Open Chronicles The Capitulation of Coraliv

[Talus]

Cortosi Coast, Central Sea - Coraliv

Thirteen ships crawled across the sea, their black sails taught behind full winds and their hulls cutting through the waves as though they were nothing.

A dozen of the vessels were ships built for war. Their hulls thick, each sporting a catapult at their prow and a pair of ballista on either side. Heavy boarding ramps were already positioned within the mid-line of the ship, a sign of battle to come. Soldiers and sailors traversed it's deck, making their way and adjusting sails as they prepared for their mission.

At the center and front of those ships sailed Blackfort. The Red Ashes cut through the waves like a moving fortress, it's massive prow seeming unmoved by even the grandest tidal surges. The ship was massive, larger than any others in the fleet. Upon it stood dozens upon dozens of Anirian Knights and Corsairs, all of them experienced and well trained, all of them ready for what was to come.

In the back of the Blackfort, directly atop the great Keep that truly marked the black ship stood Archon Naja Arkai.

She wore a black coat, her dark hair bound in a braid that sailed down her back and reached her waist. Two pins stabbed through the collar of her coat, marking her as not only a Dreadlord, but one of the highest station.

Naja stood alone, even when surrounded by other Dreadlord's. They stood clear of where she was, either too intimidated or too afraid to approach the woman who had purportedly sank an island all on her own. Her gaze swept beyond the Horizon, eyes fixed upon the city of Coraliv as it drew closer and closer. There was no smile on her face, no expression at all.

She had been ordered to conquer, and that was what she would do.

"Sierra." Talus said as he nudged his friends sleeping form.

She had been resting for almost a day now, the last act of their preparations having practically wiped her out. Talus had let her sleep, only waking her before in order to make sure she drank some water and had some food. He knew well what it felt like to overwork yourself, especially in the use of magic.

What Sierra had done...that had been something else. "They're here."

Though Coraliv was still gripped by internal struggle, the Cataphracts and army had mostly managed to restore order. Of course as soon as they had an Anirian fleet had kissed the Horizon. Alarm bells had been sounding within the city for the last hour, and that meant it was time to fight.

At least it soon would be.

"It's time." He said quietly.

(This thread is a continuation of this thread here. TL;DR: Coraliv is a walled island city in the middle of the Cortosi Sea. It's mostly known for trade but also has a history of being a black market. Vel Anir has decided Coraliv belongs to it and sent two Dreadlord Apprentices to sow discord. Though the army managed to quell said discord, they were ill prepared for the fleet now coming at them.)​

 

[Zufar el Hassan]

"Love and peace of mind do protect us. They allow us to overcome the problems that life hands us. They teach us to survive... to live now... to have the courage to confront each day."
-Bernie Siegel​

For once in his life, he'd wish he could stay somewhere for a few moments without all the alarms going off...quiet literally...Well, truthfully, things wouldn't have been as interesting if nothing happened...but you know, moderation would be nice....

"*Sigh* What is it this time?" Captain Zufar el Hassan was he name, and seemed rather unamused and annoyed, lowering his book to glance over towards the noise. The good captain had been leaning against a stack of crates, all around him his crew had been loading provisions onto the ship: "The Magnificent Liberator"...until the alarm bells went off.

"Oi, kap'n! Ya might wanna' see dis'!" A gruff voiced yelled out, causing Zufar to glance up towards his ship. Ironsphitta, the big greenskin that was part of Zufar's crew, was leaning over the ship's side and pointing to the horizon. Sure enough, even from so far, they could see dotted outlines of a fleet coming over the horizon.

"I reckon....I reckon...'tis th' Anirians!" It was Bonnie, and she had one of the sharpest eyes of the crew, plus she was using a spyglass. Handy for seeing things afar. Bonnie's voice was faint, as she was yelling from up high towards the mask. But even from there, Zufar could here the last part.

"Of course it's the Anirians...of course!....It's either them, or pirates that would stir up such a ruckus...though I can't fault anyone for confusing the two..." Zufar muttered under his breath, as he closed his book and tucked it under his armpit. Pushing himself off the crate, he would dust his hands, before looking to the crew around him.

"Well lads...we have no quarrels with either party, and we are certainly not getting paid to quarrel with anyone...which means this is not our fight...a fact that I rather stay as is...so, I propose we get moving...if you all won't mind, of course."

"That means get ya arses onta the ship! NOW!" A dwarfish voice bellowed over the side of the ship. Good o'l Twoaxe and his temper. Picturing the dwarf yelling only seemed caused Zufar to smirk a bit. Placing his hands behind his back and idly walked along the dock as his crew around him scrambled to board the ship...

 

[Angharad]

Coraliv Docks

The elves had always been seafarers. The ocean called to them as strongly as the woods, stars, or mountains. The empire might have fallen, the great forest felled, but their ships still plied the sea lanes. Strategic ports, garrisons, and outposts, kept their reach longer than an outsider might have assumed. They were their lifelines so it was little surprise to see their vessels docked in human ports. Arethil was too small these days for any one power to survive alone.

It wasn't an official embassy to Coraliv. That wasn't within Angharad's power. The constant debates between elders, the clash of views twixt the king and council, it meant the elven nation was paralyzed, slow to take action. Something that they could not afford to do in such turbulent times.

Vel Anir on the move, war again in Amol-Kalit, demonic invasions, undead marching north, rumours of Molthal stirring. There were too many threats for the elder race to respond to at once. They were charged as guardians with guiding others but these days they seemed to war with them instead.

So while others dithered, some like her chose to take action. Flying the flag in a half dozen different city states in as many weeks. Reassuring nervous Cortosi that they still had friends to the east. All with one eye turned inland, to the greatest threat in Liadain. If only the humans could have waited another century. Angharad's personal dream was to sack Cerak, it hadn't been razed in years. Pacifying pirates and slavers would have to wait when there was war looming on her very border.

She opened her eyes and rose from her perch on the bow. There was a change amongst the mortals around the docks, heads turning to follow the sound. The alarm bells. A frantic, panicked sound that was a far cry from the usual time keepers. It began to spread in the crowd.

A leviathan? An enemy fleet? She fought down the uneasy feeling in her stomach, striding aft. Seonaid was already there, the mage's eyes closed as she murmured a barely audible chant. Her eyes opened, a blank white. One hand reached out to touch Angharad, the elf jolted at the spark between them.

And she was looking out at the city from above, gliding as a gull. The seabird banked, turning towards the open ocean. She could see a long line of ships, a dozen or more. Warships, this was no trading convoy. And likely to be more a few miles behind.

Angharad came back to herself as Seonaid released her. She shook her head, the banner embedded in her mind. "Vel Anir" she breathed. A momentary loss of control then, "D'arvit". They had lost the race.

Anger and despair was replaced with calm, her mind focusing on the now. "Ready the ship to sail, sound the horns for any of our company". The Falwood wasn't at war with Vel Anir. Yet. Would they dare to sink one of their vessels?

 

[Rob Yew]

Elbion, One Month Ago...
​

The usual hustle and bustle of the market faded as Galen stepped into the Green Giant tavern. He passed a weedy-looking man seated at a table right next to the door and a dwarf who had his beefy arms crossed.

"Step right up, step right up. Sign up for the best free company in the continent. Thronebreakers. Fifty docatta signing bonus."

Fifty docatta?

That was nearly six months of loan payments.

Galen turned back toward the stall. The weedy looking man appeared to be a Cortosi and despite his sun-weathered face, he wore a pair of expensive spectacles on his nose, which was unusual in itself. Glass grinders cost a fortune. He had a list laid out in front of him and a quill in hand, but it was the dwarf who was doing the talking. He'd a bold, brassy voice and... was he missing half his ear?

"Excuse me, did you say fifty docatta?"

"That's right," grunted the dwarf, "What's your name, son?"

"Uh, I'm Galen. And you?"

"Just call me Ox. You got inkstains on your hands. Scribe?"

"Mage, actually."

The dwarf raised his eyebrows. "Oh really? Just graduated, eh? Off to play advisor at some big fancy noble's castle?"

"Er, no," Galen replied sheepishly. "Looking for a job, as it happens. This is a mercenary outfit?"

"Yut. And you're in luck, we are looking for a mage. Put your name on the contract, then we'll get you squared away. I'll even introduce you to the lads."

"What's the commitment?"

"Ahh, so you're not totally oblivious then eh. Can't read myself. Signed a six year contract. What're you lookin' for then?

"I'm not sure," he stammered.

The spectacled Cortosi stared at him and said coldly, "It's one year minimum."

"By Fjolma's Tits, Fausto, liven up. Oh don't mind him, son. If it isn't weight scales or abacus beads, he's got no interest. He's one of our serjeants and in charge of all provisioning. Without him, we'd hardly get more than a week out on campaign before we all starved to death."

"If that," Fausto retorted dryly. He offered the quill to Galen and pushed forward the parchment. "What will it be?"

Galen accepted the quill and scanned the parchment. Most of it was not very interesting, but there was a part near the end that caught his attention.

"Uh, what's this about right to my remains?"

The Ox smiled, revealing teeth like tombstones. "You are a smart one, aren't you. If you die on campaign, the company gets your body. Simple as that."

"Oh." Well, that didn't seem entirely too bad. If he was dead he wouldn't really have a use for his body, he supposed. His eyes tracked back to the sack of gold on the table. That was a lot of money. The College of Elbion had offered him a generous loan to continue his studies when his benefactor and teacher, Telemachus, disappeared. He had been hoping Telemachus would bring him connections that would enable him to find a career as a mage, but as it happened Galen was not particularly talented with divination, or battle magic. Only illusion work. Not many royals were in search of illusionists as advisors. Everyone wanted a powerful magi or a portender.

He supposed he could go back on the streets and perform shows there for the public, but he had grown up in the streets. Going back felt like a betrayal of all the work he'd done to get himself this far. At least this mercenary work would get him out of Elbion. What did he have to lose?

Galen took in a deep breath, then signed his name on the contract.

Fausto immediately snatched both parchment and quill away with a crisp, "Thank you," then divvied out fifty docattas from the bag on the table.

Galen's eyes bulged at the gleam of the coins. The Ox clapped him on the back. "Welcome to the Thronebreakers, lad. Come on, let's introduce you to the boys."

Before he could think any further, the Ox had drug him over to a large table crowded with a motley assortment of individuals, all busy drinking heavily.

"Lads, meet Galen, he'll be replacing old Raimon."

"Wait, replacing?"

"This is Cathair," The Ox ignored him and gestured to a tattooed elf, "Don't play dice with him, he'll rob you blind. That's John Kestral, smokin' the pipe. Aimrik," a sullen-eyed man, who nodded at Galen, "Vivien," another elf, "Jakes, Lorenzo, and Marcos." All Cortosi.

Everyone raised a mug at him, sizing up the young half-elf.

"Drink up with the lads, then grab anything you need and meet us at the gates first light tomorrow. Oh and if you run with the money, I'll kill you myself."

Galen chuckled nervously.

Over the course of the night, Galen learned several things. First, the Thronebreakers were a mercenary company run by Don Ekaitz, a landless Cortosi who had his family land taken by Vel Anir in the Quatreville Wars. Second, that Galen was indeed replacing their former sorcerer, the very dead battlemage Raimon, which led to his third discovery, that while Raimon was dead, they still talked about him as if he was among them. Why? Oh, simply because when a mercenary in the Thronebreakers died, they didn't bury him like normal people. They held onto the remains so that resident necromancer Ondina di Ossatura could raise them from the fucking dead to fight eternally for the company.

That night, Galen got more drunk than he'd ever been before in his entire life.

In the morning, he vomited and then made his way to the gate, head pounding, with only a satchel and a large pack to hold all his worldly possessions.

He was greeted by a grinning Ox.

"Where are we off to anyway?"

"Eh, small job as retainers for a lord, way south on the coast, a little island called Coraliv."

The Present Day
​

"Exploding blackfyre caches. Mass hysteria. And now this, a full fucking fleet of Vel Anir's finest." The Ox clapped Galen on the back. "Lucky lad, looks like you'll be seeing some real action today." Then he wandered off, bellowing orders.

John Kestral glanced at Galen, their eyes met, and the pensive man gave him a wan smile.

"What?" Galen asked, holding his spellbook tightly against his chest and trying to recall anything useful he'd ever actually learned about battle magic.

The aspiring playwright shrugged, "Just a poem I remember. Scarlet at Sunrise. You read it?"

"No."

Despite being one of the few literate people among the entire company, Kestral apparently only read the most obscure bits of poetry and plays from two hundred years ago. 'To help with my craft' as he put it.

"It's beautiful, in a tragic way. A young man going off to war."

Galen did not like that combination of words. "Great."

He excused himself and went to find the restroom. He suddenly felt very sick.

 

[Harry]

The atmosphere aboard The Red Ashes was oppressive. The mere presence of one of the Dreadlords that stood at the summit was enough to send chills down Hal's spine. He took a brave glance at the Archon and pictured himself standing there over the fleet. A figure that forced respect and fear from those below.

One day.

He turned to face Coraliv, which came over the horizon. His grip tightened on the guardrail as he thought of Talus, and especially Sierra. They had been sent out to complete a dangerous task, one that they had been successful in. He planned to meet with them as soon as possible.

Below him, the soldiers organized themselves on the deck. He could feel the air atop the keep change as power began to surge through the Dreadlords. There were many of the Third rank there, with a handful of Seconds only a single First, and of course the Archon. In total, their numbers were 15.

He wondered where he would stand upon graduation. What his rank would be. He willed his magic through his body. A bitter cold and rush of power flowed through his veins. His presence stifled that of all of the Third onboard and was comparable to that of the First. He wanted to compare himself among tried and true Dreadlords, so he held nothing back. Perhaps foolish and naive, but he wanted the Archon to notice a lowly Apprentice.

 

[Sierra]

The empath woke, the weariness mostly at the edge of her bones. She probably needed a few more days to rest. More recovery time that just wasn’t there.

Nodding to Talus, she swung her legs over the bottom bunk. He’d offered to take the top since the night before. When she’d brought an entire city into chaos. In this case it had only taken a spark to light the flame due to previous unrest inside the walls.

Granted, that unrest was earlier fueled by her and Talus blowing up the armory.

Fingers began strapping on her armor. She wondered if Hal would be on one of the first ships to arrive.

“Any word on where they want us next?”

Would it be at the docks? Or would Talus want to try and cut the escape from the royals off?

 

[Talus]

The Red Ashes

"Archon."

An officer spoke, his voice terse and his face expressionless. It was clear that the man did not exactly want to be there, and would rather have preferred to stand with his sailors. Yet someone needed to deliver the message, and in that moment it was him.

"There are several ships in the harbor, some beginning to set sail."

There was a pause, then the Archon spoke. "Blockade the city. Allow any ship not flying the flag of Coraliv to leave. Make it clear that any approach to our vessels will be met with force."

She would allow those who were able to leave the city, but if they attempted any sort of maneuver towards the Anirian Vessel then they would be sunk. This conquest sat upon her shoulders, and she would not take chances with it.

Not when she had her prize so close.

"Have a message sent to the Merchant Council and the Doge." Naja continued. "They have until sundown to surrender. After that, Coraliv burns."

Four hours, that was how long it would take for the sun to set. Another moment passed, and then Naja glanced towards one of the Dreadlords. "Barrin, take a dozen Anirian Knights and the Apprentices."

She glanced at Henry Bauer for just the briefest moment.

"Meet up with those already in the city. If the city Capitulates head to the Government House. If it does not, carve a path To the docks. I will meet you there." The Other Dreadlord nodded, motioning towards Hal and the others to follow him.

"I got word from the Archon." Talus told Sierra, frowning for a moment before he quickly added. "It's not Crane."

He decided it was important to add that fact.

Neither he nor Sierra ever wanted to see that monster again. For different reasons, but the Archon was somebody to be feared, to them especially. The fact that it was not Idrig Crane sitting out on those ships took some of the weight off his chest. "We're to head to the west wall where the sewers spill out into the oceans."

He didn't really like the idea of wading through shit, but that was their mission.

"We'll cut through the grates and meet up with some of our forces." The message had been terse, but he was pretty sure that had been all of it.

 

[Zufar el Hassan]

"Wait!"

A voice from behind gave the good Captain pause, turning his head and glancing backwards with a stiff indifference. Zufar didn't know what to expect when he looked back...but what he found was an old man in robes...and in tow were two children.

"Yes?" His eyes momentarily falling on the children, before breaking back to the old man, an eyebrow raised and a questionable look on his face. "May I help you?"

"Please! Captain, let us come with you! I can pay!" The old man called out, as he hurriedly approached with the two kids in tow. No doubt desperate residence trying to get out of the way of an impending danger.

"Listen...as much as it pains for me to say this, but your not the only one around here who's desperate for a ride out..." The captain was surprised that not more people had tried to clamor onto a passage out. "...and frankly...I do not know any of you...for all I know...taking you on might just mean that I painting a giant bulleye on back..."

"We have nothing to do with this! I swear!...Please!...If you are not to take me, at least take the children!...they are harmless!" The old man said with a desperate look in his eye, as he tried to bring forth said kids. One of them seemed to be an elf, and she looked lost. The other one was a human boy, frightened, as he clung to the old man. "...Please..."

Zufar sighed, closing his eyes and lifting a hand to stop the old man's pleading.

He might actually live to regret this...

"I've heard enough...come aboard...all of you...before your incessant begging changes my mind..." The captain opened his eyes, his facial expression was less then amused...but that was hardly a concern for the old man, who regarded him with a grateful smile, before hurrying the two children towards the boarding ramp.

Zufar would stand, a hand still behind his back, even as his new passengers moved quickly past him. His gaze was now on the city itself. The chaos seemed to be growing worse with ever waking secound...the poor bastards...hopefully they'd be somthing left of the city after the Anirians got their claws on it....

The good captain could only shake his head, making an abrupt 180 degree, before walking alongside his ship. Said ship's crew had already pulled in the boarding ramp, as the ship itself began to pull away from the port, although Zufar didn't seem too concerned. It was only as some of his crew were pulling up the anchor, did Zufar finally act, taking a small leap off the dock and onto the anchor. The extra weight caused a brief delay in the raising of the anchor. Within the next few moments, the crew had the heavy thing locked in it's place, though their captain continued to dangle

He was taking a moment to observe the the horizon, taking the time to make a deduction of what the Anirian fleet consisted of. The captain wondered...how many of those Dreadlord fellows were aboard...

At some point, the Captain finally decided to climb abroad. In one motion, Zufar had leaped over the side of the ship, looking almost casual, as he landed into a mild stroll across the deck. Meanwhile, his crew were scampering around, rushing about their station to ensure that the ship was moving out of the harbor.

The ship had finally turned about by the time Zufar had reached the helm, quietly nodding to his helmsman, before taking his place along the railing.

Further along the deck was the hooded old man and the two kids. The two kids were looking over the side, pointing at anything that caught their interest. The old man, however, seemed to have also been gazing along the horizon, at the impending fleet...

Whatever they were doing, the Magnificent Liberator had just pulled out of the harbor, but they were still a bit away from open water....

 

[Rob Yew]

"Hooooly shit. Hoooooly shit."

"Shut the fuck up, Gunther," Marcos sneered, "Blackest Night, you smell. Did you just piss yourself? Oh hey, Galen."

The dark-haired mage joined the other two Thronebreakers on Coraliv's outer battlements.

"What's going on?"

"Oh, just over a dozen Anirian warships. Each probably holding some of the most battlehardened sons of bitches in Arethil. You know they use magic to alter their babies at birth, right? Makes 'em stronger, faster. Least that's what I heard."

Galen frowned, trying to think through the cost of something on that scale. "Um. That doesn't sound right. What are the ships doing?"

"Blockading us. Nobody can- oh hey, that ship's making a break for it. We'll see if they get out. But unless a relief force comes we're pretty much fucked."

"You think Coraliv can hold them off?"

"No," Gunther whimpered.

"Shut up, Gunther," Marcos snapped, then shrugged at Galen. "Dunno. Maybe. Never been through a siege before. Aimrik would know better. Heard a few of his stories. Said he had to eat dog once."

Galen grimaced and felt sick again. "How long do sieges last?"

"Usually? A year. Maybe more. But with Vel Anir they've got dreadlords. Yeah, you can bet they'll blow a big hole through these walls as soon as they feel up to it."

"Oh."

And that about summed it up.

 

[Harry]

Hal did not need the orders repeated. He followed Barrin, a Dreadlord of the First, down from the keep onto the deck. Barrin did as told and gathered twelve Anirian Knights. Deckhands were quick to prepare a craft to fit the party. They clambered on and sat. The boat was lowered from the deck, and as it touched water, Hal took a oar in his hands. They rowed fast, and soon found themselves far from the docks. The stench of shit soon assailed their noses, but none commented on it.

The craft soon touched land, and the men disembarked and pulled it ashore. Hal scanned the area, anticipating his friends to appear soon.

 

[Sierra]

Sierra held her breath, trying not to gag. Of all the places, it had to be the sewers. Wading through literal shit. She was halfway through cutting through the grates blocking them from the beach when she turned to Talus.

"Hey, can't you just ghosty-ghost us through these?"

She hoped he'd say yes because she was about to throw-up. She didn't even want to think about what it would take to clean this stuff off her armor.

 

[Talus]

The Red Ashes

"So they have refused." Naja mused as her officer stood and waited for a command, her gaze drifting towards the setting sun in the distance. It would only be a few minutes now until night time fell, a few minutes until things would begin.

By now The Dreadlords she had sent would have reached the city walls, and soon the Apprentices which had been dispatched weeks before would open the way before them. Her fingers tapped against her leg, and she watched as the first ship in the Harbor began to drift forward.

"Archon, the shi-"

"They do not fly the flag of Coraliv." She answered simply. "Let them pass, unless they drift too close. We are not here to turn the entire world against us."

Restraint was a rare thing among Dreadlords, but Naja had enough for the Fleet. "Prepare the catapults, we bombard the city once the sun passes the Horizon."

Talus had wrapped a scarf around his face. It didn't really help much, and with the heat it made him sweat, but it was better to smell his own stench than that of the latrines. "What? No."

He told her with a shake of her head.

"If I did that I wouldn't be able to fight." Or walk. Moving himself through a wall was hard enough, moving someone else? He couldn't even imagine the amount of effort that would take, much less how he'd feel after.

He continued quickly. "Just keep cu-"

Talus found himself stopping as he thought of something. "Stand back."

For a moment he took a deep breath, and then his hand shifted into that odd Ethereal form. He did not touch the grate, but instead swept his hand against the stone formation. There was an odd sort of misty trail, the blocks themselves deforming ever so slightly, and then the grate suddenly fell as though nothing held it in place.

The clatter was enormous as the metal fell to the floor, and Talus couldn't help but cringe.

He looked around for a moment, then glanced at Sierra and shrugged.

Just a few moments later they appeared at the other end of the sewage tunnel, waving to the gathered Dreadlords on the beach below. Barrin was the first to see them, offering nothing but a stern nod before ordering the others to head towards the two Apprentices.

 

[Ademar Acero]

The hulking figure of Ademar gazed out to the open, blue sea and his sights were focused on the merchant island he and his comrades were commanded to seize and annex for Vel Anir. Already two Dreadlord apprentices were ordered to plant the seeds of chaos and discord within the militant ranks of Coroliv in order to give an advantage for the others to capture it with ease and little casualties that were inevitable to happen. Their actions would only be honored once the flag of Vel Anir flew in triumph over Coroliv.

And ready was Ademar as he stood prepared, anticipating any order given to him from his seniors. Attired in heavy armor that only covered his chest and back, leaving leather and other lighters materials to give some layer of defense to his limbs. Two spears occupied his hands and a mace carried around his shoulders.

The sun was almost to dawn across the waves and the island now besieged, yet he couldn’t wait as he strode towards the Archon of their troops.

“Any orders to command me, Archon?”

Curt and simple, showing her his anticipation for the coming battle.

 

[Angharad]

It had been a frantic day.

Elves as a rule did not panic. They moved with practiced grace, following the maxim that haste meant waste. Practically immortal, time didn't have the same worry for them that the lesser races felt. That was not the case today. The hours until sundown had been mercilessly short.

They were ready to sail but had tarried while arguments had raged. Desperate embassies had shuttled between the ship and palace all day. The ship's company was torn between those who felt they had a duty to the city while others were happy to let the humans fight it out themselves. Seonaid kept her own counsel but other officers were split. An elven vessel sunk would be a justification for war and inspire allies amongst the Cortosi showing that their blood had been spilt alongside it. The counter-argument was that the Falwood was not ready for war.

So they delayed. Not fleeing the city but not venturing out to fight either. Coraliv had chosen to reject the terms, now its inhabitants nervously awaited what dusk would bring.

 

[Harry]

Hal walked at the front when Barrin ordered the group forward. His expression, stoic, hid the anticipation that rose from his gut. It took the group little time to reach the pipe where Talus stood. Hal began to look past his friend for Sierra.

“Well done,” He said with a hushed tone so only his friends would hear.

“It’s been a while, huh?” A hand rested on the head of his warhammer. His nose scrunched from the smell that wafted from the sewer.

 

[Rob Yew]

‘Twasn’t long before Don Arkaitz himself mounted the battlements. The Cortosi noble wore a black cape and a breastplate that appeared to have seen its number of battles. His hair was dark, his eyes darker, and he wore a beard in the closely trimmed and pointed fashion of Torleon.


He rested a hand lightly on the intricate basket hilt of his sidesword and surveyed the blockade.


“Galen, was it?”


The newly graduated mage blinked, surprised that the leader of the company knew his name. The entire time on their travel to Coraliv Don Arkaitz hadn’t said a word to him.


“Uh, yes, Don Arkaitz.”


“What do you think of this?”


He swept a hand out, indicating the ships.


“Well, it does not look good.”


At that, the Don smiled wanly. “It seldom does against Vel Anir. But for all that, we fight.”


“For money?”


“Yes. That is part of it, certainly. But also against what Vel Anir represents. It is a tyrannical regime. We must use every weapon at our disposal to stop them.”


“Your armor. It looks as if you’ve been in many battles.”


“Oh, this?” Don Arkaitz looked down. “It was my father’s and my father’s father’s. I am proud to wear it and fight for the same cause they did. Ah, here comes Dina.” A slender woman with dark hair joined them on the battlement. She was accompanied by a hulking figure in plate armor, with a tattered white and gray tabard and a gaping hole in his bassinet helm.


“Arkaitz,” she said in flat voice almost monotone, lacking any real emotion.


“Ossatura, what took you so long, eh? Got here right before the blockade didn’t you? Well, where were you off that was so important?”


Her eyes became distant as she gazed out over the sea.


“Away. Wiesburg.”


“Is that an Anirian town?” Galen asked, unable to help himself.


Dina turned and looked at him. Her eyes were a pupil-less black.


“Not anymore.”

 

[Sierra]

"Hal," Sierra offered him a quick smile. There was a lot said behind that smile. Behind her eyes. Fingers twitched at her sides.

The only betrayal that she wanted to do something more.

Covered in shit and here was her reunion with Hal. She'd never been annoyed with the Academy and its leaders until now. Fearful - yes. Angry - yes. But never annoyed.

 

[Talus]

The Red Ashes

Four ships were now leaving the Harbor of the Coraliv. One was nearly half way to the fleet, the other three were eeking their way closer and closer to the Anirian Vessels. None were targeted, all of them were signalled with quick flags that they could bypass the blockade as long as they did not drift too close.

The Blackfort sat in the water as the sun sank further and further down on the horizon. Orange lines began to dart the water, and Archon Naja stood quietly, glimpsing the setting sun.

One of the Apprentices spoke to her, and she couldn't help but smile slightly. Most of them were too scared to even address her. The fact that this one dared...it was almost endearing in a way. She looked at him, he was an ugly thing, but perhaps that was for the best. "Stand ready. This city is about to fall."

She offered a glance to the admiral nearby, then finally spoke the words.

"Fire." Calls bounded between the thirteen ships, and within half a second of Naja speaking every vessel opened fire.

The bombardment of Coraliv had begun.

-------------------
Outer City Wall - Sewers

Talus did not notice the expression on his friends faces as they saw each other once again, too focused on the task at hand at the First Level Dreadlord coming his way. "Orders, sir?"

His voice was stable, strong.

A part of him no longer feared those who stood above him, no longer thought of them as something apart. He had done this enough now, he was confident in himself. Talus may not yet have been a Dreadlord, but he had earned the respect of many.

That was enough for him.

"We make for the City Center."

Just as he spoke the sound of crashing fire could be heard. Projectiles of Rock and flame landed within the city limits. They crashed against buildings and tore into the walls of Coraliv, exploding in showers of flame and shrapnel.

Talus did not even flinch. He stared at the Dreadlord and nodded. "This way."

He said as he lead the way back through the sewers and into the city.

 

[Harrier]

CORALIV
CITY CENTRE
NOWHERE OF PARTICULAR CONSEQUENCE

Harrier Wren gripped the stone rail of the balcony and watched the fleet attack. From this perspective, some of the smoking catapult projectiles seemed to go straight up and down again, larger on the downstroke. Those were the shots that worried her. Her position was a little outside their apparent range, but soon enough there'd be falling towers and burning streets to contend with.

"Go and see," she said to thin air. Mathquil flickered in the corner of her vision. The ghost scout, a wisp even in sunlight, vanished into the city below. His mission was to find, if possible, a secret and secure hiding-place. Harrier had no desire to cross Anirian Dreadlords unless absolutely necessary. They'd killed plenty of properly trained wizards who underestimated them.

 

[Rob Yew]

“Here we go,” Marcos double, then triple checked his crossbow as the Thronebreakers on the battlements watched the flaming rocks arc up from the Anirian ships.

Galen watched in sick fascination and horror, spellbound as the enormous projectiles hurtled toward them.

All along the line, there was a sharp intake of breath.

He could feel his heart thundering in his chest as the blazing orbs grew larger and larger until they were all around them making a horrible whistling sound like a hot kettle. The world shook as one struck the battlements and exploded in shards of burning pitch-smeared rock. Galen stumbled and fell to his hands and knees, ears ringing. He looked up and saw Marcos screaming at him, his crossbow in hand. Then a second blazing boulder hit and made two mercenaries just... disappear. Bits of rock went flying everywhere. Marcos went down, clutching his leg and screaming as blood pumped between his fingers. Gunther rushed over to help him.

Slowly, Galen’s hearing returned. He heard screaming and cracking flames and turned around to see a city on fire.

“Oy, oy mage,” said a gruff fellow Galen didn’t recognize.

Galen looked at Dina, who stood unmoved by the opening salvo, staring out into the sea, then realized the man was speaking to him.

“Can’t you like throw up a ward or summat.”

“That’s... that’s not really what I do.” stammered Galen.

Dina muttered something.

Galen frowned, “What, sorry I couldn’t-“

“Useless.”

“Oh.” The young mage sat back down.

Arkaitz shook his head, “Get up, if you can’t cast any wards then get off the walls and go help the Ox and Cathair below with resupply.”

 

[Harry]

As Sierra stepped closer, Hal flashed a playful smile that only she would be able to see.

"You smell like shit," He whispered, his playful smile widening into a stupid grin. Somehow, despite the stench of filth clinging to the girl in front of him, he still found her incredibly beautiful, deciding that even if grime tarnished her armor, it would do nothing to slight her fine features.

Then, almost immediately after his playful jab, the first crash of flaming rock could be heard. Twelve more followed. He had never been apart of a siege, but his body language said otherwise. Perhaps his younger self would have been rattled, but Hal calmly watched on.

Talus was speaking with the First, then turned away after the bombardment began.

This way, he had spoken. As Talus passed, Hal made eye contact and gave him a curt nod. Serious as always, but Hal had quite missed his presence and was glad to see him at least alive.

He cast a glance at Sierra, then quickly followed their blonde-haired friend.

 

[Harrier]

CORALIV
CITY CENTRE
NOWHERE OF PARTICULAR CONSEQUENCE

A fire whipped up in the streets. Harrier squinted through the smoke and did her best to ignore the sounds of fear. It wasn't like she could save the city from Vel Anir. On a good day she liked her odds against the average Dreadlord, but this fleet and that huge, fascinating black ship didn't look conducive to a one-on-one. The whole affair was massively inconvenient.

Mathquil wafted back up to the balcony. <I found no place they will not find.>

Harrier's mouth twisted. "It's a small island, I suppose. No handy infinite catacombs."

<You could build an army from the dead, a piece at a time.>

"There's nothing the Anirians would like better than shredding simple hordes and the mages that trusted those hordes." Far ahead, projectiles rained down on troops at the battlements. She winced. "I can already smell them burning. Mathquil, go evaluate the defense over there. I need to know how long it can hold - the mages and the fodder."

The ghost flickered away again. Harrier pulled out a small copper spyglass and tried to focus on the most interesting thing around: the Blackfort. Quite against her will, though, she found herself looking at those doomed defenders and the frantic civilians in the streets. "Sad, all of it," she mumbled. "Just sad."

###​

The cobweb-thin ghost rode a smoky breeze behind the top edge of the walls, and watched his fellow spirits leave their broken shells. To his eyes, Galen and Ondina di Ossatura had a special light. They seemed to be biding their time, to the detriment of the soldiers with them.

He had the unpleasant feeling that the girl-mage could see him clearly.

 

[Rob Yew]

There was a lull atop the battlements. Galen supposed the ships were reloading their catapults. He did not want to still be standing here when they did, Don Arkaitz was right. He should just go help Cathair and Ox.

Suddenly, the necks of both Dina and the knight with the rent hole in his helm swiveled toward Galen. He shivered as they seemed to see past him and he turned to look, but saw nothing.

Dina tilted her head slightly.

"You can't see it?"

"See what?" Galen asked, eyes wide.

"Spectre, who do you serve?"

Spectre?

The young mage looked up and down the battlements, but all he could see were the huddled figures of the Thronebreaker Company on this section of the wall. Coraliv's regular militia were stationed on other stretches and he caught a bright flash of Cataphracts here and there with their magic armor. Below him, the Ox oversaw literal barrels being stuffed with sheafs of crossbow bolts and arrows.

But no spectres.

What was she talking about?

 

[Harrier]

The shade paused at the edge of the battlement as Ondina di Ossatura addressed him. He paid no further attention to Galen, who seemed gormless.

<Harrier Wren bound me,> he hissed in a voice that the male wizard might or might not hear. <She stands in the tower that flies the green flag of some merchant. My errand is to->

A flaming catapult-stone passed through Mathquil's head without incident.

<-determine how long you and yours can hold back the assault. What shall I say?>

 

[Rob Yew]

"Did she," Dina muttered, voice as expressionless as her face.

Don Arkaitz looked just as confused as Galen. "Ossatura, are you talking to ghosts again?"

"Yes."

"What does it want?"

"Answers."

Black eyes studied the spirit.

"Tell her not long. Tell her... di Ossatura is a fan of her work. Lesser Summonings and Portents? Peerless."

And then the woman smiled.

It was not pleasant.

The college was a small world and Galen had run into Ondina on several occasions. He remembered her. She, apparently, did not remember him. But he had read Lesser Summonings. It was a book by Harrier Wren on necromancy. Restricted reading. Galen was surprised they even kept it in the library at all, but then as Telemachus said, "All knowledge is permitted. All practice is not."