Snippet #2762927

A figure obscured to only silhouette in the dust- standing firmly in a fighting stance, blade drawn in a longpoint guard. With a breath the figure took a step forward, and then another. Careful footing on the shifting dune. It was like the thickest fog, but a fog of debris and sand. One foot after another, Girthfield continued, down the side of the dune. Black smoke obscured the view before him. Suddenly, a another silhouette shifted into view- hooded, facing away from Girthfield. Surprise was on his side.

Girthfield let out a sharp inhale before rushing, with his forearm pinning the figure to the ground and aiming his blade down. The tattooed face of a nomad stared back up at him. "Will you kill me?" Moth-From-Darkness stuttered.

Girthfield stared down at the woman. "Do I have to?" he asked. After a moment he released his pin and rose. "No."

Girthfield continued up the dude, leaving the woman behind. Specks of sky cut through the smoke. Over the other side would be the crashed ship. Ships didn't crash on the Rock because ships didn't fly to the Rock. Not big ones. Not industrial core ones.

As Girthfield approached the summit voices could be heard from below. And crying.

"Watcha' doin down there?" A voice. Sorillian?

"Please, please, help me." An Ulfirian voice. Thick accent.

"Yes, yes, I'll help ya."

Girthfield lay prone at the top of the dune, looking down at the clearing scene below him. He could see the outline of the broken ship, now leaking across the sand and forming a small pool. There were figures, but their faces remained obscured by the smoke.

"You're all wet," the Sorillian voice creaked with a laugh.

Crying. "I'm not!"

"You're all wet. From a ship, are ya? Oh dear, oh dear," the Sorillian's voice echoed as the crying continued. "So much whining."

"They're dead. They're all dead..."

The smoke subsided and through squinted eyes Girthfield could spot the figures. Beside the ship, covered in ash and blood, a Matranical pilot. Girthfield bit his lip. Approaching her was another woman, wearing the raggedy garments of a smith. The smith took a knee beside the pilot and cradled her head. "Ooh... there, there... no more complainin'." The pilot weeped. "Come now... you shouldn't be out here all wet. Come on... there, there."

Girthfield watched as the smith rocked the crying pilot. From behind her two black-adorned people exited the ship, a large ash covered crate between them. "There's more, these are just cannon balls," the one at the front of the crate called to the smith, but there was no reply. Instead the smith continued to rock the pilot in her arms. The two figures glanced at each other before placing the crate in the sand and reentering the ruined ship for another.

Girthfield blinked at the scene. His grip on his hilt had weigned from soft to tight as he watched, considering what was the best moment to intervene. Scavengers, of course, had gotten to the ship first. But a Matranical vessel- what was it doing here? Unless preparing an invasion? As the scene continued below Girthfield decided it was enough. He stood and began to descend the dune. This was about to become a Guardian matter.

"Hands in the air!" Girthfield called across the sand to the wreckage. "Hands in the air, all of you!" The smith ignored him, continuing to cradle the woman. Girthfield continued his approach. "Hands in the-"

Gunshots rang out, so loud he wasn't sure if he had even spoken the word air or if he had stopped in shock. "Shit," The Guardian murmured, turning to see a parade of ants begin to rush down the side of an opposite dune, gunslingers smacking their feet into the side of the red beasts. Girthfield looked back in the direction of the pilot and the smith, both of whom had vanished.

"Shit," Girthfield repeated as the gunshots rang out, hitting the sand near him. He made a run, leaping for cover behind the nearest part of the destroyed vessel. A large chunk of the front-most ram. Girthfield sheathed his sword as he put his back against the metal. Instead he loaded his pistol, expecting a shootout over the leaking remains of a ship.