force, as a munition whipped into their building too fast for the eye to track, the walls shimmering sea-green and seeming to implode neatly, in one heartbeat the whole building evaporated and swirled inward, revealing a hull-down vehicle that had been firing through it, the glacis swirling away and revealing the crew contorted in momentary agony as their bodies were whickered away from skin to flesh to bone, joining the matter around them as it was pulled to a central point with an unearthly tearing sound followed by a thunderclap. Not even a particularly fortunate cockroach would survive such a response; the entire building and everyone in it was atomized and their atoms swept away as if they had never existed.

“Soulless abominations and pathetic beasts are no match for the Dragon States, do keep that in mind.” the voice spoke again, for those unfortunate enough to have any hearing left after such an experience.

“That’s funny,” Marron snarled, “I think I’m one of the only people here on either side who can truly be called a dragon, and yet I seem to be on the side of them.” She dashed around, so quick she often seemed invisible to the naked eye, as she dashed straight through the flames; as the daughter of a brass dragon and the warrior goddess of ice, fire was of no concern to her. Taking the lead in the search, she darted around, mostly avoiding combat in order to locate Ana as quickly as possible.

One of the many entrances to the basement soon made themselves clear, a set of stairs leading down below, a security station lined with two dead bodies, scorched beyond any practical use by any offending party.

“Lady Marron, don’t get too far ahead!” Shouted one of the Omega Troopers, a woman by the sound of the voice. Even augmented as they were, there was simply no matching the speed she was displaying, especially as they were not quite so bulletproof as her, but they continued onwards anyways. Heavy armour had kept any from going down quite yet, but that likely wouldn’t last if they simply stood still, so they hurried Mythra after Marron, keeping up as best they could. Should the moment strike, each and every one was ready to hurl themselves in front of either woman to take an attack.

The first thing anyone who went down would notice was how dark it was, relative to the above floor. The lights were all off, and there was no natural light to guide the way. It was in this darkness that immediate flashes of light began to appear. Gunfire, almost as deafening as the guns above, converged on Marron, unconcerned with the darkness.

“Sister, must you and your guards be so reckless? Honestly, another moment or two and you would have gotten them killed were it not for me.” Aoife sighed as she stepped before the troopers, the bullets seeming to scatter to either side of her as she held her hand outstretched. She shook her head, a scowl apparent on her face as she began to press forward.

“Ugh, what the hell.” Mythra gave a both half-annoyed expression at the Omega Troopers to ‘oh gosh why are they doing this? That and being deafened by high explosions made it hard to understand it well. “Just-Look just… ah!” Mythra tried to focus her hand to conjure up a bright force field to try to cover herself and the squad.

Aoife's momentum would be stopped, not by the soldiers, but by the sudden presence of another one of those larger machines, glowing eye staring thoughtlessly at her as it raised an arm, looking to wrap its metallic grip around her throat. It didn't seem to be present at all until moments ago, and the soldiers behind it continued to fire behind her.

“Keep your hands off my sister,” Marron suddenly grabbed a part of the arm, squeezing down as a crunching sound could be heard. The next time she opened her mouth, a stream of fire breath was spewed forward, the half-dragoness’ rage being focused on it for the time being.

“Thank you, sister. Hrmph, what a crude excuse for construct even for an amateur. Very little elegance, let alone potential for capabilities beyond basic combat….Truly, who ever created such detestable mockeries is either inept or mad. ” Aoife said contemptuously, snapping her fingers as the machine began to creak loudly. Its form cracked and contorted, all the while bulging outward before beginning to shake violently. The lens of the machine’s eye shattered with a loud crack like thunder before its head detonated in a brilliant red flash, all the while its form crumpled to the ground. Aoife chuckled as she kicked the remnants of the machine aside, before looking back to her sister, “I appreciate it Marron. Had it not been for you, I might very well have been injured by that loathsome piece of scrap metal.”

Another machine made itself apparent afterwards, those guards firing their more conventional weapons slowly receding deeper within the unusually spacious basement. Some irritated shouts could be heard from the Nords, clearly panicked.

The machine, soon joined by another machine that had materialised, simply attempted to smash its metal arm into Aoife's skull, showing nothing less than a cold and calculating need to kill a threat. The other machine began to fire on Marron with its energy weaponry, a yellow 'eye' staring her down with contempt.

“OwowowowoOW!” Marron roared in pain from the weapon, but that appeared to only make her angrier, as she tossed a shuriken which exploded into a blast of ice, making the machine covered in a miniature glacier, “You have to do better than that to stop me!” She roared out, smashing the frozen machine into pieces.

Aoife would feel herself shoved away, pushed out of the way of the falling arm. It seemed for a brief moment that an Omega Trooper had decided she was also to be included in their envelope of protection, taking her place at any cost as the arm came down.

The mechanical limb smashed the soldier, who crumpled under the blow, leaking both blood and, for some reason, coolant. "Protect… the Imperial family… at all costs," they muttered before they stopped breathing.

“What are you doing, you damnable fool?” Aoife cried, watching the soldier be crushed before her. The aasimar growled as a metal spike made of molten iron launched forward, impaling the construct against a nearby wall. Fires shot up from the floor, consuming the golem as Aoife closed the eyes of the fallen soldier.

“Aoife. I got this.” Mythra said as she approached the scene. As her sense returned she approached the soldier as she began to channel a great ball of light. “By the light of Camille, you shall not abandon those behind.” Mythra kneeled down as she began to channel a great amount of life energy within her palm. “Arise! There is still much work to be done.” Mythra pressed down her hand at the man’s chest. The bones, loss of blood, and other smashed body parts began to reforge and mend as Mythra winced at the natural state of the anti-field.

To the surprise of the rest of the Troopers, their fallen comrade took a sudden breath, their destroyed chest cavity healing itself. Mythra's magic seemed to overcome the agent's natural anti-magic through sheer power, fixing the body before it even had a chance to finish dying. "Wh-what?" The fallen trooper asked, splayed on the floor.

“No worries friend. It’s the work of a priestess to perform.” Mythra said as she checked the soldier once again. “Come on, I am going to make sure you’ll come home too.”

"Y-yes ma'am," the agent replied, standing. "... ready to go."

“Great.” Mythra then looked at Aoife and Marron. “Do you two need any healing?”

“I’m fine,” Marron said with a growl, “It’ll take more than that to slow me down,” she said as she flew off, “This way!”

All the heroics in the world weren't making life any easier for the girl the mission was about, though. Anastasia Turak, abducted princess, remained abducted and curled on herself in the dungeon. The strange robot that had been in the room with her this whole time had malfunctioned, and she could hear screaming and explosions, causing her to retreat further into a small, dark corner of her cell.

“Ana!?” A voice called out from outside the door, as suddenly the door busted down, revealing the half-dragoness on the other side. “Ana, are you there?!”

The girl looked up, still in the darkest corner available to her, reacting to the voice. "Gr…" she coughed, standing up with a little difficulty and making her best pace to the bars. "Grandma? Grandma!" She started to call.

“ANA!” Marron rushed over, some of her anger replaced with relief, as she grabbed the bars, slowly pulling them apart, “C’mon, I’ll get you out of there!”

Ana flinched slightly away from the bars as Marron tore them open, which happened to give the older woman a better view of the princess. She was dirty, covered in grime, dust, and dirt, wearing the same clothes she'd been wearing two weeks ago when she was abducted. Her hair was matted, and the clothing torn enough to show Marron some sores and bruises as Ana slowly moved to the opening. "Grandma, is that really you?"

“Of course,” Marron pulled hard enough at the bars that they outright broke off, causing her to be taken aback, but moreso from seeing the state Ana was in. “What did they do to you…” she opened her arms, “Ana, I’m here now…”

Ana sniffed, rushing forward to hug Marron. "Grandma, I wanna go home! It's scary here!"

“Don’t worry,” Marron picked up Ana, holding her softly, “We’ll get you outta here… I promise that… Mythra, Aoife, I found her!”

“Thank mom…” Aoife said, rushing to the group’s side, smiling as she pulled Ana and Marron in for a hug, “And not a moment too soon, sister. Honestly, given the state of this nightmare I was beginning to wonder if those cretins had already done away with her…”

Mythra rushed over to the group. “Thank goodness.” She smiled. “We did it. Now we can get out of this madhouse.”

Ana clung tightly to Marron, falling into a fitful sleep in her grandmother's arms. The Omega Troopers surrounded the family, ensuring nothing would sneak up on them.

Tizoc's attempts to hide from the gun facing him down led him into the same dark rooms beneath the first floor as Marron and Aoife, albeit at opposite ends. He didn't need to illuminate the room, his eyes adjusting quickly to the dark. He could already hear fighting further out, but for now, he was separated by a hallway and a few rooms.

Past the staircase, further within the basement, he could see a locked room, the door held shut by some manner of hand scanner, and a security camera right above it glaring at him. He was almost certain it could see him, his opinion immediately validated by that same, miserable voice.

“I’d give real money if she’d shut up,” the flayed Telissat quipped idiomatically, and a moment later one of the Triarch Praetorians immediately fired at the nearest speaker, excoriating it from the wall in a blast of pulverised stone, while the others piled up alongside the door, one of them touched a blade to the door, a polychromatic light shimmering around it and the metal turning to rust and dust instantly, as though a million years had passed within a millimetre of the blade. The narrow talon-tips of a mechanical hand slammed into the door and it melted where touched, as the machine lifted it away, and set it down. They would normally have used more violence, but although the indications said Ana wasn’t behind this door, that did not mean that they did not suspect other prisoners might be held nearby.

Inside the room lay the corpses of a half dozen Nords, seemingly dessicated and robbed of life rather suddenly. They had looks of utter fear on their faces, but otherwise showed no visible signs of harm, merely a cessation of life. In the corner, a Catedonian man crawled away from the new arrivals, clearly afraid of whatever had happened here. He was an insurgent, clearly, but he did not respond to his leader, too afraid of whatever had killed the rest of the room.

In pitch black, Tizoc realised that they had made a grave mistake. This was the hunting ground of a beast from that cursed land spoken of in only the oldest stories of Catedonia. How the Dragon States had even encountered one of those abominations was beyond him, but it seemed like it enjoyed feasting on their fears as much as it did those of anyone else.

Any possible words on the matter Tizoc could have said were immediately silenced by the sudden feeling of a thousand hands grabbing him, pushing him down into the floor. He was slowly surrounded by a viscous, unpleasant thing, unimaginably ancient, cackling as it tried its hardest to drag him away from the rest of his group. To throw off its own movements, it would seemingly multiply itself, each of its forms attempting to obscure and surround the rest, if only to delay or obscure their vision for just long enough to steal its true prize.

“Your mind will make a lovely feast, boy-prince. But first, she will tear your soul apart.”

‘Fear nothing,’ Telissat snapped, he was no quicker than his escorts, but they did several different things. The first to act was one who carried the necron weapon known as the staff of light, there were several forms, but this one functioned in a way that was intended for use on magical creatures, a pinhole within its head shifting in a lattice of force-fields, the room and corridor blazing with light, not artificial either, but Xiuhpilli’s own light, a picoscale wormhole to the star’s core, dazzling and burning - not kind to either of the Catedonians present, but searing for anyone else. ‘Catedonians have beaten them, and you will do so now, fight!’ Telissat said, and fired on the creature.

As with his intact twin with the Imerians, and his soldiers, he carried a weapon enchanted for this mission, to strike creatures of other planes and wound them in their essence, though the one he used was a rifle, he had no Imerians to impress, after all. It blazed with white lunar fire as he shot the creature’s extensions that formed around them, and his fellows hacked or fired likewise.

The sheer warmth and light was devastating on the creature, now screaming in a thousand languages. Even Tizoc, temporarily blinded, did not fare so poorly, grabbing his weapon and slicing at the beast that lost its grip on him. It was less than optimal, compared to a weapon of the sun, but it was more than enough to harm the creature under such conditions.

The beast fled now, choosing to escape deeper into the darkness of the rest of the room, retreating from any potentially fatal threat, provided none bothered to pursue it. Tizoc attempted such an effort, soon distracted by the sudden appearance of another machine.

The young king's efforts to pursue him were stopped by the appearance of yet another machine uncloaking itself, its effort to attack the Catedonian undone by a swift swipe of his weapon, bisected the machine across its thin, metal waist.

‘Why do they bring you into this world?’

A voice far fouler than any other dragon priest spoke. Tizoc could sense it, but he wasn’t sure if anyone else could. It didn’t seem to come from anywhere in particular, simply flooding his ears with its presence. His face turned into one of malice, directed at the voice that had taken so much from him.

‘Is it out of some belief that you will better it? Some misguided delusion that they can shield you from its suffering as the descendants of warlords and conquerors who have exploited all their lessers until they have broken them into accepting you as their superior?’

Was this aimed at him directly? No, it didn’t seem cruel enough for that accursed creature known as Vahzen.

‘Do they understand the suffering they are unleashing on you? Do all parents understand?’

No, this was never aimed at him. But it kept ringing through his ears, just as it did Ana’s, and any other souls touched by the Pale Horse.

“Please tell me you heard that.” Was all he said in response, aimed at Telissat, only to realise he was quite a ways off now.

‘I didn’t,’ Telissat said, ‘but I’ve got no soul or biological brain tissue, basically like trying to send telepathy to a spoon. Want to share?’ he asked.

“Does the name Vahzen ring a bell? Sounded like her, just speaking to someone, I don’t think it was me however.” Tizoc said, stance still raised and wary, voice barely able to contain a sense of hatred and dread that had built up over most of his life. “If you see her, she’s mine to deal with.”

‘The criminal better known as Pseudo-Tzitzimitl? She’s irrelevant to the mission, block her out if you can.’

'Some, like the daughter of the Turaks, or the children of the Stjärnkhrone, or those useless children of the mighty Nictores, might hide from it longer, but the child of a Rohanian, a Imerian, a Rintyari, will more likely than not live their entire lives in a miasma of suffering. For most of history, and this is in those more fortunate countries. For the less fortunately gifted lands, the inhabitants of this cursed world live lives of abject suffering…'

Tizoc's anger kept him from even thinking about those words, his composure tested endlessly so long as her voice remained.

“What do you have planned, murderer…” Tizoc whispered to himself.

Any surviving enemies in the facility were dead by now. Any greater threat lay in the desecrated tomb of the Lord of Mictlan. There was no reason to dwell here any longer, now that the Rohanians had their child back.

Of the survivors, there’d only be a handful. Some were members of Tizoc’s insurgency, some were those unfortunate enough to be suspected of supporting the Prince.

The damaged, maroon-cloaked Telissat gave a crooked grin with the ruined features of a once handsome face, ‘We are extracting the target child now, along with the others we’ve rescued, there is the matter of Imerian honour still, though.’

“I have another task to finish here. The Temple of the Lord of Mictlan has been desecrated by the Dragon Cult for long enough. I should handle that before I leave.” Tizoc spoke back to Telissat, somewhat unnerved by the wounded look of the machine. He was no stranger to death, least of all that of those he had fought alongside for most of his life, but it didn’t stop the feeling of regret whenever their wounds presented themselves.

‘It is only right to repay our debts,’ Telissat said.

For the Dragon Sea Alliance party there was no need to do anything further, as one of the portals shifted to their location, the green curtain of light parting the air again in a chequerboard pattern as their exit came to them.

Tynah managed to make it downstairs with Tysteus and Flora in tow, splatters of blood among them, “My, my, seems our team had managed to make their objective? I do hope my group was a fair enough distraction for you, GHAHAHA!”

Soon she was joined by Petra's AMTF squad, noticeably missing two members. "If we're done, let's get out. Already had a couple losses, I don't want more, sis."

Mythra made her way to the exit to escape the chaos. “Alright, that should be it girls.”

“Right…” Marron held onto Ana tight as she stepped into the portal, “Don’t be scared, we’re just going for a little trip. Far away from this place…”

[The Ctan]

Ground Operations Nexus
Harvest Ship Telissat
Great Civilization Conflict Service Vessel - Sabbaticaller

"Portals engaged,” the voice-over from Telissat's shipmind said, "Breaching the building.”

"This will not take nearly so long as it feels it will,” Captain-General Miklas said, beside Genevive and Abha, while the ship's avatar looked at the screens ahead of them that lit up with eye-feeds from the necrons and scarabs, though magic had been used to stop communications and sensors getting through, the portals had been deployed with hardline relays, that allowed communications to be used, and would allow the ship to relocate its portals, or if necessary fire pencil-beams into the building.

Genevieve squeezed Abha's hand as the portals opened and the fighting began. It didn't seem intentional, an automatic reflex out of worry. A reassuring hand clapped her on the shoulder, causing her to briefly glance to the 'advisor' she had brought.

"It will be fine. Marron and Mythra are already more than capable on their own," he reassured Genevieve, and indeed anyone else listening to him. "When you add in the others sent along, I am fairly convinced that there's no one in this world who would be able to overcome them."

“I trust Marron for certain,” the Dystan Prime Minister Winstara Gnomekicker remarked, “And she’s got the Princess-Regent and her retinue helping her as well. As… strong a personality she may be, I don't think you could ask for a more reliable ally.”

"Contact,” one of the human C'tani ahead of them reported, perhaps a little unnecessarily, as the groups pouring from both portals met almost immediate Dragon States resistance.

"That I could be down there," the older Rohanian grumbled softly, watching intently through what views they were getting. "I have never seen an Imerian fight. Is it usual for them to send a man barely of age?"

"No,” Telissat said, "but it is usual for them to be reckless in the name of honour; Bjorn lost Ana, so he must help recover her,” he said, watching the screen showing the view of the avatar with the Imerian prince, as he lunged at the Dragon Stater's with his polearm.

Airaheri, the red-haired quendi mage standing at the head of the table, leaned in to whisper something to one of the analysts.

"Honour is important, but still, I would have taken the burden in lieu of my child, were it to be me," the advisor shook his head.

“I never imagined outside of a few plucky adventurers to use archaic weaponry in the modern age.” Miranda noted. “That being said: I know Mythra can help them stay alive.”

“And people claim Her Majesty to be reckless,” Winstara shrugged; he did think she was, just that she had the skill and experience to back it up. “... I see Melux hasn't lost his touch,” seeing the DSA council member cause a massive explosion in an undead horde.

"Impressive," the Rohanian advisor nodded.

"Do they know where Ana is?" Genevieve asked.

They're asking that now,” Miklas said, and Abha squeezed her hand, "if the defenders don't know, the sweep will be complete with scarabs in two minutes,” he said.

Sweeping columns of sine-script hung on the screens ahead of them as the defenders deployed their own robots, but many of the viewpoint scarabs swept past. Abha looked at Telissat. "A map might help,” she said to her husband, who nodded fractionally.

A shimmering blue-white wireframe of the building appeared between Airaheri's back and the Dragon Sea group, showing a multitude of green dots and few red ones; the incursion team outnumbered the defenders, after all. Already a large portion of the building seemed to have been cleared.

"They move swiftly. This fight won't last long, I think," the advisor said, moments before a camera picked up further explosions. "Though it is getting difficult to tell who is causing all that destruction. Personally, I suspect Tynah."

“With such a view, it's not always clear, I guess,” the kobold sighed, “I wouldn’t be surprised if at least part of it is… that said, it would be better than having a long, drawn-out conflict.”

"Which of those are Marron and Mythra?" Genevieve asked, watching the dots split in many directions.

Two of them changed to gold on the display, and Telissat responded, "Those ones,” he said, as circles appeared in the building, "These are our likely locations, the ground teams are moving now, it's likely the one in the basement we have a biotrace there too, Marron and Mythra are on their way there now,” he said.

"Well, that's good," Genevieve let out a small sigh, watching the dots. One and then another from a different group went out, and then a green dot right next to one of the golden ones faded out for a moment before reappearing. "W-what was that?"

"Resurrection,” Telissat said, "they're rather proactive,” he said.

"They must be close by now," the old man said, watching the dots approach their various targets. "We expect no nasty surprises? No one with a sword in the cell?"

Captain-General Miklas was the one who answered here, "I do not think so,” he said, "they were thrust into this almost as quickly as we were, they would have never sent a signal like the one they used if they had been operating with a clear plan.”

A combat involving Tizoc and a creature of darkness took centre spot on the screen momentarily, and Airaheri and the Altean Grey Wizard were immediately speaking to Telissat, before the screen whited out.

“Telissat….What is the status of Petra and Miriki's group? Are they still in one piece?” Rolven inquired, his eyes fixated on the screen.

"They are,” he confirmed, "the Dragon Seas group is closing on the most likely cell now,” he said, the large screen dismissing Tizoc and the shadow creature, showing instead the viewpoint of one of the necrons with Marron's group

“Thank Asyn she's alive…” Rolven said in relief.

“I don't think I've ever seen her fired up like this in my entire life,” Winstara said in shock, “Marron's really motivated this time!”

"Of course she is, it's family," the advisor answered.

"She loves Ana as much as I do," Genevieve said quietly. "I just pray they're all alright…"

On the viewscreen, Marron could be seen bursting into one of the rooms, where Ana was kept in one of the cages; the half-dragon then bent the bars open in order to free her.

"Ana!" Genevieve shouted, standing suddenly, watching the screen with a desperate expression. She seemed to hone in on the bruises the girl had acquired while in captivity. "No… she looks so bad, what did they do to her? What did they do to my daughter?!?"

"She'll be okay,” Abha said, squeezing her hand again.

Relocating portal exit,” Telissat's tannoy-voice announced, and a moment later their viewpoint could see the spacetime shortcut moved into the same room as Ana.

"They'll come aboard in the Hypostyle hall, there's a brief check and we should meet them in one of the medical bays,” the Telissat avatar said.

"Perhaps we of Rohane Alista, at least, should head there and meet them. Is there anyone to guide us, Lord Telissat?" The advisor asked.

"I'll take you,” Abha said, "everyone ready?”

"Let's go, please," Genevieve said, watching the screen as her family stepped into the portal. "I need to see her."

“Yes, let's go,” Winstara nodded, jumping off the chair he was sitting on, “Sage Melux should have a good report of the fight, and Her Majesty a new story.”

Abha led the group toward the teleportation circles, two of the necrons falling in to follow her, moving with some deference despite the huge difference in their size, she barely came past the bottom of their rib cages.

The medical centre was decorated in mild pastel blues and yellows, it was surprisingly large, even in the room they”d entered, the teleportation circle had connected to an alcove off a long corridor divided by frosted armourglass with double-helix symbols on it, labels on the walls in necrontyr script led the way, and Abha turned left, leading them down a little way and then into a room that was divided by more of the same glass, both sides with low couches and decorated with Horsey Heroes figures. On the far side there was a nest of more of the mechanical bugs, unlike any they’d seen thus far, soft-pink with a ceramic texture to their shells, they waited locked to the ceiling, before the Dragon States combat team were teleported into the room; the necrons had remained, but they could be brutally radiation-scoured, rather than needing any sort of medical check.

"They'll appear on the other side of this glass?" The advisor asked, keeping an eye on Genevieve as she began to pace back and forth.

"Any time now,” Abha said, just before Marron and Ana appeared, followed moments later by the others.

“GHAHAHA!” Tynah arrived with Tysteus and Flora in tow, the three of them covered in various degrees of blood, “That will be one for the ages!”

“I remember why I stopped doing this,” Melux groaned, following them, his own robes meticulously clean in spite of the carnage.

Marron, meanwhile, had turned back into her half-elven form, holding Ana close, “Don't worry, Ana, you're safe now…”

“You said it, Tynah….Still…thank mom we found her before it was too late.” Aoife said, sighing as she dusted off the dirt and oil from her robes.

Abha watched quietly, she wasn't the star of this moment, and she was content to watch Genevive and Ana and answer any questions.

“Hiya Payaya everyone!” Miranda waved causally as Mythra gave a soft eye roll. “Congratulations on your success!”

“Eh, it was nothing. Outside one earache, I am doing fine. Besides, we got Ana here and we can escape that nightmarish chapter.” Mythra said.

Genevieve rushed up to the glass, placing her hands on it. Tears ran down her face as she was just not quite able to reach her child even now. "Ana! Oh thank Camille and everything else! Please, Abha, let me hold my baby!"

"Mama?" Ana glanced over from Marron's arms. "Mama is here too?"

“That's right, Ana,” Marron said, patting her head, “Once we're all nice and cleaned up, we can go to her, okay? Just be a good girl for Grandma.”

"The first bit will just tingle a little bit,” Abha said, "just to let you know.”

The last of the DSA party finally appeared, Petra and her squad showing up in the medical bay. The Alistinian removed her helmet with a sigh, shaking her head. "Damn, I'm tired…"

“It ain't easy, even if you're experienced, Petra,” Tysteus wiped off a bit of blood from her face, “And it never really gets easier.”

The tingling sensation that Abha had described was almost like touching a tuning fork with one's whole body, as it happened, the blood and grime fell away from all of them like water from a proverbial duck's back, some sort of sonic shower, blood even poured out of clothes as if they had been wrung, not without stains but enough to remove dampness. Even Ana's hair was cleaned.

"You'll just be in there for a couple of minutes,” she said after that ended.

Ana almost seemed transformed in her grandmother's arms, her dirty clothes returning to the bright colours they had when she was abducted, her hair largely returning to the golden blonde it usually was, most of the grime on her skin gone, though it seemed the bruises and sores still remained. The child took it all with a surprisingly stoic shiver, clinging a little tighter to Marron until the sensation passed.

“Ah, I need one of these for the castle!” Tynah said, admiring the work on her cloak, “Granted, I still feel like I need a shower after that…”

“I'm always happy to oblige on that,” her catfolk consort chuckled.

Marron meanwhile seemed a little less frazzled thanks to that, but still was more concerned with Ana's well-being over her own, holding her softly in her arms.

“Well you're in luck then, Petra….cause after this I'd say we've earned a break…” Rolven said, appearing behind Petra as he embraced her.

"Abha, when can I hold my girl?" Genevieve asked without looking at their host.

"Patience, Genevieve. They are ensuring she is healthy, and there are no surprises. Right?" The Regent's advisor advised.

"Yes, we've got to rule out some things,” she said. She looked at the ceiling.

"A minute more,” Telissat said, "there's a whole laundry list of nasty things to check aren't happening,” he said.

"Things like Morhale Lun-er, tuberculosis and what not, I assume," the advisor followed up.

"Yes, some people use those kind of things as weapons, we have the ability to cure them if needed,” Telissat's voice said, why he”d taken the time to explain biological weapons, rather than just using the words, was something of a giveaway.

"Plague has long been a weapon of the desperate," the advisor replied, his jaw visibly tightening as his gaze narrowed. "And the pathetic."

“Quite so,” Tynah said in confirmation, “If you wish to show your strength, do so with your own skills, not those that exploit illness!”

Melux looked over the advisor, blinking a bit; he recognized him immediately, but it couldn't be, could it? … but it was clear whether or not he was, he did not wish to bring attention to it, and he would respect that, “... Indeed, Your Majesty.”

"I am happy to report though, Ana, that you and your family and friends are not in fact sick,” Telissat said, as though he’d not noticed, perhaps he simply didn't care, and at that moment the armourglass dividing wall slid sideways.

The moment the way was clear, Genevieve burst through, rushing to Marron and Ana, catching Mythra with a hand and pulling her in as well for a giant hug. The advisor followed more slowly, his cane becoming more obvious as it tapped across the ground. He caught Melux's eyes, gently shaking his head, before arriving at the hug pile and awkwardly patting Ana's back.

“Eh-Genny.” Mythra blushed up. “This is… Ugh.” She returned the hug.

“C'mon, Mythra, can't you enjoy a lil”hug?” Marron chuckled, giving the advisor a look, “... I'm sorry. It was because of me that we all had to do this…”

"Have you made it right, to the best of your abilities?" He asked.

“... yeah,” Marron yawned, slumping her head against the others, “Tired now, I did a lot of work…”

"Then I see no need for an apology," the advisor said, patting Marron in the back as well.

Genevieve gently took Anastasia in her arms as the hug broke down, whispering sweet words to the young girl as she fell asleep. After a moment she sniffed. "That was the longest few weeks of my life… I… after Jaciob, I couldn't, not with Ana too… I don't know that we can ever thank you enough…"

“It is what allies… friends do, is it not?” Tynah said. “Help each other when we are in need. What good are people like us if we cannot do that when we are needed?”

“Still, we have prepared something to say thank you, haven't we, Your Glory?” The Rohanian advisor verbally prodded Genevieve.

“Ah, yes… we were unsure what kinds of gifts might suit,” the regent cradled her daughter close to her bosom. “Obviously no amount of reward money would matter or be enough, so we went with something we think is original… an invitation to a cultural event. We… could not decide what was most appropriate, so our offer is any of a play about Rohanian history, a sporting event, or a traditional Alistinian dance performance.”

“Feel free to ask more about any of them, and yes, we are extending this offer to you, as well, Lord Telissat, Lady Abha,” the advisor added. “Along with a painting from one of the old greats.”

"Those all sound lovely,” Abha said, "I'm sure whatever you choose will be quite engaging,” she said with a broad smile, "but for now, we should extend our own hospitality a little further. Would you like to follow me to the guest quarters? If you wish you can go right home as well,” she said.

"I do have one or two notes for your physicians,” Telissat's disembodied voice said, "nothing serious, but I would recommend a care plan for helping Ana get over the experience.”

"We will go home," Genevieve replied. "Ana should sleep in her own bed."

"We will accept your notes, though," the advisor added. "They can be considered. Some kind of treatment from a doctor is clearly in order."

“I wanna go sleep,” Marron whined, “It's been a long day and I did hard work…”

“Personally I find all of those potential rewards quite fascinating,” Tynah said, “Naturally I expect Flora to want to go to the sporting event, but I would quite enjoy the play, myself.”

“I prefer to relax as well. Maybe one day help build Marron some proper stamina like she had in the old days in our first adventure.” Mythra said.

"But at home, please," Genevieve said, stroking Ana's hair.

Across from them, Petra yawned and stretched. "Home does sound nice, yeah. Well, each to our own, unless you wanted to visit, Tynah."

“It would be nice to catch up, sister,” Tynah said, “Besides, I imagine Melux wants me to leave so he can make a report or something dull.”

“Reports are important, Your Majesty,” Melux sighed, “But indeed, I shall make sure to have one for the records.”

"Certainly,” Abha said, "darling, can you prepare a portal?”

[Tlahtohcatlalli]

OOC: collab with Malgrave and Dornalia, I meant to post this before the raid on the mountain outpost, hence the mildly conflicting events. My apologies to all involved.

Tizoc’s movement through cramped tunnels, only barely sufficient to fit a normal man upon initial inspection at their narrowest, was typical for an Ocelotl like himself. A lean physique, even with some muscle, and his kin's inherent dexterity letting him go through with an ease and pace unusual to those unused to the insurgent life.

To whoever joined him, he turned back occasionally, only to check that he hadn't lost them in his haste.

"We're not far, once we reach the last outpost and make a detour outside, we can teleport our way into the temple itself. This way we can keep their priests from guessing our location, and that of these tunnels."

Claudia’s movements through the tunnels were carefree and without any indication that she was traveling through cramped conditions, the small height of the neko, her dexterous nature and experience crawling through similar tunnels back in Malgrave meant that she was practically a natural in dealing with such conditions,

“It is times like this I am grateful that the Malgravean people are quite short compared to everyone else in the region,” Claudia said nodding in acknowledgement of Tizoc’s words, “I’ve got a fair bit of experience avoiding trackers, so just keep me in the loop and I will work my magic to help you,”

The Inspector nodded, crawling through the tunnels with as much dexterity as her comrades. Turns out being a gata had its advantages. She nodded upon hearing Tizoc's update. The notion of enemy trackers meant she had to be careful in her movements. The Farm and The Cutting Floor--the nickname for the JCTT Training School--had taught her much about evading baddies, but still.

Tizoc simply kept going, face kept somewhat stern. He marched for what felt like hours. When they finally seemed to arrive at a dead end, seemingly one of many, judging by the many twists and turns of these treacherous man-made contraptions, he stopped.

“Well, this is about as close as we can get from here. I’ll admit, what little I’ve heard doesn’t sound good even hearing about the outside of the temple. It’s right in the centre of the city, but the local guards appear to avoid it. It seems their weapons are pointed inwards, not outwards, from what reports I’ve heard.” Tizoc explained, scratching the back of his head.

“Are you two ready?”

Claudia’s eyebrows rose at Tizocs comments, the neko checking herself over to make certain she had everything prepared for the next stage of the operation,

“Inwards? Such circumstances are certainly uncommon and point to a potential danger within the temple itself like some Silverdalean beast,” the neko said, “What do you know of the temple itself? Anything that indicates why the Dragon States would put such precautions in place?”

The Inspector nodded in agreement. She could only add, “My colleague raises a good point. It sounds like there’s something in there they want kept in. The big question is what it is, and why they’d want to keep it bottled up.”

“Well, beyond a symbol of an eight pointed star, I have nothing. There was likely greater info in all of our archives, but most of those are no longer accessible by me.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.” Feeling around in her pockets and quietly crossing herself, The Inspector added, “Hopefully it’s vulnerable to magnum, silver-plated buckshot.”

“Hope isn’t worth much here, be on your guard when we jump.” Tizoc spoke coldly, his intent one of distancing rather than disregard. He had seen too many people be torn up by this war to want to remember anymore.

With a twist of his arms, he would envelop his partners and himself in an aura of magic. The teleportation was swift and painless, leaving no trace as they disappeared.

The first thing that struck Tizoc was how dark the entrance hall was. Nightfall was partially responsible for this, but he knew from the old stories that this place should have remained shining even in the night.

The second thing that struck him was the stench. Foul, alien, unpleasant by any metric.
It was almost sickening, a defilement of his God’s temple.

A quick use of magic illuminated the world around them, revealing dust, dried gore and blood, mixed in with long since rotted wine. The walls, long ago decorated with gold and beautiful wood, were now stained with foul sigils and ramblings written in a language that only physically repulsed Tizoc even further.

Tizoc could feel his own heart start ticking. The very idea of someone defiling a place so sacred…

“Something has made its home here, we need to kill it, whatever it is, and give its blood to Xotec to sate him." He said with a very bitter tone escaping his tongue.

“No argument from me, my good man.” The Inspector’s tone reflected an appropriate amount of revulsion and annoyance. Revulsion about the gore and the rot and the stench, and annoyance with the low light. The Dornalian was glad she had silver magnum buckshot now, and now she was preparing to put on night vision. As she did so, the Dornalian asked, “Xotec’s on our side, right?” She had the feeling the answer would be a lot more complicated than she would bargain for, but she had to ask.

“That depends. Unless your character is quite foul, you’re not likely to find out.” Tizoc said rather bluntly, walking through the hall towards the door ahead, Emblazoned in the holy symbolism of the Serpent.

A macuahuitl, elaborately detailed and with glowing blades, was already in his hand, held firmly as he walked through. His armor didn’t truly protect him very much, appearing to be far more decorative than truly effective, but Catedonian magic ensured he was as safe as the strongest suit of armor.

The main atrium, through which the rest of the temple was connected, was even fouler than the hall leading to it. Every aforementioned atrocity could be seen alongside many dozens more. Mounds of flesh, unnaturally fresh yet rotting from within, stacked itself into small pillars.

A single figure stood at its center, praying in an alien tongue, turning its attention towards the trio that came through the door. It was human, though heavily twisted by its own depravities. Skin was stapled and scarred crudely, maddening sigils etched into it. Its body was covered by a robe, presenting itself as some sort of foul preacher for his faith. Indeed, he would begin to walk towards Tizoc and speak, his language alien and incomprehensible to all three.

The Prince looked at him with a tranquil hatred, only barely contained as he let the abominable creature approach. Whatever it was doing, whether it was trying to fool him into joining its miserable cult, or warp their minds with alien speech, it did not matter to him.

All that mattered was that his strike aimed right where he wanted it to. With a swift movement of his arm, his elaborately brutish weapon swung right into his shoulder. Between the Prince’s strength and the magical nature of the weapon itself, he had gone far enough to nearly tear his arm off entirely, now horribly hanging off of torn flesh much like a portion of his torso.

Inspector Gernsbach raised her eyebrow high, barely stifling a "Holy shit!" before she moved to a safe angle and drew her own pistol and a combat knife in an appropriate combat stance. The Inspector held them at the ready, in case things escalated out of hand and Tizoc’s macuahuitl didn’t finish the job. Though with that said, the Inspector hoped she didn’t have to shoot. In a place like this, noise traveled.

Claudia’s own eyebrow rose in response to the strane creature, of course, the neko was expecting some sort of trouble to exist within the temple itself but she was anticipating local guards or old defence system not corrupted beasts.

It didn’t matter much as the IOC’s training and experience kicked in and soon she responded with her own choice of weapon, the Malgravean refraining from using her firearm and instead relying on her blade for his encounter, a rapier capable of being infused with ancestral energy with corrosive touch being the spell of choice for this encounter.

The creature was already on the verge of death, but that did not stop the Prince of Catedonia from adding a final flourish. Another swing, this time horizontal, would tear its head straight from its neck, allowed to simply fall alongside the rest of him to the floor. Tizoc’s rage was far from sated, however.

“Hrm. That can’t be the only one here. It would take more than a single man to corrupt a temple so… thoroughly…”

Regretting his choice of words, another cultist emerged from another hall, wearing some manner of crude armor over his robes, though equally miserable and decrepit. Behind him, a dozen more, armed with clubs and rifles, seemingly all taken aback by the sight in front of them.

“Just a word of wisdom, Prince? When you are expecting such things it’s often bad luck to say it out loud like that,” Claudia said, the IOC operative chuckling to herself briefly before she prepared another enchantment for her sword, the crackling of electricity heard as it flowed with the power of an intense shocking grasp, “I’ll take left and you take right?”

Claudia took to the left, the neko attempting to use her small stature, natural dexterity and enchanted blade to rapidly slash through as many creatures as possible.

The sight of incoming baddies was met with a torrent of emotions from the Dornalian. First came a fleeting feeling that something had gone wrong, followed by a quick switch to a mix of dispassionate analysis and even anticipation for the coming fight.

Gernsbach’s only reaction which could be witnessed by all present was a raised eyebrow, and a simple pronouncement of, “Good thing I brought buckshot. I’ll go right.” Gernsbach then drew her massive revolver, and maneuvered just so to avoid friendly fire. With a steady grip, a fallback on instinct, and an almost automatic pull of the trigger, Gernsbach’s revolver roared with mighty boom sounds and a large burst of flame out the front of the muzzle, lighting up the enemy briefly in the dank environs with each deadly bout of silver-plated magnum buckshot.

Gunfire tore through their ranks, the surviving abominable creatures nonetheless continuing to pour forth, undeterred by death or wounding.

Tizoc frustratedly raised his hands over the corpse of the man he'd just killed, using his magic to do quite a simple trick among the magically inclined in Catedona. Blood left the corpse’s body, suspending itself a short distance beneath Tizoc’s hand, before hardening into a sharp, solid set of spikes, using them as impromptu javelins against those who survived the initial attacks, flying towards their target without any exertion on Tizoc’s part. There was no doubt in his mind that the blood of these wretched creatures was diseased, and as such his magic was restrained largely to manipulating their blood without any touch on his part.

More cultists joined the fray regardless, pouring in from other rooms, trying to join in on the slaughter. And it was a slaughter, for as demented and prideful as they were in their abominable deeds, they did not match Tizoc’s conviction or his allies’ firepower. Nor did this stop their apparent leader from beginning to chant, some manner of foul incantation being sung in an utterly abominable tongue.

The Inspector wasn’t fazed by the goings on. Not by the waves of cultists rushing to martyr themselves for a god she’d rather not know about. Not by their leader making chants of some evil intent. And certainly not by Tizoc’s blood magic that sent spikes of blood ramming through the enemy ranks. Though that did provoke a brief thought.

“Remind me not to fuck with that guy.”

No, she was more focused on gaining position. Cover here. Shots of magnum silver buckshot there. Boot to the head or pocket sand for those who got too close. Then once the cylinder was expended, the old drill she learned. Open cylinder. Raise revolver up in dominant hand.. Swift strike of the ejector with the non-dominant hand. Tip revolver down. Grab speedloader with more silver-plated magnum buckshot shells with non-dominant hand. Jab speedloader into cylinder. Push down. Put speedloader in dump pouch. Shut cylinder. Raise. Rinse. Repeat.

The adrenaline rush of the moment and her razor sharp focus on mowing down baddies and working her way to the enemy priest drove the Inspector forward. All the while, the Inspector gestured to the others in between gunshots--the leader was a problem, which had to be solved.

Claudia nodded in agreement with Gernsbach’s frank assessment as she formulated a new plan to the ever-changing circumstances of the temple, the Malgravean briefly pausing to buff herself with a haste spell before deciding to take full advantage of her newly founded speed and the gap created by the Inspector’s own firepower by surging forward with her rapier at the ready to meet the enemy priest with a flurry of strikes.

The priest did not struggle, he merely grinned underneath his mask. The strikes went into him, though he stood standing, his blood an unhealthy black color as it seeped from his skin.

“Vivir es Morir, Que me lleve el Diluvio…”

He seemed to stumble towards the floor nonetheless, making a final, half-hearted effort to fall onto Claudia, knife in hand.

Tizoc, having already thinned their ranks, was already preparing his next move, when his ears twitched. The vibration of heavy footsteps, deep within one hallway, reached him long before he heard the thumping. He, and the cultists facing him, seemed to stop in their tracks.

The silhouette of the figure behind the cultists made Tizoc’s eyes widen, as did the sudden firing into their ranks.

Three shots was all it took, shrapnel and explosive power did the rest. Whatever he fired was enough to tear right into them, ripping limbs from sockets and reducing human bodies into pink mist, the prince reactively raising his arm into a magic shield.

“Step back, I’ve got this on-”

Another shot rang out, slamming into him with the unholy fury of .998. Only his magic and that of his ‘armor’ kept him intact, otherwise tossed onto the floor, nearly skidding into it for a moment before he slumped onto the floor, clearly worse for wear.

The attacker wore a thick suit of armor, a helmet with piercing red eyes on an etched grimace staring hatefully at the trio. He was without a doubt the tallest figure in the room, and his pace vastly betrayed his size, already advancing into the room and firing again at his target.

The Prince didn't take long to get back up to his feet however, his body seemingly unscathed. Once again he used his power over blood, this time to try and stall the attacker, using the blood of the dead as weapons once more. A few of the blood spears struck the rounds fired, detonating them mid-air, but those that struck the foes armor merely shattered, hardened obsidian doing nothing of note to the monstrous being.

When that failed, he moved onto his next idea. He raised his hands towards the warrior, his fingers making movements akin to the ripping of hearts.

Powerful magic now began to tamper with the creature's blood directly. Its body was frozen, paralyzed by the immediate control Tizoc had over its blood, its heart stopping outright. Had the prince known that Astartes possessed a spare, he might have stopped it from firing another shot at him, a direct hit to his chest.

Yet again, the powerful magic embedded in his clothes saved him, though it did not stop him from falling onto his back with a thud, a deep bruise forming on his chest from the sheer force that had slammed into him. The pain was unpleasant, but it did not stop Tizoc from trying to regain the advantage.

Rather than open himself up, he tried to slink away, using his feline agility to crawl towards one of the pillars in the room, looking to get even a modicum of protection from the foe. None of this stopped the attacker from firing with an unmatched accuracy at the Prince, only barely dodged by luck and by skill.

“You can’t expect do everything yourself, especially, as you have allies ready and willing to fight alongside you,” Claudia told Tizoc, the operative moving closer towards Gernsbach in a manner that suggested they’d been in a similar situation before, “A little cleansing fire for your silver shells?”

Gernsback said gratefully, keeping an eye on their new opponent, “Much obliged. This guy’s gonna need something that spicy.”

Soon, she pulled out a speedloader with some slugs--silver plated as ever, and magnum-loaded--and loaded the Smith before she said, “Right. Lay that magic on me, and we’ll get to work.” Once Claudia had done her magic, Gernsbach motioned for Claudia to get into cover nearby as Gernsbach did the same, before she began taking aimed shots at their opponent’s head.

Astartes were nightmarishly tough foes at the best of times, but above that, they were wisened by centuries of servitude. The moment another foe drew arms, it shifted its focus, though too late to avoid taking a few shots from the experienced fighter itself. The first glanced off its helmet, though it left, the next shot straight into its eye. What would have killed anything else staggered him into a useless stupor, wasting the rest of his magazine firing wildly with what little he could still see, the face within the helmet being burned by flames.

The prince of Catedonia didn't skip a beat in taking action, now charging and raising his weapon. With a swift blow, the glowing, sharpened stones ripped through the astartes weapon-arm, several pounds worth of steel falling to the floor, blood spilling for a few moments before clotting unnaturally.

Claudia didn’t need an invitation to spring into action, the operative rushing forward to strike at the Astartes before his wound had finished closing, a fresh crackling of electricity flowing from her rapier and striking against the large soldier.

All the while, Gernsbach kept on shooting the cyborg from hell, shooting and reloading without pausing a beat. About the only thing different was mixing up headshots with shots aimed at other vital bits on the Marine’s armor, namely joints and suchlike.

By the time they finished, the abomination was dead, or at least incapable of doing more than falling to the floor with the thud of metal and flesh clashing against stone.

The blood that had been spilled had begun to clear, not just the curious clotting mess of the Astarte, but also that of the cultists that had come earlier, almost seeping into the building, consumed by it. Tizoc didn’t seem particularly bothered by it however, leaning his weapon against the floor to seemingly let it feed as well.

“What was that thing, anyways?”

“An abomination from the stars albeit one that has gained a foothold within Mystria over the past decade, Prince Tizoc,” Claudia explained a hint of dissatisfaction in her voice, “Malgrave has limited contact with such threats, however, one of our most notable explorers did encounter a group of them whilst traveling through Mystria, a brutal affair but I heard that she now keeps one captured enemy as a pet bunny.”

"Good to know…" Tizoc spoke off-handedly, looking down at the floor. The gold within the temple began to glow, the abominations within suddenly wiped away by the divine energy within.

"The Gods answer…" Tizoc closed his eyes, opening them again to reveal they were glowing too. "I must answer. Wait here, this won't take long."

Claudia merely gave a short bow to Tizoc, the neko operative hadn’t personally done business with the divine but she had read a few reports from those that had associated with oracles and clerics and knew not to interfere in such things.

He made his approach towards the central altar of the building, a sphere of divine light, the visage of a Serpent coiling around it. When he placed his hand upon it, he disappeared for a moment, whisked away by the gods for a brief time.

What he saw on the other side was absolute. A discussion between him and the Gods he worshiped, and those who flocked around the pantheon. He made his case, though they were already set on a solution. He learned the many truths of the world, how the stars were what granted men and gods the ability to change their fate, and how from this, disorder would come to reign in the form of dark forces that had always arisen. He learned so much in such little time, though his mind refused to burn out in spite of this.

The Drake God had weakened them, their support would be handed to him directly. He learned what they knew about the ways of speaking to gods, as well as their divine magic and their mastery over blood. But their support came with a heavy price, a desire to undo the damage caused by the previous kings and princes of Catedonia.

When he finally returned, he did so with an elegant turquoise and gold crown atop his head, and tears running down his eyes.

Tizoc’s return combined with his distraught appearance caught Claudia by surprise, and the smaller neko struggled to find her words as a hearty congratulations seemed rather inappropriate considering his seeming distress.

Instead Claudia just offered him some water before speaking, presuming that the ritual may have left the newly crowned Catedonian a tad parched, “I haven’t met the divine before but when you are ready to speak remember that I am quite a good listener.”

The events of the fight and after left Gernsbach in a state of confusion. One time, the Dornalian was in the fight of her life against an armored demonic monstrosity. The next, Tizoc spoke to gods, and returned with tears in his eyes. Gernsbach then added, “You gonna be okay?” The tone suggested genuine alarm on Gernsbach’s part, matched with the widening of her eyes to the size of dinner plates.

“I… they have granted me the title of King. I will be Catedonia’s final king, by their own words. There is not much more to say." Tizoc spoke sternly, tiredly looking at the two. "We should leave this place however. Xotec will return when the time is right here. The Dragon States will notice our movements here soon…"

Indeed, within thirty minutes, a heavily armed team of Dragon States military veterans would attempt to enter. All they’d find within was corpses and the gaze of an angry god upon them.

[Malgrave]

Government Crisis Centre, Epping, Malgrave

In the past few days, the Government Crisis Centre had been used to discuss the ongoing situation in the Research Colony and expand on information pertaining to the conflict against the Dragon States and the planned liberation of Catedonia, now, with all these matters discussed for now conversation moved onto the dire condition of the Rintyari nation and the steps that the Malgravean government could take, of course, the Rintyari government was not a notable ally of the Malgravean state and in fact, belonged to an alliance that was said to rival one which Malgrave was a member of, however, the Malgravean government didn't exactly concern itself with concerns about this apparent rivalry and tended to try and make friends with every suitable power.

Beyond this, the principles of Social Solidarity also required some manner of response and so the Malgravean government established a quick academic discussion on the matter which was now followed by a cabinet meeting which was led by Eliot Reymont, the Foreign Minister.

"As you may be aware, the situation in the Research Colony is slowly improving as we have been able to start the organised withdrawal of the civilian population from this conflict zone and move them along these corridors of safety outside the danger zone," Eliot said, the foreign minister highlighting an area of the map around the Research Colony that was being produced by a collection of forces from multiple nations, "It means that we are technically able to redirect a portion of aid shipments destined for Luban to support Rintyari efforts in rebuilding their country, a shipment which should also include our specialist clean-up mushrooms which we previously sent to the Imerians to help them recover from the Great Humiliation."

Nadzieja smiled as she considered the information, the earlier predicament impacting the civilians in the Research Colony including a number of Silverdaleans had been a great embarrassment and she was pleased that it was now being sorted in conjunction with their allies, "What are the Rintyari government doing in response to this crisis themselves? I doubt that they've sat idly by."

"I would say that the Rintyari response to this awful situation has been quite commendable, Prime Minister," Eliot replied quite earnest in her assessment, "By our reports, they have started to pool together resources to save as many people in Sheyana and they've also started to start a functioning war economy. It should also be added that they are dealing with some considerable issues at the moment, so they deserve praise for that."

"Excellent. I'll have to send some comments to the media extolling these virtues and praising the Rintyari efforts," Nadzieja said, the Prime Minister obviously glad to hear about the efforts being undertaken to save lives, "How will our aid efforts be received? I understand that the Rintyari are a rather proud people."

Eliot nodded in agreement with the Prime Ministers assessment, "Rintyari are known to be quite proud, however, they've also taken a rather nasty beating and as I have no doubt that they wish to help their people I suspect that they'll accept this offer of assistance."

"How will this aid be transported to Rintyar?" Nadzieja asked, the Prime Ministers question earning a response from the Transport Minister.

"MalTra assets are being coordinated as we speak, a series of high-speed container ships will travel under naval escort to Rintyari waters, where they'll be escorted to a suitable port," Eun-Young said in response, "Of course, we will also inform the Rintyari about the details of this voyage prior to our departure as we don't want any unfortunate misunderstandings."

Nadzieja hummed to herself briefly as she took in the information, "Beyond these mushrooms what is being included?"

Claudia responded to that question, the Minister of Science & Engineering clearly involved in the process of filling the ships, "It is a modification of a standard aid shipment to account for the WMDs deployed by the Dragon States, so we have pharmaceuticals, medical equipment, power generation, communication equipment, water filtration and sanitation services and other supplies required to establish support services in areas that have been struck by natural or unnatural disasters," Claudia said, "A portion of aid being collected by the Free Democratic Youth and Ancestral Study Group will also be directed to further efforts to aid the Rintyari so they'll be getting a stream of assistance now until they request otherwise."

"An understandable arrangement as we can afford to redirect some supplies," Nadzieja said before moving on to her next question, "Rintyar is threatened with an invasion by Thalassium. What efforts are being made to protect our efforts on that end."

Katia De Campo spoke on this issue, the Minister of National Defence being the obvious candidate, "As Moon Eun-Young said earlier we'll be forming protective convoys to protect these aid shipments, however, our analysis indicates that Thalassium is in no real position to invade Rintyar at the moment and we sincerely doubt that they'd do something as foolish and evil as to attack and aid convoy."

Nadzieja nodded, although, the Prime Minister looked somewhat uncomfortable, "All quite logical, although, recent crises have showcased that our enemies can be quite illogical in their actions. It would be best to think from an external perspective of a box."

"Of course, Prime Minister," Katia said, "All of our sailors will be on a steady state of alert, as the saying goes prepare for the worst but hope for the best."

"A bit of common logic which has helped us through many terrible situations, Katia," Nadzieja said as she looked over the assembled cabinet, "You all have your directives and I expect them to be carried out as efficiently as possible, understand?"

A chorus of affirmatives rung out across the room, as container ships in Portmon and Aurora began to enter convoy formations to deliver their aid supplies to help the Rintyari people.