[OOM] The Battle of Rabanastre.
Dec. 22nd, 2015 01:11 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fluffiest_archadianSherral’s orders come through a few days before the battle. He is to serve as second-in-command on the Sylph, one of the ships in the 1st Kerwon Expeditionary Force. It’s a surprisingly prestigious position to be offered to a junior officer, and Sherral has to wonder why, exactly, he was picked out for it.
Asking doesn’t get him any answers, but he takes the role without complaint, leaving Illan in command of the the Western Division.
---
The Liberation Army are surrendering when the Bahamut fires.
A bolt of burning Mist that cuts through ships and then blazes into a ball of light and fire, sucking ships in before exploding outwards, sending rubble shooting outwards. There is chatter over the channels, people asking what’s going on, why the surrender wasn’t accepted.
“Hold fast, all ships,” Judge Magister Zargabaath responds, but Sherral can detect the tremor behind his voice. “Have faith in your emperor.”
The Bahamut is charging another shot. After a minute or two, Vayne’s voice comes over all speakers, as level and calming as always.
“This is Vayne Solidor calling all ships. This is a critical moment in the history of this Ivalice. This Liberation Army are puppets of Rozarria, driven by their will, and have been allowed to claw at our nation from the shadows for too long, piling e’er higher the bodies of soldiers and civilians alike. They call for mercy now only so that they can rise up again,” he says, and Sherral catches a hint of ice to his tone that he hasn’t heard before.
“‘Twas their aggressions that led to the loss of the Leviathan above the Sandsea; their machinations within the Kiltia that led to Judge Magister Bergan’s demise; their machinations within our own Senate that led to the fall of my father and your emperor. They are treacherous beyond contempt.
“Do not be fooled by their lies, do not fall into their trap. Here, at the birthplace of the Galtean Alliance, we will drive them back once and for all, such that they will never again threaten Ivalice’s peace, and in so doing we will send Rozarria a final message: Their games and lies will not weaken Archadia.
“Hold fast. We will win this battle.”
---
A Mist Storm the likes of which Sherral has never seen gathers about the Bahamut, striking ships from both armies out of the sky, tearing chunks of metal from the sky fortress’ hull and sucking them in.
“Report,” Sherral says to one of the officers, as they stare at their console.
“Our sensors cannot penetrate the Mist. It has wholly surrounded the Bahamut and is growing in size. It will engulf the whole fleet and Rabanastre itself before the hour is done if it continues expanding at its current rate.”
“This is Judge Magister Zargabaath,” a voice comes over the speakers. “All ships, move away from the Bahamut. Keep yourself ahead of that storm. We will attempt to regain contact. Remaining away from the storm is a higher priority than engaging the enemy.”
Sherral squints at the screen. Just what is going on?
---
As soon as the Mist Storm dissipates, as suddenly as it appeared, the battle resumes in full, a barely organised chaos of a fight, airships struggling to return to formation under fire.
“This is Judge Magister Gabranth.”
“It’s coming from a civilian airship on all channels,” one of the officers says. “Both ours and the Liberation Army’s.”
”All quarters, cease fire. I repeat: All units of the Archadian Army, hold your fire. The battle is over. As of this moment, we have signed a ceasefire with Ashelia B’nargin Dalmasca, her Royal Majesty.”
Sherral glances over at the Sylph’s captain, but he looks utterly bewildered, fingers steepled as he absorbs the information. Ashelia B’nargin Dalmasca, heir to Dalmasca’s throne, believed dead by suicide for two years, now signing ceasefires from a civilian airship?
The captain gives Sherral a quick nod, however, and Sherral raises a hand. “Cease fire. Power down weapons.”
The next voice that comes through is that of a child. ”Attention: This is Larsa Ferrinas Solidor. My brother Vayne has died with honor in battle. The Imperial fleet is now under my command.”
Another voice comes through, a woman’s: ”This is Ashelia Dalmasca. I confirm what Judge Gabranth and Larsa Solidor have said here. Please, stand down your attack. The war is over. Ivalice looks to the horizon. A new day has dawned. We are free.”
There is a moment’s peace, and then an almighty cracking noise rips through the air. Sherral freezes. He recognises that noise.
“Sir, the Bahamut has impacted against Rabanastre’s Paling. It holds for now, but if the sky fortress entire should fall, the Paling will fail,” an officer remarks.
The captain glances over at Sherral quickly, then forward again. “Can we destroy the remains with focused fire?”
“Doubtful, sir.”
”This is Judge Magister Zargabaath, captain of the Alexander, flagship of the 12th Dalmascan Fleet of the Archadian Army. I address all ships in Rabanastre’s airspace. The Bahamut must not be allowed to fall upon the city of Rabanastre. We are preparing to ram her. Do not interfere.”
The captain lifts an eyebrow slowly.
“Sir, the Alexander will be destroyed on impact if they do that,” Sherral says. “And I would not rate their chances of success.”
“Indeed,” the captain says.
”Madness!” a Bhujerban voice that Sherral presumes is Marquis Ondore exclaims over the comms.
”Should she fall, the Paling will not hold and all Rabanastre will be obliterated,” Zargabaath says. ”Concentrate your fire on the Alexander’s remains once the Bahamut is clear of the city.”
”Hasty, aren’t they? I think it’s a little early to be throwing away our lives just yet.”
The captain frowns. “Report.”
“The signal is coming from within the Bahamut, sir,” an officer says. “He - hasn’t identified himself.”
“For a moment, I could have sworn it was old Doctor Cid himself,” the captain remarks with a rumble. “Faram rest his soul.”
”What does he think he’s doing? Balthier!” Ondore yells.
”Marquis! Stop that fool Judge on the Alexander, would you? Just getting somewhere on these glossair rings. Almost done! Don’t want him ramming me before I fix them, do we?”
”Balthier!” Ashelia Dalmasca calls. ”Do you understand exactly what it is you’re doing?”
”Princess! No need to worry. I hope you haven’t forgotten my role in this little story. I’m the leading man. You know what they say about the leading man: He never dies.”
With a roar, the Bahamut’s glossair rings spring back to life, the fortress lifting up and away from Rabanastre.
“Rabanastre’s Paling holds, sir,” an officer says. “At twenty percent integrity.”
The captain nods silently. Sherral exhales softly.
With a crash, the Bahamut hits ground a dozen kilometres from the city, creating a wave of dust and earth that washes over the Paling. Then, there is quiet.
Asking doesn’t get him any answers, but he takes the role without complaint, leaving Illan in command of the the Western Division.
The Liberation Army are surrendering when the Bahamut fires.
A bolt of burning Mist that cuts through ships and then blazes into a ball of light and fire, sucking ships in before exploding outwards, sending rubble shooting outwards. There is chatter over the channels, people asking what’s going on, why the surrender wasn’t accepted.
“Hold fast, all ships,” Judge Magister Zargabaath responds, but Sherral can detect the tremor behind his voice. “Have faith in your emperor.”
The Bahamut is charging another shot. After a minute or two, Vayne’s voice comes over all speakers, as level and calming as always.
“This is Vayne Solidor calling all ships. This is a critical moment in the history of this Ivalice. This Liberation Army are puppets of Rozarria, driven by their will, and have been allowed to claw at our nation from the shadows for too long, piling e’er higher the bodies of soldiers and civilians alike. They call for mercy now only so that they can rise up again,” he says, and Sherral catches a hint of ice to his tone that he hasn’t heard before.
“‘Twas their aggressions that led to the loss of the Leviathan above the Sandsea; their machinations within the Kiltia that led to Judge Magister Bergan’s demise; their machinations within our own Senate that led to the fall of my father and your emperor. They are treacherous beyond contempt.
“Do not be fooled by their lies, do not fall into their trap. Here, at the birthplace of the Galtean Alliance, we will drive them back once and for all, such that they will never again threaten Ivalice’s peace, and in so doing we will send Rozarria a final message: Their games and lies will not weaken Archadia.
“Hold fast. We will win this battle.”
A Mist Storm the likes of which Sherral has never seen gathers about the Bahamut, striking ships from both armies out of the sky, tearing chunks of metal from the sky fortress’ hull and sucking them in.
“Report,” Sherral says to one of the officers, as they stare at their console.
“Our sensors cannot penetrate the Mist. It has wholly surrounded the Bahamut and is growing in size. It will engulf the whole fleet and Rabanastre itself before the hour is done if it continues expanding at its current rate.”
“This is Judge Magister Zargabaath,” a voice comes over the speakers. “All ships, move away from the Bahamut. Keep yourself ahead of that storm. We will attempt to regain contact. Remaining away from the storm is a higher priority than engaging the enemy.”
Sherral squints at the screen. Just what is going on?
As soon as the Mist Storm dissipates, as suddenly as it appeared, the battle resumes in full, a barely organised chaos of a fight, airships struggling to return to formation under fire.
“This is Judge Magister Gabranth.”
“It’s coming from a civilian airship on all channels,” one of the officers says. “Both ours and the Liberation Army’s.”
”All quarters, cease fire. I repeat: All units of the Archadian Army, hold your fire. The battle is over. As of this moment, we have signed a ceasefire with Ashelia B’nargin Dalmasca, her Royal Majesty.”
Sherral glances over at the Sylph’s captain, but he looks utterly bewildered, fingers steepled as he absorbs the information. Ashelia B’nargin Dalmasca, heir to Dalmasca’s throne, believed dead by suicide for two years, now signing ceasefires from a civilian airship?
The captain gives Sherral a quick nod, however, and Sherral raises a hand. “Cease fire. Power down weapons.”
The next voice that comes through is that of a child. ”Attention: This is Larsa Ferrinas Solidor. My brother Vayne has died with honor in battle. The Imperial fleet is now under my command.”
Another voice comes through, a woman’s: ”This is Ashelia Dalmasca. I confirm what Judge Gabranth and Larsa Solidor have said here. Please, stand down your attack. The war is over. Ivalice looks to the horizon. A new day has dawned. We are free.”
There is a moment’s peace, and then an almighty cracking noise rips through the air. Sherral freezes. He recognises that noise.
“Sir, the Bahamut has impacted against Rabanastre’s Paling. It holds for now, but if the sky fortress entire should fall, the Paling will fail,” an officer remarks.
The captain glances over at Sherral quickly, then forward again. “Can we destroy the remains with focused fire?”
“Doubtful, sir.”
”This is Judge Magister Zargabaath, captain of the Alexander, flagship of the 12th Dalmascan Fleet of the Archadian Army. I address all ships in Rabanastre’s airspace. The Bahamut must not be allowed to fall upon the city of Rabanastre. We are preparing to ram her. Do not interfere.”
The captain lifts an eyebrow slowly.
“Sir, the Alexander will be destroyed on impact if they do that,” Sherral says. “And I would not rate their chances of success.”
“Indeed,” the captain says.
”Madness!” a Bhujerban voice that Sherral presumes is Marquis Ondore exclaims over the comms.
”Should she fall, the Paling will not hold and all Rabanastre will be obliterated,” Zargabaath says. ”Concentrate your fire on the Alexander’s remains once the Bahamut is clear of the city.”
”Hasty, aren’t they? I think it’s a little early to be throwing away our lives just yet.”
The captain frowns. “Report.”
“The signal is coming from within the Bahamut, sir,” an officer says. “He - hasn’t identified himself.”
“For a moment, I could have sworn it was old Doctor Cid himself,” the captain remarks with a rumble. “Faram rest his soul.”
”What does he think he’s doing? Balthier!” Ondore yells.
”Marquis! Stop that fool Judge on the Alexander, would you? Just getting somewhere on these glossair rings. Almost done! Don’t want him ramming me before I fix them, do we?”
”Balthier!” Ashelia Dalmasca calls. ”Do you understand exactly what it is you’re doing?”
”Princess! No need to worry. I hope you haven’t forgotten my role in this little story. I’m the leading man. You know what they say about the leading man: He never dies.”
With a roar, the Bahamut’s glossair rings spring back to life, the fortress lifting up and away from Rabanastre.
“Rabanastre’s Paling holds, sir,” an officer says. “At twenty percent integrity.”
The captain nods silently. Sherral exhales softly.
With a crash, the Bahamut hits ground a dozen kilometres from the city, creating a wave of dust and earth that washes over the Paling. Then, there is quiet.
