The Svinfylking's Story

The Wolf Pack had never traversed such a vast ocean before. Many a path they took was always on solid land, with the occasional crossing of from riverbank. When they found themselves afloat a ship with fifty other beings, in such tight corners, a hand was forced to be open by each ally.

It is true that the mercenary company known as the Wolf Pack has the oddest folk, common and offspring alike. The wrinkled, short form of the goblins makes them feel deformed, an abortion of humankind. Perhaps people that think like this are closer to the truth than they might’ve hoped. Nervous eyes fidget in the penumbra, all of them laid on the little fellows. But like any state of worry and hesitation, it only requires a stressful event to bloom and be resolved into order or chaos. Would the vikings accept the goblins and the revelation of the imposing ogres? Time would only tell, and it would only be when the rowing was the hardest and the sails sprung free from their masts. The first storm summoned lightning and waves that rocked the foundations of the ship, but those who watch would see a body of warmth roused by resolve and perseverance, a shield of sheer will. Flesh bound itself to wood and the curtains that the Wolf Pack was holding were lifted. Figures limited to the dark corners began to slip from the shadows. Just like the goblins before them, their forms were met with worry, added fear. What in the hell was this company the vikings were going to fight side by side with?

Men that tower over the norse. Two meters of muscle, and if that wasn’t enough, four upper limbs. Ogres are crude experimentations of humankind with magic. The knowledge of the Fire was soon perverted by those who walked the path of war, of greed, of death. The ogres were a… successful experiment, as what they provided in brawn, they seriously lacked in brain. That was good for any general, as long as they’re bright enough to follow simple orders. But these ogres were not the children harvested from dark dungeons. The complex of freedom soon struck the ogres and many died trying to flee into the wild. Even decades after their escape, the pale giants were fated to be hunted. Some tribes managed to survive, and those part of the Wolf Pack were younglings eager to see the world.

Bullridge spearheads into one of the rowing lines. He shouts over the thunders and the heavy rain. “Weak! All of you! Bullridge will show you how to ROW!”

The barbarian is no ogre, but one must give credit to a human capable of forcing an ogre to submit. That is the essence of Bullridge: brute force, overwhelming power and a staggering presence. His cry draws the attention of every norse who deems himself a man of worth. They feel offended in their first look, but Bullridge’s form under the instant light of lightning and the rolling roar of thunder shames them. His physique is imposing, wrapped in scars, burn and acid marks, old puncture wounds. It’s a miracle that he is still alive. Yet, Bullridge and the ogres take over the rowing lines.

“You have watched for long enough! Can you row?!” The barbarian barked at the ogres. They nodded diligently, the long, powerful rows began, hurling the ship through the waves like the cutting edge of a finely crafted spear.

Brennan smirked. That was the first display of the Wolf Pack’s prowess. What they lacked in numbers, they certainly made it up in quality. But their might was long from being justified by a single deed.

The sails had been lost, with their rope torn, leaving them hanging at the mercy of the crazed, violent wind. Attila looked up at the mess and one or two men trying to climb the mast without any hint of success. He shrugged his shoulders and turned around, raising a brow at the inert goblins.

“Tsk. One-Eye leaves you for a moment and you can’t pick yourselves up.” He said with a rough, taunting tone.

One of the goblins erupted, propelling his form forward. His right limb was extended as its skin stretched out along with it. The length of the thin arm grew twofold as the goblin pointed menacingly at the human warrior. “Leave us be, human! We follow Gob’s shaman! Not you!” His jutted, wide-eyes revealed frustration and anger.

“You look scared, goblin.” Attila mused, leaning his head closer to the other creature’s, past its shivering finger and trembling arm. “Do you really want to go down that path?” He grinned. His was a grin of defiance, haughty and completely disrespectful towards whatever feelings the goblin could have. What did it matter to Attila?

The goblin’s life was worth more to him than trying to prove a point, whatever that could be. He took a step back, but a hand stopped him. One-Eye shook his head as he stood at the side of his kin, then he looked at Attila. “You know my brothers to be emotional. When will you stop fooling around with them?” His question was serious, yet given in a light fashion. It soon became rhetorical when the shaman gave himself purpose, to instruct his kin on taking the lead and helping the norsemen. Attila was a man who didn’t want to fall behind, so he too paid attention to the task and sprung to action as soon as he was able.

The scene would unfold in a frenzy of rapid movement. The goblins’ limbs grew twofold and their faces jutted out and forward over their chin, revealing an even more grotesque form in the stretched, rough skin that shelled their thin, but sturdy muscles. This form granted them a naturality to crawling that was inhuman and, quite certainly, most unique. Where others failed, the goblins conquered and went further, securing the sails and riding the mast as the ship cut through wind and wave.

Soon, the storm would recede and the veil of grey would be pierced by sunlight. On the horizon, their first waypoint was visible. Together with a massive fleet of norsemen, the Wolf Pack travelled through the treacherous Empyrean High Seas, besting the foul region’s traps with the aid of the norse seafarers.

To celebrate, Attila would scream off the top of his lungs, merging ship with ship to have the men share booze and food. He went as far as throwing a rope and having Bullridge and himself pull a ship closer to theirs. Luckily, everything went well enough.

(And now, political news, with Úlfric.)

The Slender, auburn haired Argosian Legata moved slowly, with purpose towards Hürgor. Her spatha was drawn, and in the early morning light, the sun that had just peaked through the parting clouds glinted off the freshly cleaned sword.

The sounds of her armor made a jingling noise with her footsteps, the lightweight metal plates moving across each-other was like music to Livia's ears.

She had a long brutal history of showing no mercy to those who challenged her, cutting them down to their last, final breaths. This strange brute was bleeding, broken and clearly dying. Her blue eyes briefly moved to the wound in his arm, and then down to his leg, yet he still held his hatchet high.

"I will not fight a cripple." Livia said calmly, her voice thick with confidence, authority. "Lay down your weapon, and I will spare your life."

She came to a stop, roughly five feet in front of Hürgor, her sword held out to her side.

A soft breeze picked up, and her cape, made from synthetic fabric, and colored a vivid red and white fluttered in the wind, her legs were shoulder width apart, in a slightly bladed stance, standing off with the norseman barbarian. It could be described as an odd scene, Livia was by no means a large woman, standing at a five foot, and five inches, and weighing a measly one-hundred and fourty pounds of solid muscle. She lived a life of luxury, with the modern conveniences of Taiyou technology, clean running water, sewage, sanitation, plentiful food, and even electricity.

She was Hürgor's opposite in many ways.

If he tried to swing his weapon, Livia would move quickly, first to catch the swinging hatchet-arm and knock it away with the Spatha, and given the sharpness of the nanosteel blade, it was extremely likely that the edge of the sword would dig into the wood, or even the metal of the hatchet, chipping it away in thin metal shavings.

If successful in knocking the hatchet away, she would spin close, placing her feet wide and bringing the pommel of the spatha in hard into Hürgor's abdomen, and then quickly backing up hoping he would lurch forward from the pain of the blow.

If this is the reaction, she moved to bring the pommel of the sword in a swift follow-up strike to the back of his head, with the goal to knock him unconscious, so he could be taken prisoner.

Livia had taken great care not to kill the norseman, with the carefully precise moves she executed against him, the fleeting hope that he wouldn't die crossed her mind, while the Taiyou diplomat looked on with an approving nod.

---

Benjamin would find a young Argosian Decanus to take his baubles as Livia was currently busy trying to subdue the Norseman. The Decanus nodded slowly, handing Benjamin a small sack of Argosian coins, with an assortment of gold, and silver coins inside a burlap bag.

"Payment, for your assistance." The Decanus said calmly.

Inside the Arran, the Tree was displaying a large star chart, and slowly several Argosians, with the aid of a few Taiyou navigators were checking their records, while one technician frowned, while looking over the database contained within the tree.

"These star patterns closely match those submitted by the Aschen..." One technician stated. "P76-342, described as a world where technology doesn't work..."

He pulled up the relevant data submitted by Commander Costas, a prowler pilot who had crashed on the planet some time ago.
However at this point, the tree had also figured the relevant data, and had plotted a course back to Argos, while monitoring a fleet of ships approaching from the sea.

The Ship's Trierarch watched the displays calmly, as the fleet of ships slowly began to approach.

With a swift hand gesture, a high pitched whistle sounded.

"All hands, to battle-stations!"

By now, the cannons had been reloaded, but the Matokey had placed safeguards on the tree's abilities. The decision was made to avoid the battle altogether.

"Recall the marines, and the Legata! We must push off and get out of here!" The Trierarch bellowed. "Set course for the Great Neptunian Sea!"

The eyes of a seasoned hawk mirrored the scope of a thousand leagues in the wake of the waves. Brennan gazed at his company's destination after many a perilous stir of the great viking ship. Now, there was the matter of the landing, but even that seemed like a step too late for the plans of the young Jarl and his campaign of rescue and revenge. The arms of each sailor were weary, a meager price to pay for the eager spirits of the other men. Bullridge and his following of ogres seemed unaffected by time and labour. Instead, the barbarian's eyes focused on the one man above him in the mercenary company, the Alpha of the Wolf Pack: Brennan. The Master-at-Arms felt the uproar of the vikings as they neared the island's coast. An anchored ship donned a portion of the landscape, coupled with the presence of creatures on the beach. The howls and screams of the norsemen foretold that the Jarl's brother was there.

"Bullridge!!! Show me your might!!!" Brennan's howl struck deeper than any warcry. Echoes of his command disturbed the air with a subtle ring. Between that moment and Bullridge's acknowledgement, a dreadful silence swept the courage away from the norse ships. One second was enough to enlighten the vikings to the presence of a voice born from the fires of war to lead man and monster alike. How? One did not have time to dabble in such thoughts.

Bullridge's rough features crooked into a display of gritting teeth and twitching eyebrows. His arms tensed and his grip grew twofold only for his rowing to increase. "You will keep up with me or die!!" He demanded. "Keep up with me or let your own kin die!!" He barked louder, inspiring in every man a state of urgency. Momentum propelled the great ship forward at speeds unfathomable by the common man. Brennan found his body being pulled by the force created by the mighty rowing of the Wolf Pack's ogres and their unwavering leader, the thick-skulled Bullridge.

Meanwhile, One-Eye observed, tapping his right foot on the wooden floor. "Not good." A worried frown was on his wrinkled face.

"If we act now..."

Attila appeared behind One-Eye, placing his right hand on the smaller being's left shoulder. They nodded at each other and gazed up the main mast of the viking ship. It was not long before they were seen climbing to the very top.

"Are you ready, Attila?"

Attila's lips began to crack. He held on tightly to the wooden beam, his fingers ever the most intrusive on the solid frame, taking bit after bit as the pressure increased. The eyes of the warrior grew wider with each fleeting second, they jutted out as the fire under the skin seared thought away, welcoming only one state of heightened presence. The embrace of rage culminated in a perverted howl. Fenrir himself would bow before the awakening of the berserker. Veins outlined the bursting development of muscles, the negligence of most rationality into the control of a sphere in the core, the solar plexus. Forget not the fumes with which One-Eye enticed Attila, throwing him into a deeper abyss in the increase of his bloodlust. And yet, all of this was done in fluid motions, a chain of rapidly successful actions to grant One-Eye the power to control and shape an overflowing tap of energy.

The goblin's feet journeyed up to plant each on a separate shoulder of the berserker. His legs rotated to opposite sides and arms were held forward with palms facing down, the shaman squinted his eyes. He turned his palms to face the ship and the beach. The shaman would catch them before they could evacuate.

"I'm burning!" Attila growled. "I'm burning!!!" He howled, releasing a massive surge of energy from his berserker rage into the air in front of him. Gusts of wind ravaged the sea and charged against the sand, upholding chaos. Were that not enough, the residues remaining began to latch onto one another and form a thick, cold mist. It felt sudden, yet so harmless. As harmless as the voices. Cries from a plane so present, yet fading ever so effortlessly. Cries that pierce into the soul, tormented and fearful. A barrage of dreaded sound invades with the mist, it disturbs the senses. A scream is ever vigilant, infinity in the mist. It quickly becomes unbearable to the enemies in front of the spearheading ships of the vikings. Shapes of a faded world and blurred faces claw at the warm bodies, as if trying to dig in and find a home. Frigid winds try to claim fragments, testing mettle into an undying scope of the ether.

"Now, Attila!"

One-Eye's prompt had Attila's eyes turn white and jaws part to unleash a lunatic, supernatural howl. The form of his haughty, sharp lines was carved into the atmosphere. It traversed the mist so fluidly and swiftly, yet it was when it stopped that its horror gazed upon the beach and presented its form, showering enemy soldiers with visions of hellfire and torture. Not visions, memories. Memories of the soul, but what soul? Could it be their own?

Finally, the demonic face fell. It rained on the sand like wild fire, feeding off of itself until there was no more, until it faded to ash as fast as it had burned into a raging inferno. But perhaps those moments were enough. Perhaps the revelation of another world through glimpses on the windows and the doors stalled the retreat.

The spiritual mist was as much a hindrance to the enemy as it was a cloak to the landing fleet. As Attila's projection of terror was no more, it was time for the arms of norsemen to use the time acquired.

As for Hurgor and Livia... What would they do within the mist, haunted by visions of beings ethereal? Threatened.

The exchanged blows played out rather swiftly, as the sun slowly began to crest over the horizon, bathing the sky in a fiery glow. Livia charged fourth, with her spatha in her right hand, reaching high to swing vertically in a diagonal pattern from right, to left. This was a standard practice taught in Argosian combat schools, bringing the superior metal blade down to cleave through a shield, an attempt at blocking, a wooden spear, or any manner of defensive tool the opponent chose to use. In doing so the sword would cleave through her opponent as well.

This was however, not how the attack played out.

Hürgor had a badly broken leg, and only one good arm with which to swing his weapon; As he swung for Livia's throat, the weight of the weapon was likely more than enough to throw him off balance. With no good leg to catch himself with, the only direction for the battered Norseman to go was down.

The horizontal hatchet swing found Livia, but with Hürgor's sudden movement, and Livia's commitment to her own sword swing, the hatchet's razor edge missed it's mark as Livia shrugged her shoulder just enough to protect her neck, but the blade of the hatchet dragged across her cheek, cutting deeply before striking her armored spaulder with a loud metallic grinding sound.

As Hürgor sailed down face first into the sand, Livia stumbled forward, before turning abruptly around to face her opponent once more. She touched the wound on her cheek briefly, glancing down at the blood that coated her fingertips, while quelling the rage that boiled up inside her, she wanted to kill him, drive her blade into his back, let his head decorate the bow of her ship. She stared down at him, with her sword clenched in her right hand. A crucial decision was made at this moment, the decision to show him mercy. It was the way of the future, it was the way the Mt'kee had taught, it was the way the Taiyou had taught, it was obvious Hürgor was defeated.

Livia brought her sword up, and with one swift motion she sheathed the metal blade into her scabbard, there was a metallic grinding sound, followed by the weapon seating with a click.

"I will not fight a cripple." Livia said, gesturing for two of her men to grab a stretcher and approach.

Four legionaries approached, the first moved quickly to kick the hatchet away from Hürgor, while two more moved to set a stretcher besides the downed norseman, the fourth keeping his musket pointed at the man incase he chose to continue to fight.

"Take him to the ship and have someone tend to his wounds." Livia instructed, as she leveled her gaze far onto the horizon, the clanging of weapons on shields echoing through the waters and landmass. She also noted that there was some sort of mist that was gathering beyond the force-field erected by the Tree-ship, and the shimmering leaves. Something unnatural was attacking them it seemed.

If there was no further fighting from Hürgor, the two Legionaries would place him upon the stretcher with care not to disturb the broken leg. In tandem, they would lift the stretcher, and start back towards the ship, which was beginning to raise anchor. The Argosians opted to leave the wounded norsemen on the beach, with the arrival of reinforcements, they chose to remain in their formations rather than finish off the wounded. It would only be at the sound of clanging weapons that they would begin to file back aboard the ship, moving in disciplined lock step, despite the show from the savages on the ocean.

----

The Triarchus was making his preparations, running along the length of the trireme, shouting in Argosian to prepare for their departure.

"Move quickly! Move Quickly!" He bellowed, placing his hands on the backs of the legionaries boarding the ship.

"Cannons at the ready!" The Triarchus bellowed once more, and the low steady drumming of the war drums followed suit, carrying it's medium tempo through the skies, until a surge of energy belched fourth from the viking formation.

A barrier of sorts erupted from the Eye of Arran, as the royal tree began to channel the vast reserves of a plane beyond anything in the mortal realm. Energies from the Chosin Tsunami coarsed through the branches, through the trunk of this mighty tree as it's leaves began to shimmer in response to the cold mist. The Voices, or whatever were contained within would find it impossible to penetrate the barrier that was projected by the tree, the energies acting as a buffer to the magical essences put fourth by the shaman.

Their cries echoed beyond the mist, which was pressed against a soft shimmering light, the leaves of the tree continued to shimmer, as energy was being channeled, a proverbial tap slowly being cranked open from a vast reserve of cosmic hyper-dimensional energies that were beyond even the mightiest of magicks.

Even the lines found themselves unable to cross the threshold of cosmic energies onto the beach, it's inferno playing out harmlessly beyond the shield wall of the Tree-ship, this only served to hurry the Argosians along, urging them to make haste and flee this wretched land.

The Inferno, and the voices continued for however long the Daemons on the water made them, and only briefly stalled Livia, before she finally boarded the ship, swiftly approaching the Triarchus.

"Push off and get us out of here." Livia ordered, while the Optio called out.

"Cannons make ready!"

There was a steady drumming, the Anchor of the Eye of Arran was finally reeled in, as the oarsmen pushed the vessel off and away from the beach with a steady motion. The Vikings had them blocked in, and they would have to break through their lines to reach the point to where they could portal out and back to Argos.

Gritting his teeth, the Triarchus looked up at a display, a dozen more contacts could be detected, but these ones were high in orbit...



The Second Fleet of the Taiyou Empire, one by one began to exit their jumps from hyperspace over the planet. It was roughly a month or so since the Eye of Aarran went missing, and fortunately by tracing it's trajectory, they were able to locate it on this uncharted world.

Emperor Shimizu Takayama stood in silence as he stared at the planet below through the bridge viewport of his personal flagship, the Sōja. This vessel was a massive testament to Taiyou design and engineering. It bore the appearance of a coiled serpent, two hooded cobra statues staring over the ship's deck. Alongside the Sōja was a handful of cruisers, frigates, and two Shogun class battleships.

"The fleet is in position, we've detected the Eye of Aarran on the planet's surface, as well as about a hundred bluewater vessels closing in on it's location, classification is unknown, but based on Aschen files it's safe to assume they're natives." Lieutenant Kobayashi reported with a curt nod to the Emperor.

"All ships are present and accounted for, and have assumed position in orbit. All communications from the Argosian vessel are down, they're not responding to our hails."

"There's a spatial distortion surrounding the planet, likely connected to the magical energies that reportedly interfered with technology." Shipmaster 'Taanz reported, as his image flickered in on Shimizu's display. "I've taken the liberty to synchronize our timeline with theirs to facilitate a rescue; I'm also working on isolating the magics so we can inhibit it... however I don't think I will be able to keep the magical energies at bay, so time will be of the essence."

The Lone Matokey shipmaster was at the helm of a powerful Matokey warship, a first generation royal tree capable of feats of immense power, as if reality itself would bend the knee to the awesome capabilities of this Matokey vessel. Though extremely powerful, the Matokey were first and foremost a peaceful people, preferring to settle conflicts the diplomatic way, rather than resort to violence.

Matokey philosophy always impressed the need for the most precise yet guided applications of force, thus it was very unlikely the Matokey would involve themselves in this skirmish directly, other than to inhibit the magic and synchronize the timelines.

'Taanz's image disappeared from the display as the massive Matokey Omnicruiser adjusted it's position. This left the Taiyou fleet with the opening to select their targets and bombard the planet should the situation warrant it. Shimizu however had something else in mind, as he was completely unaware of what was going on down on the planet below.

The slender Taiyou Emperor reached for a console, and then turned back to his Lieutenant.

"Ready a squadron of Zeroes and a Sudden Transport, send them down to the planet and make contact with the Legate; ascertain the situation and see if they need our help."

Silently, Shimizu stood and clasped his hands behind his back, staring out at the massive bridge before him, and at the hundreds of displays that were feeding information in real time.



"Let us pray they're okay." Shimizu said quietly. "Inform the fleet, to have weapons ready, but not to open fire unless I give the order." He said quietly, while the Taiyou fleet positioned itself beyond the reach of the primitives below.

----

Back down on the Planet...

Back aboard the Eye of Aarran, back in the navigation tower the Optio was going over the tactics, looking down at a large map of the immediate area, his face was stony, grim as the reality of the situation sank down on them. "They have us surrounded, they'll close in any minute now." He said somberly.

"Legata, perhaps if we surrender? We have leverage, surely they would give us pause if they wish to have him returned to them alive." The Triarchus said quietly.

Livia pondered this for a moment, Hürgor was, by now being kept in a small section below deck, an infirmary of sorts, where Argosian doctors were trying to reset his leg, and stop his bleeding until they could take him somewhere to get better medical care. At this point the savage was restrained, and there were guards posted at the door to the infirmary. Antibiotic and analgesic salves had been packed into his wounds, which were cleaned up, but injuries this grave would need modern Taiyou medicine.

"We could barter his life, for ours; or at the very least buy time until the Taiyou land, even in small numbers, they would easily overpower our foes." The Optio added, while Livia considered her next course of action. "Even if we surrender, these are savages, they have no honor; and would sooner kill us all."

She heaved a sigh.

"Fly the white flag, but have everyone armed and ready to repel these savages the moment they turn violent."

The order was given, and carried through messenger to the man at the crow's nest, he made a few hand gestures, and as the Viking ships approached, the Argosian ship raised it's sails, along with a single white flag that started to flutter in the wind.

The tension was palatable, thick through the acrid, salty air, with the singular tree-ship against what seemed to be an endless horde of savages. The battle was turned strongly in their favor and should things turn violent, there was no doubt the Argosians, while capable of providing a valiant defense, stood little chance in actually turning the tide of the battle without some serious firepower.

Livia was, by this time standing on the fore tower of the massive Hexareme, staring at the opposing lines through her spyglass, calmly watching as they beat their shields, and prodded at the wood of their ship.

Despite this show of force, the men at the gunwales, the sides of the ship were stone faced and stout, their muskets held to their sides, covered by the shields that were affixed to the railing, each Argosian musketeer capable of unleashing fire and fury onto the decks of the opposing ships.

The stone faced soldiers of the Argosian legion watched in silence, musket balls could splinter wooden shields effortlessly, but the slow reload times put them at a great disadvantage; nevertheless the men confidently followed the orders of their decanii, and their centurions, who had told them to hold fast and await the acknowledge of the surrender.

This gave off quite the opposite show, with the Vikings throwing their weapons eagerly, shouting and pummeling on their shields, the cacophony of noise making the Triarchus somewhat uneasy, until the unexplained happen.

Screens, displays, and other devices installed along the navigation tower on the aft of the ship began to come online, it was staticy at first, but the shouts of the Optio confirmed the suspicions.

While Livia was affixed to the opposing line, the calls of the Optio pierced the air.

"Laborat! Laborat!" He shouted, while running along the deck of the trireme, shuffling his way up the tower and behind her. "Legata! Quod opera fabrica!" He shouted, before gesturing madly at the rearward tower.

"Suus 'incipiens ad operari!" Another Argosian soldier shouted, as electrical lights flickered on one by one along the trireme, casting the deck in a white glow in the early morning sun.

Livia growled, turning back towards her officer. "Nos pilo, non oportet ponere deditionem nostram." She rebuked, before gesturing back towards the navigation tower.

As the Viking ships positioned themselves, Livia was moving swiftly into the navigation tower, where displays flickered to life, and the radio crackled in Galactic common.

"This is the Soja to the Eye of Arran, please respond!"

Livia was now swelling with relief, help had arrived, and was sitting in orbit as they spoke. There were several cheers throughout the crew of the tower, they were saved, someone was coming to rescue them from the savages.

"This is Livia, we're okay down here, but we're in a little bit of a situation... We were ambushed by primitive savages on the island, they've got us surrounded and I've taken one of them prisoner... I hope to negotiate with them."

Clicking the radio, Livia held the microphone away from her face, and awaited a reply, a reply which crackled over the speakers due to the magical interference. "There's a magical barrier around the planet that disables technology; Shipmaster Velzzmkt is repelling the field in the area, but he won't be able to maintain the counter-barrier forever. If we're going to get you out, we need to do so now, I've got Falcons and a Sudden Transport en-route."

Livia heaved a sigh, and considered her next words, but they were interrupted by a shrill roar overhead, Argosians on the deck pointed upwards, this was the first show of emotion since they encountered the vikings, the stone cold discipline was broken briefly by cheers as two strange objects screamed overhead.



Every Argosian knew exactly what that was, the Type 99 Cosmo Falcon, a mid ranged attack fighter employed by the Taiyou Navy.

A brief show of force, both in solidarity to the Argosians, and in force to the opposing vikings.

Having completed it's pass, it circled around one last time, it's engines screeching a shrill whine, like a banshee, before they angled upwards, and into the skies, reaching impressive altitudes with the large Sudden Transport.

Livia could hear the commotion, and thus got on the radio once more. "Tell your fighters to stand down, keep your guns hot and await my signal, if things get nasty I'm going to want a hell of a noisy distraction so we can portal out. Hopefully it doesn't come to that; we'll be in touch. Livia out."

Clicking the radio one last time, Livia stepped out, the fighters had flown over them the moment after Hethel spoke, his alien words drowned out briefly by the roar of jet engines, it was up to interpretation, were these valkyrie smiling down on Ulfric and his men? Or were they dragons summoned by the Argosians.

Livia took a breath, and spoke aloud in Argosian, her lips formed Argosian words, but the sound that reached Hethel's ears were different, words he could understand despite Livia not speaking their language.

"Jag ska instruera mina soldater att vara lätta, de kommer inte att låta sina vapen gå. Det här är mina villkor om du vill få din vän till liv igen. Jag har ingen anledning att lita på ditt ord att vi inte kommer att bli skadade."

There was a brief pause, before Livia spoke again, and like before she spoke Argosian, but the words that carried through the air were different.

"Varför attackerade du oss?"

A great and terrible thunderous sound, like the detonation of a massive bomb, echoes throughout the land and across the seas. It is followed a short interim later by a great and brilliant flash of light so bright as to be blinding, as though the sun itself had risen from the very earth.

These abnormalities originate from the Exalted Mountains in the distance, almost like a beacon daring any and all adventurous souls to investigate the anomalies.

The Empyrean seas began to toss as something deep below began to shift.

Yukiko didn't say much, if anything as she was seated at her end of the table. She looked to the food before her, and found the smell of it revolting. She found the smells of everything in the hallway revolting. But out of politeness, she kept her words to herself, she did not take a single bite of the food in front of her, however. She simply looked at it, and then she brought her attention back to Bruce, and Sigurd as he told his story of how the place was built, listening at Bruce's Taiyou, which was mediocre at best. Yukiko spoke english fluently, as well as several other languages. This was a fact she kept to herself.

"Tell me everything I need to know to defeat my enemy,"

Takao cleared his throat, and repeated the words to Yukiko, before inclining his head. "Ōjo Heika." He added as an honorific.

Yukiko huffed, before she turned to Takao, and spoke to him in Taiyou. "These Primitives have no comprehension of our society, the vastness of our holdings, the sheer power of our civilization. There is not even the slightest chance that they could ever defeat us."

Takao swallowed hard at Yukiko's words, but Yukiko spoke up, in fluent english for Bruce to hear.

"There is no possible way for your civilization to even come close to challenging ours. I do not mean these words as to sound arrogant, or boastful." Yukiko explained, her accent just barely lilting her words, but they were clear, and easily understandable.

"This place, this world is one of an infinite number of worlds just like it." Yukiko explained. "My Civilization, the Taiyou Empire, rules, and controls millions of these worlds, across the vastness of the heavens. We have overcome, and prevailed against civilizations far larger, and more powerful than yours."

Yukiko prodded briefly at the meal in front of her, before she took another breath to speak. "With respect, Your Eminence. My brother was defeated because he is an arrogant man, and underestimated you."

She steepled her hands on the table, interlacing them and leaning forward. "I Don't know if your primitive mind can comprehend my words, it would be in the best interest of your people to release us. I might be able to convince our government to abandon any notion of a counterattack." She leaned back, and brought her gaze directly to bear on the King. "Your warriors are few in number. Every Taiyou soldier they kill, ten million take his place."

Takao didn't need to repeat Yukiko's initial words in Taiyou, since she more or less repeated them in English

"And then the Navy will come, and they will rain fire from the heavens, they will destroy this entire world, and everyone upon it from beyond the reach of even your mightiest bows. Your survival, is secured with diplomacy. This is not a war you will win." Yukiko said flatly. From her time as Empress following the coup against her father. She knew first hand the kind of power the Taiyou Armies could field. She knew that while force would not stop them, if enough of the Government could be convinced not to attack, or if the wider AXIS got involved. The Primitives here could be spared Shimizu's wrath. She knew Shimizu wouldn't hesitate to destroy the planet with her on it. It was one less competitor for the throne.

Seno didn't resist as he was taken to the tower in the mountainside. But something caught his eye, in a rock formation in the distance, he saw a single Shinobi. Or what he thought looked like a Shinobi. He would have completely missed the man in the foliage were it not for the glint of his binoculars.

When Seno looked off again, the man was gone.

The Ninja moved down the rock face with speed, and alacrity, shuffling along the rocks towards the cave entrance, where he spotted a single black veiled woman with a staff approach the cave face.

He grabbed the compound bow strapped across his back, and drew a single monomolecularly sharpened steel-carbide tipped broad-head arrow.

He lined up the sights of the bow onto the lone woman Tora, watching carefully as she moved to place her staff against the rock face.

The Shinobi loosed a single arrow, which left his bow in a muted, almost silent 'thwip', and sent the single arrow careening towards the woman's neck, his aim anticipated for her movements.

The Instant the arrow was loosed, the Shinobi was gone, scrambling into the rocks of the mountainside, and seemingly vanishing entirely.

Yukiko silently waited for the King's reply, she still had not touched a single bite of the food that had been prepared for her, she waited in silence as he considered his next words.

A single red fox perched itself upon a small cairn overlooking the ring fort, and the surrounding foliage. It's eyes watched carefully as everything started to come together. It's keen hearing picked up the shrill call of the Volva witches in the distance. It canted it's head and darted back down from the rocks, skittering across a fallen log, and scrambling up a small pine tree, it's keen eyes watching the warriors prepare their defenses.

The strange red fox darted back down into some undergrowth, and seemed to disappear entirely.

It had been awhile since she had eaten lunch, and she was hungry. Her stomach growled in protest at the food placed in front of her. The food was not unappetizing, but Yukiko was worried the food had been poisoned, or somehow had been tampered with. She grabbed the fork, unsure of how to use it at first, and then she pressed the fork into the flakey, tender fish that had been placed in front of her.

She cut a piece from the fish, and she placed it in her mouth, chewing slowly, the tastes of the fish was foreign to her, but she didn’t say anything about it for fear of offending the King in his slightest bit of hospitality.

She chewed her bite of food, and swallowed it.

“I admire your confidence.” Yukiko said calmly, in english once again. But she didn’t think the Taiyou would fight them in open battle, she knew the tactics of the generals that Shimizu would no doubt recruit to fight them. She already knew precisely the tactics they would use. Orbital bombardment followed by a ground assault. If the magical shield held, they’d be up against legions of soldiers. She didn’t doubt the strength of the magical shield, given this world’s strange magical properties.

Yukiko’s eyes followed Sigurd’s movements as he made his way over towards the doorway to the great hall, the sounds of the Mizuho’s shields repelling Thrym’s attack were not lost on the Princess.

“There is a way to stop this before the fighting starts, if you’re interested, obviously you know where to find me.” Yukiko said as Sigurd paid his respects. She slowly inclined her head in acknowledgement, and watched him as he left the mead hall.

She had accepted her death, she had accepted the fact that at any moment, the king could choose to end them both, Yukiko was not afraid of dying, and it showed in her calm demeanor. She already had a fair idea of what was about to transpire.

If the great king didn’t have them killed, the Taiyou nukes would surely ensure a swift death to them all.

She looked to Bruce, and Takao, and continued in English. “Where will I be quartered?” Yukiko inquired. “What of Seno?” She asked. “If your king releases him back to my people, they will likely hear him in negotiations, this situation does not have to come to bloodshed.” Yukiko added, before she started to go back to her meal.

---

The small red fox had seemed to disappear entirely, vanishing into the thick underbrush. Eventually the footprints in the snow disappeared it seemed, or led off into dead ends. The smaller human footprints ended in some brushy undergrowth, and there were animal tracks, several of them that led outwards from the inside of the scrub brush.


Eventually, the Harii warriors out tracking their intruder would find him. They would find a strange man standing on a small path, but the man didn’t stand out, and he most certainly didn’t appear Taiyou. His face was painted a dark brown, and he was wearing a fox’s pelt over his head, like a hood. The man’s coat also seemed to be made from thick animal furs, which would provide ample warmth in the cold climate of Iskjerne Bay.

The Pommel of a sheathed sword could be made out among the pelts, along with various leather satchels.


He didn’t seem to move, or make any overtly threatening gestures, he simply watched the Harii closely, from the looks, he seemed to have been picking mushrooms that were growing in the undergrowth of the trees.

Dibble sensed a great decline of spirit, and called upon Gaia to do something!He quickly flit over to near the ringed fortress. What was happening in the bay was horrible to a creature like Dibble. Humans were so confusing! So fickle!

A snow began to fall, for it was not Gaia who heard the call of Dibble but Eras. As the hearts of the vikings beat slower, so did time, a colder and colder wind blowing from the north harsh across the bay. Dibble curled beneath a mushroom, entering a deep slumber, the power of Zephras stronger than any mortal poison.

Time appeared to stand, the snow still in the air.

Takao peered his head out of the great mead hall to survey the bodies, this was all very strange to him, and he pulled his coat closer to try and stave off the cold.

The khroniktans cautiously moved through the bay. They ignored the cold for the most part, the minor enchantments in their armor staving off the worst of it, and inspected the deserted village. Thabo moved like a ghost, his boots leaving nary a trace in the snow or dust. Mafsha, sword drawn, poked his head into a longhouse and grimaced at the bodies.

“No wounds,” Thabo observed. “Weapons still in their scabbard. I don’t see any signs of a struggle, either. Either something killed them all at once, and quickly, or this was some sort of mass ritual suicide. Magus, are you recording this?”

“Yes, sir.” The rokin wizard said, gesturing to the orb floating at his side. “I am also detecting some strange arcane readings. There’s some sort of temporal anomaly… like a time stop spell, but it’s suffused into the atmosphere. I will do what I can to protect us from it.”

The wizard tapped his staff on the ground, and the arcanium orb mounted on top glowed with faint eldritch energy. A pulse of magic emanated from it, forming a transparent white dome around the party that kept most of the strange magic at bay.

“Sir!” Mafsha shouted, pointing towards one of the larger structures. “I think I see a survivor! He doesn’t look like any of the natives.”

“Must be our target. Approach cautiously and stow your weapons. We don’t need to spook him.”

The party of aryites, plus one rokin, slowly approached Takao.

“Hello!” Thabo said, speaking into a translator. “My name is Inquisitor Thabo of the Khroniktan Alliance. We have been sent as an extraction team for you and your Taiyou associates. We mean you no harm. Are there any more survivors?”

Snow bounced off of the Khroniktans as they moved through the bay, little frozen droplets spinning out into the air as if gravity had stopped existing. Zephras didn't seem to touch them so much as they were able to grip the rest in the bay. This angered Zephras. The bay grew colder.