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The Battle of Bluheim
Topic Started: Feb 24 2009, 02:55 PM (1,166 Views)
Ranger
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Previously Nex Terren
Admiral Castedrell Dorherty spent a selfish moment on a satisfied smile, watching the fiery blossoms curl up from the distant isles. He had thought he would feel as though a weight had been lifted when the explosions sounded, but it was not so. In the end, it seemed his faith had won out over his skeptic nature, a nature born into him as a man of both war and business. He had known, all along, that the mage would pull through.

But... why?

It was not because this man, this Illyrian, was a professional, or to be trusted once given a job. It was not for what convening reports intelligence had secured, or the tales he overheard whispered by his bridge crew. The Admiral had never met the man, nor had he even had a look at his face by way of photograph or painting. So why was it that Casteldrell knew it would happen? Where had the trust came from?

Admiral Doherty had known it to be fact because Blackman had said it would.

"Admiral Doherty!"

The Admiral stood up with a jerk and turned about. Surprise betrayed his confident composure. A young Black Elite had come up to him, towering his senior officer by a good half-a-foot. He offered a peice of paper, which the Admiral took with a scowl and a sniff.

"Um, I was s'pposed to give you this, sir!"

Doherty snatched the offering from the man, scowling briefly at the spoken words. He didn't bother with their meaning.

"Who's is this--" He shook his head with a jerk, cutting off the line of questioning that had come to mind. Flicking his free hand dismissively in the direction from which he came. "Back to your station at once! I want your name, rank, and offense reported to your commanding officer or I will personally search you out."

What the meaning of this was, the admiral hadn't the time to question any past another disgruntle look at the page. Was it important? No, it couldn't be terribly so, less surely the soldier would have remembered before now. Besides, if it was urgent, the solider had already forgot to deliver, so it could wait a few moments more.

With a strong stride, he began patrolling the bridge, sharp eyes looking down his hawk nose at controls he didn't really understand. Glass covered wonders, polished brass needles displaying variables of flight and battle, knobs that took a strong arm to turn, others that could be spun with the brush of a finger. One man to Castedrell's left shoved a lever with a heave, and then shouted some jargon into the speaking tube beside him. What was a 'strong sheet' and whatever did it have to do with engineering?

"Break radio silence!" The Admiral bellowed, eyes searching the bridge as if looking for prey. "I want reports immediately of status from each ship--any complications or changes are to be reported to me directly, from the respective captains if at all possible. Otherwise crew-to-crew communication will suffice. I want a report from Chief Officer of Engineering Gnack as soon as possible."

"Sir?" The older officer spoke up, turning about in his chair, "the Chief Officer of Engineering has already reported in--she made contact just after detonation. She says to report that she's en route and waiting for your signal."

"Very good." Castedrell nodded. "Turn to port side! Ready cannons! Lookout and RADAR, I want confirmed reports when the enemy ships are approaching, and reports of distance."

As he shifted his weight to adjust for the slight bank, his mind began to tic off the aspects of the situation. Was there anything else? The charges had been set off, reports requested, they were reading for attack... of course. The Narsians and their pride... He grimaced at the thought.

"Communications! I want you to contact the Long Range Supporters and remind them not to open fire until we have have engaged the enemy. We can't afford having to turn around and save them if they draw enemy fire, and make sure that they understand we won't."

The Admiral huffed, looking out the forward windows. The westward skies were still framed by a touch of darkness, it blending into blue. Among that sky rested isles, the guardian wall, and... ships. Ships heading their direction. No form, no order, just at full speed, and with weapons ready. Not all of them, but a few. The line of Elites and Spectre would be enough to make quick work of them. But what of the formations? After this random panic of attackers? That would be more tricky.




Commodore Tochigi coughed and sputtered, forcing the ash out of his mouth. However his mind wasn't focused on the violent explosion that had just taken the tavern. Instead he occupied his thoughts with vulgarities. Well, those curses, and the pastime he was making of shooting daggers from his eyes at the lifeless face before him. Tochigi was certain that the youth had betrayed him, that all of this was his fault.

"Worthless excuse... firstborn of a..."

He stood, brushing off his pants legs, still with his scowl set on the red-marred officer's wide open eyes. Distant, motionless wide open eyes.

"Commodore Tochigi!" a young man exclaimed behind his superior, climbing with all due haste over the burned wreckage. The first thing the commodore noted that the youth had a porcelain teacup in hand. That was a good thing, because if he hadn't been carrying that cup... Oh, if he hadn't...

"Yes, yes." The officer beckoned impatiently with a bony hand, eying the requested remedy. "Bring it here. And report on... this."

"Sir! The tavern--the houses---you---you're hurt!"

Tochigi followed the junior officer's gaze down to his leg. There blood poured. It coated his uniform down the leg, turning the stunning blue into something of a purple. A reddish purple, the man supposed; there seemed to be more blood than dye.

"So what?" He snapped, "Is that what I asked about? Is it? Boy, answer!"

"No, sir."

The boy's gaze fell away, catching site of the body on the ground. A quiet gasp escaped him. The Commodore couldn't fathom why. After all, the tavern had just exploded! Had he expected sunshine and flowers? He deserved more than this... more than these worthless excuses being his to lead. Tochigi snatched the cup from the youth's hands, and delicately took a sip. He scowled, throwing the cup down. It bounced off a burning timber, unharmed, which only made the man less pleased. The boy had sweetened it! Had he asked for his tea to be sweetened?

"The report! Out with it!"

"Ah--ah--" The boy stammered, fighting his gaze away from the carnage. "The attack hit us badly, it looked like it was mostly in military areas but... I think I saw some houses in flames. Our shipyards... our docked ships are... I don't think they can... I don't think they'll be able to... It came from the east--Valuans, I think."

"You think?" Tochigi growled, spinning around in a search of the sky. "Where are they and how did they get so close? And why don't you know who they are? Are you blind?"

"No, sir--they're not close. I haven't... I'd guess them to be at least three times the distance of our farthest reaching cannons... I... don't know how they..."

"Stop blathering! I want full alert now! Get the ships ready in formation, and as soon as they are in formation advance for the attack--I don't care what formation we use, just use something. If the enemy gets another shot at the isles I'll have it on your record, and on your head! I want reports on any mercenaries in the area, and any able ship who's worth half what they're asking for--hire them! That Illyrian man, he's in the area. Be sure he's hired! And may the Blue Moon strike me dead, if you don't get detailed reports of those attacking ships immediately...!"




The radio crackled with the short-range communication. It was simple, straight forward, and perhaps a little too desperate in nature. But it was the one sent out, nevertheless.

This is the navy of the Kingdom of Yafutoman, sending out a request for all captains willing to aid Yafutoma in defense. You will be repaid for all damages of craft, cargo, and life, in addition to payment of your services, and you will be recognized as friend to the kingdom. Please send reply. This is the navy of the Kingdom of Yafutoma, sending out a request...




Castedrell thumbed open the letter, and scanned the short message. He couldn't believe what he was reading. This mage thought to restrict him and his fleet as to what they should do? An order all too thinly veiled as a request. And without a word of explanation! It was an effort not to grind his teeth.

Throwing the white insult aside, he jerked his searching study over to communications.

"New order to all ships. Tell them to avoid use of inhibiting magic if at all possible--"

Without any sort of warning, the admiral was thrown to the ground.

Grabbing hold of a section of railing, he pulled himself erect. Shouts of panic sounded around him, as bridge officers attempted to regain a hold on the situation, climb back into their chairs, or search out the windows for the attackers. Out the window the ships before them claimed no smoke about their cannons, nor even aimed weapons. Besides, they were out of range. Where, then, had it come from?

With the composure of peacetime, the Admiral stood, and lifted his voice. A shout, yes, but it was as calm as his blank face.

"To your stations. To your stations!" Men quieted, and hurried to obey. "Report. Where did that attack come from?"

"Torpedoes, sir! From directly above. We can't get a visual... they're using cloud cover."

Castedrell squinted through the forward-aft windows, towards the fast approaching ships. And now ships from above? In an age of RADAR, technology had failed them. Not even a visual report... there was no way to guess how many there were, and reports on the damage of his own ship--let alone the others'--would take too long. Only seconds until the ships forward-aft were within range, and now new ships of war were already upon them from above.

They couldn't break from formation, and yet the threat from above had to be dealt with. And the attack from above only served to complicate and attack at the foundation of any plan dealing with the forward-aft ships not yet in range. Well, they could spare two ships...

"Send an order to Captain Valdik that he is to break from formation and engage the charging ships preemptively, and attempt to see if there are any other unknown ships in the area. We will provide cover fire. Send an order to Captain Dresco to engage the ships skyward from us. He is to draw away their fire. He will be without support."

"Yes, sir!"

"Sir? Forward ships one-thousand meters until range, estimated at one minute."
Edited by Ranger, Sep 29 2009, 11:52 PM.
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The Karlminion
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As Illyrian put the finishing touches on his ensemble, the radio crackled to life. "Hmm?" he muttered as he gave the ascot one last tug. He reached over and twiddled a knob, and the static resolved into the Yafutoman distress call. "Ahh, and so it begins," he said with a chuckle. He twirled another knob and reached for a microphone, a quaintly outdated trinket on the surface.

"This..." he began, breaking off with a moan as if he was hungover, "...this is, ah... the Black Mage... distress call, sure... help y'all out... Agh, hang on." He turned away and yelled for the first mate, who showed up with much grumping and frumping; after a brief shouting match he took up the microphone.

"Yeah, what?" he snapped. Before he could go on, though, there was a shout from above. "'ang on..." the mate grumbled, dropping the device and yelling back. Then he took it back up. "Ne'er ye min', y'all sent a fella a'ready." With that he hung up, and regarded his captain briefly before cracking up.

Illyrian joined in, then went sober. "Guess I'm up," he said softly, turning to ascend to the deck. He stopped, though, and reached for a bottle. "Almost forgot... the crowning touch," he murmured, spraying a little of the fluid on his collar. Then he went on, his gait and demeanor changing to fit with the illusion conveyed by the men.

On deck, he was greeted by the sight of a bemused Yafutoman naval officer, though his stripes could not hide the general air of 'lackey' that hung about him. He saw Illyrian weaving his way forward, and gaped; only a fellow dressed like that could be captain of a ship, and yet... well, whatever. This was the Black Mage and he was supposed to hire him up. He cleared his throat and bowed correctly. "Greetings, O Black Mage," he began as he straightened up.

"Oh stow it," Illyrian broke in brusquely, leaning against one of the masts and rubbing his forehead. "What'cha gonna pay me?"

"Er, well..." the lackey stammered, put off by the lack of courtesy and the scent of strong cologne. "It's an emergency, as you have no doubt noticed, and-"

"Damn right I did!" Illyrian declared. "Moons above, y'all gettin' blown up left 'n right!"

"Yes, yes," the lackey went on. "You understand the situation, obviously."

"Sure do," the mage replied, grinning unpleasantly. "Y'all're in a pickle, an' y' need extra men at a premium. Well, yer gonna pay a premium, lemme tell ya!" He then named a figure, which was over five times his normal rate; aim high, after all, shock the client, and they'll be much more amenable when you get to your real prices.

Accordingly, the lackey gasped. "What?! Th-that's robbery! That's piracy!"

"And you are in a state of emergency. So pay up!" and he held out his hand imperiously.

The lackey sputtered in outrage, then fixed the black-garbed sorcerer with his best glare. "That is outrageous!" he said hotly. "I was not authorized for such a sum!" Illyrian had the upper hand, though, and they both knew it. So instead of drawing it all out and costing precious time for the counterattack, he simply threw down the purse of gold he had taken. "There! That's all we can give at the moment!" he finished, declaring the amount of the purse. Less than half what Illyrian had demanded, consequently more than he had expected. "Don't expect any more!" With that he stamped off, going back to his superiors to prepare for battle.

"Good work, cap'n," the first mate said with a chuckle, as Illyrian retrieved the purse and fondly regarded the glittering coins. "Gamin' both sides o' the shindig..."

"Why, you insult me, my good man," Illyrian replied tartly, pocketing the purse. "I have every intention of aiding the Yafutomans... until the time comes, that is." He laughed unpleasantly, then turned to his crew. "Stir yer stogs, ye scurvy scum!" he roared. "There's a battle t' be fought, an' we're gonna fight it!" This is actually somewhat fun, he thought, in regard to the whole pirate charade thing as the crew set about ineptly preparing for battle.

------------------------

Elsewhere, there were other preparations being made. With the sudden loss of so many key officers, the Home Fleet needed skilled men to fill the holes. Some of them were filled with retired officers unceremoniously yanked from their beds, but others had to be sated through less savory means. Mercenaries, in other words.

Yet it was doubtless with some surprise that they looked on as a group of local mercs stepped up, smoothly and without fuss, to take on the missing positions. Usually it was a hassle hiring mercenaries; they were full of themselves, they gouged and made demands, but this time there was none of that. They shrugged and attributed it to patriotism; look at that foreigner Telcondera, how rude was that?

Nevertheless, not everything was as they might have liked. Beneath the influx of hired officers came a select few others, filling in gaps that didn't need filled; in fact, it wasn't until they showed up that there were any gaps at all. Yet no one noticed, because these gaps were not the sort to be noticed normally; adjutants, staff sergeants, engine room workers. All the mid-level men most commanders couldn't remember the names of, yet without which the ship, and the fleet, would fall apart.

Obviously these were Illyrian's men, the Black Fleet's men, yet the Yafutomans had no inkling whatsoever of these ulterior alliances. And wouldn't until it was too late.

----------------------

"We're in for it now, cap'n," the first mate said jovially, as the Dark Score Run flew through the air, sticking close to Commodore Tochigi's vessel. The yacht stood out amongst the fleet vessels, because it was a civilian craft and because of its coloration.

"We are indeed," Illyrian replied, as he straightened up. He removed a ring from his left hand, in which glinted a blue moonstone.

Begin S-Move: Might of the Blue Moon

"Now is the time!" he cried, holding the stone aloft; it flashed brightly, and a blue aura surrounded the black ship. "Blue Winds! Lend us your speed and your strength!" A gust blew across the deck, and the aura shrank inward until it was absorbed by the wood of the ship, and the flesh of her crew. The ship would now move faster and her cannons would strike harder; the crew would be likewise bolstered.

End S-Move

"Nice trick," the mate said, unable to conceal his awe.

"Sure, sure," Illyrian said dismissively. "Don't forget your role!" With that he stumbled forward, weaving as if his balance was gone, until he collapsed against the magic cannon mounted in the prow. From here he would not move, not even as a deep purple tint began creeping over the cannon beneath him...

"Aye," the mate muttered, turning to the men. "Avast! The h'enemy be drawin' nigh! Load cannon, prepare t' broadside!" Lethargically and with much kicking and screaming on the mate's part, they did just that, loading the guns with cheap shells and flawed cannonballs.

"A pirate's life for me," Illyrian muttered, hiding a smirk as he continued lying prostrate atop the magic cannon. From a distance, it would perhaps appear as if he were passed out...
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Dresco sat impassively, watching as things played out. They had fired, as ordered, and as expected, the explosives had gone off. Now the Yafotumans were attempting to launch some kind of counter-offensive. Dresco doubted they could match the Black Fleet, though. He doubted any fleet could now. Nasr had been hit badly during the Crystal wars, Valua even more so. Yafutoma perhaps...But the Black Fleet was just about to prove its superiority.

“Sir!” One of the Radio crewmen said. “Order from Admiral Doherty! He wants a status report of the ship, from the captain if possible.”
“Hm...” Dresco leaned back into his chair. “All right, patch me in.” He said, getting up and walking over to the Radio station. The technician fiddled with something at his station, and Dresco picked up one of the microphones.
“This is Captain Flammerge of the Rising Dawn. All systems nominal, ship is battle worthy and awaiting new orders.”

Putting the microphone down, Dresco returned to his seat. For now, he would sit and wait. Dresco didn’t have to wait long until the battle started to heat up. Explosions could be seen coming from the Admiral’s direction. Dresco perked up, looking over.
“RADAR, report!”
“Torpedoes, sir! They hit the Admiral’s ship, along with a few others.”
Tch...” Dresco gripped his armrest.
“From where?”
“Above us, sir!” The crewman said, looking up from his station out the window.
“Several ships, I’m not sure how many-“
“Sir! Orders coming in from the Admiral!” The crewman at Radio said.
“What? What are they?” Dresco said, leaning forward with interest.
“Sir...We’re to engage the ships above us. We’ll...be without support.”
“Damnit...”Respond to the Admiral’s ship...Confirm and understand, engaging enemy ships.”

Dresco clenched the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb. This wasn’t going to be easy.
“RADAR! How many ships are we dealing with?”
Unknown sir, they’re using cloud cover to mask themselves.”
Great, stepping out into the unknown.
“All right. Helm! Take us up.”
The Helmsman hit a few levers at his station, and the ship rocked gently underneath them, beginning it’s ascent. It took only a few minutes to reach the cloud cover, and another to break above it.
“RADAR, status update!”
“Sir!...5 ships, to starboard! Tracking distance...Half a Kilo!”
“Right...Tactical, full portside spread, let them know we’re here.”
“Aye, sir!” The officer worked his console, then shouted the orders into the speaking tube. Soon, booms could be heard and felt through the ship, fire erupting from the side.
“Several direct hits, sir! Light damage to two ships.”
The RADAR crewman perked up.
“Two ships are breaking off and heading for us, sir!”
“Turn the ship 90 degrees, and then move forward at full speed. Reload the spent cannons, and prepare Neutralization teams.”
“Aye sir!” Came confirmations from the respective positions.

The ships moved quickly towards each other, firing shots as they went.
“Helm! Take us up a bit, we need to be as close as possible.”
Aye sir!”
The ship rose underneath them, straining as it neared it’s limit. The Yafutoman ships tried to adjust, but the Dawn was already on top of them.
“Dispatch a Neutralization team. Then move forward and turn us around.”
The Vice Captain shouted in the speaking tube for deployment, as the crewman at Helm began the new course.
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Tatlin
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I Have the power and the Speed!
Vadik gripped the sides of his seat tightly. The ship rocked violently as a huge burst of wind came by. A few men cried out as they were almost knocked to their feet. The bridge was a bustling hub of communication. Shouts were exchanged, orders passed along the chain. Vadik took a look out the window. He noticed now that the Yafutomans were sending forces to meet them. He smiled. They would be no match for the power of the Black Fleet.

The ship rocked again, this time a violent roar accompanied the hit. Bells and whistles went off inside the cabin. Vadik grabbed the speaking tube and roared into it.

"Damage report! What the hell happened!?" A moment after, a faint voice replied back.

"Captain, it seems to have been a torpedo. We were tracking it and it was blown off course and managed to only clip our ship, but it exploded underneath us. Damn these Yafutoman winds!"

Vadik sat straight up in his chair. He contemplated what to do next. He couldn't break formation without orders. He stood up and moved forward, overlooking the cabin. The Vice-Captain looked up at him for orders, but Vadik just nodded. The Vice-Captain yelled out again to the crew. More shots were fired off towards Yafutoma. Smoke was continually rising from the city. Vadik smiled devilishly. They would get them yet. And Bluheim would be their prize.

A man burst onto the deck, panting like mad. He rushed over to the Captain and saluted, and handed him a ripped piece of paper. Across it was a hastily scrawled message.

"Sir, radio silence has been broken. Our status was reported. We have new orders sir."

Vadik waved the man away and took a look at the notes. Vadik looked over them quickly, and then stuffed the note in his pocket. He turned to the Vice-Captain and issued his new orders.

"MEN! We are about to break formation and engage that", he pointed out the window the Yafutoman squadron approaching, "fleet of ships right there. Prepare for full scale battle operations!"

All the men yelled out their affirmations, and Vadik sat back down in his chair. He looked around, and feeling ready, proceeded with the plan.

"RAMMING SPEED! Ramming speed until we're within range. Then I want an immediate shift to a manageable speed. Engage those ships with full force!" Vadik roared out over the deck. He yelled the same orders into the engineering tube. The helmsman threw the speed level forward, and Vadik could hear the engines churning inside the ship. He felt the pull as the ship pushed forward, zooming away from all the other ships.

"Send the first barrage of shots when we are within range. Let's see if they can handle the Black Fleet..." Vadik smirked, and sat back in his chair, once again surveying the cabin.
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Ranger
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Previously Nex Terren
Castedrel strode forward, eyes performing a grim study of the outside. Two captains bravely broke form formation to engage what was the dangerous, and was much the unknown. A brave act that, and courage was matched by dedication and dedication by skill. Even without being able to hear the captain’s orders, able to see the rush around the bridge, the admiral could know what was going on. Some of Arcadia’s finest officers doing what they did best; war.

Satisfied, he spun away from the windows, shouting orders and checks at his own crew. Responses were fired back at him. Damage analyses, ship-to-ship communication, and lookout reports composed only a few of the words hurled in Castedrel’s direction. Stoically, he waded through them, firing the occasional reply back, and forming it all into a solid wall of imagery, picking apart the battle in his head.

Dresco was performing well. Two ships seem to be the threat from above, and he was moving to engage. They were mid-sized ships of war by Yafutoman standards, which meant that their combined crews likely didn’t compare to Dresco’s own—and the Black Fleet was not in the habit of over manning their crafts. They would likely be swiftly dealt with. That should be a welcome relief to the admiral, except… it was not. That they were swiftly dealt with was simply a necessity; in fact, he needed them taken care of faster than just ‘swiftly.’ With the speed and small profile of the two crafts, they’d provide an elusive target at best, and an enemy easily capable of cutting through the Fleet’s defensives if not put an end to right away. A direct barrage of fire each would be enough to destroy them the Admiral reasoned, but the trick would be setting up those shots.

“If he doesn’t take care of those ships immediately, our defenses are just asking to be exploited…” Castedrel growled to himself.

“Sir?” The man behind the wheel asked, risking a momentary glance away from the windows.

“Keep us steady, helmsman.” The admiral said with a distracted nod, eyeing the ship lancing forward without them. Captain Vadik’s ship. “Lookout? RADAR? I want you to tell me about the next ships before they hit us. Communications? Report on how close—”

Thunder exploded, causing the Admiral to dart towards the window to see what was going on. The roaring cannons of the elite-class ship were a wild claim for attention—intentionally or not—as Vadik showed the land of the blue what the Black Fleet was truly capable of. Castedrel allowed himself a brief laugh at the captain’s spirit after not tasting real battle for so long. The Admiral made a mental note of that.

A brilliant blaze of fire leapt up from where Vadik commanded his attack, punching two patrol craft into fiery decents without offering them so much as a chance of a fight. Impressive, Castedrell had to admit, but then again the act was risky. Pressing forward at ramming speed would make Vadik’s vessel harder to stop, and harder to stop meant he was left open for longer as he attempted to change course. Of course, if it actually came to ship-to-ship impact the heavily armored elite could take the punishment. The Yafutoman ships?

“Hmph.”

He traced his finger down the glass, following the far off downed ships. He watched as the ship fought itself to a more manageable speed, as Yafutoman cruisers attempted to encircle their pray.

Two down by Vadik, and two engaged by Dresco. Two against one; twice a design of combat. Castedrell could see the result of such odds; the Black Fleet was the superior without doubt. Of course, with men like those two captains, how could it not be? If they hadn’t had his faith before, well, they did now.

“Sir! Dresco is boarding the enemy craft.”

Castedrell turned his head with an inquisitive look. However, instead of inquiring, he simply nodded, and turned back to the window.

Dersco? What are you planning?

No, odds such as two-to-one did not worry him; his captains and their ships could handle it. With odds such as those he wouldn’t worry at all; in a straight battle the Black Fleet would be a victor. Those odds, however, would soon abandon the Valuan-born for far worse, and they were fighting no straight battle. The Black Fleet didn’t have to just win, but do so quite quickly.

How close were they to claiming their prize?

“Sir?” A voice behind him spoke. Castedrell didn’t bother to turn around. “Message from Chief Engineer Gnack.”

“Report.”

“They’re reporting that they are en route, and waiting for your signal, sir.”

Yes, the signal. It would be tricky to know when to send it. With no order or reason to the Yafutoman counter-attack, it would be difficult to know when Gnack would be clear to do her work. Although the enemy’s disorder was proving to work to their advantage in the short run, it was quickly getting in the way.

Castedrell spun around, fiery spirit returning to him.

“Status of the enemy fleet body!”

“Those engaging or moving to engage the Insurrection are still largely without order. The center of their force appears to be coming from the Insurrection’s aft, forward, lunar direction, with some key elements also engaging from due forward. Behind that—formation—there seems to be the main warships readying a defensive line.”

“Defensive?”

Why would they be holding back?

“As best as our lookouts can determine, Sir.”

The Admiral nodded, and stored away this report with the others.

“Order all available main-fleet ships except Captain Dresco’s forward, and to offer Captain Vadik torpedo cover fire. We can’t achieve much accuracy from this range; just stir up the nest. Have our long range supporters get into position—I want them ready to fire in five minutes or less. Their target is the defensive line behind the main attack if they can get a line-of-sight. If not, tell them to assist us in aiding the Insurrection. Communications! Tell Officer Gnack that if the nasrian long-range-supporters’ fire doesn’t break up the defensive line, to continue with the operation—I’ll send her support as needed. I also want reports on both Captain Dresco and Captain Valdik...”
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Gordreg
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The signal, when it came, was the first to reach the Charybdis since the beginning of the operation. The crackle of static broke through the gentle buzz of the receiver on standby, a sudden and jarring electrical noise that alerted the nearby crew. Something was happening, and as the operator placed on his headset to begin transcribing the sequence of electronic blips and beeps they soon got an idea of just what. Tipping his head back, causing his earphones to slip down around his neck, the operator looked across to the centre of the bridge, and the strange woman who’d seated herself upon the chair at the back; the one Admiral Dorherty had put in charge of this strange ship he’d been seconded to.

“Orders are coming in, miss…Gnack” he remembered quickly, though from the momentary flicker of annoyance he saw cross the visible half of her face, not quickly enough. “The Admiral’s giving the order to proceed with the operation.”

The annoyed flicker faded as fast as it had arrived, an excited curl of a smile taking over on the visible half of the woman’s face, her eye opening wide.

“Then proceed! Proceed! Proceed!” she shouted out excitedly, both her hands gripping tight against the armrests of her chair; the mechanical one even pressing small indentations into the material. “Moons know we’ve been waiting long enough for Castedrell’s distraction, someone tell him we’re moving already! All crew to your stations! Take her up, take her up!”

The operator nodded. “Yes, Ma’am.” he monotoned, and turned back to his radio to begin tapping out a reply for the admiral. The helmsman and instrument monitors gave similar short, blunt statements of compliance; and deep in the background Octavia felt the vibrations of the ship change as the turbines and engine began working in concert to lift the Charybdis upward out of the expanse of dark undersky.

Octavia didn’t care about or even notice the lack of a single salute between them all – her mind had already refixated itself upon the huge island of rock before them, and the prize that awaited her upon the mountain’s flanks. Already the mountain was starting to look more mountainous as they climbed up toward it; the massive uneven stone disc taking on angles and shape as her ship moved to a point more alongside then below it. The sky was growing lighter, too… the layer of undercloud drawing ever closer…



Distracted by the war that had begun around them, there was nobody in Yafutoma looking when the dark shape first appeared in the undercloud. It grew darker still as the minutes passed on by, taking on more and more solidity until, at last, a ship’s tower broke through the cloud layer. And still it rose upward, a huge hulk of black steel following the tower out of the lower mists and continuing to rise. Cloud spilled from the flanks; and strange clawed winch-turrets rotated and grasped as the crew inside began the final countdown to get their systems working. Winch-turrets holding heavy metallic discs buzzed and crackled with a building electrical supply; whilst the harpoon-armed turrets simply turned about to test their rotations. And beneath them all, the steel mass of the double-hull emerged from out of the clouds; mist spilling from the gaping ‘maw’ that sat between them as pooled cloud they’d collected drained slowly away.

At the centre of the ship's bridge and with a full view over almost all the Charybdis' bulk, Octavia Gnack's attention had now drifted fully away from the steel behemoth underneath her and to a far point on the mountain's flank, where one of the most beautiful and powerful of the old world’s creations lay dead upon the mountainside.

She swallowed as she saw it again. Oh, she’d known what had happened to the magnificent Bluheim after the fleet had been blown away. She’d read the reports from the fourth armada spies, had heard the tales about the duel with the Delphinius, and had even spoken with a chronicler who’d been to see it lying upon Mt. Kazai’s flanks.

But somehow, she hadn’t quite expected… this.

It looked so… so different to how she’d seen it last. Then, it had been a beautiful, powerful machine. She’d been overawed to watch it display the amazing powers of the old world, even as the unbridled force of Bluheim had been turned against the Armada and had driven the fleet away from Yafutoma. Her last sighting had seen it magnificent in the distance; the rainbow wings bright with energy against the sunlight; alive and bright and powerful.

It looked… so small now, flat and stationary against the mass of mountain stone. Slumped and sprawled at a most ungainly angle; so small, so... wounded. Yafutoman structures and shrines had been erected around the shell of the fallen Gigas; their sheen in the light making them resemble fat maggots feasting upon a fallen god.

Octavia swallowed again, her breath hissing sharply as she stared out at the dead thing that had been made from the magnificent Bluheim. She glared out at the detritus surrounding it, the fools who’d bought nothing more sustaining for their fallen protector then primitive shrines, empty words and feeble song. Her mechanical hand’s motors hissed in time with her breathing as they clenched and unclenched the metal prosthetic; her real hand reaching slowly up to the single real eye she still possessed and wiping gently away the moisture that threatened to pool there.

She could fix this. She was good at fixing things. She could make this right

“… Miss Gnack? I said; do we proceed?”

Octavia whirled suddenly away from the window as the voice broke through into her concentration, eyeing Albus as the rest of the command crew looked hesitantly toward her.

“Yes.”

Her word came out harsh and soft, a menacing whisper grating with a metallic edge.

“Move us into position for retrieval; tell the operators to get themselves a fix on their designated areas of Bluheim, and to wait for my orders. And someone keep watch for any Yafutoman ships that the Admiral’s distraction didn’t quite distract.”

And with orders given, she looked back to the scene on the mountain, the scene that the turbines of Charybdis were now carrying them relentlessly toward; the scene growing larger and closer with every second that passed. She looked back out at the fallen Gigas, and raised her mechanical hand slowly up; holding it open, reaching it out.

I’m coming for you… hold on…
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Tatlin
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I Have the power and the Speed!
The Insurrection plowed forward, and fired off another barrage of cannon shots at the ship on the left. The deck was bustling with orders and commotion, but Vadik sat calmly in his chair. He had to control his emotions, he couldn't let such a simple battle get the best of him. Most of all, he didn't want to reveal anything to that traitor, who could be anyone, anywhere. He shuddered at the thought, but quickly brushed it away. He peered out the windows, and saw the chaos swirling around him. Torpedo barrages began to hammer down on the ships surrounding him. Vadik smirked again at this destruction, and then called out to his Vice Captain.

"Status! I want a full report!"

The Vice Captain spun around in his chair and yelled back out at Vadik.

"All is good sir! We're taking minimal damage, but the ships cannot match our speed and firepower. The Admiral has been offering us torpedo cover, and its only served to help further our victory. We have also just received word that he wishes for a status update from our ship. Orders, sir?"

Vadik paused for a moment, then shouted back down to the Vice Captain.

"Tell him all is well! Report to them what you just told me, and tell them the Operation appears to be running smoothly. As far as combat goes, keep engaging the enemy! We need to provide as much cover as possible, at all costs!"

The Vice Captain yelled out an "Aye!" and began to shout out orders back to the crew. Vadik sat back in his seat once more, pleased with the progress. He began to close his eyes and meditate slightly, Just simply listening to the sounds of battle outside and the sounds of the crew, all in a hurry to keep the ship and the battle moving smoothly...
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The Karlminion
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180-proof Redneck
While the Black Fleet and the Yafutomans were trading shots, trying to blow each other up, and Octavia and her patchwork hauler were maneuvering into position, Illyrian Telcondera, The Black Mage, was... asleep?

Yes. To all appearances he was slumped over the glowing magic cannon at the prow of his vessel, while his men scampered about in no real fashion. "Shoot 'em!" was an oft-repeated command, though they didn't seem to know who, exactly, they were supposed to be shooting; low-grade concussion rounds popped out every now and again, as if from a child's toy pistol, to explode harmlessly here and there on either side of the fight.

One such shell even made it as far as Castedrell's ship, by some marvelous chance; the mage's communication from some days earlier would come to mind, advising the admiral not to be taken in by appearances. This, apparently, was what he meant; Illyrian was supposedly a mercenary hired by the Yafutomans, he had to make some show at shooting the 'enemy'.

The helmsman of the dark ship seemed to be the only competent sailor, as under his guidance the yacht careened hither and yon, deftly avoiding every stray shell and torpedo that so happened to come anywhere near their position. The engine crew didn't seem to be keeping up, however, as the speed seemed to wax and wane according to whatever whim or curse they happened to feel at the moment.

In all it was a brilliant deception of incompetence, provided one knew it was a deception at all. The Black Fleet knew this quite well, but the Yafutomans would assuredly be most baffled; who was this man they had wasted so much coin on? A polite one, to be sure, as every time their ineffectual shots came near the Home Fleet there was a flurry of apologies over open radio waves, audible to everyone within range; the vessel seemed to have a curiously wide range, though.

"Gnack's gettin' inter place," the first mate muttered to his passed-out captain as he staggered forward, as if thrown off by a sudden lurch of the ship.

"Indeed," Illyrian murmured back, as the cannon beneath him glowed ever brighter and became ever chillier with the Purple magicks roiling within. "Wait for the signal, though... Castedrell's signal. We are the Black Snake, don't forget."

"Aye." With that the man heaved himself back up and flung his way aft, loudly berating the men as he came upon them; a fresh volley scattered itself to the winds, missing every ship around them and making no damage whatsoever. It was starting to grate on them, this forced incompetence; that signal had better come soon...

((Don't forget the plan, Nexy!))
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