Sherral (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fluffiest_archadian) wrote2013-08-02 11:25 pm
fluffiest_archadian) wrote2013-08-02 11:25 pm
2 Years Pre-Canon.
The Phon Gate has been taken and secured. All airships of the 7th, 8th, 9th and 13th fleets advance into Nabradian airspace to rendezvous over the Salikawood at 800 hours.
At 2100 hours, we begin our assault on the city of Nabudis.
Lieutenant Sherral Maduin is the second youngest member of the Strike Team, beaten only by Snuffles, a young second lieutenant who is purportedly one of the best healers they have. There are twenty-four of them in total, divided into two groups, all under the command of Judge Magister Zecht.
The man himself is – imposing. Amidst the dull grey armour of the soldiers, he stands clad in black and silver, marked with red, the horns on his helmet adding nearly a foot of extra height. When he sweeps into the room with his cape billowing behind him, everyone goes silent and stands to attention. Even Major Ragnar, his gruff, elderly second in command, stiffens noticeably.
“Gentlemen,” Zecht's voice is a booming, rich baritone that sounds almost too young for the youngest Judge Magister. “You've all been briefed on the mission in detail excrutiating, but permit me to reiterate in short. We are to drop from above the city's Paling and land within the grounds of the Verdpale Palace itself. We are to ascend to the top of the Tower of Sealed Light and secure the Midlight Shard, Nabradia's most fearsome weapon, before they can use it.”
There is a slight stirring amidst some of the soldiers. Sherral looks over at Lieutenant Snuffles, who is wringing his hands.
“We rendezvous in one hour at Hangar Bay Three,” Zecht says. “Dismissed.”
As they depart, Sherral nudges Snuffle's shoulder slightly. “Nervous?”
Snuffles bites his lip, and nods quickly. Sherral gives him the best reassuring smile he can muster. “I'll keep an eye on you. Two, when I can spare them.”
7th fleet moving into position to secure the Nabreus Bridge. 8th and 9th fleets have begun their assault on the city, to be joined by 13th fleet shortly. Strike Team has commenced drop.
They plummet straight down, heads firsts, arms by their sides to quicken their pursuit. Zecht is ahead, one armoured hand stretched out before him, and a circle of green appears before his palm and explodes into bolts of yellow lightning.
The Paling, the blue shield over the city, tears slightly, a hole just wide enough for four men to pass through. One by one, they hurtle through it as it starts to close. Five soldiers miss, and the Paling scatters them along its curvature.
The display on Sherral's helmet tells him that Zecht and Snuffles are both okay, their names hovering above distant figures. A second later a cheerful 'Major Orin Ragnar' label zooms past him.
The palace looms closer. Parachutes open. Sherral pulls the cord, and feels the rush of terminal velocity cut short.
Paling Stations one through three and nine through eleven taken. Nabradian army barracks have been taken. East docks taken.
King Rorgan Haios Nabradia is attempting to escape the city with a small retinue of men. Judge Magister Drace has been sent to intercept and eliminate him.
Strike Team has infiltrated Verdpale Palace.
They are surrounded on every side by Nabradian special forces.
The great temple is the perfect spot for an ambush, and the Nabradians swarm them, three men to every one of theirs, healers crouched on the balconies to throw spells down at their comrades.
Sherral sees a blur of white and gold just before he takes a gauntleted punch to the head, hard enough to sever the clasps of his armour and send his helmet flying off. He falls on his side within the pool of water used for purifying worshippers.
The Nabradian lands on him, straddling him and wrestling his face under the water. Sherral chokes, thrashes, tries to conserve his air as best he can.
A grey shape appears behind the Nabradian. Snuffles' face swims into view. He yells something and ice bursts from his hand, freezing the entire upper half of the Nabradian solid in a second. Sherral kicks him to the side and watches him shatter into shiny red chunks.
Zecht bellows and whirls, the Mist trailing from his swords in waves of amber, incinerating a dozen Nabradians around him.
Shaking the water out of his hair like a dog, Sherral charges back into battle.
King Rorgan Haios Nabradia has been eliminated. Parliament has been taken, and the Nabradian ministers are being escorted to the Alexander. All barracks and Paling stations have been taken. West docks and Aerodrome taken. Main gate secured.
Eleven percent loss of manpower within our forces.
Resistance in Verdpale Palace remains. Strike Team reports that they are nearing objective.
Sherral bore a Nabradian soldier to the ground, securing him there with a foot while his sword slid through the man's eye until it hit the stone floor.
Encased in white crystal at the centre of the tower was the Midlight Shard, pink and orange, shaped like a human heart. It had been left under heavy guard, not just by soldiers but by a great automaton of steel and stone which currently duelled with Judge Zecht.
With a grunt and a heavy swing, Sherral cleaved through a Nabradian's soldier's neck, stepping past the body as it tumbled. Snuffles was near the Midlight Shard, fending off a screaming Nabradian's sword strikes. Major Ragnar was the closest, and occupied with two more soldiers.
“I, Judge Magister,” Zecht intoned to the tower automaton, gathering energy about his swords, “condemn you to oblivion.”
The explosion of steel armour and chunks of stone gave Sherral the perfect cover. He dashed across the tower, grabbing the Nabradian who threatened Snuffle and slipping his sword between two ribs. He didn't know if Snuffles noticed – the boy screamed and set upon the dying soldier with his sword, hacking at him with such a frenzy that Sherral had to tug his sword free and jump backwards to avoid being clipped by the strikes.
After a few moments, he calmly slid his sword between Snuffles and the Nabradian's body. “He's dead, lieutenant,” he barked quickly. Snuffle's eyes were wide, but he seemed to understand, and let his sword go slack in his hand, breathing heavily.
The last Nabradian soldier fell at Zecht's feet.
Zecht paced over to the crystal and, with a quick movement of one hand, shattered it. The Midlight Shard dropped to the ground, glowing softly. Slowly, Zecht crouched, picking the heart-shaped stone up.
“'Thus did Raithwall ascend tower of Faram, and tread mortal footsteps upon eternal realm of gods,'” Zecht intoned heavily. “'With blessings of Ravanna, of Ordam, of Faram, he cut from sun's radiance three crude shards, and thus was marked Dynast-King and first among the dying.'”
“Your orders, Your Honour?” Major Ragnar asked wearily, wiping the blood off his sword.
Zecht didn't seem to hear him. He rolled the shard about in his hand, helmet tilted down towards it. “First among the dying,” he murmured. “Stay as close to me as shadows.”
All eleven remaining soldiers clustered around Zecht, swords ready, one eye on him as he lifted the Midlight Shard over his head like a Kiltia lifting a chalice of wine. It hummed, hovering up above his hands, the glow coming brighter and brighter.
With a flick of his hand, Zecht lowered a magical Paling over them, glittering in silvers and pinks. Streams of Mist started to weave through the windows of the tower, burning orange, snaking into the shard. The Paling flickered, warping and straining upwards. Zecht hissed with exertion, tightening his hand into a fist.
Then, the world exploded into orange light.
”Something's happened down there. Some kind of explosion, engulfing the entire city. The Nabreus Lake is evaporating. All units, report. All units, report.
All airships withdraw immediately, there has been a three-hundred percent rise in Mist, enough to interfere with engine activity. I repeat, all airships withdraw immediately ...
At 2100 hours, we begin our assault on the city of Nabudis.
Lieutenant Sherral Maduin is the second youngest member of the Strike Team, beaten only by Snuffles, a young second lieutenant who is purportedly one of the best healers they have. There are twenty-four of them in total, divided into two groups, all under the command of Judge Magister Zecht.
The man himself is – imposing. Amidst the dull grey armour of the soldiers, he stands clad in black and silver, marked with red, the horns on his helmet adding nearly a foot of extra height. When he sweeps into the room with his cape billowing behind him, everyone goes silent and stands to attention. Even Major Ragnar, his gruff, elderly second in command, stiffens noticeably.
“Gentlemen,” Zecht's voice is a booming, rich baritone that sounds almost too young for the youngest Judge Magister. “You've all been briefed on the mission in detail excrutiating, but permit me to reiterate in short. We are to drop from above the city's Paling and land within the grounds of the Verdpale Palace itself. We are to ascend to the top of the Tower of Sealed Light and secure the Midlight Shard, Nabradia's most fearsome weapon, before they can use it.”
There is a slight stirring amidst some of the soldiers. Sherral looks over at Lieutenant Snuffles, who is wringing his hands.
“We rendezvous in one hour at Hangar Bay Three,” Zecht says. “Dismissed.”
As they depart, Sherral nudges Snuffle's shoulder slightly. “Nervous?”
Snuffles bites his lip, and nods quickly. Sherral gives him the best reassuring smile he can muster. “I'll keep an eye on you. Two, when I can spare them.”
7th fleet moving into position to secure the Nabreus Bridge. 8th and 9th fleets have begun their assault on the city, to be joined by 13th fleet shortly. Strike Team has commenced drop.
They plummet straight down, heads firsts, arms by their sides to quicken their pursuit. Zecht is ahead, one armoured hand stretched out before him, and a circle of green appears before his palm and explodes into bolts of yellow lightning.
The Paling, the blue shield over the city, tears slightly, a hole just wide enough for four men to pass through. One by one, they hurtle through it as it starts to close. Five soldiers miss, and the Paling scatters them along its curvature.
The display on Sherral's helmet tells him that Zecht and Snuffles are both okay, their names hovering above distant figures. A second later a cheerful 'Major Orin Ragnar' label zooms past him.
The palace looms closer. Parachutes open. Sherral pulls the cord, and feels the rush of terminal velocity cut short.
Paling Stations one through three and nine through eleven taken. Nabradian army barracks have been taken. East docks taken.
King Rorgan Haios Nabradia is attempting to escape the city with a small retinue of men. Judge Magister Drace has been sent to intercept and eliminate him.
Strike Team has infiltrated Verdpale Palace.
They are surrounded on every side by Nabradian special forces.
The great temple is the perfect spot for an ambush, and the Nabradians swarm them, three men to every one of theirs, healers crouched on the balconies to throw spells down at their comrades.
Sherral sees a blur of white and gold just before he takes a gauntleted punch to the head, hard enough to sever the clasps of his armour and send his helmet flying off. He falls on his side within the pool of water used for purifying worshippers.
The Nabradian lands on him, straddling him and wrestling his face under the water. Sherral chokes, thrashes, tries to conserve his air as best he can.
A grey shape appears behind the Nabradian. Snuffles' face swims into view. He yells something and ice bursts from his hand, freezing the entire upper half of the Nabradian solid in a second. Sherral kicks him to the side and watches him shatter into shiny red chunks.
Zecht bellows and whirls, the Mist trailing from his swords in waves of amber, incinerating a dozen Nabradians around him.
Shaking the water out of his hair like a dog, Sherral charges back into battle.
King Rorgan Haios Nabradia has been eliminated. Parliament has been taken, and the Nabradian ministers are being escorted to the Alexander. All barracks and Paling stations have been taken. West docks and Aerodrome taken. Main gate secured.
Eleven percent loss of manpower within our forces.
Resistance in Verdpale Palace remains. Strike Team reports that they are nearing objective.
Sherral bore a Nabradian soldier to the ground, securing him there with a foot while his sword slid through the man's eye until it hit the stone floor.
Encased in white crystal at the centre of the tower was the Midlight Shard, pink and orange, shaped like a human heart. It had been left under heavy guard, not just by soldiers but by a great automaton of steel and stone which currently duelled with Judge Zecht.
With a grunt and a heavy swing, Sherral cleaved through a Nabradian's soldier's neck, stepping past the body as it tumbled. Snuffles was near the Midlight Shard, fending off a screaming Nabradian's sword strikes. Major Ragnar was the closest, and occupied with two more soldiers.
“I, Judge Magister,” Zecht intoned to the tower automaton, gathering energy about his swords, “condemn you to oblivion.”
The explosion of steel armour and chunks of stone gave Sherral the perfect cover. He dashed across the tower, grabbing the Nabradian who threatened Snuffle and slipping his sword between two ribs. He didn't know if Snuffles noticed – the boy screamed and set upon the dying soldier with his sword, hacking at him with such a frenzy that Sherral had to tug his sword free and jump backwards to avoid being clipped by the strikes.
After a few moments, he calmly slid his sword between Snuffles and the Nabradian's body. “He's dead, lieutenant,” he barked quickly. Snuffle's eyes were wide, but he seemed to understand, and let his sword go slack in his hand, breathing heavily.
The last Nabradian soldier fell at Zecht's feet.
Zecht paced over to the crystal and, with a quick movement of one hand, shattered it. The Midlight Shard dropped to the ground, glowing softly. Slowly, Zecht crouched, picking the heart-shaped stone up.
“'Thus did Raithwall ascend tower of Faram, and tread mortal footsteps upon eternal realm of gods,'” Zecht intoned heavily. “'With blessings of Ravanna, of Ordam, of Faram, he cut from sun's radiance three crude shards, and thus was marked Dynast-King and first among the dying.'”
“Your orders, Your Honour?” Major Ragnar asked wearily, wiping the blood off his sword.
Zecht didn't seem to hear him. He rolled the shard about in his hand, helmet tilted down towards it. “First among the dying,” he murmured. “Stay as close to me as shadows.”
All eleven remaining soldiers clustered around Zecht, swords ready, one eye on him as he lifted the Midlight Shard over his head like a Kiltia lifting a chalice of wine. It hummed, hovering up above his hands, the glow coming brighter and brighter.
With a flick of his hand, Zecht lowered a magical Paling over them, glittering in silvers and pinks. Streams of Mist started to weave through the windows of the tower, burning orange, snaking into the shard. The Paling flickered, warping and straining upwards. Zecht hissed with exertion, tightening his hand into a fist.
Then, the world exploded into orange light.
”Something's happened down there. Some kind of explosion, engulfing the entire city. The Nabreus Lake is evaporating. All units, report. All units, report.
All airships withdraw immediately, there has been a three-hundred percent rise in Mist, enough to interfere with engine activity. I repeat, all airships withdraw immediately ...