As much as Henrietta didn't necessarily want to admit it, she does acknowledge the fact that moving her from the capital city of Tristain to the port town of La Rochelle sooner rather than later was simply the safer and saner option out of the ones available. After all, so far as she knows no one actually has the ability to properly track gate usage or where their exits or entrances are made short of being there and going through personally. It helps keep the enemy guessing, and the more they're forced to guess, the longer it takes for them to hash out what one's plan is and act to stop it.
It still weighs on her, however, for she is among the first to be properly evacuated to the port town. Not that too many would be able to tell immediately, however. She had ditched her royal attire prior to actually leaving, feeling that it would be better to simply blend into the increasingly large congregation of hastily evacuated citizens rather than make a scene by acting as decorum would demand. A plain skirt, a partially unbuttoned blouse, her hair done up in a ponytail, and a carefully cast water spell to hide the at times ridiculous way her hair color behaves and no one could tell if she's a commoner (unless they paid attention to her mannerisms,) a noble (acting too improper for that,) or actually the princess (lacks the proper attire and appearance.)
She had similarly dismissed her guard in a move that even she will admit is foolish. Those that were once watching her are now ensuring order in the midst of the confused, scared, milling crowds while even more people are unceremoniously gated in.
The princess sits on a bench and sighs. Between Aoi, Blake, Matilda, and Wardes, the capital city will be largely depopulated and turned into a potential deathtrap inside of a day at most. It's ultimately a huge waste of resources that will more or less require the elusive mage's assistance to undo in any reasonable timeframe, but it's an option that will hopefully help slow down the enemy even further. Tristain is an important hub town in a way, with most of the major roads leading to and from it. Taking that city will give Gallia and Germania's land forces a straight shot at La Rochelle, which in her mind means that they may prioritize taking it over trying to cut through the wilderness.
The only other thought plaguing her mind at the moment is how the border towns are faring. It's highly unlikely that they would be able to survive without assistance, and there's no telling how the invading armies will treat them. Given the tone of both declarations of war...
She shakes her head to try and clear those thoughts from her mind. There is simply no point in fretting over that when the fate of the people who are safe for the moment is so uncertain.
=-=
Vittorio isn't quite sure what to think about the way Blake had just gated into a sermon. On the one hand, the fact that he didn't even bother to check in first is nothing short of rude and disruptive. On the other, if he's not bothering to do so, then there must be a reason for it. The congregation is at least startled by the sudden arrivals, but no one has moved yet.
"My apologies for the intrusion, but it seems as though there are a few points we need to discuss. Now." The steampunk mage's mood is certainly less than ideal, while the eldest Valliere daughter is simply letting him do the talking.
The pope nods in response. "My apologies to those present, but I cannot ignore this. I will return as soon as possible."
=-=
The news couldn't have been much worse, as far as the Pope is concerned. Gallia overstepping its bounds is one thing. Germania making an uncharacteristic and coordinated move another.
Elves invading to kidnap those bearing aspects of the Holy Void is something he cannot describe properly. There are few to no words that Vittorio could utter that would properly convey the sheer level of aggravation he feels at this very moment. "We can assume that the elves will try again."
"Possibly. I killed two out of the three present, and I'm not so sure that they can bring too many more elves in without someone getting suspicious. I came here partly to get your opinion on matters." Blake doesn't even bother sitting, as it's clear that he wants to try and keep this as short as possible.
"It is impossible to tell how far they will go to accomplish their goals. Elvenkind has not attempted anything like this in my time as Pope, and if they have, I have had no word of it." Vittorio is equal parts irritated at humanity's worst enemy, and irritated at himself for not seeing this coming. The elves are an unscrupulous lot and would no doubt take advantage of humanity's infighting to further their own goals.
"I also feel the need to ask if you were able to meet with Emperor Alberch the Third or not. I know the man is less than rational at times, he should at least listen to what you have to say." Eleanor speaks, her own tone somewhat stressed given the circumstances.
"I was. I assumed that the matter was cleared up, it it appears that I was mistaken." The pope cannot help but wonder what happened, himself. "We are mobilizing our forces to aid Tristain, but I fear that it will be too little, too late."
"Both armies are on Tristain's doorstep already, and the Zerbst family has already engaged the Vallieres." Blake explains, confirming the Pope's fears.
Vittorio's expression turns utterly unreadable as he thinks. "I will do what I can. To think that we are caught out like this... Humanity cannot afford to be divided like this." He pauses for a moment before speaking again. "Sir Blake, if it is at all possible, it would be best to send a strike team to deal with Emperor Alberch directly. He cannot wield the Void, and will be the least threat to you and your partner. If it his by his will that he is attempting to eradicate Tristain, then the only sensible option is to eliminate him. This is not ideal, however."
"And the other option is to find out the truth behind his actions, I assume." The eldest Valliere crosses her arms.
"Indeed. If he has been controlled somehow, it would be better to free him. Though he is not blessed by the Founder, and his nation does not hold any aspects of the Holy Void, his nation is still part of the collective Brimiric nations." The Pope adds on. "Joseph, on the other hand, has done far too much at this point. He must be dealt with as well."
"That man is a rabid dog that needs to be put down. I hope you aren't suggesting that we save him." The steampunk mage frowns in annoyance.
"No, I agree with you. The trouble is that he wields the Void, has a powerful Void familiar, and a much stronger military. It would be wiser to gain Alberch's assistance first, if at all possible." The Pope clarifies.
A sudden beeping interrupts the conversation, and Blake pulls out his tablet and examines it. Spotting something of note, he taps the screen once before putting it away again.
"My apologies, Eleanor and I have rigged several Wind Stone nodes to detonate on command to stall the incoming armies and aerial navy. I needed to set one off." The construct actually seems somewhat amused by this development, oddly enough.
As much as the Pope would have liked to voice his thoughts on the matter, he keeps his mouth shut. Desperate times call for desperate measures, after all, but it still doesn't encourage him that the steampunk mage has the ability to destroy the nodes in such a way.
=-=
Sheffield has a commanding view of the nation beneath her, while the Jormungandr are busy destroying everything in their path with a little assistance from herself and her gargoyles. So far there hasn't been so much as a hint of resistance, which is both good news by her book and more than a little suspicious. It's no secret to her that either Aoi or Blake could appear and attack at any time, and are more than capable of decimating even a fleet of this size if they put their minds to it.
"...So why aren't they?" The Myoznitnim asks herself while narrowing her eyes. "Hm?"
Something feels decidedly off about all this.
Then a deep, powerful rumbling makes itself heard, the intensity of it growing with every passing second. She prepares a few artifacts in case she needs to prevent an attack, but this doesn't feel like anything she's experienced before. "They couldn't have..."
An explosion rocks the surface as unprecedented amounts of wind magic is unleashed all at once, the turbulent energy rapidly forming into a funnel that reaches clear into the clouds. Boulders, chunks of earth, trees, and other debris soars into the sky or is spat out at random points along the funnel. Three of the advance ships filled with gargoyles are torn apart into splinters instantly, their carcasses hurled back into the rest of the air fleet. Another two ships are demolished by them, and several more are damaged before they can even change course.
"You have got to be kidding me." Sheffield states as her shields effortlessly deflect a few smaller bits of ship that happened to be shot in her direction. "Master, we're sailing over a minefield!" She shouts over her shoulder.
She's greeted by the uproarious laughter of her master, King Joseph. "And here they are, resorting to the very tactic I wanted to use!" Though he outwardly displays mirth at the irony, he's already considering his options. "Keep our ship closer to the back lines. The rest of our airfleet consists of nothing but meatshields. Let's use them as such!"
"Understood, master." Sheffield promptly changes the formation of the Gallian airfleet while changing their course so that no more ships are lost to the cyclone. "Is there anything else to be done, master?"
"Send the elemental siblings ahead to check the capital city. If there's even a hint of evacuation, we change course to their largest port town and leave our armies to burn the capital to the ground." Joseph states simply. "It will be a shame that we won't get to see the Jormungandr tear apart the Germanians if Henrietta is as smart as I think she is, but the remains won't go anywhere."
"And the towns along the way?" Asks the servant almost needlessly.
"Destroy them all in any way you see fit, but make a show of it." Joseph's smile is wicked as he issues the order. "I want to leave a trail of ruin for the Romalians to find, and a mountain of corpses to greet them upon."
"As you wish, master." Sheffield's own mood is already improving considerably.
Then another wind cyclone erupts from the earth, tearing apart another five ships.
The Myoznitnim's eye twitches. "With. Pleasure."
