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Warhammer Fantasy: From Small Beginnings... [CLOSED, for now]

I am interested!

Formaroth Part 2: Throne of Lies

Betrayed: Part III

General Hycis

---

The sand was cool against his back, the sky above him blanketed with clouds that grew steadily darker as a storm began to blow in from the sea. He could feel the breeze, even through the high bulwark of sand and corpses that served as his final line of defence. The heavy gusts had driven the Akaiban ships to anchor for fear of being driven into the shallows and the flatbows, more often than not, found their missiles being snatched away before they could find the intended target.

An Imperial banner, jammed into a pair of corpses, snapped bravely in the wind, flaunting the existence of the survivors to their enemy. It was an enemy that little could be seen of. The retreat had finally come to a halt in the scrub grass that bordered the white sand beach and frantic digging, using helmets and breastplates for shovels, had managed to create a crude bulwark above the high tide line. Working parties had pulled the dead from the sea and the dying from their ranks to build the bulwark higher still until an elf could safely crawl on all fours without fear of being hit by an enemy missile. They had even become accustomed to the odd groan or plea for help from those they has used to strengthen the defences.

“M’lord.” A soldier scurried along through the sand that had burnished his platemail shin-guards to an eye hurting shine. “M’lord.” He called again quietly. It was unlikely that the Akaiba knew where Hycis was, let alone if he was alive, but there was no sense in taking chances.

“Here.” Hycis hissed, waving his hand to attract the soldiers’ attention. The elf slithered into the crater Hycis and his bodyguard had dug, offered a quick salute, and then gestured down the length of the trenchline.

“I did a count, as you ordered. I put our numbers at two thousand, give or take a hundred. Many are wounded. But all can fight. They all WILL fight!” He said the last few words with a passion that made Hycis smile. It faded quickly however as the import of the numbers sank into his brain. He had less than two percent of the soldiers he had started with, and there was no hope of relief.

General Taketora stood beneath the waving tree branches, his eyes fixed on the insolent Elven banner that floated above the makeshift wall of sand and corpses. He was aware of the storm that was brewing and had already soundly cursed the wind that made any sort of archery impossible. To rout the elves out would cost human lives, lives that were desperately needed back home.

The messenger had reached him two days ago, during the long pursuit. The armies of the Imperium had smashed Beival, as anticipated, but with far fewer losses than hoped for. Already they were moving west, convinced that Hycis and his ilk would help them in springing the trap that he had already undone. His men needed time to rest and refit, time to drink and eat, and that time was swiftly slipping away. While the storm served to prevent his archers from wrecking havoc on the survivors, it also provided shade and soon, fresh water.

Even a two-day delay was to more than he could afford. He would have no choice but to order his men to attack the barricades. At least he could give them every advantage possible.

“Keikan-san,” He gestured for the nearby Rune-Lord to join him. “What can you do to help my men right now if I order an attack?”

The woman stared through narrowed eyes at the ragged but formidable barrier for a long moment and then a small smile turned up the corner of her mouth. “I can give them a doorway through.”

“Nothing else?” Taketora was famous for demanding much of his subordinates.

“I am afraid that many of my other options will be effected by this wind, Taketora-sama.” The raven haired head inclined in a small bow.

“Then prepare your spell.” Snarled the General as he turned and waved two crouching officers toward him. They leapt to their feet and hurried forward, bowing to him with correct depth. Young eager eyes shone from behind their red masks. “Make your men ready. Keikan-san is going to open a path. I will follow and we will take the beach.”

“Yes, Taketora-sama.” The two said in unison, hurrying away toward the soldiers who sheltered from the wind behind the thick brush that edge the scrubland beyond. To Taketora it looked as though the entire landscape began to move as signal paddles flashed in the gathering shadows.

Hycis felt rather than heard the movement of the samurai. The reverberation in the earth sending small trickles of sand cascading down from the barricade. He felt a sick sensation in his stomach. This was the end. The enemy was coming.

“Father?” His eldest son, a bloody scab across one cheek, reached out and took his hand. The two clasped armoured fists for a moment and Hycis could not help but wonder what sort of leaders his children would have made had he not led them to this end.

“They are coming.” Hycis whispered. Then, with more vigour, he shouted along the trench. “They are coming!”

Taketora could see shapes moving along the top of the trench. The curve of helmets and shoulders as the elves sensed the movement of thousands of samurai. He didn’t bother to look at the Rune-lord or his own men as he stepped out of the trees and into the clear. He could feel rain begin to spatter against his armour and he drew the killing sword from his waist and raised it high.

Hycis watched the blade glitter even in the failing light. Heavy raindrops slammed into the sand all around him, almost like tears, and he could not help but admire the courage of the man in front of him. His armour was ornate, his bearing proud, this was a man to be feared and respected. Perhaps, in another life, they might have been allies.

He drew his own sword, hefting his battered shield, and glancing around him at his sons. Only three remained but none looked afraid as they followed his example. All along the trench he could see soldiers preparing for this, their final battle. It almost seemed, for a moment, as if time slowed.

A wounded elf, one hand gone, tightened the strap of his helmet. Another, an eye covered in a mask of blood, was piling spears next to him. Still others hugged, gripped hands, and, in some cases, embraced as lovers would. So many lives yet unlived. And for what?

For the first time in his life he found himself wondering why the Imperium had come to Seikatsu. He had been told that they needed new lands to conquer, new lands to populate, but at what cost? He had led eighty thousands men into battle and he doubted any of them would see home again. Could the armies that remain sweep aside the Akaiba? In his heart of hearts he did not think so.

“Akaibaaaaa!!” The roar rose from the forest and Keikan stepped forward, raising two palms toward the beach. She muttered swift words and the runes all across her body flared blue, a sudden blast of light against the black forest. A pulse of energy hurled forth from her hands and slammed into the barricade. Bodies, both living and dead, were hurled through the air as a breach was opened. It was all Taketora needed.

“SADATAKE!” He screamed the name of his Shogun into the gathering storm and charged. Behind him thousands of samurai echoed his cry until the whole beach shook with it, the drum of their feet drowning out even the sound of rain that suddenly burst upon them in a might deluge.

“To me! Sons of the Imperium!” Hycis gave cry and stood at last, stepping forward so that his shield was above the wall of corpses. It seemed as though the entire forest was moving forward, red armoured samurai swarmed across the land, trampling the scrub grass flat, their war cry rolling over the elves like a wave.

The elven cheer was feeble in comparison, but at least they did not run. Spears, long husbanded for this moment, floated out from the elven lines to crash into samurai and sand alike. Akaiban’s fell here and there, armoured shapes crashing to the sand, blood washed away instantly by the pouring rain.

Taketora’s calves burned from the effort of running, every two steps forward seemed to result in one step backward as the sand shifted underfoot. He ducked a well-thrown spear, knocked another from the air with his sword, and then he was into the gap made by Keikan-san.

An elf, his face half covered in a mess of bloody scabs, screamed and lunged a spear toward Taketora gut. He tried to side step, slipped on the sand, and was pushed aside by other samurai as they swarmed through the gap. The spearelf died, his face laid open to the bone, as a sword hacked down.

Hycis watched the Samurai General, first through the breach, slip and then be pushed aside by his fellows as they killed the elf who had lunged so bravely with his broken spear. The Samurai turned toward Hycis as two others pulled their General to his feet.

His son, he could not tell them apart in their armour, leapt forward and drove his blade toward the samurai who now came toward them. The leading man turned the blade with ease and chopped his sword down so that an elven head rolled into the mud. It had looked easy, like killing an ox.

His eldest, he had not left his fathers side, snatched up a spear and hurled it with brutal force at the samurai who gave a surprised grunt, staring down at the weapon that burst through his chest, before toppling into the mud.

Taketora saw the samurai die, the spear sticking up from his chest like some branchless tree. A dozen or so elves faced him, but one of them, his armour and weapons finer than the others, caught his eye.

“I want him alive!” He pointed with his sword, his words a roar, as samurai went to avenge their dead comrade. “Alive!”

Hycis could not ignore the sword that had singled him out. He could not understand the words but he could guess their meaning easily enough. He hefted his sword, brought his shield up in front of his body and began to crab walk across the bottom of the trench now slick with blood of the dead and dying.

In the end, his heroics served him little good. The samurai, rested and unwounded, quickly overwhelmed the pitiful survivors in the trench. Hycis and his sons managed to kill a pair of the samurai before they sensibly withdrew and hedged him in on all sides with long spears, constantly jabbing from every angle until he wanted to cry with frustration.

The rain thickened, as if such a thing were possible, and the bottom of the trench filled rapidly until he was knee deep in bloodied water. He watched in fascination over the rim of his shield as the samurai drowned wounded elves in muddy water, holding them down until their feeble struggles stopped.

The ring of spears slowly tightened until Hycis and half a dozen elves, his two remaining sons included, were pressed so close together they could not use their swords.

“I want the General alive.” Taketora stood on the top of the trench, staring down at the wretched collection of elves. This was all that remained of their vaunted army. It was a small part, but every dead elf was one less to attack Akaiba. “Kill the rest.”

The spears hammered forward and Hycis screamed as his sons died beneath the reaching blades. The few survivors around him were quickly disarmed or killed until he stood alone. He wept in frustration as he raised his sword and prepared to die with honour.

He never saw the spear shaft that crashed into the back of his helmet, pitching him forward into the bottom of the trench. He felt water in his mouth for an instant and then the world went black.

Welcome to Ashton: A Modern Town RP

Francisco de la cal Delgado

---

Francisco pulled off his ski boots and socks with a sigh of pleasure, scrunching his toes against the carpet that covered the front entry of his rented chalet. A fire was already lit, a fresh bottle of wine had been laid out, and Christmas music played softly from speakers cunningly built into wall fixtures. He set the ski boots neatly against the wall, picked up his socks, and moved into the main bedroom. Yesterdays laundry had been done and was neatly laid out on the bed for him to put away as he saw fit.

He tossed the socks into a laundry hamper and stripped off his long underwear and boxers, tossing them after the socks. He stepped into the bathroom and the lights snapped on at once, illuminating the generous space. A red poinsettia had been set next to the sink, the mornings dirty towels whisked away replaced. For a moment he considered a bath but opted for the shower instead. He still had some business to attend to and time was short.

"Hey siri, call Sunpeaks valet." Though his phone was in the other room, it was linked in the chalets bluetooth sound system; the sound of siri's voice filled the bathroom. "Calling Sunpeaks valet, work."

The phone was answered almost immediately by a very American voice. "Mr. Delgado, Mason speaking, how may I help you this evening?"

"Hello Mason, can you have my car brought around please? I'll be ready in fifteen minutes."

"Of course sir, anything else?"

"No, that will be all, thank you."

"See you in fifteen, sir." The line went dead and Francisco stepped into the shower. It was hot water on demand and he gloried in the steam for a few minutes before soaping down throughly with the chalets provided products that all smelled vaguely of pine tree. Not an unpleasant smell at any rate.

A short time later, dressed in a pair of grey slacks, practical black winter hikers, and an orange Arc'teryx jacket, he was ready to go. He glanced at his Bulgari watched and then smiled as a knock sounded on the rear door of the chalet. The front, now slowly vanishing as darkness crept across the landscape, overlooked Victoria Mountain, the heavily treed slopes criss-crossed by chairlifts and long inviting ski runs. A few lights glowed as machinery crawled up the mountain to begin grooming the runs.

Francisco opened the rear door to find Mason, a smiling twenty something from New York, trying to stand still on the step as he shivered in the cold despite his Sunpeaks puff-jacket. Beyond him, its engine purring, was the 2019 Subaru Crosstrek Francisco had rented for his trip to the states. It wasn't a luxury car but it was more than a match for the snowy roads and he found it very comfortable.

"Right on time, as always, thank you Mason." Francisco handed the young man a twenty dollar bill and waved away his thanks. Mason vanished down the stairs, returning to the main building. Francisco waited until he was gone and then held his phone up. "Siri, lock the doors. No service needed tonight."

"The doors have been locked. No service tonight."

Behind him the inside lights snapped off, the patio lights dimmed, and he heard the doors lock with an audible whirrr. Only hotel security or himself would be able to access the chalet now. He had always been a bit leery of electronic home security when it first came out but once he had installed it in his Villa back home, he'd never looked back.

The Subaru shifted smoothly into drive and he took the first turn toward town, the lights barely visible through the cloud cover that was hanging over the valley. The drive was enjoyable, the car handling the slick roads without any trouble, as he descended into the city. Traffic was fairly light, the majority of the snow lovers having already left the hill to find dinner or hit up their hotels.

The cars navigation system led him directly to his destination without issue. He supposed that the American custom of meeting a business acquaintance for coffee was the equivalent of having wine and tapas in Spain. Not a coffee drinker himself, he had nothing against a hot chocolate or tea.

It took him a moment to find parking somewhat closish to the coffee shop but he eventually found a stall in a nearby car park. He stepped out into the cold and felt his sinuses begin to run at once, his breath swirling around his head. The city was a riot of sounds and colours with Christmas lights everywhere and hurrying shoppers ducked into stores with big signs that screamed 40-50% off.

He pulled open the door to Brewsters Coffee House and tantalizing smells were added the sights and sounds. It took him a moment to locate his host, Brian Ginter. The man was a big up and coming developer and relator in Ashton. He was heading up the near 7,600 units of low income apartments several blocks away. He stood to make a handsome profit as the city had been suffering from high property prices the last year or two, they had cut a lot of red tape to get the project going.

"Francsico, good to see you." The American, his accent certainly local, had snagged a pair of chairs at the countertop.

"Brian, an interesting spot to meet." The two shook hands as Francisco sat, his eyes scanning the room. It was the eclectic assemblage of American society he had come to expect.

"Yea, for sure. But it's the type of folk I sell to. They complain about not being able to make rent but they can come down here and spend a fortune on flavoured water."

The two were interrupted as the server, a harassed looking Asian/American girl, appeared in front of them. She offered a pretty smile and glanced them over. It was clear she knew who Brian was, you couldn't live in this neighbourhood and not know who he was. He probably owned the building they were sitting in. A couple of teas and a pair of scones were ordered, and Brian turned back to Francisco.

"So, have you had a chance to think over my proposition?" He was referring to the large property had been looking at buying the edge of the city. Money was a bit tight at the moment and when he heard Francisco was in town he had approached the Spaniard to suggest a partnership.

"I have thought it over." Francisco was leaning back in his chair, still enjoying people watching. This trip had already been a success for him. He'd bought ownership stakes in three Canadian resorts, and had just closed a similar deal with the family who owned Sunpeaks.

There were probably people in this room whose wages were now paid by him. "And I don't like it. I have not invested in apartment blocks before for a number of reasons. The foremost reason being the need to find renters. I am, however, interested in speaking to you about potentially purchasing one of the new apartment blocks to serve as staff accommodation for Sunpeaks..."

The conversation continued into the evening as the noise and people flowed around the two men, an ever changing mosaic of the American people.

Welcome to Ashton: A Modern Town RP

Francisco de la cal Delgado

---

Francisco de la cal Delgado

---

---

Age:
Fifty-three

Pronouns:
He / Him

Nationality:
Spanish

Profession:
Former army officer turned businessman/investor

Time in Ashton:
Three months

---

PERSONALITY

---

Francisco is nothing if not passionate. A man driven from his youth to move beyond the working class neighbourhood he grew up in, he commits himself completely to whatever needs doing and grinds away until the task is done. Like many of Latin descent, he is friendly, outgoing, and generous to his family and friends. To his adversaries he can be petty, vengeful, and outright Machiavellian at times.

Recently widowed and with two grown children living their own lives in Spain, Francisco has begun to get his business back on track. The last year has been spent largely in North America, beginning in the Canadian Rockies before moving south into the United States.

---

EXTRAS

---

Francisco has made his considerable fortune by investing in real estate, hotels, and mountain adventure resorts. He owns property in thirteen countries and this is his first time looking into the US market. He grew up in Grenada, at the foot of the Sierra Nevada, and was raised by a mother and father who now live in a considerable villa with a view of a city whose streets they once swept clean every morning by hand.

• Francisco joined the Spanish Army at the age of eighteen as a combat engineer. He served with NATO forces in the Gulf War, and former Yugoslavia;
• Promoted into the officer core he was permitted to obtain a business degree, paid for by the government;
• Married the girl next door, Isabella, and has two children, Valeria and Maria;
• Following is return from Yugoslavia he stopped at a small kiosk in Madrid and bought a lottery ticket which ended up netting him two million euros. Rather than spend it all, he invested, and the rest is history;
• His wife, Isabella, died abruptly of bladder cancer;
• Is an adrenaline and adventure enthusiast; and
• Speaks Spanish, Portuguese, French, Italian, and English.

Welcome to Ashton: A Modern Town RP

Francisco de la cal Delgado

---

Francisco de la cal Delgado

---

---

Age:
Fifty-three

Pronouns:
He / Him

Nationality:
Spanish

Profession:
Former army officer turned businessman/investor

Time in Ashton:
Three months

---

PERSONALITY

---

Francisco is nothing if not passionate. A man driven from his youth to move beyond the working class neighbourhood he grew up in, he commits himself completely to whatever needs doing and grinds away until the task is done. Like many of Latin descent, he is friendly, outgoing, and generous to his family and friends. To his adversaries he can be petty, vengeful, and outright Machiavellian at times.

Recently widowed and with two grown children living their own lives in Spain, Francisco has begun to get his business back on track. The last year has been spent largely in North America, beginning in the Canadian Rockies before moving south into the United States.

---

EXTRAS

---

Francisco has made his considerable fortune by investing in real estate, hotels, and mountain adventure resorts. He owns property in thirteen countries and this is his first time looking into the US market. He grew up in Grenada, at the foot of the Sierra Nevada, and was raised by a mother and father who now live in a considerable villa with a view of a city whose streets they once swept clean every morning by hand.

• Francisco joined the Spanish Army at the age of eighteen as a combat engineer. He served with NATO forces in the Gulf War, and former Yugoslavia;
• Promoted into the officer core he was permitted to obtain a business degree, paid for by the government;
• Married the girl next door, Isabella, and has two children, Valeria and Maria;
• Following is return from Yugoslavia he stopped at a small kiosk in Madrid and bought a lottery ticket which ended up netting him two million euros. Rather than spend it all, he invested, and the rest is history;
• His wife, Isabella, died abruptly of bladder cancer;
• Is an adrenaline and adventure enthusiast; and
• Speaks Spanish, Portuguese, French, Italian, and English.

Welcome to Ashton: A Modern Town RP

Interested and will take a crack at a CS tomorrow.

How close to the Mountains are we?

Ossvien

Captain Bernor Sarstina - The Avalon Avenger

---

Bernor sat in his cabin, eyes fixed on the green bottle that stood alone on the otherwise empty desk top. He studied it for a long moment, his eyes taking in the familiar curves; a half dozen similar wine bottles were in his own stores aboard. There appeared to be no signs of tampering but one could never be sure, and it could easily be a clever forgery.

None of his sixth sense warned him to be cautious, however, and his magic, mostly passive at the best of times, was not screaming danger at him. Above his head the feet of the officer of the watch was a dull thud as the man paced back and forth. The ships timbers creaked and groaned as they rose over the next ocean swell and for a moment he was glad the windows behind him were open, the nerves he felt almost made him a ill.

"Do you reckon it's real, m'lord?" Huvalor stood just over Bernors right shoulder, his stoic presence somehow comforting in the face of the unknown bottle and its even stranger courier.

"The hell if I know, Huvalor. It looks genuine enough. The seal isn't broken." He picked the glass vessel up at last, a small round circle of water remaining on the desk, and weighed it in his hand. It was of sturdy Glasstonian design, that much was certain, and he could just make out a coil of paper and some small item below it. "Only one way to find out I suppose."

He pulled a dagger from his waist, the steel glinting dully in the light of the cabin, and began to peel away the wax. It fell in black flakes to the cabin floor, ignored by both men as it finally cracked away from the cork. It took a moment to work the cork free with a satisfying "pop". He placed the cork down on the desk next to his dagger and carefully turned the bottle upside down over an out stretched hand. Two items, both bone dry and unscathed, dropped into his scarred hand. Fingers still stained black from gunpowder curled around the small metal object and the tip of the paper which he carefully drew fully from the bottle, setting that down next to its cork.

"So far, so good." He muttered as he pulled the small token from his palm with thumb and forefinger, holding it up to the light. He felt his heart stop as he stared at it.

"Shit..." Huvalor said what both men were thinking. The King had provided Bernor with a detailed description of the missing Princesses clothing and this very broach had been mentioned among them.

"Well, she's either dead, or in a heap of trouble." Bernor muttered as he placed the broach on the desk. It seemed strangely bright on the dark wood despite its undersea journey and Bernor made a mental note to commend Peregrin on her delivery, providing she proved to be no threat to the Avalon.

The scroll was next and it confirmed his worst fears in an instant.

Scroll in a Bottle

To our Potential Saviour.

I am writing on behalf of myself, Captain Samuel Cortez of the Arcadia. We are fast approaching the Shadowmount Isles along the route that we were instructed to follow when we first set sail with the whale blubber. The journey, as expected, took a queer turn the moment we entered the vicinity of these isles, and it was certainly not due to lack of women onboard. The men claim to have started hearing whispers from all manner of sources. The wind, sea, and even the very wood of the deck above which they sleep.

The crew's sanity aside; the barrelman, who might I add was his town's dart champion, claims to have spotted numerous silhouettes of vessels on the horizon. I am taking the necessary precautions to ensure the blubber's safety by requesting reinforcements to be sent to help guide the Arcadia to its destination.

Signed,,
Samuel Cortez.

The message was brief, vague, and peppered with seemingly irrelevant information. It barely took up half a page, if that - but it was in the man's own hand, and used parchment issued by the Navy. Cortez had been nothing if not organized.

"What the hell was a Navy ship doing carrying whale blubber...?" He muttered and heard Huvalor grunt assent. "That has got to be something else. Maybe he was going mad? And whispers from everywhere at once."

"Just another day trapped in my own head, m'lord." Huvalor offered the lame joke and both men chuckled, but the warmth seemed to have gone out of the day.

"By my reckoning, we're still weeks out from the Shadowmount. That gives us some time to prepare." Bernor was talking again, more to himself than to Huvalor. "Charms, spells, the like. Can't fight some things with cannon, mores the pity."

"Amen." Huvalor chuckled again Bernor found himself smiling involuntarily. If only life were so simple. He glanced at the starboard bulkhead where several of his personal weapons were mounted. A sword, several pistols, and a rifle that bore unique blue markings along the barrel. How much use would they be where he was going? He suddenly had a vision of vanishing into a black cloud never to be seen again. He shook his head and the vision went but the creeping feeling of dread did not.

"We've not a moment to lose," He said abruptly, turning to Huvalor. "Pass the word for Mr. Stormhearth and Mr. Stormreaver, I will see them immediately."

"Aye, aye, m'lord." Huvalor nodded and strode to the cabin door, opening it enough to pass the word for the required persons. The echo of his words could be heard travelling through the upper decks and Bernor quickly scooped up the broach and slid it into a pocket. Huvalor caught the move and Bernor gave him a warning look; the man nodded, he understood, secrecy had its purpose.

While they waited, Bernor quickly drew out his maps of the Shadowmount, or what passed for map given how little was known about them, and spread them across the desk. He tucked his chin against his chest and began to study them in detail.

@Skwint

Ossvien

.

Ossvien

The Avalon Avenger

Time: Morning
Location: Whiteashe Dockyards
Interaction with: @Hawthorne and @Skwint

The warm sea breeze was, to him, welcome respite to cold morning air. Having received the letter quite suddenly, Solomon had only a single night to recuperate from his previous expedition. In spite of this however, he knew that he was the only one in his family capable of a sea voyage at this time. The doctor looked outside the carriage window, rapping sharply upon the wooden walls to call the driver's attention.

"Right here, my good sir. You can drop me off right here." Solomon said politely.

The horse-drawn carriage quickly slowed to a halt in front of the dock's offices. The driver stood from his seat, stepping onto the cobblestone floor. He then opened the door and helped his passenger onto the ground. It was, of course, his job. Solomon let loose a long sigh as he stretched his body-- as comfortable as carriages could be sometimes, he couldn't help but feel the need to stretch his limbs afterwards.

The doctor then helped the driver unload the many bags from the top of the carriage. A ship's infirmary always tended to lack the tools and supplies that he needed, and so he opted to bring his own. There was his own carry-on bag filled with essentials, four different trunks containing spare clothes, personal effects, medical supplies and laboratory equipment, and an instrument case, with his cello (he was a hobbyist musician, and playing did always seem to lift the spirits of the doctor and his patients, after all)--all of which were waterproof and warded against tampering. Solomon gave the driver a smile and pressed a couple of sovereigns into his hand.
"Thank you, my friend. See to it that you get that rash checked out. Consultations at the Whitewood Clinic are free." The doctor smiled.

The carriage driver left his presence with a smile. A generous tip and a bit of medical advice never hurt anyone, after all. Solomon then let out a sigh as he fished out a silver pocketwatch from his coat. He was punctual of course, but he couldn't help but wonder as to when Captain Sarstina would arrive. He had met him several times when he was younger during dinner parties, and the doctor had heard the stories from his father, but this would be the first time he would spend time with him in a professional sense. The doctor, content to simply wait for his friend to arrive, did so patiently.

The carriage had no sooner drawn away then the doors of the Admiralty building and Bernor appeared framed by the ancient white marble. He was, as always, dressed in his Navy issued coat and trousers, though it was evident he had had some custom tailoring done to achieve the fit. A gold hilted sword and dagger hung from his waist and there was no sign of his pistols.

"Solomon!" Bernor's face broke out into a broad smile as he hurried down the steps. A pair of Marine sentries, resplendent in their black, gold trimmed tunics, snapped to attention and saluted as he passed. He paused to hurriedly return their salutes and then resumed his descent, tall boots clicking on the marble. In truth he was quite glad to see his friend, being a Post-Captain had a nasty habit of being lonely at times. "So good to have you!"

The two men shook hands and Bernor regarded the pile of boxes that the Doctor had unloaded. "It'll be a damn fine thing to have a proper surgeon along, Solomon, bless my soul it will. To many good men have died for want of some simply medicine while at sea. Did you bring an assistant or will I need to provide you one?"

The door behind Bernor had opened and a small procession of men, two carrying a heavy sea trunk, two more carrying an iron bound box, four marines, and a strongly built man dressed in a Naval ratings uniform, began to descend toward the two friends. As if on cue, another carriage, this one bedecked with the Saristina Coat-of-arms cam trotting around the corner led by a pair of high stepping horses whose black coats shone in the sunlight.

"I'm glad to be here, my friend." The doctor smiled as he returned the handshake. "My father would have loved to join us, but I'm afraid the old man isn't quite as fit as he used to be." Solomon said politely. "He sends his regards, though. And of course, my personal assistance." He nodded, before moving along.

When the topic of a ship surgeon was broached, Solomon couldn't help but nod in agreement. "Indeed. It is a shame, too. I'm certain the lives of many men could be improved simply by having someone trained in medicine aboard." He comments. "I suppose that's what I'm here for." The doctor says. "My apologies, captain. I wasn't able to hire an assistant under such short notice." He then looked at the door, and the group of men emerging from it. "I certainly wouldn't mind if your men could help me with my luggage, though."

Wordlessly, the men loaded the bags, boxes, and trunks onto the recently-arrived carriage. "Be careful with those-- there are some delicate equipment in there, and no amount of cushioning will stop glass from shattering when it hits the ground like that." Solomon advises the men, before turning back towards his friend.

"...how do you fare, Bernor? You and your family are in good health, I hope? " He asked the man politely as the carriage doors opened.

The two men swung into the carriage, followed by the naval rating who was introduced to Solomon as Huvalor. "He's my man, takes care of my wants aboard ship so I can focus on the business of sailing a Imperial ship. Been with me nearly eleven years, is that correct, Huvalor?"

The man nodded and smiled at the Doctor. "Aye, so it is sah. Ever since we stormed the Trinity together." His voice had a deep base timber to it, a sound that was most pleasing to hear. It was evident he might have some Dwarf in his blood from the heavy build and strong accent.

"I will see to it we find you an assistant on board, Solomon. Can't have a friend of mine suffering the lower decks alone!" Bernor tapped the roof o the carriage as he spoke and it began to rumble forward at once. The tall Admiralty building on their right quickly gave way to a series of low slung stone buildings that swarmed with men readying the vast amount of material required for the Navy. Great long cables and hawsers were stretched in the sun to dry, new masts were being hewn, and massive spreads of canvas were being inspected before they would be delivered to the fleet.

And what a fleet! To their left, the harbour spread out like a giant glass mirror and, anchored in neat lines across it, was the fleet that had built an Empire. Hundreds of ships, ranging from little gigs up to frigates stretched from shore to shore. Amid them, squatting like massive slabs of ham, were the ships of the line. Huge vessels with over a hundred cannon that could throw more lead shot in a single broadside than an entire army division could in an hour. These were the great ship killers that had brought the Empires enemies to their knees.

"The family is well, thank you." Bernor smiled happily at the thought. His son was just starting to walk now. By the time he came back it was likely the young lad would be speaking and likely in school. "How about your own?"

"A pleasure to meet you, Huvalor." Solomon gave the man a polite nod and a firm handshake. The doctor took a moment to admire the work being done in the docks to the right, and the veritable flotilla of ships to the left, before turning to his friend.

"You have my thanks, captain. An extra pair of hands and eyes always make the work go faster, and the infirmary is no exception." He says in response to the captain finding him an assistant.

"Likewise, my friend, likewise." Solomon replies. "Grandfather still seems healthy as ever, while father and mother still work." He tells Brenor. "Isabel is learning how to dissect frogs, and I believe little Edward is still working on mastering his arithmetic." The doctor sighs. "I still remember the days where I'd tutor them myself, sometimes."

Solomon then looked outside the window. It seemed as if the sun's warm rays were starting to heat the cold morning air to something more manageable. "I never did ask, captain, but which ship are we to board again? I only recall reading that I was to meet you in front of the admiralty offices in the morning, you see." The doctor asked as the looked at a particularly large man-o-war.

Bernors face took on a look mystery and he leaned forward conspiratorially. Next to him Huvalor smiled, he had seen this act before. "Afraid I can't say at the moment." He tapped his chest pocket where a notable square shaped bulge was showing. "Secret orders from the Admiralty. Though I promise you, it will be an adventure."

The carriage was beginning to descend toward the water now and a small sloop could be seen waiting alongside a stone pier. The crew was neatly dressed in their long black pants, white and black stripped shirts, with blue neckties, their long hair neatly tied back. At the site of the carriage they exploded into motion, some hurrying onto the deck to prepare for departure while others quickly formed a line to swiflty load the carriage onto the sloop.

"The Admiralty does not wish anyone to know that I am taking command of this vessel. The current Captain was sent aboard as a ruse and will be leaving on this vessel for a different post. Once we're aboard, I will fill you in."

Solomon raised an eyebrow at this strange behavior. Though he briefly wondered if this whole thing was an elaborate ruse, he knew the captain to be an honest man. "If you say so, captain." He says, doing his best to relax a little bit.

As the carriage descended towards the water and approached the sloop, the doctor could see the many sailors who were assembled to make the transition from carriage to skip as smoothly and quickly and possible. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if the ship was to cast off as soon as they were aboard.

"I'm surprised all this subterfuge is necessary, captain." Solomon commented. "Wasn't this a search for a missing ship?" He asked, a little pensively.

"And the missing Princess." Bernor reminded the Doctor as the carriage came to a standstill. The Navy crew swung into action and swiftly unloaded the number of boxes, ferrying them with great care onto the sloop. They might not have known what was inside the boxes but they all knew what happened to a man who dropped the Captains possessions into the harbour.

Accompanied by Solomon, Huvalor, and the four marines, Bernor stepped onto the Sloops deck. A dismal three boatswains were drawn up and their pipes twittered as Bernor nodded toward the aft gun deck where the sloops captan saluted and then began to roar orders at his small crew. The new arrivals were quite forgotten in the moment as the sloop cast off, a large barge rowed by a dozen men dragging it into the harbour.

The Sloop Captain, a stocky human, was plainly nervous at having such an a exalted guest on board but his crew handled the small vessel with the skill expected of a Naval warship. The topsails filled with the morning breeze and they were soon coasting across the bay and toward the open sea.

* * * * * * * * *

ONE WEEK LATER

The Sloop, Gale Rider, rose as she crested each long ocean roller before plunging down into the intervening trough with a stomach clenching speed. Given the size of the small vessel, quarters had been tight, Doctor and Captain had shared a small cabin together, their hammocks close enough together they were constantly swaying in unison. For Bernor, it was another week at sea and he was glad it was done. He had always been violently ill the first week when returning to sea and had been glad of a single gunport in the little space so he could empty his stomach over the side without shaming himself in front of the crew.

He was well past that now as he stared through a spyglass at the quickly approaching Avalon Avenger. She had been in sight for the better part of an hour now, hull down on the horizon, only her top most sails spread to provide steerage power. The ocean around them was utterly devoid of any humanoid life or even sight of land. A clandestine rendezvous indeed.

"Captain, make signal to the Avalon that I am coming aboard." Bernor issued his order and then watched with a critical eye as a midshipman hurried to pull open the flag locker and select the appropriate flags. They raced up the mizzen like a colourful bird and after a few minutes a reply broke out on the Avalon.

"Signal acknowledged. Standing by to receive you, sah." The midshipsman shouted into the wind and Bernor nodded, turning to the Doctor who was standing nearby.

"Best make sure of your personal affects and see to your medicines, Doctor." The use of first names had ceased outside of their little cabin. "We'll be alongside in an hour."

The past week had not been kind to the doctor. He always managed fine on larger ships and research vessels, but on this tiny sloop, his propensity for seasickness was made apparent. Drawing upon advice from the captain and Huvalor, he did his best to spend some time outside the cabin. Still, when the best forms of entertainment was the occasional game of chess or the study of a book that he had recently acquired... He could only manage to survive, if only barely.

The tight quarters did not help at all, though the fact that the doctor should sometimes hear retching from the other side of the room when they were both supposed to be asleep was... slightly reassuring. It seemed even veteran sailors could fall victim to the occasional bout of nausea. Solomon was quick to brew up a bit of ginger tea, which would help alleviate the effects of seasickness, if only a little bit.

When the Gale Rider made contact with the Avalon Avenger, the doctor could not help but sigh in relief and silently thank divine providence that they would be off this sloop soon. He watched as Bernor issued his orders, seeing the midshipman perform his signals with flags. Although his skill at Language Comprehension had brought him far with foreign tomes and manuscripts, it had little effect on coded transmissions.

"As you say, Captain. I have my essentials with me, and the other luggage should be ready for transport when we board." Solomon said formally, though the relief in his voice was readily apparent to anyone who knew him.

"...The Avalon Avenger, hm?" The doctor said in a half-whisper. It seemed this ship would prove to be just what he needed.

The Gale Rider made good time crossing the remaining distance as her destination grew in size, the great black slab sides studded with white coloured gunports, closed now against the weather. Men could be seen in the mizen tops hauling struggling to loose a sail, balancing on the single ratline that served as their only link between the yardarm and a fall to their death.

Faces could be seen at the gunwale as the Rider lowered her small boat and Bernor stepped into the stern. There was room enough for the Doctor and Huvalor to scramble in after him. Four sets of powerful arms set the small boat dancing across the waves until the sheer sided power of the frigate towered over them. A ladder, built into the side of the hull, beckoned to them and Bernor went first, waiting as the boat rise and fell until he could step easily onto the lower rung. It was slippery and he clung on for one terrifying moment he thought he might drop into the sea. He mastered his fear at last and scrambled up the ladder.

Boatswains pipes twittered and a marine guard saluted as he stepped onto the deck. Captain Adrielle Draegon waited for him, resplendent in her blue uniform. She saluted in unison with the marines. He returned the salute and smiled as he greteed her.

"Captain Draegon."

"Captain Sarstina, an honour. Welcome to the Avalon." The woman returned his smile and the two shook hands. "The ship is, of course, yours."

"Thank you Captain, you stand relieved." Bernor spoke the words he had spoken a dozen times before. He saw a flicker of disappointment cross the womans features and he could't blame her. No one liked to lose command of any vessel. Still, she had years before her. Bernor had been waging war at sea as long as she had been alive, some day she would be standing where he was.

And just like that, the lives of all 315 souls onboard were transferred to the hands of a new commander. No Captain liked to remain onboard when they had been relieved and Draegon returned to the Rider with the ships boat as the Doctor and Huvalor gained the deck. The baggage would be transported while Bernor took official command of the Avalon.

Tradition had to be observed and before Bernor could meet his crew, he would was required to take official command of the Avalon by reading the Articles of War. These regulations, now ancient tradition, would cement him as the ultimate authority on the ship with the power of life and death over every member of the ships company. Only an act of the King could remove him power now.

He climbed to the quarter deck, nodding in response to the salutes of his new ships officers and stepped up to the railing. The ships company, all neatly dressed in their matching black pants and stripped shirts, all present save for the duty watch, had been drawn up in neat ranks on the rolling deck. Bernor looked out over the sea of faces and knew that, in time, he would come to know them all. He drew a well used booklet from his breast pocket and began to read.

"By the grace of His Majesty, I, Captain Bernor Sarstina, take command of the Avalon Avenger in the exection of her duties in the service of His Majesty and the Empire. In accordance with regulations, the following artciles will apply to all aboard this ship, regardless of race, creed, gender, or faith."

The Articles of War

1. If any officer, mariner, soldier, or other person of the fleet, shall give,
hold, or entertain intelligence to or with any enemy or rebel, without leave from the
king's majesty, or the lord high admiral, or the commissioners for executing
the office of lord high admiral, commander in chief, or his commanding
officer, every such person so offending, and being thereof convicted by the
sentence of a court martial, shall be punished with death.

2. Every flag officer, captain and commander in the fleet, who, upon signal
or order of fight, or sight of any ship or ships which it may be his duty to
engage, or who, upon likelihood of engagement, shall not make the
necessary preparations for fight, and shall not in his own person, and
according to his place, encourage the inferior officers and men to fight
courageously, shall suffer death, or such other punishment, as from the
nature and degree of the offence a court martial shall deem him to
deserve; and if any person in the fleet shall treacherously or cowardly
yield or cry for quarter, every person so offending, and being convicted
thereof by the sentence of a court martial, shall suffer death.

3. Every person in the fleet, who through cowardice, negligence, or
disaffection, shall in time of action withdraw or keep back, or not come into
the fight or engagement, or shall not do his utmost to take or destroy every
ship which it shall be his duty to engage, and to assist and relieve all and
every of His Majesty's ships, or those of his allies, which it shall be his
duty to assist and relieve, every such person so offending, and being
convicted thereof by the sentence of a court martial, shall suffer death.

4. Every person in the fleet, who though cowardice, negligence, or
disaffection, shall forbear to pursue the chase of any enemy, pirate or
rebel, beaten or flying; or shall not relieve or assist a known friend in view
to the utmost of his power; being convicted of any such offense by the
sentence of a court martial, shall suffer death.

5. If any officer, mariner, soldier or other person in the fleet, shall strike any
of his superior officers, or draw, or offer to draw, or lift up any weapon
against him, being in the execution of his office, on any pretense
whatsoever, every such person being convicted of any such offense, by
the sentence of a court martial, shall suffer death; and if any officer,
mariner, soldier or other person in the fleet, shall presume to quarrel with
any of his superior officers, being in the execution of his office, or shall
disobey any lawful command of any of his superior officers; every such
person being convicted of any such offence, by the sentence of a court
martial, shall suffer death, or such other punishment, as shall, according to
the nature and degree of his offence, be inflicted upon him by the
sentence of a court martial.

6. Every person in the fleet, who shall unlawfully burn or set fire to any
magazine or store of powder, or ship, boat, ketch, hoy or vessel, or
tackle or furniture thereunto belonging, not then appertaining to an
enemy, pirate, or rebel, being convicted of any such offence, by the
sentence of a court martial, shall suffer death.

7. All murders committed by any person in the fleet, shall be punished with
death by the sentence of a court martial.

8. If any person in the fleet shall commit the unnatural and detestable sin of
buggery and sodomy with man or beast, he shall be punished with death
by the sentence of a court martial.

He closed the book as the last words faded into the wind and gazed about the deck for a moment, then turned to the Dwarf who stood nearby. Barik Stormhearth, he was familiar with the dwarfs file from his admiralty reports.

"That will be all, Mr. Stormhearth. Please get us under way."

In The Shadow of Giants

October 48 BC - Alexandria, Egypt

---

The tramp of Roman boots echoed loudly on the streets of Alexandria as Cassia led his squad and their bound prisoners back toward the palace. Egyptians shrank from their firm step and even the soldiers of Ptolemy hurried to give them space. Several Egyptian officers looked as they wanted to protest their men being forced aside but the sheer size of the Germanic Auxiliary seemed to stun them into silence. Cassia's face brokered no negotiation either; the scars he carried were enough to frighten Pluto himself.

Seiger marched along with the rest. He and Kedrick had taken the rear of the formation and kept a constant watch over their shoulders for anyone trying to ambush the column. It provided them an excellent opportunity to look around and Seiger, as he tended to do when in a new land, was sight seeing. The gravity of the situation was not lost on him but he could not help himself. He had never seen such a place.

The buildings were smaller than Romes, with lighter coloured stone, but the carvings upon many of the stone faces were impressive. He wondered what all of it meant as he tried to decipher the images. His gaze couldn't miss the looks from the locals, ranging from naked fear, barely disguised hatred, and in many cases amazement. He supposed he was a strange to these people as they were to him. He and Kedrick stood at least a head taller than anyone he had seen and their blonde hair was even more unique. He realized with a start that none of the men had facial hair either.

"Someone is following us." Kedricks words broke into Seigers thoughts and he glanced sharply as his comrade. "A couple of someones."

Seiger cast another wary glance over his shoulder and realized he had no idea who he was looking for. He had been so lost in his enjoyment of the city and its people that he had lost track of what he was supposed to be doing. He was angry at himself for a moment but Kedrick continued as if he was unaware Seiger had been daydreaming.

"Two men, a street back, both in white tunics. And a woman. Beyond them." Kedrick spoke without looking back and that allowed Seiger to scan the street. He noted the two men at once. They were trying to flit from one group of pedestrians to another but that only made the various groups shy away from them and make them easier to spot. The woman was more difficult. She was following at a distance and made no effort to hide, but simply walked along the street. It helped her blend in far better though Seiger did not think it was intentional.

From what little he could see, she looked like someone he would like to get to know.