Corone War: Sea Supremacy

[Zerith]

He was screwed.

As his heels pounded on the wooden floor below deck, an elf was desperately searching for an escape. The creaking coming the ship was drowned out but the shouting of multiple voices and the thunderous stampede of footsteps that echoed from somewhere else onboard. Everything around the man was new, pieces of a puzzle that formed a modern day behemoth of the seas. He knew that somewhere above his current position were cannons, sails, masts and rigging. Surround him on all sides were the wooden walls and dark corners of the underbelly of a beast, and he was well aware that just further beyond that was thick armour plating that could have one resembled a dragon’s scales in the eyes of a child. Tenniel Lisosian had studied the design of his ship, and now as everything he had been working for was falling apparent in his hands he saw the design of the flagship suddenly shift into his own private prison.

As he pulled his bright red cloak around him, the elf Marshal was beginning to regret telling his friend that he would take care of this assignment. He only offered because he saw the faint hint of concern in Edward Stormcrow’s eyes, hidden underneath the sharp gaze and stark demeanour. Tenniel laughed as he thought back to that moment. “Should have known that Edward would be the death of me,” he muttered to himself. “Shame I won’t see him cry like a baby if I don’t come back.”

The Marshal’s golden braids whipped around him as he turned his head around and noticed that the sound of footsteps had nearly dissipated. “Idiots,” he laughed as he grinned from ear to ear. He quickly spun back around and veered around another corner. “Looks like I might just be able to get out of here alive anyways.” Suddenly he had a positive outlook on the outcome of this job. Now all he needed to do was find some way to send this manmade behemoth to the bottom of the sea. Maybe it was something easier said than done, but Tenniel considered himself to be a professional at improvising. He knew he was smart, and as long as he had his sharp mind he was sure he couldn’t fail.

Now if he had only been using his keen mind to pay attention to where he was going instead of trying to come up with a plan, he probably would have peeked around the next turn first before he went around it. Yet he didn’t, so he was suddenly caught off guard when he was standing face to face against two figures that stood absolutely motionless. That one factor was probably the reason he never heard them on his way through the ship, meaning this encounter was just bad luck on Tenniel’s part. It couldn’t have been any worse for him though, as heart sank the very instant he saw the red cloaks and scarlet masks they wore. If those weren’t enough proof that the stories were real, the black glaives they carried only made it crystal clear that mission to sabotage the CNS Colossus was over.

Raising his arms to surrender, Tenniel Lisosian couldn’t help but do what he was known for. “Say, would either of you be able to point me in the direction of the poop deck? I think I just shit myself.”

If Tenniel Lisosian wasn’t screwed earlier, he definitely was now.



***



“Are you serious? Sei Orlouge decided to help out the Empire?”

Zerith Dracosius nearly spat out his food when he heard the news from Jensen. The enigmatic immortal was seated directly across from him as they ate lunch together in the living quarters they shared. With everything that had been going on in Ixian Castle recently, the two friends rarely had the chance to talk anymore. Between Zerith’s job of managing the army and training soldiers how to use polearms alongside the personal matters Jensen was tackling, it seemed like every time they found the time to reconnect there was always some big buzz spreading like wildfire. The news of what the mute Mystic was doing was no different.

“I’m as serious as Ta’gaz is when he’s in his dojo,” was the response that came from the halberdier’s fellow knight. He leaned in closer and whispered so only Zerith could hear. “Apparently nobody know what suddenly made him decide to do it, and as of now there is no word on if this means the rest of us will be told to do likewise.”

“That’s ridiculous! This is the Empire, we’re talking about!” the prince shouted. Up until this point the Ixian Knights were fortunate enough to avoid getting involved in the civil war, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t heard what was going on. There had always been something about the Empire that made Zerith believe they couldn’t be trusted, yet he never could put his finger on exactly what it was that made him think that. The circumstances that lead to its creation just seemed too convenient, and the acts they did like the Gisela Massacre and the Razing of Underwood made the warder so angry he was felt like he could snap his halberd in two if he tried.

“I know this sucks, but we can’t really do anything about it Z.”

“No, I’m not going help those assholes if Sei says we have to!” Zerith snapped as he quickly rose from his chair and pounded his fists into the table. “If he can suddenly decide to join whatever side he wants to without letting the rest of the Nine know about it, then we should have the damn freedom to do the same thing.”

A wave of concern suddenly spread across Jensen face as he quickly recognized where his friend was going with this. “Dude, tell me you’re not seriously considering of siding with the Rangers.”

“I would do it if I could,” another voice suddenly spoke from down the hallway to Zerith’s room. It was Jasmine, waddling down the hall at nearly 7 months into her second pregnancy while managing to hold Siela on her left hip. Wearing her favourite blue dress, the young mother quickly handed the little baby to her father before as she joined the two guys. As she continued to speak, she absent-mindedly began to curl the fingers on her right hand around Zerith’s hair. “Zerith and I have talked about it, and we both agree that if the Knights should choose a side it should be with the Rangers. They obviously need the help much more than the Empire does, and we agree with what they stand for.” He quickly spun her head to look at her husband and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. “Now if Sei suddenly wants to choose a side, I don’t see why you shouldn’t be able to do the same thing.”

Smiley warmly as he realized he had just been given his wife’s support, Zerith reached around her and gave her a hug. “So it’s decided. Tomorrow I’ll go and offer to help the Rangers in any way possible. If Sei disagrees with my decision, then he’ll just have to talk it over with me.”

A loud, irritated groan filled the room as Jensen rolled his head back. “This is going to cause so much drama around here. If I wanted to see drama, I’d rather see Duffy act one of his stupid plays.”

[Cydnar]

Cydnar was curious. It was an unfamiliar sensation for the elf, but he relished it as much as he could before something more important came along to steal the moment away from him. He was a sheltered soul, entombed in the earth by tradition and responsibility, but out in the sea air, he suddenly found purpose, meaning, and an exegesis of form to something worthwhile.

“Are we certain?” He asked Dalasi, his brother in law and loyal Captain. There were few people in the Under Dark that could match Cydnar’s skill with the sword, and the much younger and quick quitted Dalasi was one of them.

He nodded back, and Cydnar instantly found himself at ease. The town of Jadet was a very weak defensive position, and within minutes of arriving in its igam ogam heights, the colossal distraction of the Empire’s flagship had drawn his gaze from the slate roves and cobbled streets out onto the gentle, idyllic seas.

“It is almost impregnable, but the Rangers, after taking our pledge of allegiance, believe we will be a valuable asset in taking it, as they put it, ‘out of action’.” The youth smiled, and rested his eager, busy hands onto the hilt of his twin short swords, finally coming to rest from his erratic indications on the ink stained maps that were pinned with daggers to the small table in front of Cydnar.

The sea breeze stole the moment, and sent salty twangs of uncertainty into the two elven throats. The council of war was small, but given the dwindling resources of the Hummel race, it was all they could muster in support of Jadet’s defence. The main component of their standing army was currently in the North, attending to the fanfare welcome in the Empire’s stronghold. The citizens of the Under Dark were fighting a dangerous war on two fronts, and already Cydnar was questioning his many awkward decisions to divide their strength between two polar frontiers.

“They seem competent enough,” Dalasi said with non-chalant airs and graces, he noticed his brother’s distant stare and assumed it indicated complicated, long winded thought. Something the warrior was not too good at, despite his title and sudden elevation in Hummel society.

“True,” Cydnar replied, looking back over his shoulder. He too rested his eager palms on the hilts of Altheas and Freya, using the cold twang of the quartz tipped pommels to steel his nerves and keens his concentration on the coming confrontation. “I cannot help but feel nervous; this is not the best place to make a stand against a superior enemy.”

Dalasi laughed heartily, and poured to glasses of wine into the golden goblets with quartz inlays that Cydnar had insisted they bring. He set the jug onto the small table and rolled away the maps before handing the beverage with a welcoming hand to his brother. “True, but then, if it were a fortress of impregnable stone like that,” he pointed out with a casual digit across the waves to the Empire’s ship, “it would not be a challenge, and it would not be worth our time and struggle to penetrate.”

“You speak the truth brother, as ever you do. Look, though, Jadet is a port, by all means, but it holds no tactical value except for its links to Scara Brae. Why would the Empire use such excessive force to try and claim it?”

From their vantage point on the balcony of the clock tower, the two elves looked pensively down at the maze of wide streets, which all wove together into one mesh that ran from the green fields of the Corone wilderness to the rocky shore and the busy port that connected the rural South with the far flung reaches of Althanas. It held about it an aura of calm, one you might have found under a thatched roof in a yokel household, or in the depths of the Brokenthorn Forest, far from the maddening crowd and far from life, the hustle and bustle and the sway of the civilised age.

“I do not think we can apply our thoughts and values to the human world, Cydnar. They hold this city, the Rangers, because they must. It is a supply route, that much we know, and supplies, in a time of war, are a vital resource to underpin the resilience of your fighting force.”

Cydnar nodded, and raised his glass to the morning sun. The rays caught the crystal and gave life to the vermillion liquor, which was a delicacy known only to the Drow, and tasted seldom by the Hummel who traded with their ancestors as a necessity, a way to avoid conflict with the surface dwellers. “Tell me, who did you speak to when you attended the council?”

Dalasi toasted his own glass, and took a long draught from it. The sensual calamity stole his words for a moment, and replaced his thoughts with elderflower, raspberry and a faint hint of cinnamon which floated through the leathery texture of the fibrous liquid like gold laced into stone. He waited until the nausea faded, before stepping towards the stone wrought railing and resting the glass on its surface.

“Zerith Dracosius is his name, a veteran halberdier that belongs, apparently, to the order of the Ixian Knights we have been observing from the screening chambers for some time.”

Cydnar nodded with a smile and leant against the railing himself. The sound of the midday bells broke their conversation with deep thundering peals of joy. Deep in the Hummel capitol, below the Salthias fortress and council chambers there was a series of caverns which possessed a unique power. They held the precogniscient potency of a seer, as well as the far reaching sight into the affairs of man in every corner of the world.

“Is he a worthy leader?”

“I do not think we will find a more devout and honourable individual in Jadet, except ourselves of course,” Dalasi retorted, turning to fill his glass. He offered Cydnar a refill, but he declined politely and kept his gaze on the hulk of the Colossus.

Deep in the Under Dark, not a week ago, he had riled the citizens of his city to war. Looking out at the expanse of the Corone Sea, he had already started to doubt his decision. War was not easy, it never was and never would be, but choosing between action and non-action was less easy than any conflict. Soon, they would join the rest of the allies of the Corone Rangers, and Zerith himself, and March and sail to their uncertain futures in direct conflict with the greatest display of force, arrogance and misuse of power Cydnar Yrene had ever had the misfortune of witnessing.

He gripped the edge of the clock tower’s lofty heights with a firm and forceful clutch, and keened his gaze with the intent of a zealot onto the distant target.

“Even without the Oath Stone…” he muttered, “I will fight this fight…”

He turned to Dalasi.

“Yrene did not lay down his life, the life of a god, only for these petulant humans to wreak as much havoc and seed as much terror across the lands as Xem’Zund himself.”

Dalasi blinked, but then nodded and toasted Cydnar’s raised glass.

“To the liberation of honour!” Cydnar roared.

“To the liberation of our people,” Dalasi replied, before they both finished the contents of their vessels and walked defiantly into the inner sanctum of the clock tower, and down the spiral staircase to meet with the Ranger command.

[Relt PeltFelter]

There was a very elemental part of Relt Peltfelter, displaced San Franciscan of the year 2025 and all-around smart ass, that was overjoyed to see the ocean. Admittedly, it was not the ocean she had left behind. It was a very different ocean, probably full of mermaids and krakens and all kinds of shit, but it was an ocean nonetheless.

Relt had hitherto been staying in the capitol city of Radasanth, but she found the climate unwelcome. This is a double entendre, as “climate” is used here to mean both the circumstances of weather, and the political situation. Much mirth is derived from such a use.

A growing aura of distressing militarism had been building in Radasanth during Relt’s stay; walls were plastered with posters depicting abnormally muscular soldiers saluting the Empire’s insignia, parades of troops were occurring thrice weekly, and people scurried home hours before the surprisingly early curfew came into effect. It was like being in Berlin in 1941, but with elves. And no sausages.

So Relt had absconded, endeavoring to find a town here which suited her better. This little coastal port seemed just the place, until she had looked at the sea whilst sober and realized that what had appeared to be a distant island through her customary haze of marijuana smoke was, in fact, a giant fuck-off boat.

Relt was not happy to see this boat, it must be said, because it was flying the very colors she had relocated to escape. She didn’t know much about the political climate of the world she had found herself dumped on so unceremoniously, but she already didn’t like the Empire. Empires were never good; nobody called themselves an Empire if they wanted to sound uplifting. Not to mention that nearly half a century’s worth of cultural morass had, in Relt’s mind, inextricably linked the word “empire” to images of white-armored, inaccurate soldiers led by a black-clad cyborg with a glowing red sword and a sleep apnea mask. Nevertheless, Relt tried to go about her business. Her business being wandering around looking for adventure while in a distinctly skunky daze.

It was on one of these wanderings that she thought it would be a good idea to fall asleep in a pickle barrel. Her addled mind had longed for pickles. Pickles were delicious. And, of course, after eating one too many pickles, Relt fell asleep in the barrel. A careless dock worker sealed it up, and it was loaded onto a freighter with the rest.

All of this is background information is being provided to you, the reader, for the express purpose of explaining how it is that Relt Peltfelter found herself onboard the CNS Colossus.

- - -

Midshipman Conroy Alterg was not a particularly distinguished officer of the Imperial Navy. He was surprised, shocked really, when he was assigned to the Colossus. He was not a particularly kind or intelligent man, but he certainly did not deserve the day he was about to have.

The midshipman had popped above decks for a smoke; at least, that was his stated purpose. In actuality, he simply wanted to give himself as much distance from those creepy Scarlet Brigade guys as possible. The sun was beating down heavily, and he was thankful for the cool breeze that blew in off the sea. He leaned against the railing at the edge of the deck, just breathing and enjoying a moment away from his duties.

“Hey, jerkoff, do you mind? You’re in my light,”

Conroy turned. There was a girl, not even twenty, lying on the deck, her skin coffee-brown, wearing very little clothing. Her eyes were mirrors; although now that he looked closer, the midshipman could see that they were actually bizarre mirrored spectacles. He stared, mouth agape. Despite himself, he shuffled to one side.

“Thanks,” the girl said sarcastically, “This shit’s hard enough to read without somebody standing in my way,”

“H-how did you get on board?” Conroy stammered after a moment of stunned silence. This was not the sort of thing anyone expected to see.

“Fell asleep in a pickle barrel. By the way, might want to avoid eating any pickles for a while. Now fuck off, I’m busy,”

“You aren’t supposed to be on board. You’re a stowaway,” the naval officer stammered.

“Duh,” she rolled her eyes.

“What are you reading? That…are those combat orders?”

“Is that what they are? I thought it was a book report on ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’. Grade school stuff, honestly. You need to get somebody better to write these things,”

“You’re a spy!” Conroy exclaimed, snatching the papers from Relt’s hands. He stared at her for a moment longer, then ran.

“Hm,” Relt said. She sipped thoughtfully from a stolen beer. “That’s probly bad,”
- - -
“I’ll ask you again,” the man said levelly, “Who are you and what are you doing on this ship?”

Relt had been captured. It was unsurprising, really. She knew better than to run while on a boat. So they had grabbed her. She had a feeling the guy questioning her wasn’t the captain.

“My name is Chewbacca Skywalker. I accidentally crashed my Millenium Falcon into your Death Star here,” Relt said, just as levelly. The man leaned forward and looked her in the eye. She smiled disarmingly. The man turned away in disgust, though Relt was sure she saw some sweat on his brow.

“We can’t tell the captain about this,” her interrogator, Midshipman Ecks Bonnville, hissed to his co-conspirator Conroy Alterg, “He’d sic those Scarlet monsters on us. He’s mad enough about that elf infiltrator, if he finds out that a child got onboard without us knowing about it, we’d all be gutted like prawns!”

“I say we throw her overboard,” Conroy replied.

- - -
They threw her overboard. Relt managed to turn a tumble into something resembling a dive at the last minute, avoiding a terminally painful belly flop. The two midshipman stared at the rippling blue water as the Colossus moved away. That had to be the end of it.

Relt burst to the surface, breathing heavily. Her lungs felt like they had been twisted into adorable dog shapes by a terrifying birthday clown.

“Fuck,” she heaved, spitting seawater, “Did they think I wouldn’t know how to swim?” Relt gave the best shrug a person treading water can, checked to make sure her cell phone (luckily it counted waterproofing among its other attractive features) was still in place, and started front-crawling towards the shore.

It was only about an hour later when Relt pulled herself, exhausted and soaked to the bone, onto the rocky quay by Jadet. She stumbled to her feet, legs exhausted. She turned and looked at the distant behemoth. “Tha’s pretty g’d time f’r a mile,” she breathed. She needed something to eat.

At this point many might consider the story over. A girl, through a combination of random contingency and her own brash preposterousness, had found herself aboard a giant boat and been thrown off it, only to swim home and get a snack. It should be noted that, despite this perfectly plausible (and regrettably lengthy) series of events, the story has only begun and that many more things remain to happen, involving a colorful cast of characters, a thrilling adventure and, quite possibly, a duck.

Relt sat down at the bar in her least un-favorite pub. She ordered a sandwich. A small jellyfish fell out of her hair. It had been a trying morning. The girl found herself absently listening to the two suspicious-looking guys sitting to her right.

“…aven’t heard back from him…still aboard the Colossus…”

“…no chance with that…have to find…”

“Are you guys talking about that fucking boat?” Relt asked, far louder than the whispered snatches of conversation the two men (who an astute reader will immediately identify as members of the Corone Rangers) “Man, don’t even bother. The guys on there are all douchebags. They threw me overboard just for taking a shit in their pickle barrel. Well, mostly ‘cause of that, I bet,”

The two Rangers stared at her a moment. “Excuse me,” the closer one asked delicately, “Are you saying you’ve actually been aboard the CNS Colossus?”

“Yeah,” Relt replied, accepting her sandwich from the waitress with a thankful nod. “Like, today. An hour ago,”

The Rangers conversed in a series of hushed whispers once again. They turned away from their drinks and looked at Relt. “Could we maybe talk somewhere in private, miss…?”

“Chewbacca Skywal-I mean Relt. Relt Peltfelter,”

[Sorahn]

Two years…

I can scarcely believe it has already been two years. It may as well have been yesterday for how vividly the memories haunt my nightmares.

The Empire ruined my life in one night. They appeared with an army whose sole purpose was to lay waste to our town; the town my clan-mates of the Red Hand had built with their bare hands. They set fires, chased women, and killed good men. My clan fought well and managed to drive out the soldiers, but the damaged had been done. Houses were leveled, supplies were burned, and livestock slaughtered. Our quiet way of life practicing trades at the foot of Mt. Drakenthrone was destroyed by the greed and malice of the Empire.

A good leader would have rallied his men, buried the dead, dusted off and pressed on. He would have rebuilt and planned counter-attack. But I didn’t. Instead, I did the most dishonorable thing I’ve ever done in my life: I ran.

The decision haunts me still. For as long as I can remember I’ve been taught that Ranoans value honor above life. Abandoning my men in our darkest hour is the greatest shame I could bring upon myself. I can never show my face in Corone again. I have spent my days in relative seclusion in Salvar. Surviving, but not living.

However, I overheard some very interesting news of the Corone civil war in the tavern. The CNS Colossus, flagship of The Empire and possibly the best armed and armored ship in existence, is in Jadet. Perhaps there may be a way for me to regain my honor and exact revenge all at once.

I will destroy the Colossus and so cripple their entire navy. They will suffer as I have suffered, and may Ronah forgive me for my transgressions. I will rip that ship apart with my bare hands, or I will die trying. Either is preferable to living as a coward.

Sorahn closed the leather-bound journal and placed in one of his packs along with the rest of his meager belongings. He moved quickly and with purpose. He finally had a goal, and a way to reclaim his lost honor. The mere thought gave him an energy he thought he had long since lost.

Stepping out of his small shack, his lungs filled with the chilled morning air. The sun was just beginning to crest over the mountains of Salvar. He paused to appreciate the beauty of the sunrise. Though it looked the same as almost every sunrise here, this one held a special significance.

His introspective moment was broken by the distinctive whump of dragon’s wings. Nyris, the great black dragon who shared his very thoughts, descended from the sky to land gracefully in the snow. Sorahn grinned slightly as he lifted the heavy packs and fastened them to the saddle on Nyris’s back. The dragon snorted as Sorahn climbed on and both prepared themselves for a long journey. Then with a push from his powerful legs and a beat of his wings, they were off to Jadet.