Blood & Gold

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Blood and Gold​

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(if you wish to join, pop up any time. IF you can get me an image of your colours then please do so, I'll add them to an IMGUR gallery, that or leave a link to it.)

Listing of ships:

Ships of the League​

Vixen:

Vixen - Captain: Argenta Forrest
Colours
28 Gun Frigate originating from the port of Crescentmaw in the Imperial Military Khanate of the Kingdom of Wolfsea (Modern Wolfsea)

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The crimson sails of the Lady Grey fluttered in the light breeze that swirled around the old frigate, the deck of the ship was rotting away and the sails had begun to tear, shredded by the numerous cannons that it'd come across in its days of service. The metal screws and its iron fittings were light-brown with rust, on the verge of falling apart, the feminine figurehead barely distinguishable from a ferocious sea-monster and the beautiful maiden it once appeared. The Lady Grey was a sorry state but it would not be abandoned like an aged dog. All the ship needed were funds.

Her shipmaster, Privateer Captain Johnnard Aflyr, leaned comfortably in his verdant green leather chair with his feet propped on his desk, still wearing his ghastly, torn boots, and took a puff from his cigar. On his lap sat a small pocket diary that appeared as if it'd been dropped into the ocean and left to sat for some days, he looked deeply at the smudged words that appeared to be barely legible.This didn't bother him. Johnnard continued to stare at the book with his beady eyes that sat behind some bronze-framed spectacle glasses, longingly looking for something that he'd not disclosed to a living soul. He let out a deep sigh, before looking up at the door that had just been burst open by one of the rabble.

"What." Johnnard asked, in an exhausted, peeved tone,

"Bloody scouts, de Fyryd's caught us!" the crewmember hurriedly told his captain,

"For fucks sake." Johnnard replied, slamming his book on the table before lifting his feet from the desk.

Johnnard pushed himself up from his chair forcefully, then tread through his office at an audible force. Sighing, he followed the crewmember outside of his door and only narrowly avoided being hit at full force by a cannonball, shot from Castel de Fyryd that sat on the towering, rough cliffs.

"Fine then," Johnnard quietly spoke to himself,

"So our assault on the castle has come earlier than we wanted.."
"Aren, take the mortar! You three, go man some damned cannons!" He commanded, whilst making gestures with his arms before taking the ship's wheel.

Painting of the Vasa's maiden voyage beginning at Blackwater Harbour, 1710

The white sails fluttered gently in the evening breeze. The sparkling sun was shimmering in the sky, illuminating the fluffy white clouds with a soft pink around the edges. Gustav looked around the horizon, with the tiny skyline of Blackwater city, a bustling town just a few miles away. One could clearly see the imposing arch of the Rethean church towering over the other small buildings, and the palace, astride a small hill on the southern side of the city.

Turning his eyes towards the ship once more, a great sense of pride had been instilled into his mind. He was a captain of the Vasa, one of the finest privateer ships in the world, constructed just a mere week ago jointly by his wealthy family and the Xentheridan government, to loot enemy ships, taking the many treasures of their colonies into the hands of the Xentheridans.

Over 40 cannon on the two decks provided a perfect way to defend against - and ruthlessly attack - any enemies daring to challenge the ship's might. However, the captain was fresh-faced and not yet hardened by war.

The ship finally sailed from the fringes of the harbour into the glistening expanse of the ocean. Who knew what awaited them?

It had taken days to break from the storm, far rougher than the usual in the seas surrounding their homeland, but the crew of Sakira's Sorrow had weathered it none the less. Her captain, the disgraced Lord Vyashä V'oram crouched on the very prow of the ship, immaculate white-stained boots balanced on the railings, his motley red coat streaming out behind him, lending the slender man the appearance of one of the royal hawks of his kingdom. His face was neutral as he looked out across the waters, watching the night ahead of him slowly fade as the dawn's beams bathed his back, filtering through the crimson sails, drenching the deck as if in blood. So we face west. I am thankful for this one bounty, at least. His crew worked diligently behind him, cleaning up the strewn chaos of the days and nights before.

Not many cannon stood on the deck of the junk, ten or twenty at most, as they would only weigh down the light-weight ship. However, every crew member, down to the scully boys and cook were armed to the teeth, finely crafted axes and daggers strapped alongside pistols, muskets and early rifles slung over sentry's backs and heavier weaponry racked beneath the main deck. The ship itself was once part of the royal fleet, as hardy in construction as it was beautiful. It once flew under the name of Sakira's Blessing, a homage to the spirit of fortune, though it now flew a different name, scorning that spirit and abandoning the so-called fortune she had brought.

The Fat Pigeon was actually quite lean. The ship was, like others of its time, a huge framework of wood adorned by white sails stained by seagull shit. Two masts stuck phallically up on the deck and looked like bare wooden crucifixes for a giant version of Jesus, at least when the sails were furled. Nobody tell that to Father Tschän, the ship priest, who, although he could fight and drink well, abhorred cursing and the Devil and loved the Lord. Unlike the rowdier men, Father Tschän never saw any prostitutes, except to give them late-night lessons on the Holy Book, particularly the part about Gomorrah.

Of course, the other men on the Fat Pigeon were not the crude, uncultured barbarians one would expect from pirates. The captain, Jäckel Sïlu, was a mixed-race bastard son of a Hankau gentleman, and was an avid reader when he was not disciplining the cabin boys. He loved books on pirates, soldiers, and generals, especially, and every time the Fat Pigeon crew went ashore, he would seek out the latest novels on those subjects while the others frolicked around with loose women. Nowadays Jäckel spent more time on the sea than on land, and every excursion on dry land was an excitement for not only him, but most of the lads. But after a while on land, the pining for the open water would call...

The ship crew included men -- some boys -- from all of the coastal Kannexan states. Kannex existed only as a collection of disparate, self-governing colonies that formed little rival kingdoms and paid pirateers, naturally, to steal from each other on the big seas. The men came from these states, chased off their farms by greedy landlords or, in some cases, never had homes at all and saw only the ocean as their abode. They were rowdy, scarred, and loved their drink; they sported scrunched-up faces washed with sweat and grime; wore rags that smelled of puke, blood, and piss; and all had a few more things in common: the hatred of men who wore silk and powdered wigs, Han mandarin or Teuton patrician... and the love of gold, of silver, and the willingness to kill to get their heavenly riches.

Jäckel stood with a mandarin official's cap, black fur with thin black panels extending from his ears. Jäckel stole it from a Han official from Perlbach after raiding his ship. Jäckel's second-in-command, Klaus, turned towards him with a scrunched up face, a kind one gets from staring at the sun-lit blue sky for too long. "We've an unidentified ship on starboard, Jäckel. Looks to be one of our kind."

Who could it be now...?


Attached image is not the ship described in the post.

The ship had been running in full sail since just before dawn, making good use of the strong but now more tame winds lingering after the storm. Their ship was fast, designed with the intent to outrun what it could not out gun; something its victims fathomed with great despair. 'Neptune's Hate' was originally intended for the navy, but was officially 'scrapped' along with her guns. Her sister ships would eventually replace the aging frigates created during the quasi-war with the Republic of Decem. She found her way into the crew's hands when their 'silent investor' needed to raise some capital quickly. Ever since she has been reaving and relieving the southern seas of their treasures.

Racing to resupply and offload, they're hoping to investigate the loose-lipped rumor one of the crewmembers overheard regarding a plump little target of opportunity.

The light scratching of the peacock quill was like music as the nib danced across the page, leaving a trail of ink in its wake. Captain Grieg always enjoyed the peace and quiet of his cabin in the early morning. It gave him a chance to prepare for the day's commotion on deck and afforded him time to have conversations with his friends and fellow officers. Placing the quill back into the holder he reached for his drink as he closes the log book; resuming his discussion regarding ship matters with the other officers.

"When is the 'Crimson' supposed to be out of drydock? It just doesn't feel quite right hunting without her..." Having been plucking the strings on his fiddle, the first officer paused with an unsure look on his face. "Maybe another couple weeks? Give or take?... She did take a lot of damage when we ran into that patrol near Syrixia." Continuing to pluck on the strings he trails off muttering a few choice words about that battle and the navy sailors.

A knock came at the door "Enter!" One of the cabin boys steps into the room. "Sir, the navigator reports we'll be approaching port soon." With a nod the captain dismissed him. Soon after, Grieg and his officers followed heading toward the main deck when they heard the bosun's whistle call out.

The captain had ordered the watch to call out if they spotted the Fat Pigeon since the last ship they pillaged contained whigs and silken finery bound for some dainty nobles somewhere... it really didn't matter at that point. Having a little fun before entering the port, they distributed the clothing among the crew. As commanded, while they passed 'the pigeon' the crew 'Manned the rails' costumed in their new finery and powdered wigs shaking silken hankies; giving a good ribbing to their comrades' disdain of all things silken.

The Nebulan Civil War had begun. Rebel forces under the command of the turncoat Baron Rhyos had marched on Orionus, only to be spotted about thirty miles from the city by soldiers. The Council of Lords had taken swift action to organize a defense, and the rebels were repelled.
But that had not been the end of hostilities. The Lords sent a force to attack Rhyos' castle at Andromia; this was destroyed by a surprise attack by Rhyos's men. Both sides quickly moved to secure major roads and nearby cities, but afterwards the land war quickly bogged down, marked by a series of prolonged sieges and bloody guerrilla warfare in the forests.

At the northern naval base of Etelov, the Lords began to assemble a fleet to cut shipping into rebel territory. Their intelligence, however, failed to notify them of the privateer force Rhyos was gathering, prepared for that very eventuality...

---

The Bane's hull cut through the waves like a bayonet. She was one of the larger vessels in the Navy of the Council, but by no means the largest. Well armed and with an experienced crew, she had been ordered to wipe out the rebel presence at the mouth of the Lyir River in northern Nebula. The Army of the Council required support in wiping out a particularly difficult area along the west bank, but if they could gain access to the bridges located there, they would be able to strike the rebels from an unexpected direction and push south toward Andromia Castle.
"Captain!" shouted the lookout. "There it is!"
Bane slowly turned, moving into the inlet toward the river. The rebels had dug trenches and set up rudimentary fortifications along the coastline; the Bane's cannon fire shredded them, throwing the defenders into chaos.
In the woods, army troops gathered, preparing to charge. As the Bane moved on, they attacked, shouting and firing their muskets. The rebels fled towards an old stone fort at the mouth of the river.
The fort had been abandoned for some time before the conflict began. It was old, in many places the stone crumbling. This had not stopped the rebels from hauling several cannons up to the top of the wall, however. A cannonball tore through one of Bane's sails.
Bane returned fire from her side guns as she passed. Although her cannons were too low to hit the rebels at the top of the wall, several cannonballs shattered the weak stone, and one section collapsed, taking a rebel gunner with it.
The soldiers, meanwhile, had chased the rebels to the foot of the walls, pouring through the breach and firing indiscriminately. The rebels continued to flee, and the soldiers fired at the gunners, killing them or driving them from their positions.
Bane sailed on. A massive stone bridge lay ahead, spanning the Lyir. It was this bridge that the soldiers had been ordered to take, and once they advanced past the fort there would be no stopping them from getting here. The lookout could see rebel reinforcements racing down the road a mile away, but they would be too late.
And then a cannon shot rang out, and a cannonball ripped through the rear of the Bane's hull.
"Where-" said the captain, spinning around.
And then he saw them. Two ships, both smaller than the Bane, but both armed to the teeth. Each had two flags flying: on top, a plain black pennant; below it, the green ensign of Baron Rhyos. Both ships turned to bear their side guns.
The captain realized it. It was a trap. Even if they hadn't known about the Bane, they had been prepared for someone, at some point, coming this way, and they had been ready to come and trap whatever ships came around. Even if the soldiers could secure the bridge, they wouldn't be able to hold it for long if either of those ships had reinforcements.
One ship turned its guns on the soldiers swarming over the fort. The walls began to crumble, and the soldiers were grouped together closely. They made easy targets.
Meanwhile, the other ship drew nearer to Bane, firing from her side guns. Bane was stuck in the river and could not turn around; the plan had been for her to backpedal until she had room to maneuver after the mission was complete. She was, in short, a sitting duck.
Thirty minutes later, rebel reinforcements had wiped out most of the soldiers, and the rest had fled. Bane had been damaged badly and was listing to one side. Her crew was glad to surrender to the rebel boarding party.
The privateers of the Androm Coast had won their first victory for the Baron.

Great waves rolled across the ocean, bucking the ship up and down while gale force winds slammed against the ship's sails. The first mate had ordered them to tack into the wind, but every line and beam rippled with tension as the wind threatened to tear off the mast. The crew went about their business as best they could, sparing worried glances at the mast or at Ibel.

Alsaeger Gent watched from the alcove of his cabin door as the ship first rose, and then dropped alarmingly in the swell, the bow sending up a most of ocean over the deck as it splashed down. He heard Ibel bellow out an order and another man relay it along the deck. Her voice rang out, high and clear. He couldn't see her, she was above him, but he knew she was standing at the wheel, expertly steering the vessel.

He checked his timepiece. A quarter past noon. He wondered at their position. Ibel would know, but he wouldn't ask. She understood that Alsaeger was no seaman despite being the captain, and he relied heavily on her expertise while he learned from her. He put the timepiece back in his pocket and then strode out onto the deck.

Immediately he was beset by the wind, which slammed into him and almost knocked him sideways. A cry of 'Captain on deck!' was called out and Alsaeger tried his best to look unperturbed by the gale. Ibel watched him make his way up to the wheel housing, her stern green eyes tracking him. As he ascended the steps towards her she passed off the wheel to another sailor and came and met him at the railing.

'We're still running true,' she spoke to him, leaning in close so he could hear. 'Our prey is less than a mile ahead. We've spotted her a couple times when we were both cresting. Looks like she's loaded down.'

'Whose flag is she flying?' he asked, his voice a little too loud.

She shrugged. 'The Syrixian Lion I'm sure. Gold and green, anyway. More guns and troops to Esplandia.'

He nodded and she went back to the wheel, taking control again. He stood at the railing, staring ahead and watching for any sign of their prey. The waves continued to roll and dive, the noise of the waves and wind drowning out the creaking of the lines. The Esplandians called it the Roaring Sea, an apt name between late September and early March. The sea had two inlets, one to the north and west, called the channel, and another to the east around the Anolan Peninsula. In the winter as the storms came out of the north the waters would be churned up in a constant roil, running in a circle counterclockwise around the sea. Today was worse than it normally was, even with mostly clear skies.

He caught sight of the ship a couple times, each closer than the last, but never for more than a few seconds. He wondered about the battle to come. The weather was proving to be helpful in catching the ship, but if the wind turned (which was common this time of year) then the Syrixian ship would have the advantage. He noticed furtive looks from the crew below, some suspicious ones as well. He knew what they were wondering. He looked like a Syrixian, and they thought perhaps he was. His father had been a Syrixian soldier, fighting in the conquest. He had taken an Esplandian bride home with him. His mother had been a commoner. In Syrixia she had been treated as an outsider, mostly a cold and distant attitude, though sometimes it had been hostile. Alsaeger had hated Syrixia, and eventually he came to despise his father as well. He remembered him as a cruel man, abusive. He had died a drunk. His mother died years later in a land that was not her home. Eventually he had escaped, after deserting from a Syrixian merchant ship.

He wondered for many years, looking for a place to call home. He had found it in Esplandia, the land of his mother. He gave up the name his father had given him and took up a Hastfradic name. The Esplandians, people he had come to consider his brethren, looked upon him with suspicion, but there were also those who saw him as a lost son looking to make his way home. Among those was Prince Henry de Halcón, son of King Edwin the Black. He had given Alsaeger a place amongst his men and a chance to prove his loyalty. And prove it he had, fighting valiantly and viciously against his father’s people. Now Esplandia had taken Lorragne back, and with a port in the Roaring Sea it was time to disrupt the supply lines of the Syrixian Empire. That was why he was here aboard the Ravenbelle, a man with no seafaring experience because Henry had been inclined to trust this half Syrixian to carry out this task.

Within a short time they were upon the enemy ship. As they pulled up alongside and saw the Syrixian sailors going about their business and their captain watching the passing ship warily, Alsaeger cried aloud, ‘Raise the Colors!’ The order was followed and his personal ensign began flying in the wind, a white falcon carrying a skull against a black field. Immediately after he ordered a full broadside and twelve guns boomed out their attack.

"Bah, we don't need women's clothing to look good!" shouted a Wallei cabin boy on the Fat Pigeon. The Kannexans yelled themselves hoarse upon seeing the Hate, waving and cheering and whistling in mocking admiration at the colorful-clad pirates on the other ship. A few were rolling on the deck laughing, but Jäckel, as a captain, permitted himself only to enunciate a hearty chuckle. Father Tschän shook his head and tutted, "What silly, silly men," but betrayed a mischievous smile.

The nearest port, the Nest, as the Fat Pigeon men liked to call it, served ships of every flag and every color. Pirates of all stripes and nations gathered at that island off the coast of Perlbach Province to drink, trade, whore, and simply stretch their legs after weeks at sea.

A wealthy friend of Jäckel, a mentor and retired thief, had funded the construction of the Fat Pigeon. The ship was purpose-built for the very purpose of stealing others' hard-earned gold, silver, and wares and outrunning the law. The name, the Fat Pigeon, had come from the predecessor, a ship that had been used by a pigeon fancier. Jäckel had all the pigeons released into the sky above Manhatt harbor... a few years later, the filthy city would get even shittier.

At any rate, to commemorate the old ship, the new ship shared the same poetic name.

A woman sat on the end of the jetty. The view was spectacular, giving full sight of the city's port, famed for its bustling markets and the grandeur of the colossal ships which anchored within it each day, and the palace that overlooked the endless plazas and parks that crowded every corner and nook of Kam. The seagulls and ravens danced in the sky, fluttering their wings and singing their songs as the golden sun fell below the horizon at a slow pace, filling the sky with a hundred shades of lilac and gold, that also glowed on the underside of the clouds and reflected off of the crystal water that quietly rippled in the slight breeze.

In the distance, she could see an almost-colossal congregation of people at the foot of the castle walls, the crowd glowed. It was the Festival of Re's Light. Each year, the unwavering amount Rethenists in Kam released glowing lanterns into the skies, an offering for her lady Rethea, whose light was once 'taken' from her by her selfish sister Astarial. Though exclusive to Kam, believers from all across Cronaal travelled to the city to release their light into the heavens, the infinite skies. The woman cared little for the beliefs and lies, but she held the tradition to heart and joined them in releasing a lantern into the sky each year, though she did this in private. They found solace and peace in doing this.

Soon the skies filled with a glowing orange as hundreds, no, thousands released their loving embrace into the infinite above. The lanterns drifted past the hundreds of towers and spires that stood high above the streets, an attempt of the hundreds of churches in Kam to show their might and dedication to their gods, be they obscure or common. Despite the woman's stature, and reputation, she could not help but look up in awe at the lights that floated and drifted further and higher into the sky, whilst readying herself to release her own light.

The breeze lifted her pathetically small lantern up, letting it join those alike it in the sky.

FROM THE NEBULAN RULING COUNCIL OF LORDS​

To The Monarchies and Feudal States of Eve:

Recently our Government, the true Governing Body of the Watching Nebula, has come under Attack by a rebellious force under a Turncoat Baron. This Rebel Army poses a threat to the existence of all Aristocratic states within our Region of Eve, and should they seize power they shall do everything they can to Destroy them, from Within or Without.

We hereby call for Aid in the destruction of the Rebels, and in securing our position as the Rightful Government of the Watching Nebula.

Signed,
Lord Onix of Orion
Lord Emera of Lyir
Lord Rubory of True Galacta
Lord Tourmil of the Rerev
Baron Saphir of the Formorn
Baron Marbel of Sealand
Baron Coril of the Greater Island
Duke Ize of the Lesser Island​

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FROM THE ANDROMIAN AND GALACTAN REBELLION AGAINST THE LORDSHIP​

To the Free States and Peoples of Eve:

Recently it has become Necessary for the People of the Watching Nebula to overthrow the Ruling Council of Lords. This Council poses a Threat to the existence of Freedom within our Sector of Eve, and without their Destruction they will try their best to stamp out Liberty of all People, Nebulan or otherwise.

We hereby call for Aid in the Destruction of the Lords, and in securing our position as the Rightful Government of the Watching Nebula.

Signed,
Baron Rhyos of Andromia
Crysokol Malachit of the Merchant Guild
Enteri Volcan of the Government of Free Galacta​

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"We have seized an enemy vessel at the mouth of the Lyir," a messenger reported. "The enemy attack there has been repelled. The Lords did not expect us to have any sort of naval force ready to counterattack."
"Excellent," said the Baron. "How long will it be until Captain Kard is ready to bombard Cape Tusk? We need either a direct land connection or a secure water route to the Duchy or the Duke's forces will fall."
"Captain Kard says that he will be ready as soon as his men repair the enemy vessel- it was badly damaged in the fighting. Once that is complete he will take four ships to commence bombardment."
"Thank you. You are dismissed."
The messenger saluted proudly and left.
Rhyos turned back to the table. At it sat four other men: Crysokol Malachit, a representative of the Merchant Guild; Enteri Volcan, a military official from the recently declared government of Free Galacta; Commander Ren Stoln, head of the Baron's army; and Admiral Palescar, the most successful and influential privateer in Nebulan waters. Every one of them was vital to the success of the rebellion, Rhyos knew, but without Palescar gathering thirty or so privateer, pirate and mercenary vessels from around the Seran islands, the entire thing would have fallen apart quickly.
Stoln spoke first. "Hopefully Kard's ships can clear out the coast, or we'll never get the road secured. That's Ize's territory, and he's the most ambitious one of the Council. He's got a lot to gain from playing his cards right in this war, and he knows that if he loses the coast road, he's in trouble."
"Why not just ferry men across in the ships?" asked Malachit. "We'd lose the occasional force, sure, but the cost compared to that of taking the road seems small."
Palescar opened his mouth. "We can't spare the vessels. The Lords' navy outnumbers us by a factor of three to one, and we can only seize so many ships. Even if we could afford to take the risk, our ships aren't big enough to carry a significant force."
"Isn't there a shorter road that runs straight through the farmfields?" asked Volcan. "Right here, on the map?"
"We'd have to batter Ize's castle to the ground," said Stoln with a snort. "It's close enough to that road that we couldn't leave it unsecured without him sending out men to harass the convoys. And we need naval support."
"Without protection, our merchant ships will never make it back to port. We need that naval support to keep the supplies coming in," said Malachit, and the argument continued...

Captain Kard's force left port from the Lyirmouth docks a week later. With him were four ships: the Bane, now renamed Tydirium after the Galactan city where Kard grew up; the Enterprise, an old merchant ship that had been converted to combat duty and placed under his command; and his own two vessels, Falcon and Wild Kard. The ships reached the tip of Cape Tusk and began to turn southwest, into the wind.
"Ships ahoy!" the lookout aboard Tydirium yelled, looking through his spyglass. "They're flying the Lords' flag!"
"Prepare for battle!" shouted Kard.
Sailors raced around on the decks, preparing the cannons and securing the rigging and sails. Muskets, pistols, and sabers were checked. The rowers hauled harder on their oars.
Soon the ships were visible with the naked eye. Kard could see that there were about five of them, moving north in a cluster. They would likely intercept if both groups stayed their course.
At Kard's order, Tydirium hoisted the Lords' flag that had been captured with Bane and the rest pulled down their colors. The men aboard went back to pretending to do mundane tasks, but they all kept their weapons nearby. Soon the other ships were just half a mile away.
"Closer," ordered Kard. "We need to act as though we're a patrol. Stay calm and don't fire until I give the signal."
"The cannons are loaded, sir," his first mate said.
"Good."
A minute later, the ships were at their closest. Tydirium was about to cross the first one's bow when Kard screamed, "Fire!"
The rebel ships fired a broadside. The nearest ships were devastated and the further ones damaged. Kard could see that only two of the five were warships- the others looked like cargo or merchant vessels. None of them were ready to deal with four pirate vessels bearing down on them.
"Board them!" Kard ordered. Grappling hooks thunked into the hull of the nearest cargo vessel and pulled it in close. Kard's men leaped from ship to ship, drawing swords and firing muskets. Soon the ship was secure, and the rest followed the same way.

It had been a successful mission, thought Kard, as his impromptu task force pulled in at Lyirmouth. Three enemy ships captured, two sank, and two boatloads of cargo in his hands as well. The bombardment of the coast had been fairly anticlimactic after the naval battle, but it had been done, and he stood to make money off of the captured cargo, as per the agreement Palescar had negotiated with the Baron (captured ships go straight into the fleet, captured cargo is sold to the rebellion for full value, supplies are bought by individual captains at reduced price). Hopefully he'd get a chance to sleep on solid ground again tonight.

He had no idea of the surprise the rebel command had in mind for him...

The city bells tolled out, greeting the new morning, as the Ravenbelle sailed into the harbor of Lorragne. The Esplandians had regained the city two years before but the scars of fighting could still be seen. The old walls along the western side of the city had scaffolding along its length as masons and engineers worked to rebuild. The old keep was mostly still in ruins, but a large battery had been built atop the old temple hill, looking out over the eastern approach as well as the bay.

The crew was much relieved to be back home, and eagerly disappeared into the town as soon as the ship had been berthed. Alsaegar couldn't blame them. They had been out for over two months. Ibel chose to stay with the ship, and so he found himself trudging up the streets towards the old keep.

He found the city to be far more busy than when he'd left, with more merchants and laborers, as well as more troops. He stopped a couple times to discuss current news with some of the city folk, and found that the fighting in the north had once again come to a standstill. Many expected King Edwin to shift his forces south once again.

He arrived at the keep and presented the insignia of Prince Henry to the door guard and was promptly let in. He was instructed to find he Duke of Lorragne in the guardsroom next to the north tower. Sedgwick de Fleur, Duke of Lorragne and Count of Lorragne, was an old man. He had been Duke when the duchy had been lost to the Syrixians and had lived to see his duchy restored. He was descended from the very first Duke of Lorragne and hero of the War for Independence, Godwin Chadwick de Fluer.

When Alsaegar entered, the Duke cordially greeted him. The old Duke was outspoken in his distrust of Alsaeger and his parentage, but since the half-Syrixian had the favor of the prince he proved to be cordial, though perfunctory so. Alsaegar delivered his report, giving a full accounting of the number of ships taken or sunk. The Duke listened intently.

'Six ships in the last two months,' de Fluer asked. Alsaegar nodded. 'That puts you in the middle of the pack. Everyday more vessels arrive carrying fighting men for the Syrixians.'

'With all due respect, my lord,' Alsaegar responded, 'My mission was to ascertain their shipping routes, those six ships were all sunk on our return home.'

The Duke read through the notes he'd taken as the report was given. He shuffled between them before looking up. 'Their main shipping routes are through the Roaring Sea, pass the Anolan Peninsula. I could have easily ascertained that information myself.'

'That is their main route to reach here, but they have extensive shipping routes much closer to home. If we want to hurt them, then we must strike closer to the source.'

'There is no port for Esplandians that far away, no where to put in should things go array. We don't have a navy to match the empire's.' The Duke leaned in towards Alsaegar, his eyes lighting up with some brilliant idea. 'I do however, know where a port can be acquired, and I think your just the man to do it.'

"Admiral?" Kard spluttered. "You want to promote me to admiral?"
"Yes," said Admiral Palescar. "You will still take orders from me, but instead of running a ship or a small group you will be in command of a sizable fleet of warships: Wild Kard, Tydirium, Falcon, Enterprise, the warship you captured-"
"Tibanna," said Kard automatically, still stunned.
"Yes," said Palescar. "Captain Calrisian has agreed to join your fleet, so you will also command his five-ship force."
"And our goal would be what?" said Kard.
"We require your fleet- the largest single group of ships flying the Baron's ensign since the man's great-grandfather seized the Androm Coast from the minor dukes that ran the slave trade in Galacta- to secure the shipping routes around the entirety of Nebula."
"With a ten-ship task force?" Kard sneered. "Impossible unless those pennypinching bastards in the Merchant Guild are willing to finance another twenty or so ships, or our friends in Free Galacta are willing to risk their entire fleet to help us out here."
"Neither of those things have happened at this point," conceded Palescar. "But... well, come take a look."
Intrigued, Kard followed Palescar out of his study and around the back of the tower, where a window looked over the port of Andromia. Ever since the civil war started, the port had sat mostly empty, occasionally seeing a rebel fleet or a few merchant cutters.

But that was not the sight that met Admiral Kard.

Six proud frigates, once merchant ships, sat at the docks. Men swarmed across them, mounting cannon in the sides of the ship and a forward gun at the bow. Each one was the size of Wild Kard and, to Kard's trained eye, looked capable of pretty good speeds.
Hovering nearby were two small corvettes, both of them already armed and ready for combat. Deckhands loaded supplies up the ramp and belowdecks.

Kard, however, found his gaze drawn to the massive ship-of-the-line sitting proudly apart from the others. It was not quite complete, he could see; one of the masts was still being assembled. Even as they watched, the laborers hauled the massive piece of lumber into position and secured it.

"How did the Baron get his hands on these?" asked Kard.
"The frigates were donated to the cause by the Merchant Guild. Why I don't know. I suspect the Baron engaged in a bit of blackmail- threatening to let it be known that the Merchants had taken a side to twist their arm. Most of the Guild still needs their naval clearance to get in and out of our waters. The corvettes were loaned by Free Galacta- the war up there is going a lot more smoothly. It's only a matter of time before they catch Lord Rubory on his way to or from a Council meeting and then the jig's up."
"What about the other one?"
Palescar's expression was a mixture of pride and smugness. "One of Lord Onix's capital ships. We managed to get access to the shipyards at Sluivan. Our agents on the ground managed to escape in this one after destroying or sabotaging most of the others."
"How come I didn't hear of this?"
"We want to make sure that word doesn't get out about it. We can't afford to compromise our spies in Sluivan and so the documents we've allowed to fall back into the Council's hands suggest that this one was taken from a shipyard in True Galacta by the Free Forces. Never mind that it's a bit bigger. The only ones who know that we captured this one specifically wouldn't know it by the time we're done. Our counterintel teams are giving indication that this one was sunk in a storm after drifting loose during the Sluivan raid."
"What about the ships in Galacta that this one supposedly is? Are those real?"
"Yes, and their capture is the reason Free Galacta can afford to loan us a few corvettes. They'd be in no position to lend us anything were it not for their timely surprise attack."
"And all of these will be under my command?" asked Kard.
"Yes. There are a few more Galactan corvettes elsewhere in the country, by the way, but they've been assigned to smaller task forces with the intent of harrying the coasts, as you once did."
"And the enemy fleet is going to take this lying down?"
"No, but their forces are badly split. Lord Rubory has demanded that securing safe passage from the Nebulan coast to Galacta must be a priority, and so the Lords of the North must waste ships on aimlessly patrolling their coasts or throwing them out into the ocean where our ships can easily intercept them. This will not be your job."
"Then what will my job be?"
"Your fleet's task is to hunt down the remainder of the enemy vessels. They are scattered around the rest of Nebula and their goal, so far as our agents can determine, is to cut the shipping lines into the cities that we hold. Despite the drain on ships in the north it won't be long before they have the resources to initiate a full-out blockade on our southern cities, and at that point we'll be in serious trouble. We need you to hunt down and destroy the enemy patrols on the south coast so that we can establish our holdings in the south."
"Do we have any intel about how many ships they have down there?" Kard asked.
"Our spies have indicated the presence of maybe 50 ships down there, but we can't be sure."
"There is no way I am taking on fifty ships with this task force," said Kard bluntly.
"You won't have to fight them all at once," said Palescar. "They're spread along the entire southern coast. You won't have to worry about more than ten at a time- they're not expecting us to field a serious fleet like this."
"When do I leave?"
"Tomorrow."