The cobbles slicked beneath Martia's boots, each stride propelled by a churning mix of adrenaline or dread.
The governor's house felt like a garish stage set against the backdrop of looming terror. Yet, she spared no time for theatrical pauses.
Bursting through the oak doors, her voice sliced through the air like a honed blade. "Governor! Ships on the horizon, armed and… They approach."
Martia made it to the governor's house, her chest heaving with urgency as she entered.
Informed the governor of the approaching ship, Martia wasted no words as she delivered the grave news.
Governor Guthries, a portly man with flushed cheeks, blinked in alarm, he had been drinking. The tremor in his voice was barely masked by his puffed-up chest. "They approach? But… Negotiations are weeks away being completed…"
"These are no negotiations," Martia growled, her grip tightening on the hilt of her sword.
The governor's eyes widened in alarm as he processed the imminent threat that loomed over him.
The knight, Sir Aldric, stepped forward, his chainmail armor whispering as he moved. His weathered face, etched with countless battles, mirrored the grim resolve in Martia's eyes. "We must rally the guard, Martia. Every wall, every blade, must be at the ready."
Quickly, the governor and his trusted knight, Sir Aldric, rallied the guard and the remaining soldiers. Their footsteps echoed through the corridors of the mansion as they hurriedly gathered their forces, armor clinking and swords at the ready.
A flurry of activity followed.
Orders barked, boots pounded on stone, and the clatter of steel filled the air as swords were drawn and shields donned. The once-stately mansion thrummed with an urgent rhythm, its gilded finery a stark contrast to the grim purpose that now pulsed within its walls.
With a sense of urgency that mirrored the mounting tension in the air, they ran towards the dock, where the lanterns on the approaching ships had grown ominously brighter.
The city's fate hung in the balance, and they were determined to defend it against whatever unknown peril these ships might bring.
As they approached the docks, the night air was filled with the sounds of steel clashing, orders being shouted, and the distant roar of flames. The once-peaceful port had transformed into a battlefield, and the defenders of Wisbech were prepared to make their stand against the encroaching darkness.
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Out on the docks, the night shimmered with an unnatural luminescence, painting the approaching ships in morbid hues. They emerged from a swirling fog, obsidian silhouettes against the bruised crimson of the rising moon.
Their movements held an impossible grace, gliding through the tide with nary a whisper, an alien ballet defying the wind and current.
As they neared the shore, the air crackled with the stench of singed metal and ozone. Distant sounds of clashing steel and guttural roars pierced the night, chaos already engulfing the city. Yet, amidst the din, a single boat bobbed on the waves, drawn towards the alien vessels like a moth to a flame.
Sestia Ulixes, her weathered face etched with soot that mirrored the turmoil in the air, gripped her staff and rowed a boat with unwavering purpose.
One of the ships, sensing her approach, unfurled a rope ladder like a serpent's tongue. With practiced ease, Sestia scaled the rungs, her staff held high like a banner.
On the deck, men clad in segmented armor awaited, their faces hidden behind helms sculpted from nightmare. They murmured greetings in a guttural tongue in Valar, their eyes fixed on Sestia with intensity.
"Sestia Of House Ulixes," a voice boomed from the shadows, echoing off the wooden hull. "Welcome aboard my vessel."
A slow smile spread across Sestia's face. "Claudia Ayden Amadeus," she purred, her voice as smooth as the moonlit water. "You're a sight for sore eyes, even if your company comes in rather… unsettling packaging. It warms my heart to witness your well-being."
"Sore eyes indeed," Claudia replied, her voice dripping with a sly, High Valar drawl. Her obsidian segmented armor, adorned with silver serpents that seemed to writhe in the moonlight, emphasized her slender figure and commanding presence.
"It also warms my heart to witness your improved disposition, I recall there were times when brooding seemed to be your constant companion. Though I must admit, I'm surprised to see you wading into this quagmire. Mythralis isn't your usual playground, is it?"
Sestia chuckled, a low rumble that resonated through her staff. "Politics and power tend to have a messy way of spreading, my dear Claudia. Besides, whispers of 'war' are music to any adventurer's ears. Not to mention the promise of… conspiracies."
Claudia raised an eyebrow, her amusement tinged with a hint of something colder. "Always the opportunist, aren't you? But be warned, Sestia, there is not war here. This is…" Claudia paused, choosing her words carefully.
"This is an internal affair. Matters best left within Mythralis' borders. Best left to the Baron"
Sestia's smile vanished, replaced by a grim tightening of her jaw. "Then all the more reason to see them up close and personal,"
Sestia's playful smile faded, replaced by a steely glint in her eyes. "Noblesse oblige, Claudia," she countered pointing at the island in flames, "When whispers of rebellion and sedition threaten our empire, no matter its origin, it concerns us all. when the flames of chaos lick at Mythralis, we, of noble blood, have a duty to act. Isn't that right Baron?"
Baron Oswulf, a noble of significant stature, bowed his head in silent agreement.
In normal times, nobles would have refrained from interfering in the territory of others. But the past four years had rewritten the rules.
A succession war in Mythralis had led to Anglia falling joining the war. Anglia was but a small entity within the vast Draewyn Empire, and Mythralis Island, with a population of around 3,000, held little significance.
However, recent events had changed everything.
The war had reshuffled the deck, blurred lines and altered allegiances.
While Anglia held nominal autonomy, Draewyn' turmoil held unforeseen consequences. He stood as a reluctant player, caught between conflicting obligations and uncertain loyalties.
A year or so ago, there were rumors of rebellion, but Oswulf had dismissed them as inconsequential.
To his surprise, a month ago, a noble from the empire had offered to assist him in "quelling rebellion." He found himself in no position to refuse this offer, especially when the noble in question, Sestia Ulixes, departed. Soon after, another noble of even higher station extended a similar offer to aid him in "quelling rebellion."
Claudia's lips curled into a predatory smile. "Ah, that old spark is back, I see. Very well."
The wind whips around Sestia's cloak as she strides across the Quatre deck, her staff tapping against the wooden groans with each step.
On one side stood Baron Oswulf, and on the other, Claudia, their faces bathed in the erratic, flickering light of an obsidian brazier.
Sestia fixes the baron with a steely gaze. "I've heard rumors of a man on the island, yet I've never had the pleasure of meeting him. Care to enlighten me, Oswulf?" Her voice is low and dangerous, a growl simmering beneath the surface.
Oswulf shrinks back slightly, his eyes darting between Sestia and Claudia. "Lady Sestia, it's not… it's not as simple as that." he stammered. In a hushed tone, he added, "He refused to meet with you."
Claudia, her obsidian armor glinting like a predator's scales, stepped forward. "Refused? Or was he simply playing a different hand? Would he deny me as well?" Her inquiry held a subtle edge of steel.
Oswulf swallowed hard. "My lady, he… he left before your arrival. The baron fell to one knee.
"Did you, by any chance, instruct him to set the island ablaze?" Sestia probed further.
"No, Lady Sestia, I did not," the baron replied.
"I thought you initiated the fire," Sestia mused, a sly smile tugging at her lips. "But don't worry, Oswulf, I'm not blaming you for the fire. I also simply fanned the flames."
"Merely a nudge"
Claudia's eyes gleamed with intrigue as she revealed, "You know, one of your late brother's banner men was released by him. His name is Caeso."
Sestia's expression turned puzzled. "Caeso?"
The baron offered an explanation, "Caeso Petronius Rufrius, a landed knight in my territory."
Sestia's brow furrowed. "Caeso? What significance does a nameless knight hold?"
Claudia's smile widened. "You're overthinking it. Perhaps none, dear Sestia. Or perhaps it suggests the Oswulf man still adheres to the Oswulf way, even in absence."
Sestia's tone remained condescending as she pressed for more information. "And what, pray tell, is the name of this man?"
Oswulf answered with a touch of uncertainty, "Severin, that's all I know, Lady Sestia."
Claudia's smile remained radiant; she was genuinely pleased to see her close childhood friend once more; her allies were growing.
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Ralf, Severin, and Marcellus observed as Finn and Priest Corwin engaged in an intense staring contest.
Marcellus gripped his sword firmly, poised to strike Severin, should the need arise, and with the assistance of Priest Corwin, bring an end to Severin's threat.