502-11-23 Wereshark attack on Landry
From Crossroads Wiki
The date is November 23, 502
The log of the joint effort of army and navy to defend the small port of Landry from the wereshark creatures.
It has been several long, uncomfortable days at sea. Any who had never before been outside the steady, stable power of the Currents would find the tumultuous ocean-going to be chaotic at best.. and miserably nauseating at worst. With the rising on a new day, with a stiff easterly wind, the fleet of ships sails on.. Fifteen warships of the Navy; three galleons carrying soliders and supplies; and the Siren's Song- a swift schooner bearing a regal cargo. In the east, the island chain of Landry is spied by the lookouts.
From aboard the Siren's Song, Narlyia leans faintly with the rolls of the waves of the ocean, putting a little more weight on her staff to keep on her feet. "I take it that is where we are headed?" She muses passively, giving a nod of her head to the isles that the lookouts call from the other ships.
Aboard the Admiral's vessel, Vaughn has dressed in his armor, and made preperations of his own for battle. His strange chainmail looks almost at home, as other members of the Admiral's vessel from the Fleet bear similar pieces of scaled mail. He's near Gudrun, clearly concerned for the smith after her little run in at her shop. And, for what is probably the tenth time that very day, he asks her, "You sure that there's not anything I can do for, Gudrun?" His fingers twitch, antsy before the impending battle of Doom.
Asha's presence on the Keeper's Hammer has been a quiet one, save for the moments when the duchess could find enough free space to spar with one of the guards with her and find her sea legs. Her presence there is quiet still as the Isle of Landry comes into view, no comment beyond a grimace offered on the little island.
From aboard the Siren's Song, the Mogur Imperius replies to Narylia with overtaxed boredom, "It would be unbearably annoying if we had taken a wrong turn and were at the wrong island." He leans his head back against the main mast from his seat upon a barrel lashed to the proud spire.
Gudrun appears to be focusing in and out on the familiar, at least to her, sight of Landry. Taking a rest from the tedious task of maintaining the heavy artillery of the Keeper's Hammer, she eases herself up slowly from the deck, holding onto the railing to steady herself. She gives Vaughn a weak smile. "It's gonna me all you with the pullin' today, lad. I can't manage it. But I'll handle the configs . . " She frowns, and holds her head a minute, as if it pain.
Aboard the Keeper's Hammer, Captain Barca nods to a whisper from a passing officer, though his eyes are fixed upon the island chain as it approaches slowly. "Excellent.. he mutters. See to it."
From aboard the Siren's Song, the Empress watches the land grow closer quietly where she stands near the railing, an Imperial Knight beside her.
From aboard the Siren's Song, Sir Seth keeps his vigil with the Empress, standing just behind her shoulder. He is as silent as his charge.
From aboard the Siren's Song, Narlyia chuckles dryly and takes a few limped steps towards the Mogur and away from the railing, sending a brief sneer towards the water. "I'll be glad when my feet are back on land. Hate bloody water." She rolls her neck, a few cracks and pops of her old bones sounding. "Actually -bloody- water doesn't bother me at all..." She muses, drifting off into thought for a moment while she studies the islands.
As the ships of the Gateway expedition approach from the west, the harbor of the Empire's first colony appears mercifully intact, and unburnt to first observations. No sign to be seen of the hundreds and hundreds of carpenters, architects and masons who had labored upon the port.
Along the shoreline of Landry Port, the yellow sand of the beach is marked by regular irregularities: a thin, entrenched line in the sand along the shore, strengthened with palmetto wood stakes facing toward the sea, (the work of scared and helpless civilian builders under the direction of a Legion veteran) lacking only the soliders to occupy them. From the high water mark to the thin line of meagre entrenchments there is perhaps twenty yards of open sand.
The Cat's Grace- a Great warship whose crenellated fore and aft castles bristle with artillery, is at anchor behind the harbor's breakwater, while in the distance to the north, it appears that smoke is rising from the surface of the sea...
From the flagship Stepha'kim waves a signal flag to the other ships. The Fleet Navigator signals that they 'should' slow for shoals. Wether there are any he leaves to the lookouts. For the actual order to slow he leaves to individual Captains.
Asha stays to the side for now, her attention on the men who share this ship with her. Those of the legions on the Keeper's Hammer are thus treated to an inspection from the duchess as she tries to stay out of the way of the whole sailing business.
Aboard the Hammer, Lord Adrian steps forward, eyes narrowing slightly. His voice is calm and low as he addresses Stepha'Kim "Thank you, Lieutenant. But I'll give the order to signal the other ships from now on. Is that clear?" He smiles.
From aboard the Captains vessel, Vaughn gives Gudrun an easy smile, "You know I've always got your back, Gudrun. We'll smite enough of these bastards to get them to leave our land alone," he brags with the comfort of a man comfortable in the Fleet. "Though, when we port you might be busy awhile making me new arrowheads," he teases, lightly. His eyes sweep across the sea ahead, and to the port, his smile lessening as he appraises the situation.
From aboard the Siren's Song, the Mogur Imperius aims a sly smile at Narylia. "Being surrounded by water must be close to a nightmare for you," he observes. He studies the horizon with barely enough vitality to manage a sigh through his lethargy. "Smoke. Good. This interminable sailing is about to get interesting."
Gudrun sighs with a tired smile at Vaughn's words. "It's gonna be a while, laddie. Me body an' me forge has gotta get repaired." She falls silent, obviously saving her strength, and concentrating on the finicky task of onager maintenance.
From aboard the Siren's Song, Seth presses his lips when glancing at the Mogur. His hand falls to the hilt of his sword. Surely it is reflex.
From aboard the Siren's Song, "Close, but my nightmares are far worse." Narlyia smiles with pearly whites at the Mogur, her gaze tilting towards the smoke as it is mentioned. "Finally." She mutters.
On the Hammer, Adrian moves forward a bit, calling out. "Prepare to lower sails. Stand by, Oarsmen!"
From aboard the Siren's Song, the Mogur ducks a hand in a sleeve and draws his hand out with his bejeweled wand held lightly. He taps it against his thigh as he waits.
From aboard the Siren's Song, Narlyia shifts her grip on her staff, lips pressing thin. Almost in afterthought, she lets her staff fall back against her lithe frame, hand dipping into her pouch to produce a flower pedal. She crushes it in her hand, her thumbnail pressing to cut through her palm's tough skin, mixing a steady, but light stream of blood to her component as she murmurs.
From aboard the Siren's Song, Mena lifts a spyglass to look through, aiming toward the island the troops are headed for.
As the ships speed, the legionnaires on any of them move to the shielded spots as one, pila in hands and gladii sheathed at their hips. On the Hammer, Asha stays back from the edge where any action is likely to be strongest, a core of ten guards at her side. Shield at her left and hand at hilt, she remains silent and steady, gaze scanning the horizon.
From the Cat's Grace, a signal horn is sounded in a long note to hail the approaching Gateway Fleet. While the Navy's banner flies from the juggernaut's flagpole, the admiral's own banner does not. On the great warship's deck a shout is given, and many of men on deck can be seen waving spears and raising a shout at the sight of the oncoming ships. The ship's captain can be seen through a spyglass gripping the rigging and stepping onto a railing facing the Hammer.
From aboard the Hammer, Vaughn's fingers twitch again, his shoulders roll in eager anticipation. He mutters, "I hate waiting," half to Gudrun, half to nobody imparticular.
Adrian turns to his first mate. "Standard greeting. Send our respects to the Cat's Grace..." He glances back at another crewmen. "Oarsmen, standard ahead, Lower the sails!" (REPOSE for S'K)
Once the ships draw near enough, the captain of the Cat's Grace (in battle dress) shouts across to the Keeper's Hammer, "They're less than an hour offshore!" A finger points to the north, where the rising smoke off the water is to be seen.
Stepha'kim flags the appropriate greeting as ordered using to hand flags and the appropriate coded Honorific.
Gudrun rubs her good hand across her forehead, and looks up from her calibrations. "Vaughn, what are we fightin' today, again, exactly." She seems to ask in an apoligetic tone, clicking a gear with a slow but practiced hand.
From aboard the Siren's Song, There is a brief shimmer of blue around the elder mage, Narlyia, it falling invisable just as soon as it appeared. As her hand opens, nothing but ash falls from where the component was. She lifts her lightly bleeding hand to grip her staff again, tilting her dark gaze to the smoke.
From aboard the Siren's Song, the Mogur Imperius leans back against the main mast once more. He yawns with excessive indolence and closes his eyes. For all practical purposes, he appears to go to sleep.
On the Hammer, Asha steps out from her guard cordon at the shout from the Cat's Grace, starting to move along the side of the ship and pausing where a particular crested helmet indicates an officer to murmur a few words.
Adrian moves over to the smith and her compatriots. "Miss Gudrun, make the catapults ready, if you please?" He points to the approaching bank of smoke. "There. Can you estimate range and arc? We'll need to be reach the instant they're in range if they mean to attack."
Aboard the Hammer, Vaughn grins some to Gudrun, "Them half-men-sharks," he reminds Gudrun, brightly. "I can't wait to see how many of their eyes I can pierce." More soberly, "Their hide, likely, is going to be damn tough, but, we'll see. That dragonbone bow you made me ought to help, some."
On the Hammer, when Asha moves away from the officers, some of the men around them shift, pila exchanged for bows. As the men on the Hammer adjust, those transported on other ships begin to do the same, every fifth man trading pila for bow and arrows.
The captain of the Cat's Grace adds, "The Ad'mral took what faster ships we had to sea, two days past to slow them down."
Commodore Hanno, the dour faced scoundrel who commands the Fleet from Gateway shouts toward the Hammer from his own vessel- the Sword of Providence, "Captain Barca! Tell the General that we can disembark her men on the shore before setting out to cover thier deployment!"
On the Siren's Song, the knight at the shoulder of the Empress watches her peer through her spyglass. He asks a soft question.
Adrian grins over to Asha. "I assume you caught that, Duchess? The Commodore prides himself on his...sonority."
Gudrun gives a stiff nod to Adrian, more from her injuries than from anything else. "Captain, what ammunition shall ye be wantin' fer shark-men?" she gestures to Vaughn, as if asking him to hear what is said and load the artillery. "I go us set and ready, Sor, I've fired on these lands before, sure enough . ."
Aboard the Siren's Song, The Empress can be seen to speak to the knight just behind her, though it is lost to all other ears with the sounds of the impending battle growing.
From aboard the Siren's Song, Narlyia keeps silent, but watchful. She appears nearly as passive as the Mogur.... but not as sleepy. She leans her nub of a shoulder against the mast of which the Mogur 'Sleeps' against, the winds playing still in her firey hair and black robes.
"Got it." Asha smirks over at Adrian, passing the order down to the officers on the Hammer, who in turn pass it along to their counterparts in the rest of the fleet. Once assured the men are indeed doing as instructed, Asha steps forward toward Adrian, holding out a hand. "Got a spyglass I can borrow to work out where to put them?" she asks, eyeing the island ahead.
Slowly, but ominously, the distant shroud of smoke, and darkness of the sea draws nearer..
Aboard the Keeper's Hammer, Stepha'kim adjusts his weapons belt and waits for his next orders. He rolls his massive shoulders in an effort to loosen up.
"Scatter shot, I think. Save the pitch and flame until we have a better idea of what we're firing at. We'll need maximum dispersal to figure out where we can hurt them, I think." the captain intones to Gudrun. He hands his spyglass to Asha. "Here you go... Mister Desch'ain, would you coordinate marks and deeps from here on? I don't want us running upon those shoals."
"Thanks," Asha murmurs to Adrian, stepping aside for a moment with the spyglass to concentrate on where she'd like to place her pawns- er, troops.
Stepha'kim barks out loudly, "Make ready the log line and fathom line! Bosun's mates to record and call off changes! Step lively!"
On the Siren's Song, the Mogur cracks one eye open. He aims the wand at Mena and breathes arcane words. A crackling violet glow surrounds the empress, brightens, and is gone.
Aboard the Siren's Song, Mena lowers her spyglass and blinks as the view is suddenly bright violet. But when she realizes what just happened, she looks toward the Mogur and inclines her head gratefully. Then it's back to looking out at as much as she can with the spyglass. She starts to pay more attention to what is coming rather than the offloading of the legions.
On the Keeper's Hmmer, Gudrun nods in affirmation of the order and points to the proper barrel for Vaughn. "Scatter Shot, it is." She makes the final calibrations, pausing for a few seconds to gather her weary thoughts and check her work. "Vaughn, I think ye should be perpared iffen I pass out, eh? Ye remember how to work this thing, right?"
The Imperial flotilla rows past the harbor's breakwater, into the shallows along the beach. Guided by flag and horn, the occasional shout of corrections are given (once piers and docks are built, this wont be necessary, alas). "Two fathoms! One fathom!" Then, the shout to disembark is given, as the Legionaires of Guardian splash into the shallow surf, striding toward the prepared positions and looking toward Asha for thier orders.
Well such building was rather rudely interrupted. :)
On the Hammer, Vaughn gives a precise nod to Gudrun, though he clearly looks concerned for the smith. "Aye. But you'd better not, or I'll change all your signs on your shop while you're sleeping to say 'all smithing, one copper'," he warns, teasing, but concern edges into his voice.
From aboard the Siren's Song, Narlyia tilts a glance to the Mogur, then Mena at the casting, but still says naught. She lets out a quiet breath and watches the waters with a bored hint to her expression.
Adrian moves over to Asha, busy as she is. "Be safe, sister. Providence guide your decisions and speed you to good fortune."
Asha remains on the Hammer to watch the bulk of the troops disembark, calling orders from the rail. "Line the trenches," she calls down. "Two units deep, Copper and Steel," she calls, naming the groups to move, "Iron in reserve to the flank." Once the troops are moving, the duchess steps back, passing the spyglass to Adrian again. "Fight well," she says simply, flashing a tight smile and disembarking with her guards.
On the Siren's Song, Seth looks back at the senior knight and has a short conversation. He suggests to Mena, "Empress, we should remain aboard the vessel."
Aboard the Siren's Song, Mena lowers her spyglass again to look at the knights around her. She gives them a nod, without arguing. "Whatever you think best, of course. And thank you. Would you care to see?" she asks, offering her glass to the nearest one to her, Seth.
Aboard the Hammer, Vaughn begins to load the artillery with practiced precision, having worked these devices before. His face is kept with a visible concern for the health of his shipmate, but he is also attentive to duty, as the scatter-shot is prepared.
The long ranks of soliders pour off the warships, and in the course of mere minutes, a full three thousand armed and armored men have disembarked and taken up positions behind the sand and palmetto palisade running the length of the yellow beach. the ships nearest to the Sword of Providence hear Hanno order tersely, "Warships set out of the harbor! Due north!"
As the galleys row back from the beach, and pass beyond the breakwater, they fall into a loose battle formation: a double line, rowing toward the shroud of smoke over the water.. now seeming so very close. Even trained Legion men will need time to deploy, however, and the looming menace draws rather near..
Aboard the Siren's Song, the Mogur Imperius looks across to the discussion of the knights and imperial majesty. He rolls his eyes. "I will remain here, Master Mage Narlyia. Where you choose to meet this force is your discretion."
Aboard the Hammer, Adrian yells, "This is it, men.. Our Admiral needs us. You're not going to let him fall to these bastards, are you!" A shout rises up from the decks as the crew voices their support for Hasdrubal. "Prepare for battle. Mister Desch'ain, gather archers and form ranks. Catapults at the ready. Oarsmen, take the edge off, we're drifting ahead of the line.."
With Asha at the flank with the reserve, the officers do their trained duty. Archers slam shields into the sand for protection, stringing bows kept dry and protected through the long sail, and soldiers slip shields onto their off arms as they stick one pila into the sand and take the other in hand, ready to defend the beach.
From aboard the Siren's Song, "Ashore, would be more productive for me." Narlyia comments dryly. She glances once to the Empress, before her gaze lands again on the Mogur. "This ship has no Legions." She comments briefly, before she heads to the railing, waiting for her ship to go to where she can get off these blasted waters.
At least one irreverant man of the Fleet laughing calls out, "Dibs on his sword!" at Adrian's incitation. The warships move swiftly.
A haze lingers over the water.. lending an otherworldly air to the already abyssal tableu which greets the ships and men of Gateway as they look and row to the north..
A broad patch of the sea itself is aflame, with the soot and blood darkened shapes of four Imperial War Galleys moving through the burning waves- banners still flying, in the midst of a roiling black sea.
As the sight grows clearer, the red and black flames distinct to ignited naptha rise from the surface of the waters, as do a roiling mass of creatures... Half the oars which sprout from the sides of the galleys have been shattered or broken, and even as the ships seek to drive on through the flame and murk, thier very hulls are alive with climbing, clawing beasts.
On the decks, a grim, and gory battle continues to be waged, as scratched, shattered and bitten round shields bristling with boarding pikes (and the exhausted men behind them) seek to hold the bloody decks against the massed inhuman assault.
Beneath the fire and stench, the face of the waters are discolored by countless creatures just below the surface.. Tendrils of this discoloration stir in a sentient effort to encircle Hasdrubal's embattled warships, while the bulk of it stretches north, almost to the limit of sight.
A thousand thousands are these beasts of the sea.
Aboard the Siren's Song, the Mogur answers Narlyia, "Remember your place and value, Master Mage," before he evokes a teleport upon her, to send her to the shore.
Aboard the Hammer, Vaughn calls, "Awaiting your direction, and orders to fire, Captain!" And having loaded, he moves to mechanism to aim the artillery properly.
"Great Providence..." Captain Barca whisper as he lowers his spyglass. "Archers!! Damn it to the abyss, we'll have to hold off on the catapults, unless. Vaughn! Can you aim between the warships, into the water? We can't fire on the vessels themselves."
There's a murmuring from the troops on the shore as the teeming mass of foes starts to come into view. It isn't /exactly/ panic. After all, many of these are career troops, and deployed so that the experienced fighters are spread among the unblooded to keep order. But it's certainly trepidation. In light of the sight beyond, Asha and her guards leave the flank to make a hurried pass along the palisade to shout final instructions and offer some reassurance.
The Siren's Song flows on the tide near the rest of the fleet ships until the true nature of the threat is seen. A thousand thousands. A million. One of the knights speaks, and the vessel breaks off, keeping a distance.
From aboard the Siren's Song, Narlyia sends the Mogur a brief, reassuring smile before she finds herself suddenly on the shore. "Effective." She muses, before she limps to take a place behind a rank or two of the legionaires. Even with the battle still at a distance, she goes about preparing. Her staff is stuck in the sand next to her to leave her hand free. She closes her eyes, head bowing, her lips moving in a constant uttered chant of old arcane words. Starting with her hand, she begins to burst into flames, it slowing enveloping her entire form... but the flames do not harm her at all. Despite being, in all truths, completely on fire, she continues casting.
Aboard the Hammer, Vaughn's steady voice calls back to the Captain, "Done, and Done!" Gudrun taught him well, under the Admiral's stoic gaze. He ticks and rotates the device, making a small adjustment at angle and rotation here and there, until he's satisfied that the scatter-shot won't endanger the vessel, and will likely hit some of the foaming-sea-mass of creatures. Then, he pulls the lever hard, and watches his handiwork.
The legionnaires around Narlyia's arrival shout and curse at the blink of teleportation, then again when she just starts flaming. In fact, a few of the more alert legionnaires quickly move to throw sand on the mage.
Narlyia blinks as she's getting... sanded. "What the fuck do you think your doing!?" She curses, and spits out some of the sand as it does get in her mouth. "Mother... Stop! Stop before I torch the lot of you, you bloody bastards. Leave me be to my casting." She snarls.
Stepha'kim roars, "Archers! Form ranks! Ready! Mass fire! Aim for their group! LOOSE!"
The good news is that missing is almost impossable. At the first volley of arropw and shot slashing into sea and scale, one man looks up for the source.
He stands on the deck of the Heavy Galley named 'Dread Naught', among the battered ranks of his crew, still fighting to hold the ship against the bottomless numbers of beasts. Sparing a moment to look up from the days-old struggle, the blood splattered warrior that some might recognize as Hasdrubal draws a labored breath as he pries his blade loose of of a corpse's bulk. Even the sight of the Imperial Fleet, come at long, long last can't pierce the grim cast of the bastard's face. "About bloody time," he rasps with a dry and hoarse throat. "Helm!" he growls to the stern, "Makie for those shipss.. Artillery, give us a path."
The Dread Naught fires it's forward onager, the firepot deliberately cracked in the catapult's bowl, before being lit and shot- the result is an arc of fire sprayed through the air which settles over the water, blackening the air, and burning the mass of beasts which lay before the ships- driving them back into the depths, and giving the ship a briefly clear avenue of escape. The artillerists of the Fleet have had to improvise in recent days, it seems.
Aboard the Siren's Song, Mena's eyes widen at the sight of the incoming melee. She watches the burning waves and ships upon them, and the creatures attacking. It's hard to even fathom so many creatures.
One of the legionnaires is particularly helpful, moving to catch the elderly mage in his cloak and try to bear her to the ground until the flames go out. "Don't worry, ma'am, just hold still, we'll get it out!" he shouts, apparently mistaking her cursing for upset at being, y'know. On fire. The men around him give him space, and it's only Asha's arrival to check out the commotion that keeps the rest of the surrounding troops in order. "Mage!" The duchess snaps, and the legionnaires fall back as Asha turns a heated look on said mage. "Take your magic away from the front lines before you fuck something up," she orders shortly. "You want to cast, you do it from the back so my men can concentrate."
From the Hammer, Vaughn doesn't wait for the call to reload, reaim, and refire. He's already on the main onager, again. The scatter-shot set, and adjustments again made for the forward progress of the ship - and the incoming Dread Naught, the young Fieldian Fleeter fires forthwith.
Adrian nods to Vaughn, though he's already caught on. "Fire at will, Vaughn. Good shooting, Desch'ain. Keep them coming."
Narlyia spits out more sand as she keeps getting doused, and the flames are indeed gone. She shoots a dark look to the 'helpful one', a death stare. Must add him to the list. "Your Grace," She drawls lightly, wiping her mouth clean of the sand and shakes it from her robes, "My range is better from here, but and will make it less likely that I hit your own men, but if that is your wish..." She trails off at the end as she lands her dark gaze on the Duchess. "I won't harm them as long as they stop sanding me."
Kali comes into focus walking among the troops toward Asha, as if she had been there all along. Perhaps she has, although her garb does not particularly seem the sort for battle. She draws near the guards of the duchess and gives a merry little finger-wriggle, but there's a fierce glitter in her eyes. Her gaze trails along Narlyia with interest.
Aboard the Siren's Song, Seth's jaw tightens. He draws a pace closer to Philomena in a warding and protective fashion.
Stepha'kim hollars, "ARCHERS! Keep the mass fire going! Ready! NOTCH! AIM! Target their area! LOOSE!"
"If you can't keep your shit from hitting my men without distracting them by being in the lines, you can move your ass in front of the lines, but I won't have you fucking up my formations with flaming. Don't give me that look, mage. You're in the wrong place for it." Asha's jaw is set with a flare of anger as she raises her voice to the lines. "Archers, ready for fire on the first thing that comes in range!" she snaps, turning away to continue down the line and frowning slightly when she sees Kali. The princess, however, is not subjected to any tirade as Asha moves to continue her circuit of the lines.
Aboard the Hammer, Adrian ponders the mass of writhing flesh between the churning imperials. He turns to several crewmen as they hurry by. "Below, men. I want the barrels of pitch and oil. Bring them up and keep doing so until I tell you to stop. Put them near the catapults. "Vaugn, the scattershot isn't enough. We're going to fire the pitch and oil barrels into their midst. Mister Desch'Ain, order archers to switch to flaming arrows and aim for the impacts of the barrels on the water. We'll burn the bastards back to the Abyss where they belong." Adrian is no doubt hoping the explosions of oils and flammables will be widespread enough to take out larger swaths of the swimming fiends.
Kali blows a kiss lightly at Asha as she glides toward Narlyia's side. "Don't mind her. She's in commander mode, and she doesn't like magic," she says in merry undertone as she looks over the mage. "This should be delightful fun."
Narlyia chuckles lowly. "Fine, I'll return shortly." She answers with pure amusement before she turns to grab her staff and limps off to an area where she has enough room to cast, and little to no legionaires around to 'distract'. However far she has to go. Stabbing her staff in the ground again, she takes a brief look around with pure annoyance before she bows her head again. "A moment..." She mutters to Kali, distractedly before she starts uttering the old arcane words again. Much quicker then before, she is engulfed in flames, but again, they don't harm her whatsoever. Her one hand moves in lazy gestures in turn to her mutters.
The seething, milling mass of beasts beneath the waves lingers about, as hundreds dive lower, retreating from the storm of stones and arrows, and hundreds more rise to the surface, as the horde has no intentions of releasing it's prey.. Some pause long enough to consume the flesh and blood of the fallen, while thousands more stir once more toward the shore...
Hasdrubal is a sight half of the Abyss, as the admiral draws near enough to the Hammer for speech. His cloak is a bloody tattered ruin; the once snow-white scales of his armor are caked with dried blood and ichor. Sword in one gory hand, dagger in the other, his shield long gone. The bastard is unshaven, and with the whites of his eyes gone to stark red, from which black irises glare out. His deep, rasping voice is hoarse, and hard as he rumbles, "Get us moving toward the shore- split the Fleet- half to either side of the Legion's line. Fire to support the infantry; we'll hit the bleeders from both sides.." Hellish regard narrowing as he spies the preparations of pitch, and arrow, the bastard snorts once. "Should buy us time to move clear. Do it now!"
Stepha'kim barks, "ARCHERS! READY to fire lit arrows! NOCK! LIGHT! Aim for the barrels! LOOSE WHEN YOU have a Target!"
Aboard the Hammer, Vaughn gives Adrian a serious glance, one of dubious doubt. But, now's not the time to question orders. It's a battle. He calls to a few deck-hands to bring him the barrels, which are loaded quickly enough. Pitch and Oil. Again, the young Fieldian makes the require precision adjustments, keeping an eye on the fight at hand. Once he's satisfied with his make, he pulls hard at the lever again.
Captain Barca bellows. "Two shots as the others pass. As soon as they're aflame, Helm, hard about and make for the breakwater! Steady, all hands. Let's watch 'em burn for a space, lads!"
It's like a train wreck about to happen. You know it's going to be awful, but you cannot look away. Not that anyone other than her knights are truly paying attention to the Empress. At least, she hopes they aren't. Huge number of ugly, fierce sea creatures coming right for you! Anyway, she keeps her spyglass in hand, looking through it every few moments as she exchanges words with those on the Siren's Song.
Aboard the Siren's Song, the Mogur Imperius watches the multitude of enemies. His eyes are sharp behind the facade of laziness. He gestures toward the writing mass of monstrous creatures and murmurs. When the empress speaks, he pays her accord and sighs in annoyance. Another turn of his wrist, another flick of the wand.
Asha pauses near a dune, taking a moment to look over the battle coming towards her and her men. "Wait for them to come to you!" she calls to the lines, squinting out to the water. "You stay behind these lines and let the Fleet drive them in. There's not a one of you breathes water like a shark, so keep to the land!" A last glance is shot towards the Khelek princess, still curious, before Asha shakes her head once and reluctantly withdraws to the reserve, though she holds to the dune to keep an eye on the battle.
It's imprecise, and crude, but the flaming arrows, and spirnning barrel create enough of a mess to scatter numbers of the Horde, driving others down beneath the surface. A great plume of smoke rises from the spot as burning oil settles once more over the patch of sea.. While not slaying many of the beasts, the missle has one effect: for a brief instant, the momentum of the ferocious tide is paused. Long enough for the galleys to pull clear of the shark-folk blight, the last of the hulking beasts being thrown off the decks and hulls of the battered warships.
As ordered, the ships file into two columns making a nautical flank to either side of the Legion's line.. funnelling the tide toward the infantry as best they can..
Kali's features alight with fascination as she watches the battle close in. She rises on her toes, lips parted and eyes glittering, as if she is savouring every moment of the conflict.
"All hands but oars to the starboard rails. Archers, form a double line for constant fire. Catapults, to starboard, and rig for shallow fire! No more pitch barrels. We'll return to scattershot! Look alive, men! The more we kill in the harbor, the fewer the land-lubbers can take credit for! Let's show 'em what the navy's good for!!"
As the ships of the Fleet form that funnel, more of the legionnaires take up bows, so that now three out of every five men is armed as an archer, tiered to aim and fire without a pause in the assault. The remaining men take firm hold of one pila, but it's their lot to hold the shields and wait a moment longer than their counterparts. "Do not fire until they're in range!" Asha calls to the lines. "We don't want to drive them back to the Fleet!" The silent 'yet' hangs on the air, but the men - save for the few who are making an offering of their last meal to the sand before the battle reaches them - stand ready.
The sight of a normal shark-folk is disturbing enough. Eight feet from teeth to tail, and standing on powerful, double jointed hind legs, with cruelly clawed forelimbs.. soulless black eyes, and a bottomless hunger. Yet this breed of Rokea embody the word 'abomination'. Once-black eyes glow with an unholy red spite..
Many of them have mutated over years, resulting in extra sets of clawed arms for some, an extra mouth for another, and two tails upon a third. The once-smooth hide of a fish has given way to jagged, blackish chitinous scales.. more like unto a horde of demons than common sea beasts. A minor detail, but a worrisome one never-the-less: many of the monsters clutch rusted steel weapons.. The rare rotted spear, or rusted sword. Here a dagger, or there a hatchet; the prizes of a hundred shipwrecks, brought back to the surface in violence.
The inhuman tide comes within bowshot of the Legions, and does not slow as it drives toward the shore.
Aboard the Siren's Song, the Mogur Imperius straightens from his lax stance. He crosses the deck to the railing and holds the silver wand close. His other hand slips into a pocket. He concentrates and a blue glow washes over him.
"FIRE!" A hail of arrows sails from the legion lines, and then another, and then another. Against strange creatures and such a horde, aiming is a futile exercise; the arrows are simply pointed towards the mass of attack and set free. The men with the pilae shift their weight, raising the weapons, but - save one or two who shoot early - hold until the mass comes within their range, white-knuckled.
The flames that have engulfed the eerie and dangerous mage, Narylia flare brightly, feeling as hot as the sun to any that are near. Moments pass before they draw from her in a lazy swirl, forming infront of her into a humanoid form of none other but a Fire Elemental. There are no distinguishing features, nothing but licking flames that form some sort of body.
Narlyia straightens and lifts her head as her summoning is complete, a quite smile given to the elemental. "My apologies we were so rudely interrupted earlier." She takes her staff in hand to move back to the lines and take her place. As she walks, flames drip from the nub of her missing arm's shoulder, almost acting as a second arm, but it is just flames made ready. "Burn any that reach the tides." She instructs casually to the ele that glides at her side.
The Cat's Grace, anchoring one side of the Fleet's funnel, unloads it's armaments with a rolling mechanical clatter.. Fifteen heavy onagers throw thier rounds of grapeshot into the firing corridor, and to the shouts of Captains, Commodores and Admirals, every ship of the Fleet follows suit.. Onager shot fly through the air like handfuls of stones thrown by a dozen children.. A bloody, churning mess is left, as artillery along with massed archery causes the water and sand before the Legion's lines to erupt in sand and gore.. The fornt edge of the Rokea wave is all but annihilated, leaving only a few isoldes monsters to hit the line of stakes and shields..
Yet then there is a pause for reloading, and the unrelenting weight of the monstrous tide strikes the palisade..
Adrian calls out, "Retract all oars!", remembering the site of the cracked and missing oars from the admirals other ships.
Kali inhales slowly, deeply, the moment the line is attacked. "Aren't you pretty?" she whispers, wandering along the beach. Her hands slide along her form as she watches the conflict, caressing her own hips and stomach as she walks back and forth behind the line.
Aboard the Siren's Song, the Mogur Imperius remains at the railing. A red-stained hand leaves his pocket and wraps about the railing. The other remains extended toward the force of monsters at sea. Now, he is alert. Now, he is attuned to something. He speaks sorcerous incantations slowly and deliberately as he concentrates.
Narlyia stabs her staff into the sands again and murmurs something lowly to the flaming elemental at her side. With a brief nod at something unsaid, her hand raises, from of the 'articifical arm of flames' transferring to her hand before she throws it in an arch of a fireball at the enemies. The elemental does in kind, launching its own in sync with Na's.
Asha chafes well behind the lines with the reserves, and unmounted no less. These are not ideal conditions for the duchess. As the rokea move closer, the pila-men toss their first round and the archers another in the brief time available to them. Once it's clear that the rokea are moving in close, one man in ten falls back from the line to serve as archers still, their shields coming with them and leaving the others to draw gladii in preparation for the meeting of forces.
Any sane opponent would have recoiled from such devestation.. but the demonic beasts come on- unrelenting, uncaring. The beach quickly becomes choked with corpses, as the monstrous claws splinter palmetto palisades.. dozens fall, pieced by multiple spears and swords, but the weight of numbers at last reaches the human lines. Though the melee makes sight difficlt, at least one man in ten among the Legions is slain- some impaled by rusted steel, others torn into pieces by monstrous jaws. For full hellish moments the contest rages on.. the lines hold, though barely so, when the magi's fireball consumes a small patch of the beasts. Shortly thereafter, the second volley from the ships tears into the shallows.. Yet the Fleet ships are not immune to the assualt, as with clawed fingers digging into the timbers, the tide of weresharks begins to climb the hulls of the twenty warships.
Adrian says, "Archers, fall back and fire from center! "Every other able-bodied seaman to arms. Oarsmen, block the oar ports!! Now to it, lads!" he cries, drawing his own rapier."
Narlyia wets her lips in what might be... excitement at the battle. Or concetration. With her missing arm still simulated by dripping flames, her good hand disappears into her pouch as the enemies draw nearer. She pulls out a sleek, flat stone, and curls her hand tight around it as she murmurs. While she casts, the Elemental hurls another sizeable fireball at the advancing enemies, but also moves a step or two forward in more of a protective manner to the Mage.
It is an act of sheer will that keeps Asha from rushing towards the incipient gap in the lines, but she manages. It's only a moment's work to slip her left hand into the claws at her belt and grab a shield before drawing her sword, after which she jogs towards the commanders of the reserve. Behind the lines, the reserve starts to shift, half moving to the other flank while a small group stays to bridge the gap between the reserve flanks, creating a pocket between the front lines and the reserve.
After two days, Hasdrubal and his men are nearly out on thier feet. The four warships which had sailed with the admiral are the only vessels not adding fire to the beach- all of thier stone shot long since spent. Blood encrusted fingers still closing about the hilt of his sword, the black eyed bastard orders the ships on the right flank (opposite Adrian's on the left) roughly and simply: "Let the waves run black for a month, lads!" And resuming the melee against the beasts which splinter the timbers of his ship in thier climb.
The legionnaires at the front line are clearly taken aback by the sudden casualties and the rushing assault. No amount of training could ever have prepared them for combat with eight-foot tall creatures with disproportionate numbers of limbs and teeth and mouths. Yet their training at least holds them firm, the lines forming their usual firm ranks as each man falls, another stepping into his place.
The Empress is a small and still figure on the deck of the ship well away from the fighting. The only clear movement of hers is the lifting and lowering of the spyglass now and again.
The sands of the beach are stained black and red with spilled blood, and brutalized corpses.. The vast majority of the slain counted among the demonic Rokea. Artillery fire from the ranks of fleet warships turns the swath of sand that lies before the Legion's line into a pitted torrent of falling grapeshot, gouts of thrown up sand, and chewed, gory clusters of shredded flesh.. Yet still the tide of monsters oozes forth. So thick has the bloodshed grown in this small killing field that the sand has ceased to drink in the spilled vitae, and it sits in dark pools along the waterfront, mingling with seawater, and staining the sea-foam red.
And then, an effect begins which sends crackling fingers of energy through the veins of every magi within ten miles.. Eldritch energies of the blood drawing upon the devestation, as the pools of shed sanguine begin to drip in long oily globulets *up* from the surface of the sand. A shrill screech at the very highest registers of human hearing pierces the salty air, as a giant beast out of some nightmare breaks the surface of the waves, striding toward the shore..
First seen is the head.. Or, more accurately: heads. Three 'faces' sprouting from the same thick trunk, each marked with a great, ravenous maw lined with rows and rows of long jagged fangs. Three sets of glowing red eyes, and sharp jagged chitin at it's shoulders. Two sets of upper arms, and a great, torn fin at it's back mark the monstrous creature's torso. A great swollen stomach, thick lower legs, and at last: three tails, each cruelly barbed. The length of it's spine is lined with spike-like scales, and from toeclaws to teeth it stands a full twenty feet above the sand. The very air about this beast pulses with corruption, tar and ichor dripping from it's hide.
"Catapults!!" Adrian cries. "I think you know where to aim, lads. Get to it! Flaming shot, single slugs!"
Kali looks upwards, tilting her head a measure and considering the monstrosity that rises forth. "Oh," she says, somewhat surprised. She lifts a black-gloved hand, a pale fingertip extending past the chain-link glove, and beckons through the air. "Rosier? Oh Rosier?"
Huge weresharks made of congealed blood is apparently enough for some of the legionnaires, and not at all what they signed up for. In response to this new threat, they turn and start running. "HOLD LINES!" Asha roars from her spot on the dune with the reserve as those who are not running try to close the gaps, shortening the line and drawing more of the reserves in by force. "Get your asses in line or I'll kill you myself! You're on a fucking island, where the fuck do you think you're going?! HOLD YOUR LINE!" Some of those fleeing actually hear the words - or are caught by the line of reserve men standing in their way - coming to their senses and rejoining the lines in the reserve with wide eyes and panicked breath. And some just keep running.
"How... interesting." Narlyia mutters as the.. monstrosicty comes into sight. Whatever spell she casted creates a faint shimmer of silver around her that is brief before it disappears. She gives a slow nod with lips pressed thin to the Elemental, murmuring something before she lifts a hand. The flames leave her entirely, but only to reappear in a harsh streak of burning flames across the 'skies', heading for the heads of the beast. Lets hope he's not agile. The Elemental flares and throws another fireball, aiming for whatever it is Na is going for.
Aboard the Siren's Song, the Mogur Imperius jerks back from the railing as if it were charged with lightning. "Empress," he says with aplomb, "I must defy the Emperor. This will aid you should all go badly." He draws out a pouch and crosses to her to hand it over.
Aboard the Siren's Song, Seth takes the spyglass Mena hands over and looks to the foul creature that rises from the sea. He closes it abruptly. "We're leaving," he tells her.
Narlyia also jerks and shudders suddenly, a faint groan arising from her lips, but not from pain. "The hell.." (Re: Magi shock. :))
Aboard the Siren's Song, Mena blinks toward the Mogur, holding her hand out for the bag. "What is it, and how is it used?" she asks him, not wanting to delay the man any more than she has to.
The archers, still in the space between front lines and reserves, promptly open fire on the large creature who is so conveniently located far above their own lines.
Kali remains unmoving as some of the lines race past her, her eyes widened a bit. "I'll remember this, Rosier," she says as she smiles sweetly. Her hands smooth along the curves of her form in a slow, treasuring caress of herself. One hand falls away and reaches for a fleeing individual to try to snag him and draw him close.
"Hrh," is Hasdrubal's rasped comment at the sight. "Solid shot!" he shouts hoarse, to the warships to either side who still *have* solid shot, the hard fight against the Rokea who still seek to gain a foothold on the decks suddenly secondary as the artillerists scramble to draw back the Onagers...
The shots rain down, as the massive demonic beast casts a slow turn of it's head about the shore..The globulets of blood which had raised from the soaked sand begin to draw toward the huge abomination.. The firepots from the ships rain down, one of them shattering against the beast's hide, but the flames having no effect.
The flames of Narlyia and her creature manage nothing more than to gain it's six eyes. A three-fold, eye clenching shriek results in a scream, and shattering. Narlyia's conjured elemental is dispersed with an agonizing hiss.
One of the solid fifty pound stone balls fired from Hasdrubal's galleys strikes squarely at the base of the beast's skull, staggering it forward. A shot that would have shattered a castle wall, and the monster turns about, angered.. searching for the source of that hurt.
"Bloody Abyss," Hasdrubal curses as the big ugly turns its six eyes toward him.
Adrian yells, aboard the Hammer, "Eyes off that beasty, lads. Mind your rails! If one of 'em reaches the deck of this ship, I'll dock tha pay of the man who let him!" he blusters, though they man know well enough that he's not serious.
Aboard the Siren's Song, the Mogur gives quieter instructions to Mena. He laughs at the knight. "The better part of valor, I presume?" He turns away and focuses upon the shore. Sorcerous arts wrap about him and in a blink he is gone from the vessel, only to appear upon the shore near Narlyia. Unless there is anything power that would interfere with his teleportation.
Narlyia winces and gasps as if the sudden rip of her elemental away from this plane does actual pain to her. She takes a moment to gather her breath, shuddering. Out of rage, she growls and summons another fireball before throwing it at the creature. The Mogur's arrival, blocked or not, goes unnoticed for the moment. She's utterly PISSED.
More men break and run, and it's all the reserve can do to stop them from fleeing completely. "STAND AND FIGHT!" Asha roars, ordering a portion of the reserve into the gap to keep the smaller rokea from breaking through with the distraction of the very large one. Still, she and her core of ten remain at the back, and another round of arrows arcs into the mass of rokea on the shore and towards the back of the extra-large one. "Dammit, give me a bow," Asha snarls to one of the guards with her, unable to remain completely useless.
Aboard the Siren's Song, Mena nods to the Mogur before he blips away, then holds a hand up toward Seth, her words to him unheard.
Aboard the Siren's Song, Seth's eyes narrow upon Mena, but never to the point of disrespect. He listens further and gives a single nod, but he doesn't look happy.
The tide of Rokea sweeps over the field of thier own fallen (some pausing to feed on the flesh of demon or human who lie in the sand), as the men of the Legion waver, and bolt (though some rally) the Rokea tide sweeps over the Imperial trench, in monstrous lumbering pursuit.. Asha's body of men look to come under attack directly soon.
Yet the attentions of the Greater Shark Demon remain fixed on the one that hit it in the head.. Fire from Narlyia's conjurings washes over it, but has little visible effect- save to fill the air with the guty churning stench of roasted ichor.
Aboard the Dread Naught, Hasdrubal narrows his black eyes and rasps, "Set out what oars we have.. Make for the deep. If it chases, we'll draw the bleeder off."
The Mogur Imperius takes time to consider the creature from his new position, and he watches the effect of each attack. His eyes trail after the rise of blood last, and it is that he focuses upon as he raises hand and wand to begin a casting.
It is now that Narlyia notes the Mogur's presence, her lips pressing thin. She gives him a brief nod before she focuses on the creature again. Her hand simulates a throwing motion, and midway between her and the creature another sizeable fireball appears, hurling at the thing. She's aiming for its heads this time. Hope to at least hit one of them. Roasted eyeballs. Yum.
From upon the deck of the Siren's Song, the Empress returns to watching the battle through her spyglass silently.
A bow is found for Asha, and her first target is one of the fleeing legionnaires. When the man falls to the ground with an arrow in his throat, some of the other runners stop to blink, shocked at the grim-faced Duchess. "You were warned," she calls flatly over the noise of battle, and for a moment, the tide of fleeing legionnaires is stemmed. With the Rokea closing in, Asha turns to a messenger with him, sending him out to the front lines with orders to 'break' and let the mass of shark-folk fall into the pocket. The remaining archers start to fall back to the dunes for some height advantage, and the remaining reserve shifts to refresh the battered front lines and cover the circle more equally.
Where did the blood on Kali come from? She seems to have a flow of it down her front, the sanguine heat of it upon her hands. Those red-stained hands press palm to palm before herself and a slow, chill breeze begins about her. The temperature in the vicinity drops noticeably.
Stepha'kim aims a huge compound long bow at the creature and readies to fire a large black iron tipped arrow. He calls out "Archers! Take targets! Fire individually! Line Leaders! Fire with me! Ready! NOCK! AIM! LOOSE!"
The oars of the Dread Naught, and the ships to either side of it sprout out once more to strike against the bloody waves, drawing the Heavy Galleys out of line, and starting out to sea. Walking slowly toward the stern, the gore drenched Admiral looks off the back of his ship at the twenty foot behemoth..
The monster glares back, taking one lurching step back into the black tide, and then another, as the towering abomination stalks after the Dread Naught, and it's escorts. The triple tail carves furrows into the sand of the beach as the beast turns in place.. Narlyia's firebolt strikes the monster at the base of it's screeching throat, but the bloody eyed monster does not fall, nor stagger.. Another step and the bulk of it's weight begins to be borne once more by the sea, sending a sudden wave to wash up the beach (stopping at the foot of the overrun trench). The fingers of vitae which had wormes over the sand, and through the air toward the greater beast are halted rather suddenly, causing the blood to rapidly pool on the saturated sands.
Meanwhile, the men of the Keeper's Hammer have been mounting a very effective defense against the ranks of the Horde, the arrows of the archers jutting from the throats and heads of many of the beasts, while the shileds and spears hold the line against the climbing monsters..
The Mogur's mouth whitens at the corners. It is a sign of otherwise concealed tension. "Destroy the blood," he says to Narlyia. "It must not feed upon it."
Narlyia nods once without even looking towards the Mogur, his words enough. Her hand rises again, and another harsh arch of flames is brought down from the skies, but this time... it is aimed at the blood, trying to burn it away to take away its 'food'. Thats gonna love a NICE smell.
Asha fires off a few more shots into the fray, then exchanges the bow for sword and shield again, drawing in a deep breath. "Archers, once they've fallen in I want them pincushioned!" she calls up. "All others...use any remaining pila and hack them to pieces. Nothing breaks out of the ring!" The message is shouted and passed by runners, and the duchess prepares for the slaughter. Or what she hopes to be a slaughter, at least. Of them.
With another ear splitting screech, the towering demon shark moves wholly back to sea, in pursuit of the battered galleys.. and with it's passage, the attentions of the swarm shift as well.. The tide which had struck up against Asha's newly rallied lines, turns and recedes after several furious moment of mortal struggle. The ring holds. Like a collective, sentient oil slick, the Horde of Rokea begins to pour back out to sea, heedless of the numbers left behind, or the attacks which still rain down upon them..
The spreading pool of sanguine is immolated with a stench that will linger for weeks, leaving a hideous sizzling sound, undercut with a faint, and horribly inhuman scream.
Aboard the Hammer, Adrian calls out, "Deploy the oars and read main sails. Prepare to come about and herd them out to see. Run them down, lads! Mister Desch'ain! Deploy archers to port and starboard and fire at will! I want the buggers grounder under our keel!!"
Kali whispers upon the wind that surrounds her, a soft call in silken sibilance. The temperature descends further and the wind tugs at her hair. Her winter eyes fix with feral intensity upon the behemoth as she summons the ferocity of her home, of the North.
When the Rokea start to retreat, the legions - bolstered by fresh reserves - move to cut off the escape to the sea, trying to trap a bulk of the enemy within their ranks for general stabbing and shooting and death and destruction.
Narlyia watches the blood burn, inhaling the scent almost pleasantly. She tilts her gaze to the Mogur, hoping to coordinate their attacks together, "Where?" She asks simply.
Another shrill screech before the beast submerges, a thrashing of it's head sending the sea to either side of it rocking, as the triple tail drives the ravening beast once more in pursuit of the rowing galleys.
The maneuvers of the Fleet and Legion to dog the Horde's movements result in a continued slaughter, with dozens more of the beasts falling slain. Yet soon enough, the Horde passes once more out of bowshot, as Hasdrubal's ships strike out- sails opening to catch the wind, for a bit of extra speed in keeping ahead of the demonspawn.
The Mogur Imperius frowns as he studies the creature. "What is at the heart of this? It is strongly demonic. Little works upon that for offense." He slowly narrows his eyes. "Let us see if we may merely relocate it, far away." He concentrates upon the space beyond the creature. "See if you can urge it in," he says as he rends the space between dimensions apart in a struggle to make a gate, a portal it could pass through.
The legions do not follow the rokea into the water. No, they're very happy to see them gone, even if Asha doesn't look particularly pleased at the escape. But there's no rest of the men, for even as they set up a cautious cheer, Asha is moving in with more orders. "Renew the defenses along the trench. Collect any weapons, pila, or arrows nearby. They could be back any minute."
Kali watches the water where the creature disappeared, her dark smile spreading when it thrashes. Both blood-dampened hands are closed into fists and lowered to her side.
Narlyia studies the creature as the Mogur speaks, lips pressing thin in thought. A slow smile of darkness taints her lips after a long moment, and she begins her casting. Her hand disappears into her robes briefly, but returns with her palm rather deeply cut. Flames abruptly flare and engulf the mage yet again, but these seem much more lively then before, but still don't harm her at all. Her blood, as it drips, singes and leaves the horrid stench in the air around her as she conjures her fire again, her eyes blazing as she focuses on the creature.
Kali watches the ships as she saunters along the line again. "Rosier," she comments to the thin air, "I'm not going to forget this." She blows a kiss over her shoulder, wetting her lips in the ruby liquid. Her tongue sweeps them clean again.
The sails of the galleys recede in the east.. The sun is not yet at it's zenith by the time the battle tapers off.. the fading aura of corruption that the greater wereshark proving too large and powerful for restraints, as it throws off the arcane efforts to guide it, and keeps on the trail of it's quarry.
