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| Prelude of War | |
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| Topic Started: Oct 7 2008, 04:08 AM (312 Views) | |
| The Karlminion | Oct 7 2008, 04:08 AM Post #1 |
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180-proof Redneck
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Old Thread Last Post, by The Karlminion: Ti's shouting interrupted Illyrian, who at the time was preparing a number of surprises for some unfortunate Home Fleet officers. "That must be the Captain of Port Customs," he muttered, glancing irritably out the window. The sight of the corpulent Ti Liangde made him cringe. "By the Moons, how can any man let himself go so badly?" the mage asked himself in disbelief. One of his men knocked, and came in. "Cap'n, yer visi'or's 'ere," he announced. "Fat ol' bast'rd, wan' us t' t'row him ou'?" "No," Illyrian sighed, standing up regretfully from his work, "I shall... deal with him, I suppose. He won't stop shouting otherwise. Come along, then." The men held the door open and saluted as Illyrian went through, and from there climbed up the brief set of stairs to the deck. Here he shaded his hands against the sun, looking down at Ti with distaste. Fat slob, he said to himself. Likely only cares for himself and his own career... useless to me. But, and he heaved a resigned mental sigh, he won't leave until I at least say something, and it wouldn't be proper for my men to force him away so soon. "Hail, fellow," he called aloud as he stepped to the gangplank, eyes scanning the area. "How can I... help... you?" He made no effort to hide his reluctance to deal with the obese customs master. "Look, I'm a busy man, so..." Then his eyes met those of the brooding Cy-Chi. In that glance, Illyrian noted the resemblance he and the fat man had to each other, as well as his air of repressed anger and frustration, how he was hunched down in on himself... in short, he noticed enough to tell him that here was an infinitely more useful man than this so-called 'Captain of Port Customs.' Immediately a plan formed in his head. "...so why don't we cut this short?" he continued from his previous speech, without any discernable pause. "I'm sure we're both men with valuable time," and here he pressed a bag of gold coin at the man, "and I'd hate to see yours wasted on something so trivial as an inspection. I'll be no trouble here; you run along and get back to your business." It was so smooth, so subtle, the man would never guess how completely he had just been dismissed and disregarded. He would certainly feel it, oh how he would feel it, but never would he ever be able to put it into words. As Illyrian turned away, he did two things; he winked at his man, and gave an inviting nod to the lurking youth. The marine nodded and stepped toward the dock guards. "Ye don' wanna be 'ere, fellas," he explained cordially. "Ye bes' do yer job an' make sure yer boss gits back ter 'is bus'ness safe 'n soun', yeah?" The guards were armored and armed, the marine had nothing but two pistols and his ragged leather uniform, but he still seemed that much more menacing. He was in fact a master of unarmed combat, and had spent much time refining his staredown for just such situations as this. All of Illyrian's men, on loan from the Black Fleet for this contract, were grizzled veterans of the Fourth Fleet under Admiral Belleza, skilled in subterfuge and hit-and-run tactics. More than a few of them had a touch of gray in their hair, but they were all the deadlier for the experience this implied. Illyrian knew the young man would follow, would have no choice but to follow, as he made his way back up the gangplank and to the dark ship. He had loaded the brief nod with much promise, and knew from his brief appraisal that the young man was in need of promise. He led the way back to his room, where the surprises were waiting to be finished. The room itself was simple, almost spartan, yet there was an understated current of wealth and power in the subtle dark furnishings that spoke more powerfully than any ostentatious heap of gold or bright silk. "You hate your father, don't you," Illyrian said, turning to face Cy-Chi. It was not a question, but a statement. "Don't deny it; I agree with you." The Black Mage went behind his table, holding up one of the completed Pyrulen boxes. "You hate everything about him; his laziness, his ineptitude, his table manners... I expect he is quite the bumbling fool as well, is he not?" He glanced at Cy-Chi, a sly, knowing glance. "He is stupid, fat, slow, no threat or harm to anyone anywhere! But you... you and I, we're different. Vastly different..." Here he came back from behind and walked towards a chest, an iron-bound chest of dark wood, still toying with one of the boxes. "We are intelligent, perceptive, skilled in our respective arts... we know what we want from life." He faced Cy-Chi directly. "But there, we differ, you and I." A slim, pale finger came up and pointed at Cy-Chi. "You have let yourself be controlled, my friend. You have let that fat, ignorant, incompetant slug beat you down, you have given your back to him to climb on and thus allowed it to be broken! How, my friend?! How could you let that happen to yourself?!" His voice had not risen, but was all the more terrible for the subtle anger that laced it. "You are almost as filthy as your father! By all rights I should reduce you to cinders!" His green eyes blazed with disgust and fury, as if he really would blast Cy-Chi into nothingness... Then, suddenly, he allowed a thin smile to curve his lips, his voice softened again, and his eyes danced with confidential good humor. "However... you can redeem yourself, I think... with my help..." He went back to the table. "You see these? These are Pyrulen Boxes; the power of a full Pyrulen spell, cast by myself, contained within a seemingly innocent container." The dull red boxes indeed seemed innocent; they were devoid of the usual markings that set spell boxes out from other items. "One such as you surely must know where the officers of the Yafutoma Home Fleet live, yes? The important ones? "For, I have a job that must be done..." And here his voice became a whisper, as if no one but he and his guest could hear, yet still casual as if the task was a little thing, easily done. "Very soon, something will happen, and the Home Fleet must not be allowed to respond." He went and picked up an unfinished box, putting the final touches to it; the room filled with red light and heat, then became cool again, leaving no trace of its passing. "Do this for me, my friend. Plant the boxes in their rooms, so that at the right time they will go off... There is one for your father as well," and he handed the freshly made box to Cy-Chi, "if... if you have the courage and the subtlety to pull it off... Then, my friend, you will be free, and you will have done us all an immense favor." Illyrian had to marvel at himself for a moment. It was so simple: tell a man the thing which consumed him night and day, dominated his every thought and action, guided his every move in life; compare him to that thing, make him feel like mud beneath that thing's shoes (and if they in fact were, or if they merely felt such, so much the better); then, at last, offer them a way out, a way to freedom, in exchange for some small task shrouded in the guise of a noble endeavor. "But, my friend, you must see to my task first... then you can see to your own release." He stepped back, smiling once again. "Tell me, my friend, what will you do with your freedom, once it is yours? Will you take over the family business, run it with the skill and the competance your father could never dream of embodying? Or will you leave it all behind and seek your own future, away from it all, your own man with your own fate at last?" Not that I care, the Black Mage said to himself. I don't even know your name. |
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| Ranger | Oct 8 2008, 04:25 PM Post #2 |
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Previously Nex Terren
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Ti waddled away, an expression of mixed emotion on his face. Oh, yes, the money he was well glad to have, but... Well, he couldn't put his fat finger on it, but he felt as though he was missing something important. "Ah, haaaaaahh..." He said wordlessly, "Heerrrm, haaaa..." The gold was nice, but... but why? That seemed too easy; true, pirates and smugglers were well, willing to hand over the coin at the first sight of an official, but why was this Black Mage so readily partaking in such standard business of the corrupt? Yes, Ti knew (or rather, was convinced of the fact) that this western wizard had something to hide, but even so... Ti's mouth began to work, as if chewing something. That was how he best thought; while eating--but alas!--he didn't have anything on hand. At the thought of food, his eyes danced around the Yafutoman street, spotting a place that declared their 'hot, fresh' food by means of a black-painted sign. Ti clapped his hands together, and hurried his step towards the restaurant. Still, something seemed out of place... Trembling threatened Cy-Chi's hand, but the man forced it away. Was it from fear? Anger? Excitement? He couldn't say, because he felt all of them in that moment, and so passionately. Who was this man to threaten him so? Who was this man who could command words so? Who was this man, who could promise all of that? Who was this man? Rubbing hands together, he brought his shoulders even more into their characteristic drawn-in form. "I'll tell you what I'll do," He said cool, calmly, leveling his gaze at the mage while still bent over, appearing like some hunched back form of a war-captain. "I'll tell you that you are wrong." He paused for a moment, eyeing down the Illryian. Yes, he very well might be eyeing down his own death, but in that moment, he was fine with such notions. "I'll tell you that you are wrong, in saying that I don't have that freedom already. I'll tell you that you're wrong, that anything you can offer me might give, or ensure that freedom." Again, he paused. "I'll tell you that doing your little--'job', you called it?--will do nothing for me, it will give me nothing, for you have nothing to offer which I need. Nothing." Cy-Chi was still calm, collected, and seemingly (for the large part) emotionally dis-attached from the conversation. The only emotion that he did display? Quiet anger, like embers burning at mid-day. He examined Illryian, eyes slowly tracing the lines of the man's face, and yet his gaze seemed too distant to be seeing anything in that room. Another moment passed, and he remained entirely motionless. And then, an amazing thing happened. For the first time in years, Cy-Chi's back straightened. He brought himself erect, shoulders back, head lifted into the air, and eyes lit up with a fire. A grin dawned on his face, but Cy-Chi seemed unaware of it. "I'll tell you one other thing, though. I'll tell you that you've let me see all of that--all of that--for the first time in my life, and for that, no, I won't call you 'friend,' but I will call you ally." He stood, the once small, crumpled form now towering over the sitting Illryian. Head lifted defiantly into the air, he looked ready to challenge any force in Arcadia--good or evil--and yet for that ready nature, seemed entirely distant. "Give me your boxes, Mage, and I'll see them were you want them. I find myself quite interested in what you're doing, but ah, ah! I won't pry. Let it be just work between us..." Cy-Chi quietly chuckled to himself, apparently finding something quite amusing about this whole affair. |
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| Ranger | Oct 22 2008, 03:44 PM Post #3 |
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Previously Nex Terren
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Daigo motioned for Kubota to follow him, and to the king's disappointment, Kubota fell back into the nose-brushing-the-floor stance that Daigo had battled the man out of. "Come," Daigo commanded, a bit of a sigh entering his voice. "There are more important matters than trade taxes. These random attacks need to be stopped; attacks on our ports and towns outside the capital. If we could only figure out who is doing it..." He rubbed at his temple, attempting--once more--to work out the problem that he faced. Random, seeming unorganized and pointless raids. The best of the reports said that they were pirates raiding men and gold. The worst told of Valuan battleships leveling everything in sight. And that was the nature of it; either minor attacks by wooden vessels, or complete annihilation by... well, Daigo couldn't trust the sights of "Valuan" craft; the only reports of those were from half dead and fever-stricken farmers. Everyone else that could have reported were dead. But what was the point behind it all? Who was behind it all? The Yafutoman navy was stretched to the breaking point attempting to cover every port and town, but then again the attacks weren't bad enough to warrant an increase in military might. "Since when did eight villages plundered become 'not bad enough?" Daigo denounced himself bitterly. "Sire?" The highest servant questioned. "Never mind. Make sure that preparations to my ship are, indeed, complete. I'm going to leave within the hour; nightfall is too long to wait." "Yes, sire." "And you, Kubota? Report back to Ti Liangde, and tell him that I'm sorry we couldn't discuss increasing trade taxes. However I thank him for the honor of your." "Yes, your majesty." Kubota spoke in breathy humility. |
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| The Karlminion | Oct 28 2008, 03:18 AM Post #4 |
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180-proof Redneck
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"Prying would indeed be bad for the health," Illyrian replied airily. He put the explosive boxes into a sack and handed them over. "I shall have further need of you later on, but we will not meet face-to-face again. My men will send word of my needs." With those words he held the door open for Cy-Chi to leave, and followed behind to watch the lad depart. "He'll be a useful contact, I believe," the sorcerer murmured to his first mate, a skilled wizard himself and adept at spying and infiltration. "Aye, that he will," the man said in agreement. "But a contact nonetheless." "Well, of course," Illyrian replied, regarding the mate from the corner of his eye. "What else would he be, an accomplice? An ally?" "Meanin' no offense, of course," the man said hastily, backing off. Illyrian merely chuckled. "Oh, knock it off. I respect your advice; as great as I am, I am not so flawless as that." They both laughed, but it was brief; the next phase of the plan had to be enacted. -------------------- An hour later, Illyrian met with the man in charge of the Navy's supplies, specifically ammuntion and repair kits. "You will go to the Home Fleet, citing invalid inspection records, and go through all their stores," he said to the man, who was sitting there slack-jawed and empty of eye. They were in the man's office; the windows were shut and the curtains pulled, the door locked and no one allowed in. A faint purple fog seemed to continually pour forth from the moonstone in Illyrian's dagger, encircling the supplies master in a soporific veil; on the desk, a Panika box lay open, also directed at the man. Illyrian's face was focused, intense with concentration; implanting suggestions through hypnotism was not an easy thing. In his hand, held up before the man's face, a brightly polished gold coin danced back and forth across his fingers; the coin glinted in the light of precisely alligned candles, throwing arcs of golden illumination across the man's eyes in a rhythmic pattern. "You will remove all of the high-grade shells and ammuntion," Illyrian continued, "replacing most of it with cheaper stuff; the rest, a mix of medium-grade and enchanted munitions. You will remove all their higher-quality repair kits, what you call Complete Kits; leave their basic part kits, and stack the middle-grade Deluxe kits atop these." "I understand," the Yafutoman merchant replied in a dull monotone. "I will provide you with a number of special packs, and you will plant them in the important ships, the mage vessels, the flagships, any vessel with battlemages and higher-ranked officers posted to them. You will plant the packs out of the way, so that they cannot be found unless you know specifically they are there." "I understand." "The quality part kits and high-grade munitions will be delivered, under cover of darkness in three nights' time, to a merchant vessel in the harbor. You will not load them; you will simply take them to the harbor and leave; they will be attended to." "I understand." "You will not remember this conversation; you and I have never met; all this was entirely your doing, your initiative, your idea." A slight crease formed in the man's forehead; Illyrian quickened the pace of the coin in his fingers; the crease went away. "I... I understand..." the man said, in a duller tone than before. "Good. You will awaken now, and will do my bidding." With that, Illyrian dropped the coin and snapped his fingers beneath the man's nose; the dagger and Panika box dissappeared, and a controlled Wevli spell extinguished the candles, as well as dissipating the fog of Slipara. "Well, I'm sorry we couldn't have been of use to each other," Illyrian said in a businesslike tone as he stood up, "but you just don't have what I need. Good day to you," and he shook the man's hand, stepping out before he was entirely recovered. The man was a few minutes waking up, and when he did he felt muddled and insecure about himself. "Urgh... shouldn't drink so much anymore..." he mumbled, holding his head. After a moment he stood up, knowing what he had to do without knowing where, exactly, it came from. "Sumiko, attend me," he called out to his secretary as he walked into the main reception hall of his building. "Summon the inspection teams, there were discrepancies in recent Navy records that must be accounted for." "Yes, sir," she replied. "Oh, before I forget, a man in black came by just now; he left you some packages," and she pointed at a large stack of boxes by the door. They were unmarked saved for the name of the company and that of the owner. "Ahh, yes, I've been waiting for those. They will come too. Now, we need to hurry..." -------------------- Illyrian's next stop was to another supplier of the Home Fleet, this one of personel supplies like healing crystals and the like. He did the same thing here, telling the woman in charge that she was to feign an inspection of the fleet and its ships, going through its stores and supplies. She was then to remove the better quality stuff, Sacrulen and Sacrum, Riselem and Curia crystals, Magic Dews, strength and speed potions and the like, leaving lower-grade stuff stacked beneath mid-grade items. The supplies removed would then be sent to a merchant ship in the harbor in four nights' time, where she was simply to leave them; they would be attended to. "Thank you for your business, ma'am," Illyrian said briskly as the spells faded away, "but you do not have what I seek. Good afternoon to you," and he left just like he came. Outside, he wiped his brow on a black silk handkerchief, sighing to himself. "Two hypnotisms in one day," he said. "I should go rest now." He returned to his ship, to allow himself a few hours' sleep before the next task could be attended to. There was little time for dallying; sabotaging an entire fleet was a delicate business, after all. |
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| Ranger | Nov 12 2008, 04:34 PM Post #5 |
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Previously Nex Terren
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Off sailed the majestic flagship, the Ying Yang, surrounded in a parade of other yafutoman warships; mostly of smaller and older make. A few cries of excitement echoed up from the docs, though mostly the departure went without much celebration. The king was known to make rounds of the kingdom, parading Yafutoma's military might as a symbol of unity, and so this departure didn't seem that out of the ordinary. Little did all those commoners know that the King was expecting to fight in battle. Little did all those commoners know that a battle would come to them. "That's... strange." Daigo said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "It almost seems like..." The two forever faithful twins turned around, identical concern on their faces. "What is it," Jao asked. "That troubles you?" Mao finished. Daigo laughed, giving a hearty smile at his two friends. "Nothing," He reassured them, "It's like I'm trying to wish bad luck upon us, and we're not even yet beyond the great walls!" He walked to the edge of the deck, staring into the blue horizon. "How could today be anything but good with the sky as clear as it is, and with the moon so brightly shining down upon us?" "If you remember it was a clear day," Mao called to mind. "When the Valuans sailed into our skies." Jao pointed out, tone a shade darker than his brother's. "Mmm... yes." Daigo agreed distantly. Of course, anything like that day couldn't happen again. With Valua, Yafutoma had a bond as strong as bothers in battle, as strong as that in marriage. The Crystal War, and his little sister had seen to that. A smile came to his face at that thought. Ah, that was one of the best things that came out of that war; Moegi and Enrique. The worst of Valua had beaten at Yafutoma's shores, and in return the Blue Lands had offered her best, her purest. That showed just how forgiving his nation could be. It showed just how noble her people were. And now all that light, all that goodness was being attacked by cowards. Pillaged, raided, her people captured... The men and women could accept that the Navy was doing its best, when the comparison of the lives taken during the crystal war; the contrast was stark indeed. However, they were still lives being lost.. Just who were these attackers? Pirates, most likely. He would like to say that the attacks spoke of a strong organization, but did they? They were random, at best. Some of them couldn't have possibly yielded payment enough to justify the force used against them. Like that fishing town; scant half a dozen families, all of them poor as could be, and yet a patrol craft found the entire island blackened... "The attacks have been focused on the North West. Why there, I haven't the slightest notion." The king murmured to himself at length. "Perhaps the attackers," "Are based in Ixa'taka?" Daigo didn't bother figuring out which of the two had said what. "Yes," He spoke as though weighing this statement, "but that's a large distance to sail North. And then they'd either have to have our engine technology, or very strong engines and stronger hulls to overcome the reef there; we have the hole closely guarded.." "Perhaps they come from," "Looper's Ocean?" Daigo laughed at this suggestion. "They'd still have to worry about that reef, and I don't know how desperate you'd have to be to base yourself in that place. It would take the necessity to hide something as large as a fleet, and the desperation of something like treason to drive anyone there. And to say it's a fleet attacking us is foolishness; there's no evidence, no reason, no financial gain to be had to justify that. What enemies do we have that would invest so much effort to do practically nothing? For that matter, what enemies do we have that have the strength of a fleet, but no homeland?" He shook his head, "No, I'll give you even one better. Who--anyone--has a strength of a fleet, but belongs not to one of the six lands? No, there's no reason to begin investigating Looper's Ocean. The most simple idea is that they are based here, in our skies. In my experience, the simplest explanations are usually the right ones. Now, where in our skies? That's the question." Daigo took a final glance behind him. They had already passed the Guardian Walls--when that happened, the king wasn't quite sure--and the town was fading quickly behind. Who were these attackers? What was their purpose? Where was the logic in it all? He eyed a patrol ship that slowly sailed by the Ying Yang. A few of the sailors onboard the vessel waved, others bowed. Mostly though, the young crew continued to busy itself with the affairs of a ship. He liked seeing men so willing and eager to serve their nation. On most any other day he would have smiled and laughed at the sight. But today...? Why did he feel like he was making a terrible mistake...? |
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| The Karlminion | Nov 13 2008, 12:38 AM Post #6 |
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180-proof Redneck
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"Cap'n! New from th' city!" one of the men shouted, bounding up the gangplank. "Hm? Oh, yes. Well, speak up, man," Illyrian replied, roused from his thoughts. "King Daigo an' 'is men left earlier," the man panted. "Word is 'ere's pirates an' such raidin' out t' nor'west'rds." "Ahh, good," the sorcerer murmured approvingly. "If they aren't our fellows it's a good chance for us." He looked up at the man. "Good work then, my man. Keep your eyes and ears open, your mouth closed, and report back again if you see or hear of anything that may impact our plans." "Yessir!" the man said, saluting smartly before turning to go back into the city again. Shortly thereafter, another man came to the ship, a swarthy Yafutoman with a dangerous look on his face. Illyrian beckoned him to the main room, and shut the door. "I understand you have a contract with the Black Fleet," he began, turning to face the man. The man, a mercenary leader, stiffened, but did not make any moves. "I have no idea what you mean," he said haughtily. "Don't play games," Illyrian replied, showing the man a small playing card with the emblem of the Fleet on it. "I am on a contract from them, too. I know your role in this." He put the card away, and the man relaxed. "You'd be the Black Mage, then," he said simply. "In the flesh," and the sorcerer bowed gracefully. "Now. I called you here to discuss further duties, of my own devising, to help accomplish what I intend to do." He gestured to some chairs and sat down himself; after a moment, the mercenary sat down as well. Illyrian then laid out his plan, leaving nothing out; when he was done, the mercenary leader had a wide-eyed look of awe on his face. "Damn, you're going to take them out in one shot!" he muttered. "Er, so... what's our role again?" The sorcerer smiled. "You are to infiltrate the spellships, flagships, and other key vessels of the fleet," he reiterated. "I will provide you with certain equipment; when the signal is given, you will set off some of the boxes and sabotage the ships you are on. Once you are done, make use of the escape rafts to get away." He leaned forward. "You know when the attack will happen; you don't have much time to prepare." He handed the leader a bag of gold. "Here is your payment. The rest of the items you will need will be delivered to your headquarters tonight. Pick your best men for this task; there is no room for failure. May the Moons be with you," and he leaned back, regarding the mercenary with his inscrutable green eyes. The man sat there for a second, then reached forward and pocketed the gold. "I will be there myself," he assured the sorcerer, standing up. "Don't worry, your plan will be carried out on our end." There was little more to say, so he bowed and went on his way to make preparations. Illyrian watched him leave, then gazed at the cieling. "Good, good... just a little more left to do..." The rest of the day was spent in target practice out on the open skies, away from occupied shipping lanes but close enough that they would be watched. He had instructed his men to act like greenhorns, loading slowling and missing most of the shots; they were using cheap, low-grade ammunition, adding to the illusion of incompetance. As well, Illyrian practiced with the magic cannon, using low-level spells without charging them. Even so, the power and accuracy of the shots produced by the cannon was astounding; Blackman hadn't lied. --------------- That night, having sent Cy-Chi a bribe and instructions to lower the guard around the walls, the Dark Score Run fled high into the clouds and far to the north and east, where he transmitted the following message, heavily encrypted with the strongest cypher, to the Black Fleet flagships: Try not to cast inhibiting spells during the battle; I have made certain preparations in my time here, and such spellcasting may reveal them too early. And do not be fooled by what you see of me while things play out; that, too, is all part of the game. Black Mage. He knew it would be a while before the recipients decoded the message, but they were still a few days out. Plus, the heavy encryption would be nigh impossible for any Yafutoman vessels, were they to, by some chance, intercept the message, to decode and raise any alarm. That task done, the dark ship turned about and returned to the docks... --------------- The rest of the time was spent crafting an illusion. Illyrian and his men suddenly became loud and unsubtle, drinking and crashing parties and generaly acting like overpaid ruffians. The shipments from the parts and crystals suppliers came on time, and were summarily stowed aboard the ship; what couldn't fit was thrown overboard into Deep Sky, so no one could use them. They even lowered the ship below the clouds before doing this, to ensure the munitions wouldn't land on some hidden island where they could be retrieved later. And the evening before the attack, they threw a party at an inn. All the socialites and gossips and wags were invited, and the drink flowed like water. Illyrian was the loudest, making grandiose toasts and spilling so much his shirt was soaked within an hour; his men started brawls and got into inane macho contests. When at last it was over and everyone was off to gossip or sleep off a hangover, it was nearing the middle of night. "Good thing I didn't wear my good tunic," Illyrian commented, stone cold sober, as he gazed down at the reeking shirt he wore. "I think this one is ruined." "Nah, Cap'n, jus' wash it a bunch an' it'll be good," one of his men replied. They were all as sober as priests on a Sunday, on their way back to the ship, but still weary; parties, faked or otherwise, could still be tiresome. "Perhaps. Anyway, all of you get a good sleep tonight; the attack is tomorrow, you know the consequences of failure!" The men gave a cheer and went to their berths, not bothering with a watch; who would come at such an hour anyway? If anyone did come, there were alarms after all. ((Ok Nex, your ball. Let's roll!)) |
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12:33 AM Jul 11