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| The Battle of Bluheim | |
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| Topic Started: Feb 24 2009, 02:55 PM (1,165 Views) | |
| Ranger | Feb 24 2009, 02:55 PM Post #1 |
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Previously Nex Terren
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Three Hours, Pre Attack The multi-tiered glass strategy table was the center of the room, frosted with a neat grid work of reference points, and holding carefully crafted ships of various descriptions placed with a clear precision. A large half-sphere rested on one of the mid-levels, with neat Arcadian lettering painted on its surface declaring it "Mt. Kanzai." Thin bricks, sitting on their sides, acted as representations of walls, with gold lines dictating where a watchtower was, each measured to the correct angular placement. More half-spheres rested within the wall, acting as the islands of the capital city, with grease-marks ticking off the correct distance between them and the walls. The whole set up spoke of the utmost consideration and care. Every Captain, Vice Captain, and other officer in the room had every detail of the plan etched into their minds, for they'd be fools to do anything else. After all, their lives, as well as those of their ships, were far from guaranteed; a fact universally understood through solemn silence. To those who had slept during the little night they were allowed, none dared rub the sleep from there eyes. 0400 hours or not, they all seemed ready to enter battle at that very instant. Outnumbered over seven-to-one, the Nasrean ship captains were huddled together on the seatless ringed stadium around the strategy table, daring conversation between them, and muttering hushed comments that were just short of cursing about how they had to stand through the strategy meeting. They seemed to think two hours of careful review and redisccussion of facts that everyone knew entirely pointless. If the sounds of those six--and the disdainful snorts they received from a few of the Valuan captains--the room would have been absolutely silent and still. The people were waiting, expectantly watching the one man that would conduct them in the coming dance with deep sky. Crisply nodding off a mental check mark, Admiral Castedrell collapsed the pointer in hand with a sharp, quick movement. "Very well, if everyone understands the plan, and there are no questions for the commons, you are all dismissed. Make it absolutely clear to your crews that there is to be complete radio silence; we are running this operation by the clock, and not by leadership. Until the first shots are fired that order holds true. If you have any questions for me personally, I will be available for the next half hour. I expect you all in your ships and in command within one hour." And then the silence fell away, if not abandoned entirely. A general murmur filled the room as captain talked to captains, and their Vices offered advice, or answered questions as they could. Castedrell knew that half of it could have waited, and the other half was entirely unnecessary. It was the nervous feeling of the oncoming battle that required them to speak; not any actual need to iron out any details. Castedrell's gaze stopped on the Octavia woman for a moment, gaze naturally resting on the woman's disfiguration. It was only for a moment, though, as he quickly moved his attention onwards. Instead he found himself looking out the room's only windows: a collection of small, starboard-side port holes. During even the noon hour they did little to let in any light, and they certainly weren't doing any better just now. Out those windows he could still make out the star field of night. The first glimmers of morning were just three hours away. Just three hours. Just three. Edited by Ranger, Feb 25 2009, 04:57 PM.
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| Gordreg | Feb 25 2009, 05:56 PM Post #2 |
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Administrator
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Octavia Gnack wore an expression of bored disinterest upon the half of her face still capable of such a thing, and wondered again why she'd really been needed here for the full two hours. She'd already known most of the details of the plan that had actually been worth knowing - for much of the plan had been tailored to her ship's eventual role in the operation - and the remainder of his plan would likely be subject to adjustment in any case. Although the Yafutomans could be predicted and planned for, they could not actually be known, and would be quite capable of surprises of their own. As Castedrell finally declared the meeting over, Octavia gave a small quiet tut of annoyance that became lost in the outbreak of murmuring. As far as she was concerned, the two hours wasted here - plus the not inconsiderable time it took to fly a small boat between the ships in the fleet - would have been put to much better use conducting further equipment tests. The Charybdis had been given scarce enough testing; the project had been hurried forward to meet with the Admiral’s seemingly arbitrary deadline, and the flight to get here had so far revealed a few minor flaws within the construction that sufficient testing back around Looper island would likely have eliminated. But then, what else could have been expected with the job of welding this ship together given to cack-handed slave labourers? Honestly…it was as if intricate components designed by a master craftsman had been left for Feral Huskras to play with and chew… Turning her head very slightly, Octavia caught sight of the Admiral’s stare resting upon her, though it turned away quickly as if he knew he’d been spotted. Folding her arms Octavia stared back, her artificial eye illuminating Castedrell with a faint blue sheen. But the Admiral’s stare was turned toward the outside, toward the distant sky, and a number of his subordinates were already bobbing about him, waiting no doubt to raise questions or to enquire about silly little details that would leave them no better off. Rising up slowly with a slight mechanical squeak from her leg as she left the chair, Octavia stepped away toward the door. Halfway there, however, she turned again and tilted her head, her single true eye half-closing as it looked toward a single figure that had been seated beside her. “Albus?” She spoke, taking a slow pace toward the figure, who rose slowly from the seat and turned to meet her gaze. “I believe that I’m done here - if I wasn’t two hours ago, that is – and need to get back to the Charybdis. Are you ready to go, or do you have another question to add to the squawking mass now surrounding the Admiral?” Albus turned his stare slowly away from Octavia, his gaze rambling nonchalantly across the room to where Castdrell stood, staring out of the nearest window. Turning back, he raised an eyebrow and he looked Octavia right in her eye. “Nothing to ask that’d do any good, anyhow.” He added, his shoulders lightly rising then falling as he stood from his chair. “Better get you back to the Charybdis, Miss. Gnack. Don’t want you loosing yourself in the engine room like you did on the way here, after all.” “I wasn’t lost! I was checking the volumes of output!” Octavia huffed, stepping through the strategy room door and out into the corridor beyond. “I’ve got to check up on these things and make sure that some cloth-eared dolt isn’t slowly breaking them…” “Of course you do…” Albus answered in a monotone, his eyes rolling gently to himself as he closed the door behind them both. |
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| Tatlin | Mar 4 2009, 11:57 PM Post #3 |
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I Have the power and the Speed!
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Vadik lay in his bed again. He tossed from side to side, the covers thrown every which way. He couldn’t get any sleep, even though the ship was already in the air. His nervousness didn’t stem from the upcoming encounter in Yafutoma though. In fact, Vadik it found it weird that it didn’t bother him. However, it was what had transpired hours ago between Castedrell and him. The traitor was somewhere, lying hidden in the Black Fleet, moving amongst them. He had been quite paranoid since learning of this traitor. He knew he shouldn’t be so worried, but it bothered him. Vadik jumped up from the bed, and threw on his clothes. He would have to head up to the bridge in order to oversee the current progress of the ship. At that time, there was a loud knock on the door. Vadik flinched, but realizing it was just a knock at his door, he slowly moved over and opened it up, just enough to stick half his body through. The familiar face of one of Vadik’s guards greeted him. He nodded curtly and thrust a letter towards Vadik. The guard spoke softly. “We received this before leaving port, Captain. I didn’t wish to disturb you earlier, and I figured you would be up by now” he said, giving a weak smile to the imposing, stern face of his Captain. “Thank you, now return to your post” Vadik replied, his voice quivering with anticipation at what laid inside the letter. He pushed the door closed, and bolted it. Vadik quickly rushed over to his desk and sat down. He flipped over the letter and noticed the seal of Blackman. His heart jumped, and he quickly slid a small knife across the seal to open the letter. A piece of parchment slipped out of the envelope, adorned with a beautiful hand written script. Vadik read quickly. Vadik, I know your task. Be forewarned that the greatest men provide the greatest threat. Do not look too closely to those who are but minor players. I pray to the moons for your success, for I hunt too. May your mind be quick, your eye sharp, and may you find them before they find you. ~ Blackman “Amazing…” he murmured. Blackman had written a letter to Vadik of all people! He quickly went over the letter another few times and digested all the information. Things were starting to come together. Knowing now that the spy wasn’t one of the countless soldiers that roamed the ships and strongholds of the Black Fleet, but someone of high power, eased Vadik. He wouldn’t constantly be looking over his shoulder for the criminal. Also, it made Vadik’s search easier. With a feeling of confidence, Vadik jumped up from his seat and made his way towards the bridge. They would be in Yafutoma soon… A few days later, 3 hours before the battle: Vadik checked his watch once again in the dimly lit room. The clock showed showed around four in the morning. He sighed, but stood quietly, watching all the other Captains, Vice-Captains, and crew mulling around in the room. Vadik made his way to the glass table that showed the battle plans. He knew what he must do. He needed not ask Castedrell. He attempted to make eye contact with the Admiral, maybe just a sign of recognition, but he couldn’t tell in the dimly lit room. He tried to find someone to talk with, but Vadik stood around, nervously moving his fingers. Now he was nervous for the battle, unlike before. At this time, finding the traitor came second… Edited by Tatlin, Mar 5 2009, 12:01 AM.
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| The Karlminion | Mar 30 2009, 03:08 AM Post #4 |
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180-proof Redneck
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The Black Fleet was still some distance out, how far none but them would know. Nor care, much, least of all the well-armed yacht that rode lazily at anchor in the harbor. The black decks were covered in snoring men, hungover and sure to be irritable when they awoke at last. Somewhere amidst the ship a clock went off, loudly; its clangor reverberated about the vessel, delivering a violent wake-up call to the sleeping men. Some of them clapped hands to their ears and turned over, other bolted groggily to their feet, kicking at the rest in their anger at being so rudely dragged from precious sleep. "Cap'n!" one of them shouted as he stamped over to the belowships door. "Cap'n, shut that damned thing off!" He slammed the door open and stomped toward Illyrian's cabin, shouting all the while. Only when he reached the door did he stop shouting; indeed, once he reached the door he dropped all pretense of a hangover. It was all a pretense, in fact. "Cap'n, yer clock's a bit loud," he began with a chuckle, stepping inside. What he saw amazed him for a moment, and he chuckled again. "I am quite aware of that," the sorcerer replied, standing in front of a full-length mirror and admiring himself. In place of the usual black cloak and robes, he wore something quite different; a foppish, piratical ensemble, longcoat and frilly shirt and silver buckles and knee-high boots with heels. There was even a foot-long blue and purple feather sloping off from a wide-brimmed hat at a decidedly rakish angle. "Well? Don't I cut quite a figure when I like?" Illyrian smirked, turning about here and there. "Y'look like Gilder th' Unfettered, only black an' all instead o' red," the mate replied, trying not to smile. Indeed, Illyrian's outfit did greatly resemble the outfit so popularized by the lazy Blue Rogue, except for the above-mentioned palette swap. "That's the effect I'm going for," Illyrian explained, turning to face the man. "Make them all think I'm a fop with a ship and a rowdy crew; by the time they know what's really what, it'll be much too late!" He laughed, a chilling laugh, and walked over to the elaborate clock in the corner; a switch was thrown, and some springs inside relaxed. "There, no more noise. Now do go back up top, yes? I'll be along when the time is right." "Yessir!" the mate replied, saluting before he left. He couldn't hold a chuckle back; his boss certainly liked his jokes. But as he came up on deck again he drew the hungover persona about himself again. "Wake up you sods!" he roared. "We ain't runnin' a pleasure cruise!" He kicked at the men who hadn't arisen yet, though it wasn't hard, and with much grumbling they rose up and went about getting the ship to cranky, irritable life. There was much to be done. |
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| PG 17 | Apr 25 2009, 04:31 PM Post #5 |
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Uber Monk
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Dresco stood, looking at the papers in front of him as the Admiral once again went over the battle plan. It seemed simple enough, at least to Dresco’s mind. Maybe not to others, as the Admiral seemed aware. Dresco looked around the stadium, looking over the various captains. Some looked attentive, other sleepy, others were restless. I guess that was to be expected, on the eve of a major battle like this. Dresco considered himself pretty lucky having ended up in the Black Fleet. After the Crystal Wars, Dresco wasn’t entirely sure what to do. His nation had been crippled by the Rains, the Armada itself mostly destroyed by Vyse and his crew…Dresco wasn’t entirely sure what to do. However, he managed to join up with the remainder of the Valuan Armada. He knew his place was on the deck of a ship, and the Black Fleet promised his continued presence there. Finally, the meeting ended, and the conversations began. Dresco overheard snippets, most going over what the Admiral had said. Dresco really didn’t feel the need to chat, or try to reach the Admiral. He knew what he was doing anyway. He stretched a bit, navigated through the people until he found himself at the exit of the room. He looked back once, just to check his mind and see if he forgotten anything, then left, heading for the boat that would take him back to his ship. |
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| Ranger | May 15 2009, 07:48 PM Post #6 |
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Previously Nex Terren
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Giving a final sweeping study of the room, he noted that most of the officers were wandering off, only a handful hanging about discussing this or that. Whichever they chose, the gray-haired admiral didn't pay much mind. What mattered was that none were approaching him. With a small, unassuming nod, Castédrell turned around and strode off. Each officer in that meeting had to get their ships in gear, and he was no exception. He had already readied all his men, and demanded of them certain tasks before he left; those would ensure that this final stage of preparation went as quickly as possible. However even with such precautions one simply couldn't order 'forward. Hold steady.' A captain had to ensure that everything was in order, even when he was a captain no longer. With something of a wry smile, he regretted that Flagship Captain Blackman wasn't there. In war trust weighed in equal measure to skill, and an officer was forced to constantly guess which he would have to take over the other. With Blackman the Admiral didn't have to pick. But the battle had to be carried forward, with or without Castédrell's finest officer. Controlling rapier at side with a gloved hand, he stepped through the door, and immediately found himself bordered by four guards. For the appearance, those. Nothing more. Traitor in their midsts or not, the admiral did not fear assassination. Instead he feared not being feared. He wasn't the sort of man to build his command on terror, but Castédrell was not foolish enough to dismiss the effectiveness of such tactics, and so he made use of them. After all, in the end everything was about appearance, wasn't it? That was a sad truth the man had learned. It didn't matter how intelligent, moral, wise, experienced, able or whatnot you were. If people didn't think of you as such, anything you had to offer was simple waste. And so a man had to keep his appearances up. A figure caught the corner of Castédrell's eye, forcing him to turn. "Officer? Report on engineering." "Admiral Doherty!" "Commodore Tochigi...?" Pain. It tore at his head in hollow throbs, sounds grating on his mind. Dulling thought, he tried to focus on the pain, and decipher its origins. Wherever it had come from, surely it was wicked and cruel thing. But there were more important things to think about than that: like how his back ached, or how his shoulders felt like cannonballs; just as lifeless, and just as heavy. More important than that, he felt sick, tongue filling his mouth thickly. And Commodore Tochigi couldn't help but think of even more important matters. Like how the pain tore at his head in hollow throbs, sounds grating on his mind... "Commodore Tochigi!" "What? What?" The man spat, lifting his head up from the table with a snarl. For a moment he examined the bottle in his hand a bit confused, and then tossed it aside. He stood up, irritably watching the glass shards as if it was their fault for being there. "What is it? Speak up, man!" The young officer, stiffened his back. "Commodore Toc--" "Not so loud!" The yafutoman snapped at his lesser, his white-knuckled fist going to head to quiet it. "I never told you to shout!" "Commodore Tochigi!" The officer repeated, voice cautiously tempered to a near whisper. "You... didn't report in, sir. You were on duty half an hour ago." "... dancers, keepin' me up all night..." Tochigi muttered darkly to himself, burning holes into the wooden stage with his eyes. Quickly disdain was moved over to the uniformed reminder. Two uniformed reminders, he noted, looking up and down the two well built men. Nothing like him. He was all length, drawn out misery. Oh, how he hated how he looked... "Alright! I'm up! Can't you see? This is me, on duty. One of you, get me some strong tea for this moon cursed head--go! The other of you. What is there to report?" "Sir, the port has been busy this morning; traders and fishermen--" "Yes, yes. Get on with it! And didn't I tell you to speak up?" The young yafutoman licked his lips nervously, eying the man haggard by hate, all stick-like, and all angles. How the man had risen to Commodore, the Junior couldn't imagine. That was, save the man's remarkable ability at getting men to do exactly what he wanted, when he wanted whatever done, and he always commanded in a manner that left no room for how it was to be done. And men jumped to carry out the exacts. No one accused the Commodore of being intelligent nor a quick mind, but the moon take his soul, Tochigi was a man who got what he wanted. The young officer supposed the man at some point must have wanted to be 'Commodore...' "The few mercenaries in the area--" "I don't care about mercenaries." Tochigi sniffed down his long, thin, bent nose. "Do we look like we're in the middle of a war? Well? Do we?" "No, Sir." "So you're telling me that you're wasting my time. Is there anything useful to report? Anything at all?" "N... no sir. Forgive me, sir." "Then get out of here! And where is my tea! Find out and get it here." "Then find out, and get him here." Castédrell ordered, more than a bit irritably. "Yes, Sir!" The man, whose graying hair showing him to be at least Castédrell's equal for age, saluted, and hurried off. The Admiral sighed, looking anxiously out the forward windows. The distance would have been enough to hide them, but the cloud-cover besides saw that the fleet was carefully protected from the Guardian Wall's watchful. Of course, that mean Castédrell couldn't see anything either, so why he was looking outside he wasn't exactly sure. Irritably he looked at the RADAR station, only one of the two chairs filled. Where was that man? A number of explanations--good explanations--came to mind in response to that question, but he didn't particularly want to listen to them just then. Fishing pocket watch out, he looked at the time, and his breath caught. Five minutes. With absolute radio silence this mission was going to begin in ten minuets, if the secondary RADAR officer was there or not. "Final systems call!" The Admiral shouted, deep resonate voice filling the bridge with little effort, tone climbing at the end of his words, true to the seaman's manner. "Main cannons!" "All ready and loaded." Replied an officer, looking up from his control panel, and setting down the large intercom phone. "All staff reporting in." "Secondary cannons!" "All ready and loaded. All staff reporting in." "Torpedo tubes!" "All ready and loaded. All staff reporting in." "Engineering!" "All systems primed and ready. All staff reporting in." "Lookout!" "Cloud cover obscuring. All staff reporting in." "Navigation!" "Reporting all readings to Flight Control. All staff reporting in." "Flight Control!" "All controls fully responsive. All staff reporting in." "RADAR!" "All systems ready--" The officer began, hesitating as he saw his co-officer sit hurriedly down next to him. "All staff reporting in." The Admiral made a mental note of that. "Then may the moons lend us their blessings. Come on, do your work. Everyone knows the drill. Bring us out of the cloud cover." He shouted the commands, sitting down in the captain's chair. "Aim the Serpent Cannons. I want a range estimate of the Imperial City the instant we're out of these clouds. Report it to Main Cannons. Have us within two-hundred percent range of the Serpent Cannons immediately. Ready to fire the blanks. Stay in formation, don't come out too early." He flipped open the pocket watch, looking at the three hands that marked the quickly closing time. They were likely outnumbered. Possibly out gunned. They lacked the home field advantage, and surprise would only give them so much, with the Guardian Walls playing lookout. Yafutoma's forces would be willing to fight and die for their nation, and while the Black Fleet could do likewise, they couldn't accept death, not with so few ships. The mission was to waltz in, take one of the largest constructs ever of mankind off of a mountainside in the midst of one of Arcadia's most powerful navy's strongholds, and do so with fewer casualties than most officers would even bring into the realm of possibilities. This was suicide. This was insanity. This was the sort of thing the Black Fleet was made for; victory. "To deep sky with you Vyse," The Admiral snarled to himself. You and the filth of the world that backed you. You may have tarnished the image of the Black Fleet, and the image of Lord Galcian, but it will not stand. Arcadia will learn to fear us. We are the best of the best. We are professional, dedicated... the elite of Arcadia. We are the hope of salvation, the only promise left of unification and justice. And today? We fight. "Sir! We're at twice-range now, sir." Castédrell watched the gold-foiled watch tick over to seven o'clock. "Fire." |
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| Gordreg | May 18 2009, 01:28 PM Post #7 |
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Administrator
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The Charybdis skulked beneath the cloud layer in lower sky, her dark colouration almost a match for the blackness of the deepest clouds. Though the underside of the converted tanker-ship was laden with bank upon bank of turbines, all were only turning slowly and the large ship merely coasted forward through the gloom at a pace apparently untroubled by events that were starting to unfold above the clouds. Seated on a command-chair at the back of the ship’s bridge, built atop an arc that straddled both the tanker-hulls, Octavia Gnack turned her keening eye away from the viewport and the greyness outside to throw her one-eyed glance at the chronometer. The hands were just about turning on the mark of seven; likely as not she would soon get – “Miss Gnack.” The telegraph officer spoke up, standing from her seat as she addressed Octavia. “The Admiral has given his engagement orders. The fleet is attacking, as scheduled.” Octavia regarded the news quietly. Castedrell’s schedule had not been broken, then… all was proceeding according to his plan, as far as she could work out. Right at this moment the attentions of the Yafutoman naval forces were being grabbed forcibly by Castedrell; and that gave Charybdis the opening she needed. Unarmed and barely armoured she was obviously not a fighting ship; even if discovered by the Yafutomans, Octavia doubted they would do anything against her ship. Not with the warships of the black fleet as an obvious foe to fight against. No, nothing at all. Not until the moment when everything would become too late. “Increase speed, then!” Octavia gleamed, her single eye lighting brightly with anticipation of the prize that waited for her, just a mile or so further up on the mountain’s flank. “Take us under the guardian wall! Take us to the co-ordinates!” Albus, standing near to the depth-guage, nodded to the helmsman as he looked to him for confirmation. “As Miss. Gnack says, Mr. Holte; take us there, then hold when we reach position.” “Sir.” The Helmsman nodded to Albus, giving him a very brief salute as he did so. Albus nodded back, and looked across to the telegraph officer. “Miss. Flavin. Please send a message back to the Admiral. Tell him that we’re en route, and that we will be waiting for his signal. Tell him that we will be ready to move once he’s drawn the fleet away.” |
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| Tatlin | May 19 2009, 02:56 AM Post #8 |
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I Have the power and the Speed!
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Vadik sat in his chair, stationed towards the back of the bridge. His men bustled around, each running from station to station, whispering quietly to each other or working hard on calculations. Some men stared intently at the small monitors in front of them, waiting for some sort of anomaly. The helmsman stood at the front, looking calmly out at the clouds. His back was erect, stiff as the metal that held the ship together. Vadik sometimes wondered if he felt any emotion at all. The air in the rest of the bridge felt tense, and a nervous energy pulsed between men. But they did not talk about what was coming. They spoke as if they were going about their normal routines. Late night exploits and other dabbles from off shore were shared as always. Vadik quickly glanced over at the clock to his right. It read 6:45. It was time to begin the final preparations for the assault. He peered forward out the window. The faint outline of Mount Kazai could be seen in the distance, and the blue moon behind that, casting a dull blue light across the clouds. The sun hung low in the sky, casting shadows across the deck. Men had begun to walk out onto the deck, and were now inspecting the cannons. Vadik took off his hat and dropped it next to his seat. He cleared his throat and began to speak. "Time for the final preparations" he called out. His Vice-Captain grabbed the checklist and began calling out to each station, checking on each one's status. He ran through the list twice just to be thorough. He then made his way over to Vadik, and saluted before walking up the steps and leaning in to speak with the Captain. "Sir, everything is in order. All decks are reporting ready. The bridge crew is prepared. We will be approaching the firing distance in approximately five minutes, just as planned" the Vice-Captain whispered softly into Vadik's ear. Vadik shot a glance over to the clock. It read 6:55 now. Vadik nodded to the Vice-Captain and he saluted once more, then went to his own station. "Men!" Vadik yelled out across the bridge. The volume of his voice echoed slightly in the large metal room, and everyone looked up at the Captain. Vadik looked over the faces, some young, some old. He took a deep breath and spoke once more. "The time is upon us. I know I've been over the plans with you many times before, so I am sure there are no questions. We will commence firing now in three minutes. Some of you have done this before, and others haven't. Do not be frightened. The Black Fleet will always prevail. We may be shaken, we face losses, but we will not lose this fight. We must never give up. Some of you will say the odds are against us. And I will say to that man, 'You underestimate our strength!' A battle is more than statistics and strategies. It is about the hearts of the men. You cannot fight unless you are in it 100 percent! Now, let us begin!" The crew let out a loud "For the Black Fleet" before returning once more to their stations. Vadik leaned over to the speaking tube that led to the cannon room. "Aim weapons!" he yelled out loudly, making sure that both the bridge and the men on the other side of the tube would hear him clearly. Suddenly, a loud turning of metal was heard. Men began shouting out coordinates through the speaking tubes and the gigantic cannons moved slowly, then locking into place. The barrels of the guns were turned slightly upward, then a resounding "All ready!" was shouted back up towards Vadik. He smiled slightly then looked at the clock. Now it read Seven. "Fire!" Vadik screamed. The vibrations of the cannons rocked the whole ship. The shells flew through the air, and smoke puffed up from the cannons. Each set of cannons discharged almost instantaneously, with only a few seconds in between each shot. In the distance, one could hear explosions coming from the city. Vadik lit up. So the plan had worked! Vadik straightened himself and prepared for the next move. "About time" he muttered to himself. A small smirk formed on his lips as the clouds of smoke from his own cannons dissipated and the smoke from the explosions in Yafutoma rose. |
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| The Karlminion | May 19 2009, 04:24 AM Post #9 |
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180-proof Redneck
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"Almost time," Illyrian muttered, gazing at his clock and adjusting his hat one more time. He reached for a speaking tube, one that went to every area of the ship, and clear his throat. "Ten minutes, men," he intoned softly, "get ready for the fireworks." He set the tube down and reached into a pocket, pulling out a small red box; it looked arcane and complicated, though it was nothing more than a magical detonator keyed to the Pyrulen bombs his comrade Cy Chi had planted. On deck, heeding their captain, the lazing men sprang up, keeping to their roll as hungover louts; some of them pulled half-heartedly at various ropes, fighting with the others over who was pulling what. Others pulled themselves up the rigging to see to the sails, while the mates argued and fought at the helm over who got to sail where and at what time. Eventually, though, the ship was ready, and not a moment too soon. At the precise stroke of seven, Illyrian activated the detonator, in exact tandem with the long-range guns and the planted explosives; a number of rooms throughout the city, mostly in the military barracks and quarters, were simply consumed in a sudden, massively violent sphere of red energy. Any caught in the blast stood no chance of survival; all were burnt beyond crispy, particularly the men whom the bombs were meant for. The islands roared with the fury of the bombs, then just as suddenly the explosions collapsed, leaving charred ruins and unidentafiable ashes in their wake. In one fell swoop most of the officers and key personnel of the Home Fleet, and perhaps others from the rest of the Yafutoman Navy, were wiped from existance. But there was no time to comprehend it; the city was under attack! "Any time now," the Black Mage said idly to himself as he strode on deck. They would certainly need mercenaries very quickly, and there was himself plus the group he had contacted earlier. They would do their part, and he would do his. "Nice work, boss," the first mate said softly, gesturing at the spirals of smoke rising from the city. "But of course, they were mine," Illyrian replied, his voice laden with arrogant scorn. "But remember the game now." "Yeah yeah," and the mate turned to kick at his men. "On yer feet a'ready, ya bilge rats!" he shouted. "Ya jus' saw tha', sure'n certain there'll be blokes comin' t' hire us!" ---------------- "Admiral Doherty!" a young soldier said sharply, as the older man passed by; the younger fellow had a forgetful air about him, his blond hair and puzzled blue eyes a stark contrast to his six feet and six inches of height and the hefty poleax held in his hand. "Um, I was s'pposed to give you this, sir!" and he held out a piece of paper, on which the message from the Black Mage was printed. Why it hadn't been brought to the Admiral's attention beforehand would be a question for another time. ((OOC: Yeah Nex, lookin' at you here.))) |
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| PG 17 | Jun 29 2009, 02:39 AM Post #10 |
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Uber Monk
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The wind blew around Dresco, ruffling his hair, the cape on his shoulder, and the Kuné-dar on his waist. The courier boat made its way through the fleet, back to his own ship, The Rising Dawn. As the ship docked, Dresco brought his hand up and adjusted his glove, then stepped off. He walked briskly along the deck, opened the door and made his way into the interior, two guards following along respectively behind him. He climbed the stairs and opened another door leading into the bridge. “All hands, report in.” Dresco said, sitting in his chair. The various posts reported in, everything nominal, no one was late. “Hm...All right. Good. Let’s be on our way. Helm, set a course for Yafutoma, and keep formation with the fleet.” “Aye, sir.” Dresco leaned back into his chair and closed his eyes. It was going to be a while for them to reach Yafutoma. Reaching underneath his chair into a compartment, he pulled out a weatherworn book. Taking a pen from the same compartment, he flipped to a blank page and started to write. “...The crew seems ready for the upcoming battle. I wouldn’t expect less from the Elite of the Valuan Armada...” “...The plan is simple enough; distract the Yafutoman fleet so the Charybdis can grab Bluheim...” “...As for myself, I’m more than ready for combat. It’s been two years since Vyse killed Galcian, but the Black Fleet is about to make it’s triumphant return...” “Our dim yesterday is forgotten in the glorious tomorrow; march forward soldiers today and take it...” Dresco muttered. “Hm, Sir?” Dresco’s Vice Captain enquired. “Ah, just a bit of poetry Number One.” “All right, Sir.” The Vice Captain said, returning to his original position. Dresco put his book and pen back into the compartment, and adjusted himself in his seat. It was still a ways to Yafutoma. ________________________________________________________________________ “Yafutoma dead astern, Captain. 5 minutes to twice-distance.” The sensor officer said, adjusting his instruments. “All right, gunners, load blanks into the cannons. Prepare for full barrage in 5 minutes.” Dresco said, leaning over to the speaking tube. “Aye Sir!” Came the reply back. Dresco looked over at the radar station. “How’s the rest of the fleet doing, Ensign?” “Everyone is holding formation, sir. No irregularities.” Dresco nodded and leaned back in into his seat, placing one arm on the right armrest. This was it. No more meetings, no more talks. At last their time had come, and Arcadia would know the Black Fleet again. The minutes slipped by, slowly, but also far too quickly. “Sir, twice distance!” “Hold...” Dresco said, leaning forward in his chair. A few seconds ticked by, then: “Sir, all other ships are preparing to fire!” The Radar officer cried. “Right, aim cannons at Yafutoma. On my mark, fire!” Dresco said, pushing himself out of the chair and standing on the deck. “Now, fire!” |
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12:33 AM Jul 11