[OOM] I too make for Giruvegan.
Apr. 5th, 2016 10:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fluffiest_archadianSherral’s new orders are interesting ones, to say the least.
Giruvegan, the mythical city of the gods, had been revealed to exist during the strangeness a year prior, concealed with the Jagd Difohr by a tremendous Mist storm that had now dissipated - and naturally, an outpost for archaeological study had been set up amongst it.
Crawling with monsters and sitting within the lawless wilds of Kerwon, held by no nation, it had been decided after torturous diplomatic negotiations that Archadia, Rozarria, Dalmasca and Bhujerba would jointly own and run the outpost, contributing military from each country to defend it and clear out paths to potential new areas to study.
The 19th Regiment is due to be reassigned and replaced with the 42nd Regiment under the command of Judge-Marshal Beatrice Howell, and Sherral had been placed in command of Braegh Company, a company of some eighty soldiers, and was due to report to the Highwind, a Catoblepas-class Destroyer two days hence.
---
Giruvegan is like nothing Sherral’s seen before. Built on a series of islands connected by bridges and waystones and rising from a vast, clear lake, the whole city looks to be nearly as big as Archades, Rabanastre, and Ambervale put together.
Ser Desmerais, another new Judge and the commander of Helvinek Company, joins him at the window, hands clasped behind her back. While Sherral suspects that he still looks somewhat ill-at-ease in his new role, Desmerais inhabits the role like she was born for it. He prefers her to Ser Beor, although he suspects that his and Beor’s prior history is not exactly helping.
“According to Her Majesty Queen Ashelia, the city is even larger than it appears,” she says. “That beneath the lake there is a vast subterranean cavern, and beneath that a labyrinth of crystalline caves.”
Sherral lifts an eyebrow. “And yet no idea of what civilisation built it?”
“If she knows, the young queen has not shared it with us,” Desmerais says. “Although I think it unlikely that many people will be swayed from the belief that it was raised by the gods themselves.”
“It’s been a while since I read the holy texts, but I don’t think city planning was ever listed amongst Faram’s virtues,” Sherral notes flatly.
Desmerais snorts. “And yet it is politically advantageous to many to act as if the matter is an open and shut one. Already, the Kiltia’s new College of Hymms stake their claim on the city, arguing that it and everything within it is theirs.”
Sherral cants his head a little. “You sound as if you disapprove of the college.”
Desmerais spreads her hands. “Gran Kiltias Anastasis’ murder was a crime of the highest order. He was a great man. But not all among the Light of Kiltias’ hierarchy were as holy as he, and in the centuries that he reigned it was easy to forget that. Among the college there are no shortage of wealthy, powerful men who would see the church become more powerful and influential, and line their own pockets in the process. If they could, they would have Giruvegan be their city state, from there to apportion out its riches and knowledge to whomever would gift them with the most support, wealth and power.”
“We are to expect irate clergymen and proselytisers as well as monsters, then?” Sherral asks. “How distasteful.”
“Clergymen, proselytisers, pilgrims, their backers amongst the nobility,” Desmerais says. “From what I gather, for every soldier there are three archaeologists, and for every archaeologist three worshippers.”
Sherral watches her for a moment, then turns back towards the window. “Maybe if we’re very lucky, we’ll be devoured by monsters on the first day.”
---
The central outpost is set up on an island in sight of, but not too close to the gate to the Feywood. It looks like this area was meant to be some kind of plaza, at one time, a large circular area ringed in gilted buildings, with the channels of water that run throughout the city streets leading to a central pool.
Tents have been set up around it, and in the streets beyond. Sherral believes, at first, that the largest group of tents are for the archaeologists, but he’s quickly told that they’re not, and shown where those are: Those tents are smaller, more modest, a couple of dozen to quarter them, with a few of the buildings converted for use in studying and storing artifacts.
The military tents are easy to recognise as well, packed close together to take up as little space as possible, all of more or less uniform size. The only ones that stand out are the slightly smaller tents, four in total, meant to house Judge-Marshal Howell and whosoever was leading the Dalmascan, Bhujerban, and Rozarrian forces.
The largest group of tents, then, is for Duke Leopold Rhagarde, an Archadian nobleman (Sherral recognised the name, at least - House Rhagarde was the high house that controlled the Eastern Territories, a resource and trade rich part of the Empire) who had made himself something of a champion of the faithful, and his entourage. He had duly provided the tents himself, along with considerable donations of money, food and equipment that both the archaeologists and the military had been only too happy to take - that, apparently, was more than enough to buy a permanent place for anyone with his seal of approval.
Next on the agenda is meeting the commanders he’d be working with. Braegh Company had been partnered with the 21st Jinetes Company of Rozarria (he can already see the dirty jokes arising out of that partnership), with a small company of Dalmascan militiamen to back them up - and since the 21st had been in Giruvegan a whole four months longer than Braegh Company, Sherral is fairly sure they’ll be eager to lord their seniority over them.
It becomes immediately obvious that this was not going to be an easy partnership when the 21st’s commander, Alferez-Capitan Cirino Bracamontes, fails to show up at Ser Howell’s tent.
After thirty minutes of waiting, Sherral excuses himself and sets out in search of Cirino. The man isn’t anywhere to be found amid the space set aside for training, but there is a building that the soldiers have turned into a kind of tavern (if a very unruly one), and he finds Bracamontes (well, a man fitting his description in the uniform of an Alferez-Capitan, at least) there, ale in one hand, distantly watching a scuffle between a Bhujerban soldier and a Dalmascan.
“Alferez-Capitan Bracamontes,” he says, sitting next to the man. “Perhaps I should spend my first month’s wages on a pocketwatch for you, I imagine you may have some use of it.”
Bracamontes snorts. “Just Cirino, please. We are meant to be friends, aren’t we?” He says. “And I presume I can call you Sherral? I know Archadians are sticklers for formality.”
“If you like,” Sherral says, and waves a hand at the Dalmascan soldier filling in as bartender, who quickly pours him an ale.
Bracamontes mulls something over for a while. “Braegh Company. Was that intentional?” He gives Sherral a quick grin, and Sherral lifts his shoulders ever so slightly.
“You’d have to ask my superiors, I fear.”
Bracamontes makes an affirmative noise, and gulps down more ale.
“You’re younger than your predecessor.”
“I’m aware,” Sherral says mildly. “However, he was keen to be reassigned, and the Empire felt the developing situation here required the presence of Judges.”
“New Judges,” Bracamontes corrects. “The situation here is not so dire, apparently, that they send seasoned members of your Order, instead we are saddled with twenty-year-old greenhorns and one crone dragged from retirement, and a handful of companies made up half of new recruits and half of the ignominous and unwanted.”
“I’m not sure you want the scrutiny of a seasoned Judge, Cirino,” Sherral says wryly. “But either way, the Empire felt they were needed elsewhere, along with the more illustrious of our forces.”
Bracamontes snorts derisively. “Well, do not worry yourself, I’m sure we can find some task for all of you. Cleaning the barracks, maybe.” Sherral feels some irritation prickle at the back of his neck, but he doesn’t mention it.
“How many men have you lost in the past few months, Cirino?” He puts the slightest emphasis on the man’s name, tilting his head a little. “It must be difficult for them. The Mists here are heavy, and Rozarrian soldiers are not accustomed to them. Or the kinds of monsters they produce, since your homeland enjoys relatively mundane wildlife.”
“It’s a dangerous city. You mean to imply that my men aren’t up to the task?”
“Cirino, I’m telling you outright that your company aren’t up to the task. Continue to lose soldiers at your current rate and every man under your command will be dead or injured by the end of the year without our assistance. If that’s to your liking, then I’m sure my company will be more than happy to take your generous offer of safe cleaning work,” Sherral says.
“Be careful,” Cirino says sharply. “If you end up with an arrow in the back while out on a mission, my superiors certainly won’t be in any rush to see me punished for it.”
Sherral gives him a quick smile. “I’ll have the rosters for integrated squads with you by tomorrow evening. Some of yours, some of mine, and a few of our friends in Dalmasca’s militia. If we are to be partners in this assignment, it behooves us to do it properly.”
Giruvegan, the mythical city of the gods, had been revealed to exist during the strangeness a year prior, concealed with the Jagd Difohr by a tremendous Mist storm that had now dissipated - and naturally, an outpost for archaeological study had been set up amongst it.
Crawling with monsters and sitting within the lawless wilds of Kerwon, held by no nation, it had been decided after torturous diplomatic negotiations that Archadia, Rozarria, Dalmasca and Bhujerba would jointly own and run the outpost, contributing military from each country to defend it and clear out paths to potential new areas to study.
The 19th Regiment is due to be reassigned and replaced with the 42nd Regiment under the command of Judge-Marshal Beatrice Howell, and Sherral had been placed in command of Braegh Company, a company of some eighty soldiers, and was due to report to the Highwind, a Catoblepas-class Destroyer two days hence.
Giruvegan is like nothing Sherral’s seen before. Built on a series of islands connected by bridges and waystones and rising from a vast, clear lake, the whole city looks to be nearly as big as Archades, Rabanastre, and Ambervale put together.
Ser Desmerais, another new Judge and the commander of Helvinek Company, joins him at the window, hands clasped behind her back. While Sherral suspects that he still looks somewhat ill-at-ease in his new role, Desmerais inhabits the role like she was born for it. He prefers her to Ser Beor, although he suspects that his and Beor’s prior history is not exactly helping.
“According to Her Majesty Queen Ashelia, the city is even larger than it appears,” she says. “That beneath the lake there is a vast subterranean cavern, and beneath that a labyrinth of crystalline caves.”
Sherral lifts an eyebrow. “And yet no idea of what civilisation built it?”
“If she knows, the young queen has not shared it with us,” Desmerais says. “Although I think it unlikely that many people will be swayed from the belief that it was raised by the gods themselves.”
“It’s been a while since I read the holy texts, but I don’t think city planning was ever listed amongst Faram’s virtues,” Sherral notes flatly.
Desmerais snorts. “And yet it is politically advantageous to many to act as if the matter is an open and shut one. Already, the Kiltia’s new College of Hymms stake their claim on the city, arguing that it and everything within it is theirs.”
Sherral cants his head a little. “You sound as if you disapprove of the college.”
Desmerais spreads her hands. “Gran Kiltias Anastasis’ murder was a crime of the highest order. He was a great man. But not all among the Light of Kiltias’ hierarchy were as holy as he, and in the centuries that he reigned it was easy to forget that. Among the college there are no shortage of wealthy, powerful men who would see the church become more powerful and influential, and line their own pockets in the process. If they could, they would have Giruvegan be their city state, from there to apportion out its riches and knowledge to whomever would gift them with the most support, wealth and power.”
“We are to expect irate clergymen and proselytisers as well as monsters, then?” Sherral asks. “How distasteful.”
“Clergymen, proselytisers, pilgrims, their backers amongst the nobility,” Desmerais says. “From what I gather, for every soldier there are three archaeologists, and for every archaeologist three worshippers.”
Sherral watches her for a moment, then turns back towards the window. “Maybe if we’re very lucky, we’ll be devoured by monsters on the first day.”
The central outpost is set up on an island in sight of, but not too close to the gate to the Feywood. It looks like this area was meant to be some kind of plaza, at one time, a large circular area ringed in gilted buildings, with the channels of water that run throughout the city streets leading to a central pool.
Tents have been set up around it, and in the streets beyond. Sherral believes, at first, that the largest group of tents are for the archaeologists, but he’s quickly told that they’re not, and shown where those are: Those tents are smaller, more modest, a couple of dozen to quarter them, with a few of the buildings converted for use in studying and storing artifacts.
The military tents are easy to recognise as well, packed close together to take up as little space as possible, all of more or less uniform size. The only ones that stand out are the slightly smaller tents, four in total, meant to house Judge-Marshal Howell and whosoever was leading the Dalmascan, Bhujerban, and Rozarrian forces.
The largest group of tents, then, is for Duke Leopold Rhagarde, an Archadian nobleman (Sherral recognised the name, at least - House Rhagarde was the high house that controlled the Eastern Territories, a resource and trade rich part of the Empire) who had made himself something of a champion of the faithful, and his entourage. He had duly provided the tents himself, along with considerable donations of money, food and equipment that both the archaeologists and the military had been only too happy to take - that, apparently, was more than enough to buy a permanent place for anyone with his seal of approval.
Next on the agenda is meeting the commanders he’d be working with. Braegh Company had been partnered with the 21st Jinetes Company of Rozarria (he can already see the dirty jokes arising out of that partnership), with a small company of Dalmascan militiamen to back them up - and since the 21st had been in Giruvegan a whole four months longer than Braegh Company, Sherral is fairly sure they’ll be eager to lord their seniority over them.
It becomes immediately obvious that this was not going to be an easy partnership when the 21st’s commander, Alferez-Capitan Cirino Bracamontes, fails to show up at Ser Howell’s tent.
After thirty minutes of waiting, Sherral excuses himself and sets out in search of Cirino. The man isn’t anywhere to be found amid the space set aside for training, but there is a building that the soldiers have turned into a kind of tavern (if a very unruly one), and he finds Bracamontes (well, a man fitting his description in the uniform of an Alferez-Capitan, at least) there, ale in one hand, distantly watching a scuffle between a Bhujerban soldier and a Dalmascan.
“Alferez-Capitan Bracamontes,” he says, sitting next to the man. “Perhaps I should spend my first month’s wages on a pocketwatch for you, I imagine you may have some use of it.”
Bracamontes snorts. “Just Cirino, please. We are meant to be friends, aren’t we?” He says. “And I presume I can call you Sherral? I know Archadians are sticklers for formality.”
“If you like,” Sherral says, and waves a hand at the Dalmascan soldier filling in as bartender, who quickly pours him an ale.
Bracamontes mulls something over for a while. “Braegh Company. Was that intentional?” He gives Sherral a quick grin, and Sherral lifts his shoulders ever so slightly.
“You’d have to ask my superiors, I fear.”
Bracamontes makes an affirmative noise, and gulps down more ale.
“You’re younger than your predecessor.”
“I’m aware,” Sherral says mildly. “However, he was keen to be reassigned, and the Empire felt the developing situation here required the presence of Judges.”
“New Judges,” Bracamontes corrects. “The situation here is not so dire, apparently, that they send seasoned members of your Order, instead we are saddled with twenty-year-old greenhorns and one crone dragged from retirement, and a handful of companies made up half of new recruits and half of the ignominous and unwanted.”
“I’m not sure you want the scrutiny of a seasoned Judge, Cirino,” Sherral says wryly. “But either way, the Empire felt they were needed elsewhere, along with the more illustrious of our forces.”
Bracamontes snorts derisively. “Well, do not worry yourself, I’m sure we can find some task for all of you. Cleaning the barracks, maybe.” Sherral feels some irritation prickle at the back of his neck, but he doesn’t mention it.
“How many men have you lost in the past few months, Cirino?” He puts the slightest emphasis on the man’s name, tilting his head a little. “It must be difficult for them. The Mists here are heavy, and Rozarrian soldiers are not accustomed to them. Or the kinds of monsters they produce, since your homeland enjoys relatively mundane wildlife.”
“It’s a dangerous city. You mean to imply that my men aren’t up to the task?”
“Cirino, I’m telling you outright that your company aren’t up to the task. Continue to lose soldiers at your current rate and every man under your command will be dead or injured by the end of the year without our assistance. If that’s to your liking, then I’m sure my company will be more than happy to take your generous offer of safe cleaning work,” Sherral says.
“Be careful,” Cirino says sharply. “If you end up with an arrow in the back while out on a mission, my superiors certainly won’t be in any rush to see me punished for it.”
Sherral gives him a quick smile. “I’ll have the rosters for integrated squads with you by tomorrow evening. Some of yours, some of mine, and a few of our friends in Dalmasca’s militia. If we are to be partners in this assignment, it behooves us to do it properly.”
