“This will do, but it's too long. Hmmm....” She looked around, finding a hacksaw in a carpenter's toolbox that was laying about. “This will do, follow me!”
Naurus did as he was told and found himself at the stone pulpit where long ago preachers once mesmerized the masses. He was instructed to hold the barrel down while Morra sawed off the buttstock, leaving only a curving pistol grip in its stead. This task being done, she went back and wrapped up the handle with some armorer's tape and starting rifling through the ammunition crates for some shells. While she was busy with that, he looked around at all the hub bub surrounding him. Conscripts were feverishly stacking up sandbags in front of the broken-out bottom parts of the vaulting stained glass windows. In front of one particular window that had a commanding view of the downhill street towards the quay, a scrawny teen and a portly older man were cobbling together a tripod onto which the mitrailleuse on the floor would eventually be mounted.
“You damn kids these days have it so easy! Back in muh day, we had to haul these up and down the coast with nary a pack mule or wagon in sight! Them was the days, when war was actually hell! If we ain’t carry it fast enough, the flat of a blade would find its way upside your head! Listen here sonny, I did muh time and...” The old man continued blowing hot air at the teen who was clearly not listening or even acknowledging the fascinating tales of yesteryear.
“Ah hah!” Morra proclaimed, coming up with an old, partially rotted wooden box of shot shells which read 12 Ga. 00 Shot Steel Magnum. She began ramming the brass cased shells into the loading gate of the shotgun.
“There’s plenty of ammo for your peashooter too!” She pointed at the carbine slung across his back.
Naurus grabbed a bandolier of ammunition and slung it over his shoulder, but then was struck by a random passage he read about military history regarding the Separation War.
“Wasn’t that type of shell banned after the empire fell?” He blurted out, thinking aloud.
“Excuse me?” She didn’t even look at him.
“Nothing! So, what now?” He asked as Morra rammed the last shell home and snapped the lever out and back with a satisfying clack-shuck!
“Now, I’ll show you where you need to be and what your job is.” She slung the shotgun in a holster strapped across her back and made her way to a doorway behind the stage the pulpit was on.
Trash, junk, ratty clothes, and other detritus were piled into the corners and sides of the stage, a testament to the cleanup that had already been performed when the usual urchins and bums were forcibly removed from this place earlier today. A shadow danced across the mosaic mural in front of him, and he looked up. Various birds fluttered about in between the nests safely tucked away in the vaulting buttresses that contrasted against the peeling frescos painted high above. Gods, goddesses, sinners, saints, angels, and demons locked in eternal disdain and fighting that would only end should the roof cave in or the apocalypse which the holy men proclaimed actually happened. Indeed, the religions which the Ostragans brought over with them were banned by royal decree to ensure the separation of church and state, ensuring religious fanaticism would not fuel any more bloodshed as it had done during the Separation War.
Morra made her way through a doorway and almost immediately there was a tightly spiraling iron staircase making its way up. He then realized that he was going to be posted in the belfry as she gestured for him to make way up the stairs first. Soon though, all the natural light had been choked out in this claustrophobic space. He cautiously felt out one step at a time, not even able to see his hands in front of him. Morra impatiently pushed him upwards, causing him to stumble a few times until he couldn’t take it any longer.
“I can’t see a fucking thing! Why are you shoving?”
She sighed a deep, disappointed sigh. “Not only are you insubordinate, you are useless! Must I do everything?”
He didn’t have time to reply before she snapped her fingers and suddenly a warm glow emanated from behind him. He turned around to see a small fiery ball dancing about, flitting around her palm seemingly with a mind of its own but forever chained upon the hand that fed it. With this light, he was able to confidently make his way up at a speed that the commodore appreciated, at least that’s what he thought as he realized she wasn’t shoving him anymore. After countless spirals around this staircase barely wide enough for him, he finally saw a wooden hatch over his head and shoved it up. It creaked and slammed open, flooding him with the golden light of the approaching dusk. They both stood there, in a belfry devoid of most of its bells except for a small handful. The view was breathtaking, but soon it dawned on him that he may not be able to enjoy it for much longer.
“You’re on overwatch. Take a good hard look around for a few minutes before you come down for some chow. I want to make sure you have a good mental map of this area and know the likely avenues of attack.” She said brusquely before making her way back down the steps.
Well alrighty then. I guess I’ll just get set up here. Damn I’m hungry... he thought as he set down his rifle and ammunition. As he looked down at the uphill approach towards the church, he realized he would have a clear line of sight at a few hundred yards at any approaching attackers. He saw various other conscripts down below setting up barriers, caltrops, trick wires, and positioning ballistae and volley guns into elevated positions on roofs and upper floors. I really should scrounge around that barrel o’ fun downstairs and see if I can’t find something more like what they gave my old man. He assessed his position, looking back east and seeing the faintest dots of movement racing towards the farms kicking up a cloud of dust. Indeed, during general mobilization special messengers on quarter horses were dispatched to ring the bells placed every so often on the main roads connecting farms together. All farmers and ranchers along with their hands were to shelter in place and secure their properties and livestock. After all, an army can hardly fight on an empty stomach.
He looked around at the peeling painted wood walls inside the belfry, and various bits of graffiti scrawling caught his eye. Some of it was unintelligible, some of it was clearly written in a different language, some of it appeared to be Elven or Dwarvish. He found some that he could read though, scattered around in different places.
Im 1/1000 elven but nobody believes me <—— Sad!
What they dont know wont hurt them...
If you want a good time, come find me at the hole in the fence behind Old Johns Bait and Tackle
...and boom goes the dynamite!
Im hungry
I thought this was the stairway to heaven
Why cant the king make catgirls real? Worthless king he is!
He decided that was enough to read, it was a waste of time trying to find an epiphany on these walls. His stomach growled so he decided to head back down and see what was cooking anyway. Back in the dilapidated hallowed hall of worship, a nice fire was going in what was once the main aisle, cooking up a nice kettle of potato and leek soup. There were about ten men in the church he could see, and they were from all ages and all walks of life. He saw the mitrailleuse was finally set up, with the teen sitting far away from the mouthy old man. It appeared he was trying to regain his sanity over a bowl of hot soup before he had to man the crew served weapon together with the gas bag once again. The soup was on point though, and he was helping himself to seconds when he heard a sound which filled him with dread. High pitched, frantic horn calls from the lookouts closer to the shore indicated the approach of enemy vessels. At once, everyone scrambled into position and Naurus flew back up the staircase as fast as he could in the blinding darkness.
Only managed to stub a toe and scrap up his shin on a stumble, he was back up in position and looked out on the horizon, over the Ever-Reaching Waters. Indeed, he began to see little black dots, which slowly became much more recognizable shapes. Ships, and dozens of them, swarmed over the horizon and took up peculiar formations instead of blindly charging the bay like he thought they would. There was a strange pause
as none of the ships seemed to draw any closer, yet the coastal batteries were clearly adjusting their aim. Elevating as high as they could go, a thunderous roar echoed out as the first salvo erupted from the shore guns. Off in the great distance, after a delay of several seconds, splash downs could be seen as the sonic booms reverberated back from the arcing shells. No ships seemed to be hit, but from his vantage point he noticed wakes in the water coming straight into the bay.
He didn’t have any binoculars, but soon enough the shore batteries noticed these strange vessels coming in and began to depress their guns frantically. The ships seemed to be mostly under the water, but a small centrical protrusion that looked like an upside-down frying pan stuck above the surface and created the wake as the ships moved ever steadily towards the shores. Naurus could make out a half dozen of these strange semi-submersibles and each pair split off towards a different shore battery. Another roar tore across the city as the shore guns opened up again at their maximum depression, but it was for naught. The submersibles were too low in the water and the shells simply overshot them and skipped the glassy waters like giant steel stones. Suddenly, Naurus heard a terrible whistling shell salvo coming from the north and looked over at Arx Fatalis. Those guns on that great fortress had decided to wake up too, the gouts of smoke they spewed were clearly visible. The shells came crashing into the bay with a piercing scream punctuated by underwater explosions, but unfortunately all missed their marks.
Naurus began intently watching the nearest shore battery, noticing the two submersibles were closing in on either side of it. What the hell is this? Why would they just run straight up to our shores like that? How could this- As it turns out, he was unable to finish the thought. One of the pair of strange vessels, immediately followed by the other, erupted in a massive tandem explosion. A gout of water, rocks, metal, and debris rocketed upwards and outwards as the shore battery was torn asunder by the explosions. A moment after this, a great gout of fire and smoke began shooting up from the rubble and soon small explosions could be heard. In only a few seconds, the rest of the magazine detonated, leaving little more than a crater of rubble which the sea eagerly reclaimed while dousing the fire with a flash of steam. The shockwave swept over the belfry a short moment later, forcing Naurus to duck and cover his eyes. Once that had passed, he looked back over to see that same scene repeat itself at two of the other shore batteries. He could see men fleeing from them as they saw what befell they first one, and some seemed to manage to escape the tandem of explosions followed by the magazine erupting in a geyser of flame, smoke, and rubble.
I really hope Talfin made it out. I never even found out where he was, I should have looked for him. Damn it! What now? He never found out about Talfin, but what started to happen next became obvious. The batteries abandoned or in ruins, a pack of ships started coming towards the bay. He recognized the dozens gallivats in the center of this pack, but the ships flanking them in a protective semi-circle were different than he had ever seen. A massive smoke stack stuck up near the center of these iron clad beasts, bearing prominent armor plating all around the hull yet they still bore wooden masts and decking. As they pulled closer, they started slowing down as the gallivats kept coming straight at the shore, brimming with armored men. Another whistling salvo rained down from the great castle on Dragons Peak, with most shots missing and some glancing off the armor plates at oblique angles. Suddenly, the dreadful silence was punctuated by a rumbling broadside as the ironclads turned their guns to the coast and let them rain hell. The horrible noise of thousands of pounds of broadside weight tearing through the city was not something Naurus had ever experienced.
It was hard to even think between the screaming shells, crunching of stone, shattering of glass, and distant screams and yelling as grass green conscripts experienced their first shelling and had to be corralled back into line by their superiors. Various explosions could be heard as some of the shells were fused as such, being filled with incendiary explosives to try to start a firestorm. A shell screamed horribly merely feet from the belfry and slammed into a granary behind him, punching a cart size hole in the wall and exploding within. He looked back up north and saw another salvo come from Arx Fatalis, the fire and smoke spouting from the top portending what was to come soon. The shells whistled in, and although most of them missed the ironclads that were now turning back, one hit home and punctured straight through the deck. There initially wasn’t much that seemed wrong with the ship as it kept moving back out to sea, but it didn’t make it far before the boiler exploded and tore the ship in half in a spectacular fireball. Naurus kept looking out and noticed another very similar pack coming in to take the place of the ones that were leaving, and even more gallivats were with them. As they came in the first wave crashed ashore.
Heavily armed men with iron tower shields poured out, the setting sun glistening off the metal with a golden hue. As they disembarked, the second wave of ironclads turned broadside to the coast and fired off another salvo, shelling the city with near impunity. He saw the first wave of men turtling up, using their shields to form a moving wall that protected them from the front while the men behind them held their shields overhead. They were clearly expecting heavy resistance, but the slowly moving iron tortoise formations found none yet. As they came up from the rocky shores onto the quays, harassing fire broke out from the Coastal Rangers. A bolt here, a bullet there, a grenade right behind, the tortoise was herded like sheep by attacks that came from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. The rangers were well hidden within store houses, behind shipping containers, up on roofs, and even underneath the piers. Their aim was not to kill so much as goad the invaders up into the streets where barricades and caltrops would funnel them into ambushes. As they did this, the second wave of invaders landed, and things suddenly became much noisier. Sporadic gunfights and explosions began breaking out all over as the first wave moved deeper into the streets, as the city lit up erratically with fires breaking out seemingly at random.
One of these armored tortoises was moving up the hill directly towards the church Naurus was stationed on top of. They fended off small caliber weapons with ease, but the first break in the line came when a ballista bolt flew down from a rooftop and slammed into the front row, knocking down one of the invaders and opening up a hole into which gunfire poured. They were too far away for him to take an effective shot, but they were already taking casualties. As they drew closer, he became distracted as he noticed the second wave coming up well onshore now and they seemed to be much less harried. Even worse, a third pack of ships was incoming, and this could only mean one thing. He watched in dread and awe as yet another salvo of a hundred cannons or more broadsided the city once again. He just caught the quickly moving blur of a screaming iron ball as it smashed through the church roof below him. He swallowed hard and ducked down, getting close to the stair hatch and listening for any screams or yelling. He heard none at all.
“It’s awfully quiet up there! Are you sleeping?!” Morra suddenly yelled up the stairway.
“NO! I’m fine, are you?”
“Of course I am, dummy! Are you going to use that rifle or what? Start throwing some lead down range or I’ll come up there and use your face as my bench rest!”
He figured it would be best to start making some noise before she could make good on her promise, so he loaded up a cartridge and locked the bolt into battery. He took aim down the sights and lined it up on the line of advancing invaders about two hundred yards away and closing. He squeezed the trigger and a kick into his shoulder with a belch of smoke and fire out the barrel signaled his official greeting to the invaders. He couldn’t see where the rounds were hitting at this distance, so he simply kept aiming and firing at the tortoise formation and figuring he might get a lucky shot in between a gap somewhere in the massive shields that they held.
“Aim in front of their feet! Try to skip the shots off the stones!” Morra yelled up at him.
He started aiming at the cobblestone street j
ust in front of the advancing line and could start to see the dust and sparks of where his bullets were hitting. There was indeed a small gap he could see between the shields and the ground. He continued to gain accuracy as they moved closer and could clearly see his shots were having an effect as one shield bearer fell down and clutched his ankle. Someone else immediately stepped up into his place, and Naurus kept the lead flying. However, his bolt was starting to get gummed up with power residue and working the bolt was becoming a much more laborious affair after the couple dozen shots he had already taken. This was a known issue with such weapons, but this was getting particularly bad at an alarming rate. He held the trigger down and pulled the bolt straight back and out. Tarry black gunk and gritty unburned powder were all over the bolt and receiver. He did his best to clean off the bolt with a rag and his spit, paying particular attention to the locking lugs. This was far from ideal, but spit was better than nothing. He struggled to line the bolt up and slide it back in with the darkness falling over him now, but he managed and chambered another round with still some difficulty.
More invaders fell as they were cut off at the ankles by ricochets. They had an answer though, and it rang off a bell up and behind him before stopping near him whilst still spinning like a little lead buzzsaw. They also had rifles, and specially cut slots in their shields where they could have someone behind them place a rifle and fire. He was all alone but at least he had the height advantage, so he continued to pop up and take pot shots. Not only was he getting dangerously low on ammunition, hot gas and powder flecks were starting to fly backwards into his forehead every time he fired. The cartridges were not head spacing correctly now, which made closing the bolt become very difficult. An idea popped into his head at just that moment. He flipped open the small hinged door on the brass buttplate, but was greeted with nothing but dust and wood. Of course there's no cleaning kit in this piece of shit. I bet some cadet rearsenaled this and it wasn’t even inspected by the quartermaster! Here goes nothing! He raged inside as the battle raged outside all over the city. He was down to the last handful of cartridges. He rammed another one home and struggled to get the bolt to lock into battery, but he finally managed as beads of sweat dripped off his chin. He took aim and fired at the mass of invaders that was merely a hundred yards away at this point, but he wasn’t able to see what effect if any his shot had.
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