The Spire that survived

The battle of the dunes was a perpetual conflict. Like the ebb and flow of ocean waves hitting on a beach front, one side would crash across the sandy battlefield only to be beaten back or overrun entirely, leaving no survivors to be remembered. They were all gone, the greatest of them and the most powerful of them. Driven from one forefront to another they've won countless victories across the land below to lay witness to the legendary juggernaut. Only one was left to see it. A relic, no, a jewel of the old age. It was to be the masterpiece that ended a great war fought immemorial. With it's fatal fall, it did exactly that.

But what was the point of it all? It was never meant to be this way. What can a lone Spire do now, so far away from home?

Having hailed from the lands east within the Chaladonian borders, they were to be a small specialised fleet journeying across into the northern fjords and fight through into the Burren where Icarus once took flight and then return home rich from technology and materials from the mysterious labyrinth. But as all great plans go, they changed.

The baronies had proven to be a little more difficult than expected. Having brought along the full might of the Chalodonian order's elite in Galleon form, manoeuvring through the fjord baronies' defences had proven to be a rather clunky affair. Their forward vanguard was forced to draw fire from the locals as the Galleon and Spire retreated north. Flying circles around the enemy ships awhile, as they popped balloon and shredded hull with flame and fletchette, they bought time but no glory.

Meanwhile the retreat north was rife danger, with the Spire holding no power to stop the capturing of the Galleon as it was overwhelmed by brigands. Upon meeting up with their comrades south, the stink of their cowardice was pungent in their excuse-ridden breath.

"There were too many."

"Our guns could do nothing."

"The Galleon charged into the fray where we could do follow, lest we be of their kind of folly."

Giving chase northwards once more into the Firnlend. The fight over Firnfeld was a sordid two tier affair. Getting the Galleon back was a simple enough a task. Brought from fighting the mighty Galleon, the brigands were mere morsels in the bloody feast to come. However, the crew, the very commanding officers of their fleet were captured in one of their ships. Shooting down the would be... problematic to say the least. Treasonous would be another way to put it.

So instead they stalked the Anglean raiders, across the Firnfeld as they pillaged and ravaged villages and settlements. With each raid the Chalodonians saw the plight of the simple savages below. Having lost everything over and over, they were starved and dying and with little means to do anything about it. Kindness was exchanged and eventual revenge was had.

In the coming days, allies were made, spies, saboteurs and the like. They whisper into the ears of both friend and foe. Taking both instruction and giving information, for mutual betterment of both. Their officers were alive and a chance to barter for them was within reach. The Anglean raiders respected strength most of all. And there was discontent on the glutting of the meagre offerings the Firnfeld locals gave in... sport.

Captain Horatio De Mentio of the Spire of the order of Chalodia, fervent from his shame, albeit bitter in the knowledge of his lack of fault in judgement, wished to redeem his crew in the eyes of the order. A challenge was proposed to the savages that held their leaders captive.

A challenge for leadership. A promise for adventure and riches. An amusing prospect for sport.

The battle was a simple one decided with a one on one duel. But only in word. The leader cared not for the honour Chalodonians held so prominently. And so in secret he sent forth two of his ships as a vanguard to rip Horatio's ship to shreds. Having fully expected this however, the Goldfiish and Squid made quick work of disabling them, opening up the path to the raid leader's flag ship. The Galleon of Horatio's officers.

Taking no amusement from this insult, he took his ship's mercury field gun onto his own hands and pulled the trigger. With a highly penetrating explosive shell, the last the raid leader saw was the eye that looked upon him and killed him as the man on the helm exploded into a red splatter across the deck.

The opposing ships and the opposing crew quickly surrendered and offered themselves in fealty. But with rescue of Lueosi and his ilk, the decision was made apparent to not be Horatio to make.

They left the Firnfeld, with no one to remember that they were ever there. For Horatio's treachery, Lueosi promised a reckoning upon their return. Though, he promised the Spire caprain a chance to redeem himself, should he be helpful in making their homecoming a glorious one.

Eastwards, ever eastwards. Past the Baronies, beyond the Burren and into the wastes. Across the flayed hill, meeting the Yeshan Empire upon the field of battle. Despite their orders, the Galleon Elite never intended to merely scavenge the Labyrinth. Powering southwards, it was made very clear what the goal was all along.

The great Juggernaut at the heart of the Arashi League. But to get there, the fleet would need to defeat the Yeshans first.

Great innovators of the aviation world, many of the designs of their very own ships mimicked the Yeshans own. The Red Sepulcher, also known as the Flayed Hills was where everything began. Where disaster begged an audience with the holy Galleon of Chalodonia.

Being far away from home and having used much of the resources they both started with and plundered, as well as following in the lead of a rather... driven leader, things were not going to plan. With a single fatal decision stakes had become high. Whoever they met on these hallowed hills had to be dealt with there and then, or risk an outright declaration of war with the Yeshan empire as they flew carelessly and violently in Yeshan lands under Chalodonian flags.

This whole trip was only meant to be a mission to aid the war effort against the lands stolen by the Baronies. To be instrumental in creating an alliance with a great power like the Yeshans unto their enemies... the cataclysm that would take place could very well destroy everything they've loved and worked towards.

This was a battle they had to be won, and damn what the officers say. Name him coward, or traitor or even a baron's bastard.

He knew in his heart he was no fool to follow into anymore folly. When everything was done and in the dust, he and his Spire would not be.