Magic, Blood & Gunpowder III - A Fantasy RP (Closed/TG)

[Cheye]

Magic, Blood & Gunpowder III
Across the Seas
A Fantasy RP


“This is how they survive. They paint the world full of shadows, and then tell their children to stay close to the light. Their light. Their reasons. Their judgements. Because in the darkness, there be monsters... But it isn’t true. In the dark there is discovery, there is possibility. There is freedom in the dark. All it takes is someone to illuminate it…”


Sunrise Over Casavana: Capital of the New World - 4E-171

Minern:

For millennia, man, elf and vampire alike have all fought for control of this vast yet poor continent. Millions have killed for it, millions more have died for it. When the Dark Prince, Vlad Van Drak ruled over all but a few tiny hold outs, he was declared to have ‘conquered the world’...

It was a convenient lie.

There are those who have always known that the world is far bigger than a single continent. There are even those who have lived far beyond Minern’s borders. Van Drak himself is said to have originated in a mystical realm hidden behind the eastern Borags, while the Great Vasharan Empire traces its origins deep into the deserts of the south, and from the frozen wilds to the north, the tribes of the Ice Queen Pryscylla once emerged, threatening to throw the world into chaos. Many expeditions to map these vast uncharted territories have been launched, and just as many have failed.

The one frontier that has never been questioned however, lies to the west.

The great Western Ocean was named precisely because of its infinite permanence. From time to time it has been skirted, as the powers of the day ship goods and soldiers along the coast, but there have been none brave enough or foolish enough to try and search for land in that direction. Sailors told stories of legendary sea monsters that preyed upon those who sailed too far out into the blue and of ships that had fallen off the edge of the world itself.

To many, the idea of land, and life, existing to the west seemed impossible. But, in recent years this too has been proven to be another convenient lie...

The all-powerful Golgothan Empire, an industrial titan, has forged for itself a Commonwealth that reigns supreme from the shores of the Western Ocean to the foothills of the Borags. Once just a few frantic men and women huddled together in the last human hold out, their unlikely victory against the vampires allowed the Golgothans to rise to greatness, and successive emperors have made no secret of their desire to conquer the world itself.

The other powers of Minern have struggled to offset Golgotha’s irresistible rise. Some; like Hoch, Rivièreroux and the Kharadron attempted to use diplomacy to delay the inevitable. Others like the Eastern Kingdoms and Carvania attempted to fight back with force. All of them failed. Now following the dramatic conclusion of the War of the Two Empires, Golgotha’s hegemony is the order of the day. This new simple fact is now enshrined by the Congress of Vishoch and the adoption of the ‘mutual understanding’, an agreement that has secretly cemented lasting peace between the Golgothans and their age old enemies, the Conclave of Vampires.

Now, Golgotha and the Conclave stand poised to take advantage of this peace and grow once again, united in their ambitions for the first time in history. The remaining powers look for any means they can to restore balance, and the Kingdom of Estraliana have found their hope far beyond the edges of the map…

Nuevalyr:

For millennia, man, elf and vampire have lived with no knowledge of this faraway tropical paradise. Millions have been spent just on getting to it, but millions more have already been pulled from its shores…

Estraliana, once reliant on Golgothan aid to fight the Greenskins, has now become a rival power in its own right. With the help of others who would resist further Golgothan expansion, the heirs of Lyrius have built themselves the largest navy to have ever existed, and through cunning and guile managed to lay claim to this new world across the ocean. In recent years, they have even profited from this further, auctioning off islands and territories to the other powers of Minern; to Farragas, Harmonia and Vashara, and then also to Golgotha itself.

The sudden build up of this new region far to the west has become a multinational endeavour. It has defined the times. Thousands take to the seas to begin new lives in the colonies.

But such journeys are fraught with peril…

Piracy has always been a blight on Minern’s rivers and seas, a blight that even consumed the once-great city of Renej, but now it has become something altogether more threatening. An entire society grows in the shadows of the great powers, as more men and women choose to live under the black, obeying no laws and paying no taxes. The wealth of Nuevalyr has lured many of them to the region’s shores and now their brazen defiance of the principles of civilisation threatens to destabilise the new world order…

To add to that worry, another threat emerges. For the powers of Minern are not alone in this new world...

Across the seas newcomers also sets eyes upon Nuevalyr for the first time. A previously undiscovered empire hails from an unknown continent, standing united behind a mysterious faith led by two immortal Saints. The Blessed Domains of Creation have been awoken as a result of this wave of colonial adventuring and have sent forth three mighty Arks to spread their faith, whether through words or through war. Their ultimate intentions as mysterious as the spectres of their homeland…

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This is a fantasy RP for the nations of Latica, the factions in which have been agreed collaboratively. It is currently closed but may open more widely in the future so feel free to TG if interested in taking part. This thread will not be used for OOC posts.

As an aside this RP may contain some themes that could be considered adult in nature, including mild sexual references, violence and gore. Please go away if such themes might offend you.


The factions:
- The Second United Empire of Golgotha - Greater Latica
- The Blessed Domains of Creation - Sarrin
- The Pirates of Nuevalyr & The Conclave of Vampires - Cheye

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A colonial map of Nuevalyr in 4E-175:

[Sarrin]

4E-159 - Beyond the Great Sea

“Remember Me.” The woman whispered.

Her cold eyes pierced the dancing flames, none strong enough to challenge the intensity of her gaze. She showed no fear, no remorse, no uncertainty. She knew who she was and she wasn’t going to apologise. As the flames slowly crawled up the pyre, amber tendrils began to crawl across her gown and then deep into her flesh. It was impossible to hear if she screamed. Not over the sounds of the Bishop’s sermon or the peasants cries of hate.

Still amidst it all the woman whispered two words.

“Remember Me.”

OS Creation, 04/4E-175 - The Great Sea

The air had a smell of liberation in it mixed in with the salt and sweat. At least on the top deck it was possible to evade the smells of sweat and shit made as much by the livestock as the crew. For the Bishop these brief moments had made certain his conviction to come to the mysterious ‘new world’, moments when the sounds of the morning choir danced perfectly with the first clang of the forge. This. This was what it was all for.

“Bishop Vincentore, I rather imagined I would find you up here!” A sagging voice called with all its gathered enthusiasm. The Bishop turned, concealing the contempt he felt for his senior behind a well rehearsed smile.

The Archbishop was a girthsome man whose ornate robes did little to conceal the opulent life that he led back home, even if his work for the church had been unmistakable in repairing the damage left by the Valchance revolt. He represented everything of the old world that the Bishop hated; the corruption, the deceit, the vulgarity.

“Archbishop, to share such a view with a man of such piety. The Creator himself must guide me.” He chose his words carefully and made little attempt to hide it. For many this would be off putting but as a Colliettan such was considered the least he should do. Everything from the tailored three piece suit that made up his clothes to the cut of his hair was calculated and it is precisely what was expected of him.

“I’m sure he does Vincentore, after all to conceive of such a creation as these Arks! A spark of creation! Not even St. Erasmus could have thought of such wonders!” The Archbishop heaved slightly as he finished reaching the end of the decking. He must have travelled some flights of steps to make it here. Vincentore had designed his hideaway carefully.

“These ships are merely an expansion of my forefathers’ ideas Bishop, barely worthy of the Creator’s attention.” The Bishop looked out again this time fixing his eye on the OS Diligence that glided through the waves.

“Crew of near 10,000, housing, farming, smiths, cooks, cobblers, tailors and every other luxury of the mainland accounted for. These vessels are as St. Michael described Arcadia; ‘The first step in bringing civilisation to lost souls.’” The Archbishop proclaimed confidently.

‘The first seed in the farmland of order, wherein civilisation can be brought at last’ the Bishop thought. Marette was misremembering his scripture again but there was no sense correcting him, despite the early suspicions the Archbishop was far from smart enough to question Vincentore’s knowledge of the Illuminarium.

“I suspect you didn’t come here to praise me Father, what may I help you with?” The Bishop spoke as a large wave smashed into the lower half of the Diligence’s hull making no difference to its triumphant charge.

“The apostate we found on the Temperence. Justice found him deserving of death and administered it. I felt you’d want to know given how you argued, though I must say I was surprised, even in spite of your reputation... You recall that St. Giselle claimed mercy was the sweetness of man’s apple…”

The bishop zoned out of the Archbishop’s mundane words. It wasn’t the first time he’d been lectured by the oaf and he knew well enough it wouldn’t be the last. Worse enough that he again was misquoting his so beloved holy book but that he would preach it to an Enlightened?.. At least he had delivered good news.

“How was it delivered?” The Bishop asked sensing a pause in the Archbishop’s sermon.

“He was given the elixir.” The Archbishop replied with a hesitance that implied an uncertainty as to whether to return to his speech.

Vincentore suckered in the moment. Poison was a good way to go, the apostate would have had bliss before his passing. As the thoughts passed him he saw a flicker on the distance. He focused his eyes grasping the telescope mounted on the wall beside him.

“Alert the council Marette.” He said firmly.

“Trouble?” The Archbishop replied.

“No. Our new home.”

[Cheye]

Medina, The Sunset Empire, Minern - 4E-155

“FIRE!” The cry went out along the line as through a smoky haze the outlines of the enemy soldiers began to appear.

The cannons roared as he stood there, motionless, watching from his trench as those outlines began to fall, only to be immediately replaced as more and more figures kept emerging from the darkness.

They were doomed. That was the moment he knew it. Most of them had known they were fighting for the losing side since the start, but he had always suppressed the voice in his head that told him defeat was inevitable.

As the enemy artillery thundered down on their position, he turned and watched as his fellow soldiers were consumed by seas of fire and rains of shrapnel alike.

“Orders, sir!?” A young officer, Lieutenant… Vaylen, was it? Pleaded with him frantically. The lad’s eyes widened with fear as the line around them began to buckle from the barrage.

He said nothing. He didn’t have time to reply. Some flying shrapnel popped Vaylen’s head open like a piece of fruit, spraying him with the juices.

As the Lieutenant fell dead, he turned and gave a grim nod to the other men who crouched behind him, drawing his pistol as they all drew their swords, ready for what was to come. They might all be doomed, but he had gotten very good at suppressing that voice in his head and so he suppressed it again now.

His men looked up to him, he could not afford to waver now, even at the end.

As they waited, their position pounded by enemy fire, he glanced out once more across the battlefield.

Through the smoke, on a small mound that stood out between the ranks of the advancing enemy, a lone figure draped in a black robe stood, calmly and motionlessly watching the carnage unfold, just as he himself had been moments earlier.

The figure locked eyes with him and he made out the smooth pale face and cold grey eyes of death...

They stared at one another for what felt like a very long time, before this figure finally smirked disinterestedly and turned, lowering his hood and shaking loose a head of long flowing brown hair before fading away into the smoky haze.

Death had not been interested in him that day...

The Empress Madeline’s Revenge, Vasquez Sea, North of Casavana, Nuevalyr - 04/4E-175

“FIRE!” The cry went out, as the ship discharged its full broadside into the stern of the pursued merchantman.

Captain Benjamin Trevelyan looked down at the wooden deck beneath his feet, involuntarily reminded of that day, of Lieutenant Vaylen, and of those cold grey eyes once again.

He took a moment to compose himself. Exhaling as he felt the tropical sun on his brow, smelled the familiar salty sea air and listened to the bounding of the waves as the cannon-fire died down, then he felt his Quartermaster’s eyes locked on to him...

“It’s getting worse, isn’t it?” The younger man muttered.

“It’s…” Trevelyan exhaled. “...I’m fine.”

“Oh sorry, Captain....” The Quartermaster stiffened noticeably; “...I meant the level of resistance we’ve been getting out here. The resolve of our quarry to not just simply surrender, it’s getting worse, isn’t it?”

“Well of course it is.” Trevelyan mused, stroking his wispy silver beard and glancing at his protege; “What we do out here, on these waters, defies not just the law, but the very principle of civilisation. And it is man’s first instinct to fight that which challenges his conception of the world.”

The Quartermaster frowned and shot him a look that conveyed his lack of understanding.

“Put bluntly man, the more we take from them, the more they are going to try and shoot back.” The Captain stepped forward, leaning against the quarterdeck rail as he shouted to the men below; “Brace for return-fire!”

And sure enough, within moments, as the two vessels began to line up alongside one another, the enemy broadside tore into them.

A particularly lucky shot hit the deck towards the bow, blowing three men apart before the Captain’s eyes.

Sometimes Medina didn’t feel that far away after all.

He held onto the railing, the ship’s hard wooden hull absorbing the bulk of the merchantman’s desperate volley.

“Prepare to board!” Trevelyan shouted, his voice carrying surprisingly loudly over the din of battle, despite his age.

“I’ll lead the vanguard over myself!” The Quartermaster declared eagerly beside him.

“No, I’ll lead it.”

“But sir!..”

“Mister Ridley, with respect - I have seen my death, looked him in the eye even, and I assure you he is not here this day.” Trevelyan’s voice was unwaveringly confident. He continued; “You will have command of the Revenge while I lead the men aboard. It is critical, while we are in Estralianan waters and as close as we are to Casavana, that no one be able to interrupt us.”

“Aye Captain.” The Quartermaster nodded his understanding and Trevelyan patted him on the shoulder before turning and descending to join the crew who were already organising on the deck below.

Trevelyan knew he needed this as he joined the Bosun, who was crouching at the head of the assembling van while other members of the crew scurried about conducting the grappling maneuver that secured their hold over their resistant prize. The young Bosun, Marco Kidd, who must have been almost fifty years his junior, shot him a look of approval, though the lad kept just a twinkle of doubt hidden in his eyes.

Trevelyan knew the crew had all started worrying about him. Half of them thought he was too old to fight the way he used to, and the rest were beginning to wonder if he was too soft to try. And Ridley was right about the rising levels of resistance they were facing from their prizes. Once upon a time the sight of his colours; of that white raven against a field of black, colours that marked him out as one of the most feared pirates on the water, would cause any merchantman to strike his own and surrender.

Did the entire world now think Benjamin Trevelyan was just a tired old pirate captain, well past his time?

Well death didn’t. Not at Medina, and not now. Those haunting grey eyes were nowhere to be found.

As the two ships were dragged together, Trevelyan drew his cutlass and readied himself for the fight ahead.

It was high time he had some revenge...

[Sarrin]

The Craftsmen’s Deck, The OS Diligence - 4E-175

The hammer smashed against the hardened steel as Arthur toiled at his craft. For all his worries about leaving to the new world the Ark had done much to make the journey seem normal with only the crashing of waves serving to remind them they were at sea. For Arthur’s sake he hadn’t even seen the ocean since they departed Gael.

He paused to wipe the drops of sweat from his brow as he turned to look at the other craftsmen at work. Near every trade was represented from tailors to cobblers. He’d even heard that a Golem Forgemaster was aboard though he’d seen no sign of him. A Golem Forgemaster, Arthur felt no small sense of insecurity. By comparison, he was the youngest craftsman aboard at only 23 and knew all too well how the others judged him, since they departed he’d been forced to work twice as hard, create work thrice as good and never once complain.

Clang.

The hammer struck again almost in rhythm to the choir singing in the patch of farmland below. His smith’s sat on the edge of the Craftsmen’s deck to allow its smoke to depart easily. As such he was beside the terrace that looked down into the agrarian and warehouse levels, and from the former he was fortunate enough to hear the gentle songs of the handful of children that had been brought along which did much to ease his homesickness. Among the children was Petrice who’d been serving as his helper, gathering metals and coal from the supplies and delivering his finished products. Petrice would no doubt be his apprentice soon, though Arthur couldn’t quite believe he was already being made a master.

Clang.

He turned back to the craftsmen catching a glimpse of the only other person below their thirties on deck as he did so; the tailor's son. They’d grown close since the voyage started much to the tailor's displeasure. They were Temprekki and from a notable family there, no doubt the father thought a peasant blacksmith from backwater Gael was unworthy of being in their presence. That he might sully his son’s manners.

Arthur raised his hammer again to strike stopping just short of the steel as the first bell rang. Too late for church Arthur thought. A second. The Arks are under attack? A third. They’d reached land. A smile crept along the young peasants face as he delivered the final strike to the sword.

They had arrived.

The Council Chamber, OS Temperance

“No. No. No. This will not stand. We did not travel across the great ocean to wage war!” The Archbishop proclaimed leaning onto the ornate wooden table across which a large incomplete map stood showing the edge of their homeland and the vast expanse of ocean so far passed by the Arks.

“We cannot hope to convert without a base of operations, without a position of strength. If we hesitate these new nations may crush us before we can breath. You’ve read the reports as well as I have... this ‘Gol-goth-ra’ is bent on conquering the known world! By striking on arrival we will catch the city unprepared and minimise our own casualties.” Captain Tornbill spoke, gesturing over the map as it magically began to paint itself in with the newly spotted islands, zooming into each of them in turn.

“Golgotha does not hold the power here Captain. If our reports are still accurate they barely have a foothold. By charging in violently we only risk provoking the Estraliani to bring the iron devil in. Allow my brothers and I to infiltrate the city and we can update our information on the region and sabotage its defences to make the assault all the same.” Father Hughes retorted sternly as he glanced at the pair.

“And if they reject our missionaries? Use the time to bring the full brunt of their military upon us?” the Captain asked, his tone laced with the zealouty of his conviction.

“They will not reject us.” A soothing Estralianan voice expressed from the adjourning hallway; “My people’s desire for gold exceeds any rationality in their thoughts. It is for them the only shield they still possess against the Golgothan phoenix and as such can be used to exploit their fears and make us a friend.” Maria finally entered view exposing a wry smile as she finished, the Bishop Vincentore entering alongside her with a rosary in hand.

“That may well be the case but I am still wary of the gold you wish to give them. What if it is attacked or stolen when we seize the city?” The Archbishop asked before scratching the roll of fat that wobbled beneath his chin.

“The Order of St. Divish is more than capable of dealing with any brigands we encounter, not including the militiamen that Casavana will no doubt send when they hear of our gift’s value.” The Bishop replied dryly “As for the risk of its theft? The Creation will destroy any ships attempting to leave harbour once our attack begins. If they try and steal it they will be sunk and we can recover it later. I believe the Rasathi have been working on several aqueous concoctions that may be of aid.”

“I’m not sure anyone in their right mind would try an untested poultice from those reptilian fiends. I dare say their commitment to the fai-” The Archbishop spluttered gaining volume and passion as he spoke.

“Perhaps you should keep these views to yourself Archbishop, lest Justice hear what sounds dangerously close to an accusation of apostasy.” The elderly monk interjected with a relaxed authority casting a glance at the Archbishop as he spoke before looking back to the Captain. “As you are clearly in the minority will you bide your bloodlust for another week?”

“My desire for an attack comes from a wish to see diligence in our operations as St. Ressad himself encouraged in battle.” The Captain responded with a bite before composing himself “I shall however bow to the will of the council and cooperate, my men will integrate themselves within the woods surrounding the city ready for the order to attack.

“Not the forests. Fort Guillermo here.” Maria stated gesturing on the map which filled itself in at her touch to reflect her knowledge of Gel’Ferat and its surrounding islands. “It was built in the early expansions but abandoned as it became unnecessary. Your men should find it easy to seclude themselves in the lower levels while positioning you near to the city and main roads when we strike.”

The Captain glanced over to the Archbishop who stroked the fold of his fat before realising that the room’s focus had shifted to him. “In this matter I shall agree with Bishop Vincentore and his foreign convert. Father Hughes will lead the Order of St. Divish into Casavana while Captain Tornbill and the Blessed Brothers secure Fort Guillermo. I shall have the Knights of St. Katia and the Maidens of St. Nadia create separate outposts to protect our beachhead and the rest of our forces focused on building up our defences in the incident of an attack. The Diligence shall be dismantled to create this settlement leaving the Temperance and Creation to secure the naval region.” As he finished he glanced across the gathered council’s expressions “Are we in agreement?”

There was a pause as the members nodded cut finally by the Bishop Vincentore.

“Then may the Creator guide us.”

[Cheye]

The Esperanza, Vasquez Sea, North of Casavana, Nuevalyr - 04/4E-175

“Aghhh-” The scream was cut off by a loud splash as the prisoner hit the water.

The pirates chuckled sadistically as the sailor struggled against his rope bindings as he sank below the waterline. The sharks were already circling. Another panicked scream rang out as he struggled to pull himself above the waves, kicking his feet dramatically towards the creatures, and then in an instant their circling turned into a frenzy and they pulled him apart, dying the sea around the merchantman’s starboard side a dark shade of red.

“This brutality is senseless!” The Estralianan Captain spat. The man’s face was covered in blood, his hands bound before him as he knelt with his captured crewmen at the feet of the victorious pirates.

“Oh I quite agree.” Captain Trevelyan sighed, not looking up from his cutlass, which he was meticulously cleaning with a now-blood soaked cloth; “And it could have been so easily avoided, had you not chosen to resist us.”

“Had we surrendered to you, Senor Reyes would have surely killed us. Given our cargo. Our only recourse was to fight back!”

“Yes, your fear of your employer outweighed your fear of me and my men.” Trevelyan said matter-of-factly. “You understand why that might irritate me?” He gestured with the blade of his sword towards the closest sailor to the Captain and two of his crewmen stepped forward to hoist the prisoner up.

“No, no please! I have a family in Estyr!” The chosen sailor whimpered.

Everyone else was silent as Trevelyan went back to cleaning the blade.

“Please!” The man pleaded, before a few seconds later the loud splash of water drowned out his cries and they were then replaced with screams.

“Eleven men killed and four wounded.” Trevelyan sighed again. “Fifteen casualties in total. That is what your decision to fight back cost me, and all we wanted from you was your cargo. A few small luxuries in the grand scheme of things.”

A couple of the captured merchant crewmen exchanged surprised glances. One kneeling behind their Captain even began to mutter something to him in an unfamiliar Estralianan dialect, but before he could finish speaking Trevelyan pointed his sword at him and barked; “That man next.” And his men hoisted the sailor to his feet.

“They don’t know!” The sailor being hauled across the deck shouted back, causing more muttering among the prisoners.

“Don’t know what?” The Bosun, Marco Kidd asked with a frown towards Trevelyan.

“They’re hiding something.” Trevelyan smiled ruefully. “No doubt the great ‘treasures of House Reyes’ that Mister Masena spoke of earlier.”

Kidd raised a thin eyebrow as the men behind them paused, holding the sailor out over the edge of the ship.

“I must admit, I had assumed he had been speaking somewhat less than literally.” Trevelyan mused, turning to face the man; “Well, as you can see, there are no secrets here. Tell us where you’ve stashed these treasures, save us the effort of tearing this ship apart for them, and you can keep your life.”

The man shook his head, his voice resolute as he answered; “By the Southern Flame I am ready to die here this day and I would take this secret to the gra-” Trevelyan waved the hand holding the bloody cloth and the pirates pushed the man over the edge before he finished speaking.

A large Bull Shark leapt out of the water, claiming its prize before the prisoner even hit the sea. Then came a chorus of splashes as the other sharks joined in the feeding frenzy.

“Would anyone else, who would perhaps like to survive this encounter, be so kind as to tell us where to look?”

The Pirate Captain was met with only silence.

“Originally I had only wanted to even the score, fifteen men for fifteen men.” Trevelyan shrugged. “But the sharks are hungry today. If I find these treasures before any of you speak, you will all be feeding them.”

Tevelyan pointed his blade to another prisoner, who was hoisted to his feet just as the others had been. As the Estralianan was dragged across the deck, Trevelyan turned to Kidd and gestured him aside, out of earshot of the prisoners.

“Have your men cleared the hold?” The Captain asked.

“Yes, lots of paintings and fancy furniture as we expected, but nothing… valuable.” The Bosun replied offering a slight shrug.

“I won’t lie, I didn’t much care whether or not Masena’s talk of secret treasures had any truth to it; we needed to hunt a prize after that mess at New Harmonia and this was the best lead we had this side of El Diente. But, if there is something… valuable… on this ship, we had better not be leaving here without it.”

There was a shrill scream as over their shoulder, the latest prisoner to meet his fate was thrown into the maw of the waiting Bull Shark, which had once again leapt from the water over the heads of the increasing number of other sharks in order to grab its prey.

“Aye sir, but if its valuable… it could be very small… like jewelry, which means they could have stashed it anywhere?”

“True.” Trevelyan nodded, pausing only for a second to point his sword to the next prisoner to be killed. “But, would these men so willingly be offering their lives over some tiny baubles? I suspect these treasures are of a different nature, and I intend to find out exactly what. Search the hold again, this time more thoroughly, look out for any trap doors or smugglers compartments, merchantmen like this are usually sporting one or two somewhere, and start loading the art and furnishings back on the Revenge.”

Kidd nodded, gesturing to several of the men who were lounging about watching the execution of the prisoners gleefully; “You lot, with me, lets gut this bitch.”

The screams and splashing of the executed prisoner were almost entirely drowned out by the group as they scrambled to follow the Bosun down into the hold.

“No one here will betray them.” The merchant captain spat towards Trevelyan. “You’re killing them for nothing.”

“Their silence is what is killing them.” The Pirate Captain shot back with another indifferent shrug.

“You’re a fool. They are silent, because if they die, Reyes pays compensation to their families. But if they live, by giving you what you’re looking for, then… then they have to live with themselves, and that they may struggle with…”

Trevelyan narrowed his eyes curiously at the man and nodded, with a point of his sword towards the Captain he replied; “Him next.”

“SHIP ON THE HORIZON!” Came a cry from the rigging of the Revenge.

“Colours?!” Trevelyan barked back, crossing the deck of the captured ship towards his own vessel.

He was answered with a long silence.

“Colours, man?! Is she Estralianan?!”

“ANOTHER SHIP... NO, TWO OTHERS! SOUTH-SOUTHWEST”

“You’re going to have to see this, Captain!” The voice of Elias Ridley, the Quartermaster, called back.

“Wait.” Trevelyan ordered with a nod to the two cremen who had been dragging the condemned merchant captain over to the edge of the ship. “Save him for now.” Trevelyan was about to turn when he saw the flash of hope cross the merchant captain’s face, so he added; “Keep going with the others though, you may choose them at will.”

They nodded obediently, throwing their captive back down to his knees and moving to grab another prisoner as their own captain deftly swung himself up onto the railing and then crossed the wooden gangplank that had been raised between the two ships during the fight.

“Mister Ridley, what colours are these ships flying? What’s their heading man?..” Trevelyan began to scold, but trailed off as he reached the top of the steps onto the quarterdeck and saw what Ridley was peering at through his telescope.

The fact he didn’t need a telescope of his own to see them told him a lot. Though the three vessels were just small blots on the horizon, at that distance they had to be enormous. Either that or they were a lot closer than they looked.

“...No colours sir. No sails even.. Not by the look of it?!” Ridley replied finally, adding; “Heading east.”

“Towards Casavana.” Trevelyan said with a frown to his Quartermaster before stroking his wispy beard thoughtfully.

“Impossible!” The Navigator, Olivier de Clermont hissed as he ascended the steps to the quarterdeck; “A ship could not be that far south and still be visible to the naked eye.”

“What do you think, Mister Ridley?” Trevelyan asked, sheathing his cutlass and placing his hands calmly on the taffrail.

“Well it would defy all reason…” Ridley replied, lowering the telescope. He glanced at Trevelyan’s well-aged face, which seemed to make no effort to hide his disappointment in the quartermaster’s words, so he carried on talking; “But..” Ridley thought hard; “Those ships aren’t approaching from the Isle de Zacurio or from the south, which means they aren’t Estralianan, even the Guarda Costa don’t send ships out that far west, there’s nothing in that direction but open ocean so they’ve got to be something else… Which opens up the possibility that they may in fact be… giant?” Ridley looked to Captain Trevelyan for approval, but he didn’t find it there.

The Captain had already turned and was moving back towards the captured merchantman. “Well deduced Mister Ridley.” He said back over his shoulder.

“No! It is not possi-” de Clermont muttered, raising his own telescope before the Quartermaster spoke over him.

“And what are we going to do about them, sir?” Ridley asked, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice.

“Oh, nothing. Not unless they turn this way at least.”

“Nothing? They’re headed to Casavana! Isn’t that our next stop?!” Ridley exclaimed.

“It is.” Trevelyan replied, stepping up onto the gangplank and turning to face the younger man; “But if those ships are the size they look to be, at the distance we think they are, and travelling at the speed they ought to be, then it is safe to assume that we can be in and out of port before they even get close… Assuming that is their final destination, that is.”

Ridley’s mouth opened to reply, but no words came out, he was still awe-struck by the appearance of the giant ships and would no doubt be that way for some time yet. Truthfully Trevelyan was too, but he had seen enough truly strange sights in his lifetime to openly let it faze him.

A high-pitched scream came from the deck of the merchantman and Trevelyan turned back to see Kidd emerging from the hold with a dagger held to the throat of a young redheaded woman, and behind him two more Revengemen emerged dragging a struggling darker haired girl.

As another prisoner from the deck was thrown overboard, and three sharks now competed with one another, each leaping from the sea in succession to try and get their fill, Kidd and his men dragged the two young women forward towards the Captain.

“Found these two hidden below a secret panel in the galley.”

Trevelyan noticed how the rest of his lingering crewmen guarding the prisoners eyed the girls. He also noticed how the remaining prisoners did, their eyes crestfallen and defeated, some brimming with tears.

“You brute!” The merchant captain sneered to Kidd, turning where he knelt to look up at the young women; “I am sorry Nadia, Sophia! I did all I could to keep you safe!”

Trevelyan chuckled as he crossed the gangplank, the pieces of the puzzle had all come together now.

“Are you amused, brute?!” The Estralianan shouted, enraged. “The savage cruelty I tried to spare the ladies from amuses you does it?!”

“Oh not at all, man.” Trevelyan gestured to the two men who were on execution duty, and they moved to hoist the merchant captain to his feet once again. “But there will be no savage cruelty here. Especially seeing as we are in the company of the daughter and niece of the Governor of Dorado Island. No, I would not dare harm a hair on these two young ladies’ heads.”

The merchant shot him a confused look and he gestured flippantly for the men to seal his fate. As they dragged him over to the far side of the ship, Trevelyan shrugged and called out; “I am sorry Captain, if only you had chosen to cooperate, you might have lived to join us in escorting these young ladies for the rest of their journey on to Casavana, but alas I think our personalities clash.”

“No.. don’t hurt him!” The raven haired woman, who was still struggling against her captor’s grip cried out.”

She somehow managed to free her hand and swing a punch at one the Revengemen that simply bounced off his cheek, before he returned the blow, knocking her unconscious.

“I said not a hair!” Trevelyan chided him. As Kidd and his men marched and carried the two young women back towards him. More men emerged from the hold, carrying artwork and assorted items of luxury furniture between them.

Trevelyan shifted his stance to free the gangway for Kidd to pass with the hostages. Standing on the railing and leaning against a rope for support, he turned back to watch the men throw the irritating merchant captain overboard.

From his elevated position, Trevelyan watched as they did it and as if on cue the bull shark leapt once again into the air, jaws stretched wide as the screaming captain descended towards his death…

Then both ships shook, and Trevelyan grabbed the rope quickly for support. Another shark’s mouth emerged from the water beside the merchantman, this one colossal, parting the waves violently as it breached the surface, before its enormous jaws consumed both the mid-air bull shark and prisoner in one large smooth bite.

“MEG!” Came the cry from the rigging above and a crewman on the Revenge frantically began ringing the ship’s bell to signal to brace for a potential impact.

Behind the Captain, on the gangplank, Kidd’s grip on the redheaded girl loosened for a second, and as she turned and glanced back towards the giant shark, she fainted from a combination of shock and fright. That forced the Bosun to push her forward off the gangplank quickly, throwing her with a hard thwack onto the deck of the Revenge to prevent her from falling into the water between both ships.

Captain Trevelyan stood there, gripping tightly onto the rope in surprise as both ships shook and the Revengemen and merchant prisoners alike began to panic.

The eye of the enormous creature loomed over the far side of the ship before it levelled out and began to fall back towards the water. For a second, it appeared to him to be grey and cold, just like the eyes he saw at Medina…

But then as the beast fell back into the water and the ships began to stabilise, he shook himself out of it, remembering that the giant sharks of Nuevalyr usually avoided attacking ships themselves. Although that thought didn’t make them any less terrifying.

“All hands! Back to the ship!” He ordered loudly; “Mister Ridley, get us underway! We have what we came for, and I will not let giant ship nor giant shark deprive us of our ransom!”

[Greater Latica]

Casavana, Nuevalyr - 04/4E 175

“I’ll give you 13 Reales a kilo.” The merchant said, picking up a wooden crate and placing it on the counter.

“13 Reales? That’s barely 40 marks! You know that’ll fetch 30 times that on the mainland!” Marcel Von Beck retorted.

“I’m aware of that. I’m also aware why you’re here and not selling it to your own people...” He pulled a silver reale out from his pocket and began turning it over in his fingers; “We both know that nobody trusts marks in these lands, much less someone who trades in them. I’ve got no shortage of people willing to sell to me. I don’t see a queue of people willing to buy off you.

The merchant put the reale in his pocket, pulled out a dirty cloth, wiped his hand and offered it to shake. “I assume we have a deal? I’ll send my lads over to the docks tomorrow morning to collect.”

Begrudgingly Von Beck stepped forwards and shook the merchant’s outstretched hand, “have them there early”

“They will be, I want to be seen with you as little as possible.”

“As do I”

As he turned to walk away, the merchant dug into his pocket and pulled out the reale he’d had in his fingers earlier, and flicked it towards Von Beck, “consider this a down payment.”

He snatched it out of the air, catching it in his leather gloved hand with ease. He grabbed one of the exotic fruits from one of the merchant’s crates, taking a bite, as he headed off through the bustling dockside streets towards his next appointment.

The light of the early evening sun guided Von Beck as he ducked into a sidestreet, passing a line of Estralianan prostitutes who were competing over the business of a well dressed dwarf who staggered between them as though his brain were trapped in a lust-induced coma. Further down the street, a drunken sailor lay in the gutter and a pair of off-duty militiamen leant against a nearby wall, chuntering about the effort it would take to haul him in for vagrancy.

As the familiar sounds of singing and drunken chatter hit his ears, he turned another corner to face his destination; a well-concealed tavern, tucked between two larger buildings.

The large wooden door creaked as he gently pushed it open and stepped into the dingy candle lit interior of the bustling tavern, giving a cursory look to make sure his lapel covered his guild badges, they weren’t the most popular here. He crossed over to the bar, pulled off one of his gloves and rapped his ring on wood to attract attention. When the rotund barman crossed over Von Beck leaned in close, pulled out an envelope from a pouch on his belt, sealed with wax, and offered it to him.

“This needs to get to a…,” he looked at cursive writing on the envelope, “...Captain Hal Waldoff…” As he said the name, a few nearby heads turned, a few whispers were exchanged and the crowd who had until now been singing boisterous shanties suddenly trailed off mid-verse. Von Beck noted the sudden change in the atmosphere, but pressed on, waving the envelope towards the barman; “Can you make sure it reaches him?”

There were a few more whispers.

“Take it to him yourself...” The barman grunted disdainfully, before gesturing in the direction of a doorway that led to a backroom. “And if you see Jenna back there, tell her I need her arse down here in front of house!”

“Sure...” He flicked the reale onto the bar, not quite sure who Jenna was or why everyone kept glancing at him like he was mad; “I think I might need a drink for this...”

Finally the volume picked up inside the tavern once more. He picked up his change and the lukewarm beer and headed for the backroom.

On the other side of the doorway he found himself in a slightly less populated parlour room, throughout which several patrons, all of them sailors by the look of them, languished and lounged, enjoying drinks, playing cards and chatting quietly amongst themselves. A wooden spiral staircase ran up to an upper seating area where more sailors loitered, eyeing him from above as he crossed towards it.

“The Captain?” Von Beck asked, glancing up at them.

One of them nodded to a door over his shoulder on the upper level. As Von Beck climbed the stairs he heard muffled thumping noises coming from the room on the other side of it. As he neared the top he heard the grunting and then a cry of… was that ecstasy or agony? He couldn’t tell.

“Captain’s otherwise preoccupied.” One of the sailors, who leant on the railing at the top of the stairs let out.

“Not a problem…” Von Beck let out with a false smile; “Would you give him this?” He raised the envelope.

The sailor eyed the envelope greedily, and raised his hand out to take it, but then in a burst of motion, the door opened and a bare muscled arm darted out with uncanny speed, snatching the letter from Von Beck’s grip.

“I know you can’t read Drew, but I think you’ll find it's addressed to me.” A deep voice chided.

Von Beck turned his head to the doorway, where a remarkably well-built man with long brown hair that was swept back and ran down over his shoulders, leant topless against the doorframe.

“Captain Von Beck.” The topless figure nodded.

Von Beck noticed several tiny blood spatters that speckled the man’s cheek and neck, peppering his thick five o’clock shadow; “Captain Waldoff.” He replied, raising his glass.

“Come in and sit down.” Waldoff grunted, casually spinning on his heel before rising from the doorway and disappearing into the dark room.

As Von Beck followed him inside, shutting the door behind him. The first thing he noticed was that tall shutters blocked the sunlight from the windows. After his eyes adjusted to the dark, he spotted a woman lying in the four-poster bed that dominated the room. She was either asleep or unconscious, he couldn't be sure which, and only a badly ripped corset covered her modesty.

“That must be Jenna?” Von Beck mused allowed.

“Yeah.” Waldoff replied with a shrug; “These Nuevalyr girls are all nuts. They all want it rougher than they can handle...”

“I can hear you, you know.” The woman grunted.

As Von Beck looked glanced over at her, he noticed two fresh pinprick marks on her neck and dried blood around the wounds. That explained a few things.

“I believe the barman is looking for you...” Von Beck said with a smile towards her as she raised her middle finger in their direction.

“Eugh! That fucking useless pig of a man, my husband.” Jenna spat, her Estralianan accent cutting through strongly as she swept back her dark hair and rose from the bed before wrapping herself in the bedsheet. “He’s just jealous that I’m fucking someone who actually knows how to handle a woman’s needs.”

As she crossed the room, Waldoff shrugged at Von Beck and silently mouthed; ‘See what I mean?’

She slammed the door after her with a thud.

“You are a bold one, Captain Waldoff.” Von Beck let out.

Waldoff smirked, gesturing to an armchair by the bed as he perched against a nearby dresser, placing the envelope down next to him; “Man’s gotta feed somewhere…”

Von Beck took a second to reply as he took the seat; “That may be… But with the poor barman’s wife, under his own roof?”

Waldoff’s smirk became a grin; “She came onto me, offering her blood in exchange for well… you know… Besides I have an understanding with the man.”

“What’s that?” Von Beck asked, taking a sip of beer.

“Well after he shot me in the head and realised that wouldn’t be quite enough to kill me, we agreed that as long as he doesn’t report me to the militia, my crewmates and I won’t drain his corpse of blood and burn his tavern to the ground. Given the fact he’s raised no further objections to me nailing his wife, I’d say it's a satisfactory arrangement.”

There was a long silence as Von Beck tried to work out how seriously to take the other captain’s comments, but when Waldoff pulled a rag from the top draw of the dresser and began casually wiping the blood specks off his face, he decided it would be better to move on…

“Well Captain, I assume you asked me in to talk about the letter?” Von Beck asked, gesturing to the envelope on the dresser.

“Yes… I have a message for you to send back to our mutual friends. If you don’t mind.”

“Go on?” Von Beck asked after another sip of beer.

“First tell them I gave up the Esperanza lead like they wanted, palmed it off on one of those Alliance crews; Empress Madeline’s Revenge, Captain Trevelyan, if they’re interested in who got it. Then tell them, that after this job...” He pointed to the envelope. “This last job, whatever it is… After this one, my debt is squared. My men have gone to too much trouble over this thing without any payout.”

“Duly noted.” Von Beck nodded, making a mental note of Waldoff’s comments.

The vampire pirate lowered the rag and picked up the envelope with the same hand before ripping it open and beginning to read the document within. “Did you read it?” Waldoff grunted the question without looking up at him.

Von Beck shrugged, “I got paid to deliver it, not to read it. If someone is prepared to pay that much, I tend to not ask questions.”

“Smart man.” Waldoff replied, screwing up the letter in his fist as he finished reading; “It’ll keep you alive longer than me, and it takes a lot to kill my kind...”

“Unluckily for everyone else, it’s something I seem to have developed a knack for.” Von Beck smiled, rising to his feet.

Waldoff smirked in response, stepping towards the privateer and thrusting the crumpled letter into his hand.

“Read it, don't read it, I don't much care… our mutual friends might, but as I say; I'm done with them now.” Waldoff winked. “You just do whatever it takes to keep on living, Captain Von Beck.”

Then the vampire turned, grabbing a coat and sword-belt off the back of the door before opening it and storming off outside.

Von Beck glanced down at the note… then pocketed it without reading a word before following his fellow captain out into the light.

[Cheye]

Palacio Nuevalyr, Casavana, Nuevalyr - 04/4E-175

“Just one drop of this potion, first brewed by gnomish alchemists at the Tower of Magisters and then imbued with further mystical properties by the druid shamans of Garniem, contains enough radiant energy to instantly make one feel both refreshed and invigorated. Now, I will not be vulgar but may I also say, it is the perfect poultice for any lady of the court who wishes to awaken the desires of her spouse; two drops on your collar will induce arousal upon the first inhalation. Now I must warn you ladies, three drops will be more than enough and can have the effect of reducing a man to his baser nature, providing enough stimulant to guarantee he will act upon his attraction. Four drops, well, let me tell you four drops should only be used to ensure intercourse is immediate and immensely pleasurable for both parties.”

There were several giggles from the ladies who had gathered around the courtyard.

“Four drops may be enough for most men, but my husband spends so much time on the plantation I doubt he remembers I exist. Does your potion do anything for memory loss?” One of the noblewomen asked, still laughing.

“My dear lady, if your husband has taken to his plantation it could be a sign that the foolish man prefers the company of his slaves to that of yourself.” A low whisper went around the group, and several noblewomen shot disdainful looks to the woman. She was about to declare her outrage when he added; “Do not blame yourself, the elves are a magical people, and have their own tricks to induce such attention from humans. Why, I myself hail from Rivièreroux, where one need only look at the enchantment the seductress Queen Ilya inflicted upon Prince Leopold of Golgotha in order to see the devastation that such chicanery can cause! Four drops of this elixir upon your collar will quite assuredly reverse this affliction and bring your husband back into your arms.”

“I'll take two bottles.” The lady replied flatly, eliciting both cheers from the other women and cries to buy potions themselves.

Suddenly they fell silent however, as a regal young woman, wearing a long flowing, low-cut red and gold gown emerged into the courtyard from the palace and parted the crowd with a wave of her hand. She gracefully made her way forward to the front of the group.

“Senor Masena.” She said softly. “I will take your entire stock. How much will that be?”

Placing his hands on the lapels of his Corbeauni business suit, Amadeus Masena exhaled sharply; “For you, my dear Princess, I will accept a bill of credit for the low price of just two hundred reales.”

There was another ripple of murmuring among the ladies of the court. Princess Isadora was the King’s youngest daughter and the wife of Sebastian Donato-Vasquez, the island’s young and recently appointed governor. If the Princess and the Governor were having trouble in the bedroom, that was a rumour that could have profound consequences.

Making a conscious effort not to let the whispering of the crowd go on for too long, Princess Isadora smiled and nodded; “Here you go.” She smiled, drawing a bill from her purse and placing it in his hand. “Aveline must have her potion as well of course.” She nodded to the woman who had first spoken. “On me.”

“Thank you, your highness.” The woman replied with a polite nod, as two servants stepped forward to begin collecting the bottles from Masena’s carriage.

As the crowd began to dissipate, Princess Isadora loitered nearby, overseeing the collection of the potions.

She turned to Masena when they were alone but for her servants.

“I am grateful Senor Masena.” She sighed. “My husband covets another woman and I am at my wits end trying to regain his affections.”

“I see.” Masena replied, stroking his well-groomed moustache and twisting the end thoughtfully. “And you would rather give the appearance that you are merely troubled by an unfulfilling bedroom rather than risk the scandal of an affair getting out?”

“How astute.” She replied curtly. “My father, King Alfonse is embroiled in a dispute with the Council of Ten over the governance of these Nuevalyr islands, any scandal, any sign of weakness in the royal family will be seized upon by his enemies and used against us.”

“You have my sympathies, my dear.” Masena replied, wondering why she was telling him all this.

“I hear you have, from time to time, sailed with pirates… Is that true?”

Masena smiled deceitfully; “I have sailed with all manner of men, my dear. Some of them may have crossed the law at times, but the term ‘pirate’ is used far too loosely these days.”

“And you feel that term does not describe the crew of the Empress Madeline’s Revenge?”

“I would call them… privateers. Privateers who sail under the collective umbrella of the Alliance of Independent Captains and Crews, in union with the Free Confederacy of Renej.”

“Pirates.” The Princess stated, placing her hands on her hips. “Don't worry, I won't have you arrested. I would rather employ the services of such a crew.”

“Oh?” Masena replied, taking a step back towards the carriage and sealing it as the servants finished their unloading.

“I would pay well for the head of the harlot who has caught my husband’s eye. This ‘Lady of the Lighthouse’ who lives on the Isla de Roca south of Veracruz island.”

“I see.” Masena replied, folding his arms and nodding; “I have heard the rumours, they say she is a pirate herself.” He muttered.

“They say a lot of things, I've heard she could even be a vampire. Hence her aversion to living in civilised company on Veracruz. What I do know is that twice a month, my husband takes a flame damned man-of-war down to Isla de Roca and attempts to impress and seduce her. I'll pay ten thousand reales for her head, or some other proof of her death.”

“I can't promise anything, but I will pass this information along.” Masena nodded, already calculating how much of a share he could leverage as a finders fee for this lead.

Behind them, a group of uniformed soldiers entered the courtyard through the outer gatehouse, flanking a well-dressed officer.

“Governor! The foreign ships have altered course - we believe they have moved in to make landfall somewhere to the south!” The officer cried as he strode across the courtyard.

A young man, with messy dark hair, who must have been Governor Donato-Vasquez emerged from a doorway atop a balcony overlooking them and exclaimed; “Excellent news! Our fortifications must have scared them off! Jolly good job Commander!”

“Indeed sir, shall we prepare our scouts to pursue?”

“No rush, Commander! You must first join us for dinner! I have ordered the cooks to go all out, given the excitement of the day!”

“Sir…” the Commander trailed off.

“I insist.” The Governor ordered firmly. Seeing the Commander’s face contort in disagreement, he added; “We have already dispatched word to Viceroy Rojas and mobilised the militia, what further action is necessary? The fact these strange ships have veered away should tell us that they pose no threat! I mean if they come back; they're so big, it's not as if we won't see them coming!” The Governor snorted.

The Commander reluctantly bowed his head and disappeared into the palace, followed by his men.

Masena had heard the rumours about the giant ships sighted on the horizon, but like the Governor he had little cause for concern about that matter. He assumed they must have been some prototype exploration vessels from one of the other powers of Minern, returning from some adventure or other that he wasn't important enough to know about. He wasn't sure if the Estralianan response he had just witnessed made that explanation more or less likely, but he had far more important things to concern himself with right now, such as the imminent return of the Revenge and the lucrative opportunity Princess Isadora had just offered him...

“I shall leave you to it then, your highness.” Masena said quietly, adding a comically low bow to the Princess before turning and climbing up to sit atop the carriage.

“Farewell Senor Masena.” She replied with a polite nod.

“Enjoy your potions, and your dinner!” Masena chuckled, as he spurred the horses forward, through the gatehouse and out of the palace courtyard. Whipping them into a trot as he descended the hill through the sprawling streets of Casavana.

[Sarrin]

Piazi, Colietta, Beyond the Great Sea - 4E-175

The Bishop lit his cigarette calmly as he looked out at the Vierdé Pass where thousands of steel plated knights marched onwards. Some rode the beasts of their homelands: Drundok from Pashar, Rashpi from Yelawa, horses from Gael. Others simply walked alongside their kinsmen content in the knowledge that each step took them closer to the Creators will.

“Father, I am ready to continue my training.” the young boy said as he stepped out of the chapel. The Bishop turned to look at him as a wry smile crept across his face.

“Elijah, come look at the pass.”

The boy came forward just tall enough to see over the ornate balcony. His brown eyes widening at the sight of the army.

“Our unenlightened brothers still resist the inevitable, they hold out in their cities but it is inevitable that they will fall. Why do you think they resist?” The Bishop’s voice had a gentle melody to it as if each word was self-evident in its place and truth.

There was a pause in the air as the boy thought on the question before finally asking “Their leaders. They’ve been corrupted by power and won’t surrender it.”

The Bishop chuckled “Well observed, read the book of St. Halcyon. We will discuss this after dinner.”

New Arcadia - 4E-175

After tacking southwards to their landing site, the Diligence had beached gracefully on the sandy shores of the large island, and the front of its immense hull had been opened out to allow a flurry of traffic in and out of it.

Craftsmen took to the walls erecting wooden palisades as the farmers began unloading their livestock for new ground upon which to graze. Sailors began shifting the prefabricated structures onto the foundations dug by eager soldiers. In the distance the shinning armour of knights could be seen creating similar installments, as their mighty drundok hauled huge weights of wood and iron from the Ark.

From atop, the Bishop watched as the camp began to take shape. A wry smile crept across his face as he considered the events that had led to this moment; at the speed at which it emerged and perhaps most of all the satisfaction of how his years of planning were coming together so smoothly. He looked to the North watching as a handful of sloops transported the armies of Captain Tornbill under the banners of Estraliana, just as they had been advised to by Maria. He breathed out a sigh of relief.

“F-Father, You are wanted at the camp sir. Father Hughes’ needs to know how much gold they intend to bring?” A young courier exclaimed.

The Bishop chuckled without turning away to look at the messenger; “All of it...”

Beachfront

Arthur exhailed as he hammered in the next in a long line of posts that would make up the camp’s wall. As one of the few blacksmiths it was taken for granted that he would attend to the more physical tasks of construction. It was laborious work but he knew all too well it was important, a single weakness and the whole camp would be at risk and with it the conversion of the new world.

“Working hard?” A voice mused from behind him as he turned to see Alec, the tailor's son, approaching with a swishing pitcher.

“Praise the Creator, I'm desperate for water.” Arthur said back with a chuckle as he stood up dusting off some dirt from his trousers as Alec came closer.

“I am nothing if not a man of creation...well a few things but it’s certainly among my traits.” Alec quipped offering out the ceramic jug with a wicked grin.

Arthur knew something was up but thought little until the first drops had passed by his lips, a few sips slipping down his throat as he spat out a mouth load.

“Where the hell did you get bloody wine?!” He exclaimed wiping his mouth as a frantic expression grew.

“The Divishians left it unattended so thought I'd do some of my civic duties. After all, I've always thought it far too fine to only enjoy on holy days.” Alec said with a chuckle taking the jug back and enjoying a hearty swig before resting it on the ground.

“You really have no concept of hard work, do you?” Arthur said his tone in equal parts disbelief and amusement. In the voyage over he’d found great calm in the knowledge that Alec hadn’t touched a sewing needle outside of school until the journey started. It was a reminder that all the wealthy artisans on board were in just as bad a position as him, if not far worse.

“My dear friend, my skills are greatly wasted on what you would consider ‘hard work’. I bring levity and cheer, you hammer away. Together I dare say we could create an empire!” Alec paused to look at the sky as his mouth pursed into a deep smile of self-satisfaction.

Arthur sighed glancing over to the Carpenter across the way as he began hammering in a new palisade to the wall.

“Just do me a favour and get some water? I’ll buy you an ale when the tavern’s sorted.” He said as he dropped down to his knee and began finishing hammering in the post.

Alec did a mock bow, picking up the jug of wine as he dropped down; “You keep up the good work Arth, leave the libations to me.”

“Different skills eh?” Arthur said jokingly as he got back into the rhythm of hammering.

“Different indeed.” Alec joked back.

[Cheye]

The Empress Madeline’s Revenge, Casavana Harbour, Nuevalyr - 04/4E-175

The sun was just disappearing over the horizon as the Revenge sailed into the harbour now under Estralianan colours. Captain Trevelyan had been waiting on deck with the customary bribe for the expected port official who was good enough at his job to spot that the heavily armed frigate was not in fact just another merchant vessel, but as they passed the twin forts that guarded the harbour, and the dozen or so navy warships stationed below them, they had received no signals to submit themselves for inspection.

Indeed, as Trevelyan had watched through his spyglass, it seemed to him as though the Estralianans had other concerns altogether. Uniformed riflemen were amassing on the docks and it looked as though several ships were preparing to set sail.

Trevelyan put that down to the strange ships they had spotted earlier. The huge vessels had turned south as they had gotten closer to Casavana and disappeared around the coast. No doubt the navy was preparing to go and investigate them.

The distraction has proved useful for the Revenge though, they had slipped into port unnoticed and dropped anchor on the edge of the harbour as Trevelyan planned their next move.

“Once we are ashore, Mister de Clermont will take the ship back out to sea and make for Birintanique Bay until we send word of our return.” Trevelyan said, as he continued addressing his senior officers on the deck. “With all the fuss brewing about these strange ships, we should be able to get into the Interior, ransom the girls to Senor Reyes, and get back without too much drama, but just in case there are any disturbances; keep the Revenge ready to depart.”

“Aye Captain.” De Clermont replied obediently, as a sailor climbed the steps to the quarterdeck and muttered something to Marco Kidd, the Navigator continued; “We’ll be ready further up the coast when you send word.”

“The hostages have been secured in the launches, Captain.” The Bosun, Kidd, let out, folding his arms as he spoke.

“Excellent. Mister Ridley, has Mister Masena given the signal?” Trevelyan asked his quartermaster, who stood on the edge of the group, looking out over the harbour through a spyglass.

“Yes Captain, his carriage is waiting at the end of the jetty.” Ridley replied, still scanning the built up shoreline “There’s a Golgothan merchant steamer docked up at the eastern pier as well, if it's of interest Captain. No sign of an escort.”

“Interesting.” Trevelyan stroked his beard. “We’ll have to see if it's still here when we get back from the Interior. It could be laden with supplies bound for Bay Imperial or New Ancelstierre.”

“Aye.” Ridley nodded, lowering the spyglass. Over his shoulder the sun had finally finished setting.

“Let's get underway, the darkness should hide our hostages from view of the town.” Trevelyan said with a tap of his fist against the railing.

As the group broke up, and Trevelyan, Ridley and Kidd made their way to the edge of the deck before climbing down into the launches, de Clermont turned and made his way over to the helm.

“All hands; prepare to weigh anchor and bring us about!” De Clermont barked, the Navigator already preparing to carry out his orders and lead the Revenge out of the harbour towards their less conspicuous rendezvous point up the coast.

As Trevelyan hopped down and took his seat in the second launch, he noticed that the redheaded young woman, Nadia Reyes, was staring at him. Her hands were bound and a dirty cloth was tied about her face, covering her mouth. A bandage had been wrapped around her forehead from where Kidd had thrown her onto the deck during the mad dash away from the Megalodon. Still, the injured girl seemed eerily calm to him, given the circumstances, and she had proven perfectly compliant for a captive, even if her eyes betrayed her inner fear.

In contrast, in the rowboat ahead of them,her darker haired cousin, Sophia, was also tied up, but she had to be firmly restrained by two Revengemen, as on the short voyage over to Casavana she had kicked and screamed and bit and tried to fight the pirates at every turn.

The cousins couldn't have been handling their captivity more differently.

“I apologise for having to restrain you like this.” Trevelyan said, looking to Nadia with genuine sympathy; “I truly wish it were not necessary, but I'm afraid I cannot risk your cousin giving my crew and I away.” Nadia’s eyes flashed over his face, she was trying to read him. “Do you understand that?”

The girl nodded slowly.

“I will see you safely returned to your family.” Trevelyan allowed, as the launches, now full of men, pulled away from the ship, the crewmen rowing for the dockside. “I will just need to ensure that my men and I are compensated by your family for doing so.”

Nadia glanced away at that, a knowing expression on her face.

“You doubt me?...” Trevelyan asked quietly, watching her. Her eyes remained fixed on the black surface of the water as the rowboats carried them forward into port. “No… you doubt your family.” The Captain let out after a long pause.

She turned back to him with a guilty frown etched across her face.

Trevelyan reached up slowly and loosened the cloth tied around her mouth. “You doubt they will pay for your release?” He asked softly.

“I… I doubt they will let you get out of this alive.” Nadia replied timidly.

“I wouldn't worry about that, thirty of my best men are coming with us to see this through.” Trevelyan said confidently, gesturing to the other launches.

“Three hundred wouldn't be enough.” She replied, her tone also growing in confidence; “My father is a ruthless man, while I've been off being educated in Estyr, he has been building a plantation empire out here, and he's formed an alliance with the other landowners. If any of them get wind of this ransom plot then they will set an ambush for you. Even if they don't, and even if my father did pay, he will have them chase you down before you can get back to your ship. You won't escape. But say you even managed that… my uncle is the Governor of Dorado Island, he has thousands of men and dozens of ships under his command. They will chase you all over Nuevalyr.”

“I see.” Trevelyan replied, leaning back in his seat on the rowboat. “And this thought concerns you?”

“Well yes…” The young woman replied. “I would rather nobody else had to die. Especially not my father or his men, if they do try and attack or pursue you across Veracruz the likelihood of their deaths, as well as yours, seems quite great.”

“And you would instead have us release you here in Casavana?” Trevelyan asked curiously, his tone neutral.

“Yes. We could get passage to the Interior from the governor and then maybe send you some gold as way of thank you?”

Trevelyan smirked, pausing for a moment in thought, then he replied; “Were it so easy...” And he leaned forward to tighten the cloth over Nadia’s mouth once more.

[Greater Latica]

Casavana, Nuevalyr - 04/4E-175

As the night grew darker and the city grew quieter, the only sound that could be heard in the harbour was the gentle puffing of the deck mounted steam crane unloading the Golgothan paddle freighter, lifting heavy wooden crates from deep within the hold, through the deck hatch and then down onto the quayside, where men were quietly loading them into waiting horse drawn wagons.

And down there is where Von Beck stood watching, leaning against some crates in the ship’s shadow. This is what he and his crew were paid to do, selling his own cargo and delivering the envelope to Waldoff were only minor errands for him to run whilst he was here. This was the big prize. The guilds paid him well enough for it not to matter that they paid out in marks.

Officially he had no idea what was in the crates, but as most of them were marked, ‘product of Nulnsteirre’, he could draw his own conclusion. Add to that the fact that Estraliana was the largest importer of Golgothan firearms and that you didn’t need this many armed guards for spice shipments, it was clear that whatever was inside had to be of great value.

A well dressed man wearing the yellow uniform of an officer of the colonial militia emerged from the shadows further down the quayside and began walking towards the wagons, suddenly drawing Von Beck’s attention.

“Well, well, well… What have we here?” The Estralianan let out, raising one hand to address the men loading the wagons while placing the other on the hilt of his sabre. “A curious time of day to be unloading your cargo, is it not?”

Behind the interloper, Von Beck could just make out the outlines of a few more militiamen, cradling rifles and hanging back out of sight. He stood up, and gave a cursory look around at his own men concealed in the darkness and in the rigging of the ships above.

He cautiously stepped forwards as the paddle freighter’s captain clambered down the gangplank.

“What seems to be the problem, Commander?” The captain called down as he descended.

“De la Verdet.”

“Well Commander de la Verdet, everything here is well above board, I have a permit.”

“I’ll need to have a look at that, if you don’t mind?” De la Verdet responded flatly as he strode forward.

“Absolutely.” The captain replied as he hit the quayside and began rummaging through his pockets, producing a leather-bound bundle of papers and withdrawing a delicately folded page through within and handing it to the officer.

The militiaman unfolded it and inspected it carefully; “...From the office of Viceroy Rodrigo Rojas himself… Impressive.” He muttered.

“You see, everything is above board.” The captain smiled.

“It appears so, I suppose....” The Estralianan retorted, refolding the permit. Suddenly he flicked his wrist and the permit flew from his hand, catching the night wind as it was blown off out over the water beside them, before sinking into the sea. “How clumsy of me!” The officer declared.

“Hey! What are y-”

“And I forgot to record the permit details in my logbook...” De la Verdet interrupted before sighing wearily. “I guess we’ll have to go to the customs office to get you another one…. Oh, but they won’t open till the morning.” He gripped his sabre’s hilt tightly and shook his head; “I’m afraid that until you have a replacement permit, you would be committing a criminal offence by offloading any items of cargo from this vessel.;” He sighed again, adding ”How… inconvenient.”

“If only there was someone around to arrest us…” Von Beck stated as he cocked his reichsrevolver from the shadows. He strode out into full view, his weapon leveled at de la Verdet’s chest.

“I have the utmost respect for those in the militia...” A small hint of sarcasm crept into his voice; “But you do have a tendency to poke your noses where they don’t belong. I’m certain that there’s a drunkard for you to lock in the cells as a better use of your time.” He raised his left hand and twitched his fingers, signalling his men to take up their positions.

The commander gave a cursory look around at the rifle muzzles now pointed at him and his men, and casually let go of the hilt of his sabre, locking eyes with Von Beck as he smiled.

The long silence was broken by the sound of boots on wood, and rifles clattering to the floor, as previously-concealed militiamen burst from hiding places all around the quayside and stormed the decks of the ships, rapidly encircling and subduing Von Beck’s men.

“Now, now.” De la Verdet let out, casually wiping a bit of dust from his uniform coat. “We didn't come here with the intention of shutting your little weapons smuggling operation down. In fact, I am willing to overlook this little… permit issue… and let you go. But I require something in return...”

“Typical… a bribe I suppose?” Von Beck hissed, lowering his pistol slightly as he noticed the rifles pointed at him from several militiamen who had emerged from behind the crates nearby.

“Not at all.” De la Verdet chuckled; “You see, the Governor has put me in charge of a very special assignment for him… And I'm afraid that in order to accomplish it, I'm going to need to take possession of your steamship…”

[Cheye]

Knave’s Rest, Veracruz Island Interior, Nuevalyr - 04/4E-175

“And the drums are a going a rap a tap tap!
And the pipes they loudly play!
Fare thee well Polly m’dear,
I must be goin’ away!”

The pirates let out a cheer as they finished their tune, tankards and goblets raised towards the ceiling while the musicians took their bows. Scenes of merriment and debauchery abounded around the candle-lit cave; men gambled, drank and wrestled while prostitutes plied their trade.

The Knave’s Rest was just one of those places that attracted men of a looser moral disposition. Its position, dug halfway up a hillside that looked out over the main road that connected Casavana with the Veracruz Interior made it a useful spot for those who had a need to keep an eye on the road for whatever reason, and it wasn’t marked on any official Estralianan maps of the region, at least not yet anyway. With the security of Casavana Harbour and the Guarda Costa patrols that launched out of El Diente making the waters to the north difficult hunting grounds for pirates, for crews in the know, it was often more profitable to anchor in one of the bays near Casavana and acquire ones ill-gotten goods while they were still on dry land.

Captain Hal Waldoff had done exactly that on several occasions now, but tonight he was here for a different reason, he was here because his quarry would soon be passing through in the other direction, bringing their prisoners, captured aboard the Esperanza through to the Reyes Plantation.

The large pirate vampire kept his back to the scenes of carnal and alcohol induced merriment his crew were enjoying, he leaned in a large gap in the wall of the cave, looking out over the long straight road below, lit up as it was by the moonlight.

As he watched the empty road, his mind continued racing as to why the guilds wanted him to take such a heavy interest in this venture, he had originally assumed that their insistence that he palm the Esperanza lead off onto another crew had been motivated purely by image, they didn’t want a Captain who still sported a perfectly functional Golgothan letter of marque to be seen making a move against the Governor of Dorado Island or his rich plantation-owning brother. But now he thought about it, their motives seemed less simple, especially with the new orders they had given him, Orders that; if he wasn’t very careful, could get him and his men killed…

Suddenly he snapped out of his musings, catching sight of a small glowing light slowly emerging over the moonlit horizon along the road from the south, heading towards Casavana. His vampiric eyes locked onto the light, which was suddenly joined by another, then another, then a long line of flickering torch lights that appeared to illuminate a large convoy moving along the road.

“What the fuck?...” He muttered to himself, eyeing their formation and instantly deducing that this was no military brigade and to be moving this late at night meant it couldn’t be farmers. Something different was approaching.

As he focussed his vampiric vision onto the flickering lights he began to make out shapes, slowly moving forward past the leaves of the trees. Men, some old, some young, wearing long heavy woolen brown robes aside assorted wagons. Then flashes began to appear, a shot of chainmail under a robe, the glint of a metal chest beneath the thin fur carpet that sat atop the wagons. Then he saw it. The reason for all these monks, the shine of gold reflecting the moonlight. Twenty wagons of gold.

Waldoff shook his head and blinked repeatedly, trying to make sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him. “...Drew…” He growled to the nearest sailor to him; “You got your spyglass?”

“Aye captain?” The man asked, slamming down his tankard and reaching for his belt.

“Take a look at this…” He muttered.

The sailor stepped up and drew his glass, raising it to his eyeline and examining the convoy for himself.

“Holy flame…” The man muttered in response, before shouting; “Gold!”

“Keep your mouth shut.” The vampire hissed back. “Do you want to start a frenzy?”

But it was too late. That single shout had been enough to attract the attention of at least half a dozen others nearby and now the torches were clearly visible to even human eyes as the convoy grew closer.

“Gold!?” Another one of Waldoff’s crewmen exclaimed.

“Looks like a large wagon train!” Another shouted from another gap in the cave wall.

Within a few seconds near every pirate in the hideout was crowding around the edges, craning to get a look.

“Could be a mining convoy up from Dorado, though why they'd bring anything overland is anyone's guess…” One sailor mused.

“Nah, look at the robes, they look more like monks to me.” Another opined.

“Monks? There was some pilgrimage that went down to Porto Varakas a while back…” Drew mused, scratching his head; “Could be to do with that? They could have found gold down there?”

“Nothing in Porto Varakas but ghosts.” Waldoff’s quartermaster, Jamal Kuvei, a tall Vasharan man said sternly, folding his arms in the centre of the group. “No, this is most… irregular…”

“I agree.” Waldoff said, drawing himself up to address the gathered crowd; “Need I remind you all, that we are here on very specific business? Our mission is to watch the road for the crew of the Madeline’s Revenge and deal with them as directed. We can not allow a few wagons of gold to distract us.”

There were audible groans among the crowd.

“Twenty wagons of gold… Come on Captain…” Drew let out, raising his arms in protest.

“Whoever they are down there, they outnumber us about seven to one.” Waldoff opined, crossing his arms.

“They’re monks, Captain!” One of the sailors shouted.

“They could be anybody, we do not have enough information to just start fighting strangers on the road.”

“Sounds like cowards talk to me!” Drew hissed.

Waldoff punched him in the face. The man went down like a heavy sack, sent sprawling on the floor with a single strike.

“Anyone want to call me a coward again?” Waldoff proclaimed loudly, raising his arms in challenge.

There was a long silence.

“But monks!?” Came the inevitable cry from one of the sailors at the back.

There was a roar of agreement. Kuvei shot Waldoff a knowing look. If he continued to oppose the crew on this, there would be trouble.

“Aye… Monks.” Waldoff scoffed, his eyes flicking disdainfully across the faces of his men. They all eyed him with the same hunger that he knew well, they would kill for a shot at those wagons. “Well go on then! Go get them!” He roared, eliciting an ecstatic cheer of approval from the crowd.

Kuvei helped Drew to his feet and the sailor shot a glare at the Captain as he wiped a drop blood from his injured brow. Waldoff stared him down, and when the sailor didn’t break his glare, he licked his lips emphatically to underscore his point. That did the trick, and as the musicians’ instruments buzzed to life, filling the hideout with noise once more, the pirates scurried off to collect their things to ready themselves for an ambush.

20 minutes later

It did not take long for the men to get into position. The thick rows of palm trees and tropical bushland of the interior hid them easily as they stealthily approached, two long thin lines of men creeping up along both sides of the road.

Waldoff hung back, he knew that the odds of this being a trap or some other kind of deception were high, and he wasn’t about to wade into a column of men without seeing how they reacted to his crewmen first. If they were indeed monks, and at this closer distance it really did look to the men like they might be, then their numerical advantage would mean little, they would flee as soon as the pirates employed the slightest bit of violence against them.

Drew thought so at least. He had volunteered to launch the attack, clearly trying to curry favour among the men.

“You know Captain, if he succeeds… If he takes even two or three of these wagons, the crew will gravitate towards him.” Kuvei whispered, as the pair knelt behind a palm tree on a ridge-top, watching the pirates creep and crawl up to the roadside.

“They think I’m weak?” Waldoff asked, raising a brow to his quartermaster.

“No. Nobody thinks that, Captain.” Kuvei sighed. “But they haven’t enjoyed a good score in weeks now. The tasks we’ve been undertaking for your friends in high places haven’t been putting coin in their pockets. They are tired of working for free. If Drew is the reason they suddenly find themselves swimming in gold, they won’t thank you.”

“And if Drew gets half of them killed?” Waldoff growled. He knew some of the monks were wearing chainmail beneath their robes. His blood-enhanced sight had allowed him to spot the odd glimmer as the men had been walking. Whatever this was, it wasn’t going to be easy…

On cue, the two marksman at the end of the line fired, their gunshots ringing out through the night, immediately toppling the horses leading the first wagon as Drew scurried out of the bushes into the road in front of the procession. He drew his pistol, and primed it, pointing it at the monk who sat atop the lead wagon, who was still holding on to the reigns as the horses in front of him let out their shocked dying whimpers and collapsed dead.

“YOUR GOLD OR YOUR LIVES!” The pirate yelled.

Waldoff watched as one by one the wagons came to a halt behind the lead vehicle. The two riflemen and a handful of the other pirates slowly emerged from the bushes and clustered around the front of the column, their weapons raised towards the monks who were now blocked in by the first wagon.

He could sense the panic and confusion growing along the column. The men still hiding in the brush pointed their own rifles and pistols at the monks, ready to launch into action if it came to it.

“Friends, please we are but men of god!” One of the elder monks exclaimed in broken estralianan from the front as he stepped towards Drew, his hands raised as if to capitulate gesturing for the others to do the same. The pirates began to move in, closing the distance with the monks as Waldoff focussed his gaze, knowing that something was amiss.

Drew clearly felt the same, perhaps unsettled by their poor grasp of common; “Fire!” The pirate shouted. As he raised his pistol to shoot however, the elder monk thrust the palm of his hand into Drew’s chest forcing the pirate to cough aggressively before collapsing onto the floor in pain.

The other pirates paused and exchanged glances; “SHOOT!” one of them yelled, firing his pistol and shooting a monk who was stood behind the elder dead.

The pirates fired their weapons, the men hiding in the brush doing the most damage in a hail of gunfire that killed or injured dozens of the amassed monks. Then they rose from both sides of the road and charged in against the monks who seemed to deftly drop under their swings and dodge their bullets with surprising agility. Then the monks struck out unarmed at the pressure points of the pirates, leaving them paralysed on the ground. Once the melee was underway, it did not take long for the monks to gain the upper hand and for every monk that fell three pirates collapsed alongside them until at last one of the survivors shrieked “RETREAT!” and Waldoff’s men fell back into the undergrowth.

Waldoff smirked at Kuvei, untroubled by the deaths of Drew and the other gold-hungry reprobates; “The matter is settled then... No more distractions. We follow the mission.”

[Sarrin]

Casavana Gates, Veracruz - 04/4E-175

The convoy moved continuously as its wagons began to gather around the gates to the city. The militia had sent news to the Governor the moment it was first sighted around dawn, but as the group of several hundred monks began to gather with their cargo an unease had set.

“They’re stalling.” Brother Jones said as he stroked the fine hairs of his beard.

“An army of monks has appeared on their door, would you not do the same?” Father Hughes mused back with a slight chuckle before turning and addressing the gathered monks.

“Pull back the cloths to show our gold brothers, as St. Price showed us in the conversion of King Seket greed can overcome any fear.”

The monks murmured in agreement before obeying the command and pulling back the coverings to reveal wagon after wagon of gold bars stacked in a brazen manner to lure the eyes of any who dared to glance upon them. As the sunlight began to dance across the shimmering fortune a song began resonating from within the ranks.

“Sovereigns fall.
And hope has fled.
Steel your heart.
The Creator comes.”

As the tones spread into the air another joined in the chorus;

“We’ve struggled long.
And the path is dark.
Steel your heart.
For one day soon.
The Creator comes.”

As more monks joined in the militiamen atop the wall began to erupt into a frenzy of activity as more came to see the stockpile of gold and investigate the noise. Then a long groan interrupted the song as the gate opened to reveal a spectacularly dressed young Estralianan man with messy black hair, followed by several frantic merchants and officials who held their hats and papers tightly in place as they walked.

“Hello my friends!” The opulent one exclaimed gleefully. “Settle a breakfast bet for me will you? Commander Morro here reckons you’re from Porto Varakas, but I said no no. You’re clearly not Southern Flame pilgrims.” The man chuckled. “Lack of braziers.” He added, matter of factly. “No, I think you’ve come from those ships we spotted yesterday?”

Father Hughes raised his hand signalling a silence amongst the ranks before he stepped forward speaking firmly in his relatively elementary Estralianan common.

“My name is Father Hughes and we are emissaries from the Blessed Domains here to preach our faith to any who might listen, as a gesture of our goodwill we have brought a gift for your king, am I to assume gold holds value in your lands as it does in ours? Else we may change it for iron or coal?”

The young man’s eyes widened in terror at the mere suggestion, before he composed himself, running a hand through his messy black hair as he said solemnly; “Welcome Father Hughes. Your ‘Blessed Domains’ are unknown to us, so we would have you tell us of your journey to our shores? As for your gold, well that is indeed valuable to us...” He smiled, pausing for a moment to look out over the wagons stacked full of gold that shimmered in the morning sunlight. “I am Governor Sebastian Donato-Vasquez, and I am… sovereign… of this here Veracruz Island, so I will happily receive this gift.”

Father hughes made another gesture echoing the monks to begin moving the wagons into a formation suitable to entering the city. “I would be happy to share tales of our journey Governor though I can’t imagine our meagre province can compare to the might of your land in anything beside our gold mines. Perhaps you would be amenable first to myself and my brothers taking refuge in your city so we might begin showing our faith to your countrymen? I dare say while they work I would be happy to answer all of your questions.”

The Governor stroked his chin thoughtfully. He was about to respond, when from behind him, one of the officials, a robed priest of the Southern Flame coughed, attracting his attention and then shook his head when the Governor made eye contact with him.

“We are a tolerant people.” The Governor said over his shoulder to the flame priest, before looking back to Father Hughes. “We will hear you out, but before you can preach on our streets, we would know what exactly your religion might offer our countrymen, you have clearly travelled from so far away, we must be sure your values are not… how do I put this delicately?... Hostile... to our way of life..”

Father Hughes chuckled slightly glancing over to the robed priest of the Southern Flame before addressing the Governor. “This is fair, as St. Jalis said to the king of Elris ‘our faith is one of peace and order, peace in your rule and order in your streets’. If you could give us a place to stay for the evening I will inform my brothers on the beach of your good nature. We have merchants eager to make trade deals, who will no doubt follow when news comes of your, forgive me I may be using the wrong word, conversion?”

The flame priest coughed again as the Governor frowned, sidestepping the question and asking; “How is it that you speak our common tongue?”

“A crew of your sailors were shipwrecked upon our shore some decades ago, we’ve been trying to find a way to return them to you since but unfortunately their last number passed away before we could muster a ship capable of the journey. During their stay they taught a few of us your ‘Estralianan tongue’ and told us of your struggle against the ‘Golgothan hordes’. Our leader had their bones preserved ready for burial in your lands, if you would wish for such an act.” Father Hughes answered glancing over at the Governor’s entourage and studying what he could see of their equipment.

“How tragic.” The Governor sighed sadly. “But... this gold shall serve as a fine monument to their sacrifice, Commander de la Verdet; Has the Steamer been secured?”

“Yes sir.” One of the other officials behind the Governor let out.

“Excellent. Forget the jaguars, we will shower my sweet lady with gold!” The Governor, at this point could barely contain his excitement.

“But sir… I lost three men trying to get the beasts subdued!”

“Fine, fine, fine.” The Governor scoffed, we’ll still gift her three Jaguars, the rest can be released back into the wild, and at least four of these wagons worth of gold can be loaded onto the ship in their place… Unless…” The Governor paused, his somewhat eccentric rant cutting short as he examined Father Hughes. “You have been very kind in gifting me with this gold. How would you like a cadre of tamed jaguars in return?”

Father Hughes turned to the monks behind him speaking in the tongue of Creation “He offers us beasts for our gold, do you suppose he wishes us to feed him to them?”

A younger monk stepped forward to Father Hughes side curiously looking at the Southern Flame priest by the gate. “Perhaps just their jester, from his robes I doubt he’d last more than a few seconds.”

Father Hughes nodded with a false solemnity before speaking in common “Sister Pretoria here has experience with wolves in our homeland, would that be a similar affair? Perhaps your beastmaster would be able to show her the difference?” he replied, gesturing to the Southern Flame priest.

Both the Flame priest and Commander de la Verdet exchanged a glance as the Governor chuckled; “Such good humour for a group of priests! Tell me, are the Blessed Domains full of such upstanding individuals or is it just a missionary thing?”

“In our land we are all of the cloth Governor and our humour reflects that. Why St. Crispin was said to have tricked a warmongering chieftain into dipping his hand into boiling water by claiming the water was too cold!” As he spoke he began walking towards the gate leading the Governor alongside him as he spoke and gesturing to the monks to begin their entrance. “Now St. Gabriel of course he was known for his pranks…”

Fort Guillermo

The ancient stone fort had found new life with the arrival of the Blessed Brothers whose numbers took refuge within its towers and basements traversing its secluded chambers like long forgotten ghosts careful to hide any trace of their presence from the outside world. Those few who traversed its exterior did so with caution hiding behind the walls only to peer out with spy glasses at approaching caravans to warn their brothers below.

Within the stone however, the building exploded with energy as maps and scrolls were scoured for any new information about the Estralianan advance. The central chamber within the mound itself found every illustration studied curiously for any clue to its meaning, those few in the rank fortunate enough to have learned any Estralianan Common before their departure were gathered around a central table headed by Captain Tornbill who carefully examined a large canvas map of the ‘Old World’.

“The foreigner’s lied.” A voice finally said breaking the concentrated silence and raising the captains glance for a brief moment.

“What have you found lieutenant?” He replied before returning his glance down tracing the contours of ‘Tarakia’ with his finger.

“It says here a former Governor made an escape route between the city and this fort in case of something called ‘another Belgrano’.” The Lieutenant continued gesturing to the scroll as he spoke.

The Captain paused leaving his finger on the map’s border with Mayfair.

“You’re sure it’s this fort?” He asked looking back up to the lieutenant.

“Certain. Should I have the men search for the hidden entrance?” The Lieutenant replied as he placed the document back onto the ground.

The Captain looked back down to the map moving his finger through to Medina and down the veins of its economic tendrils to Syliv.

“Commander Picket will check your translation but you can take three squads… and send a pigeon to the beachfront. If that foreigner is keeping secrets from us the Archbishop should know…”

[Cheye]

Knave’s Rest, Veracruz Island Interior, Nuevalyr - 04/4E-175

The carriage came to a halt at the base of the hill, and Amadeus Masena hopped off. The column of pirates who had been walking through the night alongside it wearily staggered up the steps towards the hideout, looking forward to rest and recuperation after a hard day’s sailing followed by the night-long march.

Captain Trevelyan opened the door and emerged from inside the carriage, turning to offer a hand to Nadia who reluctantly took it with her bound hands and hopped down gracefully onto the dirt.

Her more resistant cousin was less elegant, as she half-jumped and was half-shoved out by Elias Ridley, the quartermaster then emerged after Sophia with a cursory glance around at their surroundings.

Behind them Marco Kidd rose to his feet atop the carriage, where he had been sat next to Masena and pointed up the steps towards the top of the hill. “Captain…” He let out; “Trouble.”

As Trevelyan followed his bosun’s gaze up the hill, his eyes widened as he noticed the line of armed men who stood looking down at them. They were other pirates clearly, from their appearance, but some of them nursed fresh wounds and dirt marks that suggested they had recently been out in the brush. Perhaps they had tracked them from Casavana? Though Trevelyan’s vanguard should have noticed if that were the case.

Slowly he paced up the hill towards the men, who cradled their pistols, rifles and swords cautiously. “We are privateers of the Alliance of Independent Captains and Crews.” He allowed, knowing this would likely defuse the tension if the men were of another similarly aligned crew, which given the Alliance was the largest pirate faction in the region, would have typically been a good bet.

“I know.” Came a deep voice from the doorway carved into the hillside at the top.

“And who might you be?” Trevelyan asked, trying to project confidence, one hand resting on his sword as he ested one leg on the top step, facing the line of men as his own crewmen formed up behind him.

“I am someone who you will very much want to do business with…” The voice let out.

Trevelyan cocked his head towards the shadowy doorway, stroking his beard. “Is that so?”

“It is.” The outline of a large well-built man said, emerging from the shadows. “I am Captain Hal Waldoff, of the Bloody Future. I sail with the Raiders of the Cove and I do not pretend to be a privateer when I am confronted by strangers.”

“No, but you are a privateer. The Raiders of the Cove are well known to carry Golgothan letters of marque, are they not?”

“I’m sorry Captain Trevelyan, but when it comes to these word games, I really don’t give a shit.”

“I don’t remember introducing myself, Captain Waldoff…”

“Because you didn’t.” Waldoff spat. “Look, my men were attacked on the road by a horde of monks… or some other group of weird martial arts wielding maniacs. You’ve come from Casavana right? To ransom the Reyes’ girls?”

Trevelyan turned slightly to where Nadia and Sophia stood on the steps below, their bindings giving away their status as prisoners.

“How do you know about that?”

Waldoff’s eyes answered the question, flicking to Masena, who lingered near the back of the Revengemen, just close enough to his carriage in case things went south and he had to make a quick getaway.

Trevelyan followed his fellow captain’s gaze and sighed knowingly. “I see.” He let out. “A large convoy of monks passed us by in the night, we chose to take the carriage down a dirt-track to avoid them... So your story could check out.”

“Yeah, well we’re in the interior to source ourselves a score, and we were thinking of raiding one of the plantations here abouts, but then last night happened and we’re now a little short on man-power.” Waldoff placed his hands on his hips and smiled knowingly; “But you, you’re going to end up going against Reyes and the plantation owners' militia. What’s say you bring us along for muscle and we split the ransom money fifty-fifty?”

Trevelyan paused, still stroking his beard with his other hand resting on his cutlass. It was a long time before he spoke; “I’ve heard the stories about you, Captain Waldoff.”

Waldoff smirked, shaking his head and looking to the ground dismissively.

“They say when you take a ship, you don’t just kill your captives, but torture them first, sometimes you even drain them of their blood, leaving no man alive.”

“And they say you feed men to sharks when you get bored, old man. I think we’re cut from the same cloth…”

“But that’s just it.” Trevelyan leaned forward. “You call me old man, but I’ve heard you’re much older. That the reason you drain your captives of their blood is to sustain your own taint. The same taint that came from Van Drak himself!”

Waldoff sighed; “If that’s how you feel we could just cut the bullshit and kill each other?”

His men primed and raised their weapons towards the revengemen.

Trevelyan appeared unfazed. “The reason I have heard these stories, of course, is because they were told to me by survivors of your raids; men of the alliance, fellow men of the black who you have chosen to prey upon. You’re a pirate hunter and a privateer to boot.” Trevelyan nodded, his voice growing in confidence; “I’ve seen my death Captain, and I can very much assure you that you are not it. And therefore, I can think of no good reason why I would even consider for a second associating my business dealings with you.”

Waldoff raised his hands in a mock gesture of surrender; “There’s only one problem Captain… If I drink the blood of everyone I capture and kill them, then who is it that I’ve left alive to tell these stories?”

Trevelyan straightened up, unsure how to respond to the fact that Waldoff had actually made a good point.

“I am some of the things you accuse me of, yes. But I am also a fellow captain sailing under the black, and today I wish to hunt Estralianan swine rather than ‘privateers of the Alliance of Independent Captains and Crews’. Now, I will take my chances if you force our crews to fight it out here and now on these steps. And… If I am of Van Drak’s taint, you can rest assured that is a fight that me and mine will win. Regardless of whether you think I’m going to be your death or not... Or... You can accept my offer and agree to split the ransom once we are done scaring some plantation owners shitless. Now, how about that?”

Trevelyan sighed, looking first at Waldoff, then his crew, before glancing back to his own men who were undoubtedly looking more tired, if in slightly better health. If a fight broke out, Waldoff was right, it would be pure anarchy and the chances of extracting any ransom for the girls would deteriorate immeasurably.

“Very well.” Trevelyan nodded, reluctantly extending his hand as he added; “Eighty-twenty. We did the hard work of taking the ship, and as my men will attest, we almost became megalodon shark-bait in the process.”

“In light of your good faith in agreeing; I will accept no less than sixty-forty.” Waldoff replied, smiling wryly.

“Come on now Captain… We trekked through the night to get here. All you’ve done is stumble upon us. How about sixty-five to the Revenge, thirty-five to the Bloody Future?”

“Very well, Captain. Thirty-five percent of the ransom will do fine.”

Waldoff took Trevelyan’s hand, shaking it firmly. As he did, he glanced over Trevelyan’s shoulder at the two captive girls. As Nadia and Sophia met his gaze, he gave them an animalistic grin and Sophia shrieked in terror, her gag slipping from her mouth, projecting the shrill noise out through the hilly brush before the revengemen could restrain her again.

The shriek seemed to echo on and on through the hills for some time as both crews stood down and made their way inside to plan their next move...

[Greater Latica]

Casavana Customs Office Jail - 04/4E 175

The Casavana Customs Office was an older brick building that was already giving away the signs that it had been here since the first settlers landed and founded the city; an exposed rotten beam here, a crumbling ceiling there. The office sat adjacent to a row of warehouses on the harbour’s edge that were used for storing the hauls of the various fishing crews who kept the city well-fed, but Marcel Von Beck was only learning this now, as the pungent aroma the fish gave off in the midday heat wafted in between the bars of his cell window.

He had been separated from the other Golgothans, who had all been detained the night prior when Commander de la Verdet had stormed the docks, catching them in the act of bringing their secret cargo ashore. They had all been marched over to the Customs Office, the basement of which had been converted into a sizeable jail. The others were placed into a larger holding cell together, but after being roughed up for resisting de la Verdet’s attempt to seize his steam-ship, Von Beck had been separated out and placed in an isolated cell. A cell that just so happened to reek of fish guts at this time of day.

Von Beck stood on his tip-toes, looking out the small street-level window, his hands still manacled. He was still working out how he was going to get out of this mess. Fortunately, he could just about see across the harbour to where his ships sat, and it was clear that the Estralianans had not yet sailed away with the steamer. Although they seemed to be loading a large quantity of crates and chests onto it, and he thought at one point he even caught a glimpse of a caged beast. What they were doing was anyone’s guess…

Suddenly he heard footsteps outside the cell, and he moved away from the window, turning just in time to see the thick metal door open and the Commander who had arrested him come striding inside, flanked by a pair of brawny looking militiamen, one of whom shut the door behind them.

“Captain Von Beck.” the Commander nodded to him, almost cordially, before adding; “You will now tell us the full story as to how a spanner, such as yourself, came to be in possession of a weapons trading permit from the office of one as esteemed as Viceroy Rojas?” De la Verdet frowned, clasping his hands behind his back. “After that, I would very much like to know where the weapons came from, where they are going and who paid for them? Then… then we can talk about this.” He said, withdrawing a crumpled letter from his pocket.

Von Beck instantly recognised it as the letter he had delivered to Captain Waldoff before the vampire-pirate had screwed it up and thrust it back into his palm. Von Beck instantly regretted keeping it, but right now he had more pressing worries.

He raised his open palms as much as his restraints would permit him, in an attempt to charm his way out of his predicament; “Technically the permit was never ‘in my possession’ as it’s not mine, and as for that letter, I’ve never seen it in my life. If I wasn’t so accustomed to working with Estralianan customs then I’d think that you were trying to plant evidence to frame me for something. So perhaps we could just resolve this entire misunderstanding?”

“How gauche.” De la Verdet smirked with a shake of his head. “As if we would need to plant evidence like crooked old-world brigands. We have already... extracted… a considerable amount of information from your freighter captain accomplice. His remains are currently hanging from a gibbet above the Western Fort. Before he expired however, he told us that this little smuggling operation was under your command…”

“Amateurs,” Von Beck shook his head, “I thought I’d be arrested by someone competent this time around. But no. He’s just said that to stop the pain, then you go too far. Killing Golgothan citizens never works out well. Just ask the Medinians. Before you know it there will be a Dreadnaught in the harbour reducing this city to rubble.”

“A big threat.” The Commander’s smirk faded. “But with one small problem…”

One of the taller lumbering militiamen stepped forwards into the centre of the cell.

“Your countryman, who just happened to be imprisoned by us shortly before his death, was not killed by an Estralianan, rather he fell victim to a foul beast on the loose in the city. Why his remains were displayed as a warning, rather than a punishment!”

As de la Verdet spoke, the large hulking man began to twitch and convulse in front of him, before his muscles suddenly ruptured and his form seemed to magically grow outwards contorting with fur magically growing from flesh before his lycanthropic form was revealed. The man, or rather beast, let out a terrifying roar, covering Von Beck with spittle.

“Garnian mercenaries are wonderfully efficient when it comes to extracting information from prisoners.” The Commander smiled.

Before Von Beck could compose himself from the shock and disturbingly close proximity of the beast, a colossal trunk of an arm slammed into his chest and uprooted him from his feet before pinning him to the wall of the cell.

“Now, how did you get the permit?” De la Verdet asked again, calmly.

“It’s not mine,” Von Beck replied his voice reduced to a choking whisper, “I was paid to protect the shipment. Now get your lapdog to put me down before you make your second mistake today!”

De la Verdet sighed and shook his head. The lycanthrope tightened his grip, claws ripping through Von Beck’s shirt and grazing his chest as the Commander spoke in monotone; “If you were protecting the weapons then you know where they came from and where they were going. Explain.”

“We took over escort at South Harbour, I didn’t know they were running guns until they started unloading them. I get paid extra for not asking questions.”

“South Harbour… Good.” De la Verdet let out, though the lycanthrope’s grip remained tight. “And where were they going? We know for a fact that Casavana wasn’t the final destination, the crates were being loaded onto wagons for overland travel.”

“And that’s where your countrymen took over.” Von Beck hissed. “I had no idea where they were going, to be honest, I’d assumed they were for the Governor or Viceroy or someone important. But if I knew, I'd have told you by now!”

De la Verdet tutted and the man-turned-beast pulled his arm back suddenly, raising Von Beck with it, before grabbing his legs with his other hand and pulling him up, suspending him upside down in his monstrous grip at eye level with de la Verdet’s breeches.

“He will split you in half, if the next thing out of your mouth isn’t useful information to me…” The Commander said calmly.

“Okay!” Von Beck exclaimed, adding; “Inland! The wagons were going inland to some plantation or something? I didn’t get the name! I mean I make sure to get my money upfront, so I wouldn’t have cared to learn the name anyway!…”

The Commander squatted down, level with Von Beck’s face and mused; “Inland?...”

“Yes!” the Golgothan retorted, blood still rushing to his head.

“Now that is interesting.” De la Verdet said pensively, before turning to the other brawny looking militiaman who stood at the end of the room. “Those greedy plantation owners are behind this. Mark me, they’ve had it in for every Governor Casavana has had. Setting up their own militia is one thing, but now they arm it with Golgothan weapons! And potentially with the help of the Viceroy...” The Commander trailed off as he realised Von Beck was still dangling there listening, suspended by the lycanthrope.

He nodded to the beast, who dropped the Golgothan with a thud as his nose and open palms connected with the dank cell floor. At least the pain in his nose prevented him from smelling fish-guts, Von Beck thought, wincing as he pulled himself to his knees with his manacled hands.

“There is also the matter of this letter…” De la Verdet said, looking back at him and waving the crumpled paper before him like a cheap magician. “The instructions here say that you are to murder the daughters of Ignacio and Mauricio Reyes and make it look like they were killed by Reneji pirates?” The Commander sighed. “From what you have told me, I can only assume that smuggling weapons to Senor Reyes’ personal estate was your chosen method of gaining access to the girls?”

The lycanthrope loomed over Von Beck, a bead of wolf saliva dripping from its toothy jaws and falling squarely onto his forehead as he replied; “They’re unrelated! The letter isn't for me. I was given it to deliver as I was already due to travel here. It was to be delivered to a ‘Valdor?’ Valforff?’ I can’t remember. He was already long gone by the time I had arrived. Once I’d read it, I kept it as I couldn’t risk getting rid of it here and have end up in his hands. You’re welcome.”

Defiantly Von Beck stood up and wiped the blood off on his sleeve.

De la Verdet smirked, meeting his gaze as he stood; “Well we’ll see about that. I assure you these matters will be investigated promptly and we will get to the bottom of this.”

He turned to leave the cell, the other militiaman and the lycanthrope pacing out after him.

Then the Commander turned back. “The world is changing Captain Von Beck. Your spanner empire does not rule over Nuevalyr like it does Minern. You know, just this morning, the Governor received emissaries from the Blessed Domains of Creation, it turns out they are a great nation who have been hidden beyond the seas. I witnessed their arrival, saw the gold they brought as tribute, listened as their priests broke bread with our Governor. It is the Kingdom of Estraliana that providence has led them too, not your Golgothan paymasters. If an alliance is brokered, I wonder if you will get to live to see the new order that will rise…”

He turned to close the door, then added over his shoulder; “Doubtful.”

And the cell door swung shut.

[Sarrin]

Casavana, Palacio Nuevalyr - 04/4E-175

The curtains danced against the hushed breeze as the Governor laughed, every note leaving him with an inebriated aftertone. Father Hughes had been invited every night to share information on the Blessed Domains with the Governor and his fortunate guests, who longed for new and exciting stories to tell.

The Governor had even postponed his departure from Casavana as a result of his fascination. He had been planning to sail south in the captured steam-ship that had been stocked full of jaguars, gold and other trinkets to gift them to his ‘true love’, the so called ‘Lady of the Lighthouse’ who Father Hughes had by now heard many stories about from the love-struck would be adulterer. The Governor had been going on about her to the monks so much that Princess Isadorra had confined herself to her quarters, refusing to be seen with her husband in public, which had caused almost as much of a stir as the monks themselves. The Governor had been largely unfazed by this though.

“A bull? What madness your world must be! Tell me again about the Sanni and their rituals?!” Governor Donato-Vasquez finally said as a monk cleared away his dessert. The gathered gentry of Casavana all exchanged glances in awe of their rulers knowledge of the world beyond.

“Well the Sanni have many rituals pertaining to the spirit and can cure many diseases by rebalancing the energies of their patients. Perhaps when they come ashore you might see their skills at work.” Father Hughes replied from his standing position at the end of the table, he gestured to the assembled monks to refill the glasses with fresh wine.

“They’re coming here?! How utterly splendid - I yearn to witness these beings in the flesh, they sound so exotic!” one of the guests remarked turning to others for a social confirmation of their outburst.

“Of course, we have many others seeking a new life in our new city. May I take this moment however to thank you again for allowing us to act as hosts in your manor Governor it is truly too kind.” Father Hughes remarked folding his hands behind his back.

“It is my pleasure Father, I’m sure our guests were as delighted to see the food and flavours of your world as I was. I suspect you may have had another of your translation errors however, that is unless there is another city you’ve made that I don’t know about?” The Governor replied patronisingly, issuing a chuckle from the guests.

They stopped laughing as they realised the Father had joined them in a slow chuckle.

“Unfortunately I am referring to this one, Governor and I regret to inform you, your time as its sovereign has come to an end.”

“Is this some kind of poor joke?” one of the guests, a rotund man with a heavy beard, exclaimed with a sour expression to the Governor whose eyes seemed locked on Father Hughes as if waiting for a punch line of explanation.

“A very good question.” The Governor finally replied.

Casavana Sewers

“Sergeant take your men to the barracks, Marsette will seal its exits then you just need to plant some of the League’s toys and we’ll gas them out. Godfrey you secure the front gate and make sure it’s open for our reinforcements. Cobalt Company is with me taking the docks, the Order should signal with the governor’s bells when it is time to strike; do not show your faces until then. May the Creator guide us.”

“In light and dark.”

As the soldiers separated, Captain Turnbill made sure that his was the last group to depart, listening carefully to the footsteps of his men lest one group sound too loud in the tunnels. In the days since its discovery, the Blessed Brothers had made a hasty map of several key locations referenced against the city maps they had found. Now just under 900 men were spreading beneath it ready to strike the garrison and secure it for the Domains.

He had taken good precautions learned keenly from the sewer wars of Colietta. No torches, good time for movement, pre-poisoned weapons and no heavy armour. Each company was fixed to appear separate, they had prepared statements if they were captured, even if few understood the meaning of what they would say...

The last footsteps disappeared into the darkness. Captain Turnbill signalled the men.

It was there time to move.

Salazar Road, Just Beyond Casavana

Atop his Drondok, Grandmaster Osswe was an imposing sight. The white metal of his and his steeds armour left little to subtlety, even more so with the triumphant claymore that rested on his back seemingly eager to strike at any moment. Beside him Captain Grik seemed a strange contrast in his leather scrap armour reinforced with trinkets of his former victories.

The pair had guided their forces throughout the night, following in the path of the monks before them, now as they turned into vision of Casavana the night finally seemed real.

“Reminds you of Tracento doesn’t it.” Grik remarked, his voice holding little grace or etiquette as was keeping with his roots and the rules of the Brothers of Harkon.

“We knew what to expect in Tracento.” Osswe responded turning his head to Grik as he spoke in his deep voice gripping the reins tightly.

“You weren’t in the sewers.” Grik muttered just loud enough for Osswe to hear.

Though an unlikely pair their paths had crossed an unexpected amount of times both in the Coliettan campaign and since though it had been to both their pleasure that they were again on the same side.

“Have you prepared your men for casualties? I don’t suppose the priests will have time to consecrate the ground before bodies begin to turn stale.” Osswe remarked choosing to ignore the bait, he knew well enough that his knights had seen their fair share of atrocities and didn’t need disunity on the eve of battle.

“Harkon didn’t die in holy land, he didn’t get a funeral and he didn’t get any blessings after he passed. We’re convicts given a second chance but we’re not deluded into hoping for proper funerals, if we die and become dog food the Creator can judge us all the same.” Grik replied with some spite before turning to meet Osswe’s gaze and feeling a sense of embarrassment for his tone.

“That was beneath me, sorry Nazi- Osswe” he added.

“Dying so far from the domains has us all rattled Ozon. Know that I would be proud to stand beside you in the afterlife regardless of what’s happened between us.”

Grik smiled at the remark as he took a deep breath... “Then may the Creator guide us.”

OS Creation

“I wonder what the Sanne haruspex would say of today. We’ve certainly got the wind for battle.” the Archbishop proclaimed proudly looking over the top deck of the Ark as it came into view of Casavana.

The Ark had been patrolling the region since the Monks arrived, but it was only as night fell that it began a course towards Casavana, though official channels had told the Governor they were simply scouting nearby.

“I am surprised to hear you taking such a high opinion of their practices.” The Bishop Vincentore remarked as he leaned onto the wooden balcony that overlooked the front portion of the ship from which he could give clear instructions as the siege ensued.

“High opinion? Certainly not, I simply wonder if they would try and sabotage our efforts with ‘poor omens’ their lack of contribution to the effort certainly wasn’t unnoticed.” The disdain was clear in his voice but the Bishop had long since grown accustomed to such views, had their journey been multiracial he may have taken a stance against it, but with an all human expedition such seemed an unnecessary inconvenience.

“Vlad Van Drak was said to employ divination in battle, though vampiric magic is no doubt quite different to the Sanni’s tricks.” Maria remarked sensing the Bishop’s lack of bite to the Archbishops words. She had been surprised when he personally invited Marette to join them but the Bishop always had a strategy especially when she couldn’t see it.

“Certainly says a lot that one of these ‘vampires’ you’ve spoken so fearfully of would use the same machinations as the Sanni. Perhaps after the takeover we should compile a letter from St. Thelene on the matter. I’ve always felt we needed a stronger stance against their continued hedonistic ways even if they claim to have embraced the Creator above their ‘Loa’.” The Archbishop gesticulated wildly as he spoke getting more impassioned as his words went on.

The Bishop exchanged a glance with Maria both smiling for a moment as they sensed the Bishop’s gaze was distracted.

“I’m afraid I need to start giving orders Archbishop, perhaps we might delay this debate until it can have our full focus?” Vincentore finally said interrupting his tirade.

The Archbishop paused for a moment taken aback before he composed himself and remembered the situation “Of course Bishop, it will be a delight to witness.”

The Bishop straightened his back and began tracing runes into the wood before him with his finger. As each was complete they began to glow with a bright amber arcane energy. As he finished the third he began speaking calmly, his voice booming across the entire Ark as if the very wood resonated with his intent.

“To arms men, today we make the Creator’s will manifest!”

[Greater Latica]

Casavana Customs Office Jail - 04/4E 175

Pinned to the floor the body of the miliaman guarding the cell went limp, his head slumping forwards onto the ground, as the chain of Von Beck’s manacles pressed tightly against his throat. Nearby the bodies of two more guards lay battered and bruised, one with a bloodied face from impacting the bars and the other with his elbow at a strange angle crumpled in the corner.

Von Beck flipped over the lifeless body and began patting it down, searching through the jacket and pockets, hoping to find something that might aid in his escape. He pulled out several scraps of paper, a box of matches and a couple of reales, he supposed the restraint keys would be too much to ask for. He checked the other bodies, trying to keep the noise to a minimum, but they had little else useful. He collected one of the discarded truncheons and pulled the cast iron cell keys from the lock. Now to get these restraints off, find his crew, and escape.

He had been placed in a deserted sub-level of the building, he supposed it made the abuses here easier to hide. He peered into the empty cells as he passed, several had blood stains on the stone floors and walls, he surmised that some of them in all likelihood belonged to the unfortunate steamship captain and others who had fallen prey to the terrifying lycanthrope jailer in Commander de la Verdet’s employ. He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind, especially since he’d rather not meet the same fate and join their remains placed on spikes as pirates outside the fort’s walls.

He hugged the great stone walls, keeping to the darkness but for the burning torches on the walls, walking in a half crouch to conceal himself further. He kept his slow methodical pace, having memorised his way from the main cell block as he was led down, counting each step in his head. Midway through Von Beck stopped dead in his tracks, he could hear rapid footsteps on the flagstones up ahead and see shadows in the dim light. He saw a slightly open door in front of him and darted for it, slipping inside and closing the door, plunging himself and the room into darkness. He stood stock still as he heard footsteps coming closer and closer, breathing a sigh of relief as they passed on by.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up on end and he got the feeling he was being watched. He fumbled in his pocket for the matches. He struck one and the flare lit up the room. It was swiftly followed by the unmistakable click of a revolver’s hammer and the cold steel press against the back of his head, “Move and I’ll scalp you.” It was an unmistakably Golgothan accent.

“I’m just trying to find my crew and get out of here. If you don’t mind I’ll just be on my way.”

“If you’re not one of these goons, then who in the Emperor’s name are you?”

“Captain, well Commodore now, Von Beck. Privateer, member of the Guild of Seafarers, Guild of Financiers and the Guild of Merchants and traders.” Hoping that one of those would be enough to allow him to blag his way out.

“Oh...” the unknown figure replied, “It’s you. I’m here to clear up your screw up.”

“To rescue me? I’m afraid you’re a little bit late.”

“I’m not here for you, I’m here for these.” She lowered her weapon and uncovered the shutter on her lamp, filling the room with yellow light. It revealed dozens of wooden crates, which were immediately recognisable to Von Beck as the ones he’d helped unload earlier as he turned to look. One of them had been opened revealing the rifles contained within.

“Are you with the guild of Seafarers then?”

“Witch hunters.”

“They send you because of the Werewolf they’ve got skulking around here?”

“No, anyone can handle a lycanthrope, it’s not exactly hard. I’m here because I’m especially good at breaking into things.” She grabbed Von Beck’s manacles and pulled him towards her, before slamming them down onto one of the crates, forcing him to his knees. She produced a lockpick from one of her gauntlets and freed each wrist in turn with a snap, “Like that. You said you have a crew? I need to get these out of here”

“Whoa steady, what’s in this for me?” He clambered to his feet nursing his wrists.

“I won’t kill you.”

“You drive a hard bargain, I accept your offer. Except there’s one small flaw. I have absolutely no idea where they are...”

————

Von Beck moved quickly trying to keep pace with the witch hunter as she led him through the winding passageways. It was suspiciously quiet, neither of them had encountered any guards after the ones that had unintentionally led them to cross paths. It was especially curious since Von Beck had left a sizeable mess downstairs in the isolation block, yet it appeared that no one had come to investigate. It seemed the militia were distracted by something, though if that distraction was of the witch hunter’s making, or someone else’s, Von Beck had yet to ascertain.

The witch hunter paused, ducking into a doorway recessed into the stone wall, causing Von Beck to nearly lose his balance as he tried to follow. She pressed her ear to the wooden door.

“This is the main detention block, home to pirates, smugglers and worst of all; tax evaders. If your men are still here this is where they’ll be.”

“Let’s get in there then.”

“Watch the corridor, and I’ll get us in.”

Before Von Beck could even move out into the corridor the witch hunter had already raised her boot and gave the door a rapid flat footed kick, splintering the door lock free and causing it to swing wide open. She strode through, blade drawn and pistol raised, only to find that there were no guards at their posts, leaving Von Beck’s crew guarded only by their bars.

Von Beck followed in after her, slightly bewildered, and reached for the keys he had taken from the guards earlier, and began trying them in the locks to free his men, unlocking them each in turn with a loud click, followed by the scraping sounds of the doors sliding open.

“Who’s the senior man?” Von Beck shouted out.

One man raised his hand and pushed his way to the front, “I believe that’s me.”

“Mr Navigator, where’s the rest of the crew? The Quartermaster isn’t here, and Louis isn’t either.”

“I can assure you that the first mate and the Bosun are perfectly safe, they came back up shortly after they took you away, and selected people, said they needed them to run the ship.”

Von Beck breathed a heavy sigh of relief. His respite was short lived however as the sound of a single volley of gunfire followed by pained screams echoed in from outside.

“Lovely as this is, the happy reunion can wait!” the Witch hunter shouted, “We need to get the rifles a leave!” She cursed under her breath, the landowners weren’t ready to make a move like this yet. Her eyes conveyed a deep concern about what was going on outside,

————

Bursting into the contraband room Von Beck’s men began breaking into the crates, not only arming themselves with the contraband rifles but helping themselves to the various confiscated goods scattered around the room. Even the limited supply of ammunition wasn’t going to stop their escape as they fitted spike bayonets.

Slinging a rifle across his back and drawing his revolver, Von Beck led his men out of the room.

It was time for him to retake his ship.

[Sarrin]

Delgardo Gates, Casavana - 04/4E 175

“ELRASO!” The thickly moustached officer shrieked as the gates shattered before him to reveal an enormous beast with Y shaped horns bursting through the door before him, it’s thick leather skin guarded in shimmering white plate armour.

Grandmaster Osswe followed closely beside wielding his immense claymore with a beastial fervour. At the end of the corridor two Estralianan recruits scrambled to clear the broken mechanisms that would drop the portcullis, or oil, or any of the defences that had been prepared but were now absent or otherwise sabotaged from within.

As he walked on the militia recruits fell back, some even crawling away, none having expected this day to erupt into violence so suddenly. Only the officer was left to look up at the dark skinned behemoth before him and his slobbering drodok. The officer drew his saber, his hand shaking slightly as more of the shimmering knights began to push through the gate.

“This one has spirit, we let him live for conversion.” Osswe shouted back as he shoved the officer against the wall to the side with a mighty smack, knocking the saber out of his quivering hand as he did so. The drondok grunted at him as it began entering the city, the hordes of fleeing Estralianans coming clearly into view, many being chased by Grik’s Brothers of Harkon as they descended from the walls they had climbed by hook and rope. The bodies of the yellow-coated militiamen framed the scene on all sides, giving the clear impression that the attack had caught them entirely off-guard.

“Just like Napis.” A voice said from behind him as Osswe turned to see Grik covered in blood and brandishing a crude dagger.

“No.” Grandmaster Osswe replied. “In Napis, they had a chance.”

As the words left his lips church bells began to ring across the city. The siege had begun.

Apartments of the Princess Royal, Palacio Nuevalyr, Casavana

A gentle knock on the door disturbed Princess Isadora from her dark thoughts. A native doll lay on the bedside table, a set of pristine gold and silver pins piercing it’s small body from multiple angles. The natives, or those who did business with them at least, claimed the dolls had magical properties. That when infused with the essence of another, any fate bestowed upon the doll would pass onto them.

Whether the lock of hair the Governor kept under his pillow belonged to the Lady of the Lighthouse or not, Isadora was desperate enough to try the unholy native magic. If Mister Masena and his pirates couldn’t kill her, perhaps this might?

There was a second louder knock.

She threw a handkerchief over the pagan doll and rose to her feet.

“I told you not to fucking disturb me. Tell my husband he is no longer fit to sleep in this bed! The cunt!” Her sharp Estralianan accent gave her voice an even more venomous hiss.

Murmuring started outside the door before a pause. There was another louder strike and the door swung open revealing three monks one of whom stood gracefully from an attacking pose.

“You are needed in the dining room Princess, by Order of Father Hughes.” one of them spoke in crude common. His features devoid of any care for her desires as he entered the room with the two other monks shifting along its perimeter to encircle her.

From outside the room, she heard the faint sound of the church bells ringing, giving her pause as she defensively reached for a candlestick on her bedside table; “Father Hughes? My prick husband’s latest sycophant you mean? He presumes to give orders to the daughter of the King!?”

The monk chuckled before repeating her comments in the tongue of creation issuing a chuckle from the other two monks who began to move closer around her.

“What is a King to a God? We serve a higher calling and soon you and your husband shall to. We would prefer you come peacefully but we are authorised to use force.”

For a moment there was silence as Isadora realised the true significance of the church bells outside. Then she shrieked and launched the candlestick at his face, before diving across the bed towards the windows. The monk deflected the candlestick elegantly striking its base to knock it perfectly into an upright position atop the doorframe. As she ran the other monks darted to her catching her as she reached the windowsill throwing her onto the floor.

“I would not recommend resistance Princess, the dawn has come, embrace the Creator and you will find the order your kin have so long sought.” The leading monk calmly spoke gesturing to his agents to restrain her as he turned to leave.

One took an elbow to the face, drawing blood and the other received some savage and desperate scratches from her nails before finally they succeeded in subduing her and dragging her from the room…

The Western Fort, Casavana

Militiamen sprawled into the Fort as the city defences collapsed around them. One by one the bells of every church chimed which slowly became clear as a sign of the Domain’s takeover of districts.

Commander Morro watched from the walls as soldiers sprawled in, his face a mixture of fear, anger and confusion. Casavana was supposed to be impenetrable. Unbreakable by land and sea. Defended by the flame above and within. Yet it had fallen in the space of a few hours. Were the monks right in their faith? Had his militia grown sloppy? He glanced down at the pathway up to see the final soldiers bail into the fort as its gates were shut.

It was time to fight back. The rules of warfare had been unchanged since the Siege of Ancelstierre, he was a student of those rules. In any battle, the advantage always lay with the defender, provided his position was secure, and between the twin forts that sat atop the cliffs at each side of the harbour along with the small fleet of Estralianan naval ships sitting beneath them, his position seemed as secure as it ever would be.

“Conserté Repot!” He shouted out to an aged veteran whose service went back to the Greenskin offensive as the hastily-dressed officer climbed the steps.

“We’ve lost every district except the docks where Commander de la Verdet is still holding out. He is preparing to launch the Governor’s new steamer along with any other ships his men can get out into the harbour, but they’re facing heavy resistance...” Conserté said with a fearful tone that Morro had never heard from him before.

“Where did they come from, to have hit the docks already!?” Morro grunted.

“We can’t be sure sir. It is possible they infiltrated the city prior to the attack somehow…”

Morro grunted again, this time deeper and more gruffly. That much was already obvious.

“What about that titan of a warship?” Morro asked, pointing to the otherside of the fort, where the topmost levels of the ark were level with the clifftop fort even with a fair amount of sea between them. The ship was poised in the perfect position to fire on anything that emerged from the harbour. To think the Governor had warned them it wouldn’t be a threat, that the monks who manned it were simply looking to scout the area!

“It hasn’t altered its position since settling in out there, and we’ve spotted no sign of any enemy deployments from it. Frankly sir, some of us were even wondering if it were linked to the attack at all…”

The Commander sighed irritably. “In that position, it is most certainly linked to the attack.” He shook his head, thinking.

“They are in range of both forts…” Conserté remarked.

“Shooting at that thing while foreign soldiers ravage our city won’t help anybody. Signal the Northern Fort, I want all our guns repositioned to fire on Casavana town and the docks in order to cover de la Verdet’s withdrawal onto the water. The fleet as well, come to think of it.”

“We might be firing on our own people, sir?!” Conserté gasped.

Morro placed his hands on the battlements as he looked out over the carnage that had engulfed the city, he listened to the church bells ringing and the screams of the civilians already caught in the violence. Ultimately, he remained a student of the rules of war. And war often demanded such sacrifices.

”Do it.”

The Dining Hall, Palacio Nuevalyr

“And so it was with St. Aloicious that the Chancellor was forced to convert for the betterment of his people, and in so doing the man who squandered his life found new purpose. Speaking from experience, however I assure you that the elixir is less painful when you consent to it.” Father Hughes spoke with a clerical authority as he decanted a clear fluid into a wine glass that now sat before the Governor.

Around the room the monks of the Order of St. Divish stood with steely gazes upon the terrified noblemen and landowners.

“You must resist Sebastian! Think of your soul!” A portentous nobleman said before one of the monks struck him beside the head knocking him unconscious in a single blow. Around him the others screamed before Father Hughes raised a hand to calm them shooting a displeased glance at the striking monk.

From the doorway, the monks sent to retrieve Princess Isadora entered, the Princess still giving the appearance of a struggle, despite seemingly walking resigned to whatever fate would meet her.

The Governor did not seem to notice her as he pleaded, fearfully; “I do not know what sorcery you have used to ensnare us here, or what trickery you have used to seize my city…” He looked at the wine glass with wide eyes. “But placing my immense displeasure at those events aside, I must face the imminent danger... Will it kill me?!”

“No, you will come close and in that moment you will see the truth of the world, a truth we as mortals often try to hide from. As the truth becomes clear to you we will take you back, you have great purpose in this world both as husband and governor of this city.” Father Hughes gestured to his men to rest the Princess in a chair on the far side of the table not breaking his focus on the young governor.

“I have already seen the truth of the world, Father. It is love and it is how I feel about my dark and mysterious Lady of the Lighthouse. Will your poultice kill the fire her spirit has lit within my heart?” He pleaded.

Isadora scoffed, though Sebastian’s eyes were fixed on Father Hughes.

“Not if it is your truth, my child.” Father Hughes replied gently moving the glass towards the Governor as the trapped nobles stared fearfully at his next action.

The Governor eyed it fearfully once again, his mind and heartbeat both racing.

“I’m scared…” He said honestly, biting his lip.

“Such is the nature of man.” Father Hughes said tracing a sigil into the table with his finger gently as the words reached Sebastian’s ears instilling in him a deep urge to raise the glass to his lips and drink.

The Governor seemed conflicted as he reached for it, his arm trembling as he did so. “I’m not sure…”

“I will fucking drink it.” Princess Isadora spat from her position nearby. “I will drink or do anything to be rid of the power this pathetic adulterous man-child has over me. I welcome the truth of the world! And, but for the hatred I bear the woman who corrupted him, I have nothing to hide from!” The monks released her as she began to stride towards the Governor.

For his part, Sebastian continued trembling as he held the wine glass, although his lips drew close to it, he froze as his eyes darted to her as she drew near.

She tilted the glass, pouring the liquid forcefully into his mouth before raising it to her own lips and drinking deeply herself…

[Greater Latica]

Casavana dockside 04/4E 175

Von Beck led his men down the narrow winding streets towards the water. In the distance they could hear church bells ringing over the din of battle, the clash of metal on metal and screams of agony. The volleys of gunfire had now decayed into the odd sporadic shot sounding out over the rooftops. In the street ahead a couple of terrified civilians ran by looking for cover.

None of the Golgothans had any clue of the events going on around them, beyond the obvious, an unknown power was laying siege to the largest city in the region and appeared to be making headway. The vast majority of the fighting seemed to be concentrated on the Estralianan strong points, the city walls, palaces and government buildings, however it seemed the battle had been raging for some time, as now the streets were emptying, people having either locked themselves inside their homes or attempting to flee inland. This suited Von Beck nicely, it meant there were less people in his way.

As they reached the dockside chaos was abound. Fire and debris littered the once grand port with near every surface smeared with arrows, blades, fire or gunshot. All around the dock soldiers clad in leather bound armour fired from cover onto the Estralianan militiamen that held out frantically in and around the moored ships that were gradually being commandeered for the militia’s escape. Unqualified militiamen ran to their guns, hoping to fire volleys to cover their comrades as the foregn invaders pushed them slowly into the sea.

As Von Beck arrived he watched as a charge of warriors boarded a merchantman overpowering the terrified Estalnianan guards. He could hear several officers scattered across the vessels shouting out desperately, seeking to regain morale and control of their men. It was clear the escape onto the water was a last minute plan for the Estralianan soldiers who had abandoned the defence of the city itself.

Up ahead the iron hulled blockade runner lay, a distinct contrast to the tall masted sailing ships that filled the bay, her great paddle wheels marking her out clearly for all to see, and most importantly drawing attention away from Von Beck’s own frigate behind it. He noticed the thick smoke rising from her funnels, indicating she was ready to set sail, he urged his men onwards.

As they made their way down the quay towards it, an Estralianan schooner pulled away from the dockside nearby and fired upon an adjacent jetty with its deck cannons and swivel guns, spraying their attackers with shrapnel and wrapping Von Beck and his men in a layer of smoke as they pressed on.

Gunfire erupted from the windows of the buildings closest to the quay, and several of Von Beck’s men dropped dead around him. He glanced back at the windows, where the leather clad foreigners reloaded their weapons. “Push forwards!” He shouted, knowing that it was futile to remain exposed out here on the quay for long.

An arrow skimmed dangerously close to his face and he broke into a run, the newfound witch hunter matching his pace beside him.

Up ahead, a large group of attackers were working on boarding the paddle steamer, using the crates on the quay for cover as Estralianan riflemen fired down onto them. They had not yet noticed Von Beck, as they focussed on the soldiers on the ship above waiting for a break in fire to launch their boarding maneuver.

Without breaking stride he drew his revolver and fired, the large calibre bullet striking one full in the chest with a meaty thump. He recocked his revolver and took aim again. The attackers began to react, Von Beck’s adrenaline making them look as if they were in slow motion, turning to face their new threat. One of Von Beck’s crewmen darted forward, taking place behind a barricade and loosing off a burst from his portative machine gun. The rounds whipped through the air, sending another three enemies pirouetting to the ground. The weapon’s brass magazine strip clattered to the ground. His men pressed forwards, firing their rifles at every opportune target that presented itself, heading for the gangplanks of both Golgothan ships.

His revolver empty, he ducked behind a crate and holstered it, drawing the rifle slung across his back. He gestured to his remaining men, then up to his ship, shouting, “Get up there, and use the deck guns to finish up here, then, we’re going to pay a visit to de la Vardet on the runner!”

The foreign soldiers moved to intercept the Golgothans with their blades drawn as the rest took the moment of surprise to board the larger steamer and begin engaging the Estralianans. Several were shot dead on the gangplank and those who made it aboard faced a wall of swords as the yellow coated militiamen pressed forwards to repel them.

The men had made it onto the frigate, everyone down below had been preoccupied with trying to get onboard the blockade runner, leaving Von Beck’s personal ship largely untouched. Moving rapidly they headed towards the ship’s armoury and magazine, opting to eschew the 2 inch cannons in favour of their complement of machine guns, hauling them up to the deck and over to their deck mounts. They began raking the quayside with bullets, many ricocheting off the stone in random directions. Under the cover Von Beck and the rest of his men withdrew up the gangplank. Von Beck reloaded his revolver, pushing the casings out one by one replacing each with a fresh round and then jammed the weapon back in it’s holster.

“Prepare to board!” He shouted over the din of battle, grabbing one of the rigging ropes and kicking off firmly, sword in hand, swinging over the battle raging beneath him, his long navy blue coat billowing behind him. He released his grip and shoulder rolled onto the deck, drawing his revolver again and adopting the duelling stance emblematic of the Marquis de Fantillier in one swift elegant movement, “I am Commodore Von Beck, stand with me or die against me.”