[center][h3][color=C0392B]Rudolf Shilage[/color][/h3][/center]

The belly of the beast, on another day, would have set the little Shilage's heart alight with wonder. Standing at command of the tight river valley and embedded deep into the steep, jagged stone rises flanking either end, the fault-block range in effect afforded Falcon's Nest miles of stone and ice to guard any attempted approaches from north or south. Its high spired towers may not have crested the peaks surrounding entirely, but they stood tall all the same, thin pennants fluttering in the high winds that rushed through the valley— enough that he was certain their lookout posts had miles of visibility on a clear day, spotting their airship as soon as they had spotted the fortress— to say nothing of the water traffic below. The city nestled at the heart of so many towers, merlons, and ramparts was fed by the waterway through a massive portcullis of black iron at the head of the barbican[sup]1[/sup] they saw on their final approach, the baileys within a network of stone terraces ascending out from the valley again towards either peak, this time at the regimented pace only human engineering decreed. As the Kirins disembarked, he caught glimpses of a maze of ramparts and causeways that connected it all, arteries that guided everything out from the furthest tower back into the beating heart of the keep.

But time was short, and they were ushered into Kayliss's awaiting escort. Sightseeing and exploring and indulging in boyish fantasies of "cracking open a beer and [i]daring[/i] Valheim to try sieging this shit after I've had a week to make it Even More Annoying" would have to wait for another day, if life had enough luck left to give it to him to begin with. Greetings were sparse as they set off into the arterial tunnels below the pad, everyone essentially settling into the pace of a forced march. The question of mission-readiness went unanswered; largely textural in being brought up at all at this point. Ithar loved a quick turnaround, where their lot was concerned.

His head still throbbed some with each footfall that drove into the cold, smooth tiling as they walked, but his vision was about done clearing up, and his ears only rang with the echoes of a bell tone if there wasn't something more important for them to latch onto. By the time they reached their debriefing room, he felt comfortable unclasping his twisted helm and holding it at his side in the crook of an arm, the other freed to pilfer one of the steaming mugs of coffee. As the Spymaster spoke, he let his eyes narrow pensively as the dilemma unfurled, accentuating the bitter notes of smoke in the dark roast beyond the power of the brew or the bean alone.

[color=c0392b]"Right into it with this shit, huh...?"[/color] he muttered in vexed undertone. Splitting up had gone pear-shaped for them more often than not, but their hands were tied by all powers that seemed to still be— hearing the way Kayliss was saying it, the simultaneity of these encroaching threats left Division of Labor non-negotiable.

He breathed out through the nose, considering his questions more carefully than his preference of assignment. Quite a plurality of people here— Kayliss, Esben, maybe Galahad, and without a doubt Izayoi and Chisato both— would be thoroughly unsurprised that one of these tasks aligned with so much more of his upbringing than the other.

[color=c0392b]"Okay, so before I ride out. Are there any maps plotted out yet of where these forward outposts are? If there's any particular concentration of them, that's our best shot at determining the directionality of the larger main. Or at least a staging area— those airships Garland and pals are skiffing about on have to be landing [i]somewhere[/i], this far south. If I'm putting their fingertips to the sword, I'd be remiss to not try and take the knuckles while I'm at it. More we cut off their available approach, more breathing room we have to develop the terrain outside the city. Just academic at that point."[/color]

[color=#b3ccff]"... I doubt it's going to be the [i]traditional[/i] raid you're imagining."[/color] A voice cut in from somewhere tall, native, and off to the side.

Rudolf shot Esben a sidelong glance, brow beginning to furrow now. [color=c0392b]"I heard [i]'wiped off the map'[/i]."[/color] the counter came.[sup]2[/sup] [color=c0392b]"That paints a familiar picture."[/color]
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[list]
[*][sub]1. I'm getting pretty hungry. [/sub]
[*][sub]2. Fight! Fight! Fight! [/sub]
[/list]