Turn 0 - Reports, Part 2 "Guests and Memories"
- Location
- Peru
Crash Landing
The noise of the engine began to rattle even more with every passing second. "Come on...Come on, don't give up just yet." Vasco muttered under his breath, holding the control stick with both of his hands. He had never attempted to land on a flying landing stripe, but here he was trying to do something that no other pilot (to his knowledge) had done before.
Vasco saw the crew on top of the airship moving and making their way, a couple of them even trying to guide his plane to land properly. But he couldn't full attention to them as he began the landing, Vasco prayed to God, the Virgin Mary and his saints as the rubber tire under the biplane began to make contact with the metal strip.
At first, everything was going well. The rubber resisted the friction but the cheap metal that held it together to the biplane did not. It broke and all Vasco could say was a loud "Goddammit!" The biplane began to balance from left to right, but just as it was about to turn over. A landing net had been raised and it stopped the biplane from being destroyed.
Vasco and Giraldo were hit by the inertia of stopping so suddenly, but that was way better than having their bodies hit against the metal below. Soon enough, the crew of the Melakan flagship is approaching the biplane removing the net from it and aiding both Vasco and Giraldo to get out of their plane. Vasco takes a look at his biplane, it isn't too damaged and it could be fixed...the only problem is to get it down from whatever this place is.
While Vasco remains worried about his biplane, Giraldo takes a good look at the airship on which they have landed. The first thing that hits him is the strange flag on top of what looks to be the bridge of the ship, it is a completely unknown flag for him. Then there is the crew itself, who all look to be Indian? Giraldo never traveled that far away from Italy, however, as far as he knew India was under British rule and as result, this could only be a British ship...but then why would Britain crew its ships with Indians and not British? At the moment, no explanation that he could really give him a clear answer, as such, waiting remained his only option.
However, he was soon approached by someone who appeared to be an officer of this vessel. He greeted the man with a handshake, unable to speak his language, all the Melakan officer could do was offer a smile and something to drink to the Italian military photographer. Vasco's express had stabilized and strolled towards Giraldo. Giraldo felt a hand on his shoulder and turned around to find Vasco next to him.
"So what do you make of this?" Vasco asked.
"Not much, I can't make sense of what they are saying," Giraldo answered. "Nor, can I explain what's going on. Have you ever seen flying ships?"
"Only some German Zeppelins during an airshow in Milan," Vasco replied. "They aren't treating us like prisoners...yet and they helped us against whatever was pursuing us."
Giraldo immediately felt a shiver down his spine, the moment Vasco mentioned the dragons they had seen. The image of their big lizard-like eyes flashed before his eyes. It was too late to tell Vasco to not make him remember, but Giraldo's face immediately shrank just by the memory of it. He took a deep breath and recomposed himself before speaking once more.
"Then I suppose, the least we can do is just say our thanks to them. Hopefully, they can fix our plane and we can get back on the ground." Giraldo said.
The Melakan officer kept staring at the two of them, not wanting to interrupt, but then another uniformed man whispered something to him, and immediately, he interjected into their conversation by pointing with his arm at the bridge. He said a few words, but both Giraldo and Vasco got the idea. They had an appointment with whoever was in charge of this ship and possibly also the fleet.
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Somewhere in the Balkans
The night had arrived, yet the fractured light of the moon illuminated the mortal realm with ease. Underneath the skirts of two mountains, thousands of creatures marched in unison. Their thick red-skinned arms wielding weapons made out of a strange red material, they stood taller than most men, and the soldiers marching created a constant and almost rhythmic thump on the ground.
Such a magnificent sight had not been witnessed by Ohamor in centuries, the legions were once more moving. Their hunger for blood would finally be sated after decades of decadence and inactivity, there were no conspiracies or plots to take over command of legions of castles. Now, they were finally united under their original purpose. To take over the lands of the weak and plunder them for their own gain.
Ohamor is a bulky ferocious monster, taller than most of his race and with an armor that is thicker than most. He could easily take out most of his enemies and that's what he did to get to the top. Killing, mangling, and crippling his rivals. All, so he could get the chance to lead three entire legions into this new world and claim it for the great emperor. It was about time for him to join his troops so he prepares to fly, but just as Ohamor spreads his large red wings, he is struck down by a sword from behind. The sword cuts clean through his armor and flesh.
"Wha-" He doesn't get to finish the sentence as another blade cuts his head and sends it rolling down a hill.
Two shadowy figures remove their cloaks and appear on the ground. Their horns reflect the light of the moon and shine for a brief moment before they kick the body of the great general Ohamor towards the abyss. One of them with white horns and the other with obsidian ones.
"Such a stupid brute." One of the assassins exclaims. But the other motions for her to be quiet, while she takes out an orb of light.
"It is done. Ohamor is no more." The other assassin says at the orb.
Before any more words can be said, one of the assassins throws their sword at the ground. "Really? I thought they were prepared for this sort of stuff." The metal sword lies on the ground, the blood of Ohamor acting as a strong acidic on it. Slowly the sword melts and rusts making it useless.
"Shh!" The other assassin motions for her to be quiet once more. The white-horned assassin concedes and sits on the ground, doing nothing except for watching the legions march.
The white-horned assassin raises the orb and mutters some words before it, the fog inside of it clears until two colors, red and blue, floating inside it appear.
"Good job. That old fossil can finally rest dead, but you are not done yet. Amongst those who will attempt to take command of the legions, there is one that I want to see succeed." The crystal orb shifts and changes, until on its surface one can see a face.
"We will have it done, master." Answers the white-horned assassin.
"Remember, this cannot fail." A blinding light escapes the orb as it shutdowns for a brief moment, illuminating the face of the assassin holding it.
The white-horned assassin sighs, she sits next to her partner and throws a small rock at the abyss below. The rock falls down next to the road where the soldiers of the empire march and it stays there, ignored until one of the soldiers steps on it crushing it.
"You heard it. We have to move."
"Move." She repeats. "I hate moving, we should be at the citadel resting not whatever this is."
"If you mean that our abilities are being misused as plain assassins. I think you are wrong, the master has a reason for it all, I am sure."
"Bullshit, it's just nepotism once more. Someone didn't like the way the spoils of war were going to be split and now we are here killing generals." The obsidian-horned assassin says. "Honestly, if there was a chance the invasion would go wrong. The master wouldn't have ordered to do this."
"Quit whining sister, we have a job to do. I am pretty sure that if we don't get to the army's camp there will be a few too many heads cuts and one of them could be the guy that master wants to save."
"Argh...Alright, let's get going."
Decision and Conflict
You were an admiral and a prince, sitting in the middle of the bridge of a Melakan carrier, giving orders to your crewmen and just finished sending off a new patrolling squadron of aircraft. You couldn't just leave your fleet vulnerable to a reprisal attack from the winged beasts you saw earlier. Although there was doubt in your mind that they would return after their quick defeat, but even then one could not be too careful.
You had yet to give any words your subjects aboard the nomad ships, so far they were told there were "traveling difficulties" but after the engagement earlier they must have more questions than answers. In any case, the task of explaining what had transpired would be a hard one. Even if you were a prince of the great Melaka, it was hard to tell how they would react to the news.
"Admiral Muzzafar, the biplane survivors are here." Vice Admiral Arhab said to you,.
"Yes, the locals of these lands I suppose. They must have knowledge about the winged beasts or at least about where we are."
Your upbringing pressed you to treat the locals as if they were guests, it was probably the only thing you could do. Unless they could speak your language.
"Do they speak any language that we could recognize?" You asked.
"No. I had our specialists officers try to talk with them but to no avail, they aren't speaking a language that we know of." And with that a little more hope about returning home died inside of you. However, as a prince and admiral, you had a duty to fulfill. You could either send one of your more literate subordinates to talk with them and try to learn the basics of their language. Or you could just do it yourself, although that would take you away some of your free time.
In the end you decide to...
[X] "Then send one of our officers to attempt to learn their language. The sooner we learn more about this region the better." [Leadership Roll]
[X] "I will talk with them myself during my free time." [Diplomacy Roll]
[X] "I think I will hand the bridge to you Vice Admiral Arhab, learning more their language could be very important." [Diplomacy][Vice admiral will command the bridge while you talk to the Italian survivors.]
"Do make sure to treat them as best as we can. They are not enemies and if they know more about whatever attacked them, then their information could come in useful to us strangers in these lands." You say to Vice Admiral, who nods and takes note of your orders.
There is still much to be done to ensure the safety of the fleet, however, just as you finish said thought. A radio operator inside of the bridge informs you that the squadron you sent to scout ahead has returned with interesting news.
A Meeting in the Desert
Falling through the skies into a desert was not something that Grydor had expected to happen to him, but he couldn't have kept flying. At least, not in his current condition. His injuries throughout his body were too severe...he could only curse those damned humans for his current state, for even now he felt the metal embedded within his skin. All he wished for was a chance to rip their heads out one by one.
He had no illusions about being rescued by the clan. The bleeding throughout his body gave him a few hours at most and currently he had no way of stopping it. All he could blame right now was the humans and his own weakness. The scales of his body still too young to harden like those of the ancestral dragons and his horns far too short to spark any magic.
All he could do now was focus on his breath in an attempt to draw his mind away from the pain. But his attempt ends in failure, every breath and every throb of his heart only serves to renew the pain coming from his wounds. The burning sands beneath him making his suffering even more unbearable. However, he soon comes to notice that he is no alone, turning his head to the side he notices that a group of mounted men are approaching him. Grydor growls immediately and tries to rotate his body body, but all he manages to do is just put himself in more pain.
Being unable to move was so humilliating for Grydor, especially as the humans descended from their mounts. They approached carefully and touched the body of the dragon. The whimpers of pain told them of his plight and as such, they were unable to find themselves scared when they were in front of a peculiar but dying beast. Strange words that Grydor cannot understand are uttered as they walk even closer.
But the more time passed and the more he heard them speaking, a question popped up in his mind—Why had they not killed him yet? If his fate was to be enslaved or displayed as a trophy, he would rather have them end him right now. However, it became clear that was not their objective when one of the shorter ones approached him and offered the young dragon some water. Grydor's pride made him refuse but with his force leaving him, he was unable to give his refusal. So water he was given,a relief in a sense before a strenous pain began to manifest.
Grydor was confused, but his confusion was quickly replaced with pain as the men removed metal after metal from inside his body. After a large time of pain, he began to feel some level of relief. He began to believe that he could survive this, of course. He still needed rest and food. His mind quickly went back to his initial puzzling. These humans were taking care of him...while the others shoot him from enormous metal clouds. Grydor was not given any more time to process those two events as three large dragons approached him from above.
Grydor could feel as the men began to remove pieces of shrapnel within his body, unable to move but able to scream in draconic tongue. His screams scared the men but not enough to make them stop, he was forced to endure this pain that brought him back the last of his strength. However, soon enough he began to feel relief after the operation allowing his mind to return to the initial puzzling. The humans were taking care of him? For what purpose he couldn't know, but his mind and body were too tired. Soon, his eyes closed and his consciousness faded to a calm abyss.
Matters of the Great War
As you strolled towards the officer's kitchen aboard the carrier, something came to memory. It was the talk that you had with Vice Admiral Arhab a few days prior. It was no ordinary talk, for it helped you learn more about the man himself and perhaps a little about yourself too.
It happened when you returned to the bridge, for you noticed a door open nearby. Curious about it, you knew it was the library's door that was open and wondered which sailor or officer was at the library during these hours. To your surprise, it was none other than Vice Admiral Arhab. He sat next to a tiny table, there were a couple of books on it and he was reading the one that he held in his hand. Curious and confident enough to speak up, you raised a question at him.
"Vice Admiral?" You said, loud enough for Arhab to hear you.
"Admiral Muzzafar." As usual, he doesn't use prince. As far as you remember, he has never actually addressed you by it. "I was wondering what the history books were saying about the great war, I never got around to reading any of them in Melaka." Arhab comments.
"Admiral Muzzafar." He replies. Just as usual, he doesn't address you as a prince. Actually, as far as you remember, he has never actually addressed you as one even if he shows through his behaviour. Maybe a quirk from his sailor times? "I was here reading the history books about the Great War. I never got around to reading any of them back in Melaka." Arhab explains.
"What do they say?" You ask, curious as to why he would even start reading them now.
"Mostly propaganda, but sometimes they get things right." Arhab comments while closing the book. "At least, I am glad kids will remember our ships and captain's names. Far better than the unknown foot soldier right?" He places the book back into the shelve and looks at you.
"Mostly what one would expect them to say." He says. "But sometimes they get things right." Arhab says , while closing the book and placing it back on the pile of books on the table. "It seems as if the future generations will mostly remember the names of admirals and those of our ships. I think that's a far better treatment than what the foot soldiers get; right Admiral?".
"I beg to disagree. They will remember the nation's sacrifices. It's victories and defeats. Go far enough and they will remember my father's name and perhaps a few more." You reply, trying to give your perspective on it.
Arhab nods but doesn't give you much of an expression to interpret. Normally, you would be able to read an official quite well due to your training in the court but Arhab appears to remain a closed book in that regard, at least for now.
"In my case, I know that the aerial fleet won't forget my name, maybe they will name a corvette or two after me. Much better than what my friends during the Great War will get. Back then, I was just another officer. Part of the crew of a fast destroyer and our ship, I may say, was rather lucky." He says. "We fought in the battles of Atbasar, Aral and Makat. All great battles and in all of them, we got off mostly unscathed. Meanwhile, entire battleships and cruisers went down in flames."
Yes, you remember this part of the great war. It was the initial phases of the war, back when everyone thought that the war would be over quickly due to one side or the other establishing aerial supremacy sooner or later. However, the aerial battles were mostly ineffective given that both sides refused to risk too much of their respective fleets. Instead, squadron level battles became the norm for most of the war.
You also fondly remembered the stories from your uncle about the legendary battles in the air. The glory, the destruction and the beautiful views from being so far up in the skies. But you were quite sure that Arhab probably did not remember them as fondly as you did. Instead, you keep on listening as Arhab talks.
"One day, our ships caught fire. Not from enemy fire mind you but from friendly fire. Some poor sod had not done the correct calculations for their guns and instead of destroying an enemy's ship, he destroyed ours." Arhab says. "The fire soon spread and one of the magazines blew up, splitting the ship in half. I immediately held on to whatever I could as we descended, I made it clear to myself that I would not die then. So I tried to reach for a parachute."
Parachutes, those were the lifesavers of many sailors during the war. But parachutes were expensive and there was never enough for everyone.
"I managed to get a hold of one and managed to jump from the ship. I opened the parachute up and I looked back at the ship, only to see the face of a man who just like me had attempted to get the chute. I was just lucky enough to get there before he did." Arhab says. "I could see his expression in his eyes. I don't know if it was envy, hate or relief...I still don't know now."
"What did you do afterwards?" You ask.
"I did what everyone else did, I went to the nearest base and rejoined the aerial fleet as part of the crew of a cruiser. For a while, I couldn't bear knowing that I had taken another man's life in exchange of my own; someone who was just like me, except he had not been lucky enough to get to the parachute fifteen seconds earlier. I thought I had to make up for it, and that's why I kept risking my life." Arhab says, he sits next to the small table in the library and looks at you.
"Do you have something to make up for Admiral?" Arhab asks you, a quick analysis leads you to the truth of his question. He wants to know why you joined the Melakan aerial fleet, when you could have so easily stayed as a normal prince in Melaka.
[X] "Yes, I do. I made a grave mistake, and wanted to make up for it by being of service to Melaka."
[X] "No, I simply believe the royal family should lead by example."
[X] "No, I didn't really want this post, but my father obliged me to take it."
[X] "No, I decided to join for another reason."
OOC: So that is it for this turn. Next turn, you will able to decide on a course of action on the dragons and get to learn more about the world. Plus probably some language learning.