Throne of Steel

Chapter 3 - Dumb Luck

"Now that you understand the situation, it's about time we discuss how to move forward." Goreblade had led the Commander and Rytlock back to the Perimeter Loop where he and a lot of his officers passed around documents and maps "First off to get any misunderstandings out of our way, I'm guessing you two didn't just come here to pay a visit."

Rytlock shrugged. "I came here to check on the situation in Ascalon, I haven't forgotten my duty."

Goreblade turned to the Commander. "And I'm assuming you're here to negotiate relations going forward between Kryta and the Citadel."

"I can, but I came here with two other things in mind."

"So? Until we get some clarity on what's going on with Smodur, I'll take it upon myself to try relaying all things diplomacy. What's Kryta's new standing on the Citadel?"

"I don't see any reason for hostilities between us, as long as you don't make any draconic demands like relinquishing large amounts of land."

"Peace without sweeping changes? Fair enough, the final word is with the Imperator but it seems fine by me. So what were those other two things? For now, we have some time to address minor concerns."

Rytlock stopped him right there. "'Some time' until what? What's the plan with Garadin? How are we going to stop the Flame Legion?"

The other tribune sighed. "Right into the nitty-gritty. Here we go, I guess. Gearclaw, one of the Ascalon maps." An Iron legion officer passed him a small map covering almost all of Ascalon, ending only in the vast barren expanses to the east. Goreclaw pointed at a region in Fireheart Rise, the region where the Citadel of Flame once stood, before the Commander brought the Pact along to destroy it.

From here, he outlined a curved path starting northwards past a mountain range and then west. "The Flame Legion's forces march with a lot of troops spread around their main force in the middle, bringing along a lot of vehicles and carts with tools for their rituals. Their advance is slow, but steady. All our outposts, even the castra fail to stop them. We have a few moles in their ranks, but as far as I know, they haven't found out what their big new weapon is, only that there is one. One of them even said she saw Imperator Garadin take out several Iron Legion warbands single-handedly, without the help of any of his men."

"How does he do that?"

"No idea, we lost contact with her since. Their new army is getting constant reinforcements from the east while our numbers are shrinking. If they can put the Citadel under siege, I don't think we'll last."

"If we can get a message to Lion's Arch, we could enlist the aid of the Pact. As Commander of the Pact, I should hold enough sway to get Trahearne to co-sign fighting the Flame Legion once more."

"Air superiority would help. But in times like these, I'm not counting on anything I can't force myself. So I don't plan to let Flame Legion surround the Citadel. We've got to stop them before they get here. Siegeblast! Come here!" He waved for another Charr to join them.

With lighter steps and his head kept down even more than the already hunched-forward ones around him, a Charr with wide, curved horns joined them at the improvised throne. "Brimstone, Commander, this is Chief Engineer and Centurion Varrock Siegeblast. Siegeblast, how are preparations coming along?"

"Centurion?", Rytlock asked. "How does someone I've never heard of make Centurion?"

Varrock bowed his head slightly to both new wore loose, layered leather armor covered in pockets, some of which had pieces of small weapons or tools hanging out. Even when bowing, that confident smile of his never left his face. "Tribune Brimstone, Pact Commander, it's an honor. We're bringing out the mortars and the wheeled cannons later today for one last drill, after that, we're good to go."

Goreblade turned back to the visitors. "Siegeblast came up with a plan to intercept the Flame Legion with an ambush. A simple diversion tactic, scaled up to match their whole army. Hit them once but hit them hard. He'll be leading a convoy out of the city with all our siege machines, mortars, artillery, wheeled cannons, everything heavy that takes more time to transport."

He continued pointing at a few close-together positions on the map. "He'll sneak them ahead and take position right here." He pointed at the eastern edge of Diessa Plateau, an entire region elevated over the Iron Marches to the east. "While all our heavy weaponry is trained on the western edge of the Marches, we pursue them, strike at one troop of the Flame Legion's vanguard to provoke a retaliatory attack, and then lure them back right up the slopes. Giving our siege machines a clear shot and even if by some miracle they survive all of it, we have the high ground and can run them down easily."

Rytlock wasn't as confident in Goreblade's comparably simple plan. "That's nice and all, but what if they don't take the bait?"

"They've been taking every fight they could and it's been victory after victory for them. With the kind of momentum they have, I doubt they'll let a chance like this slip by."

"And why are we sending out heavy siege weaponry without a heavy army to guard it?"

"That's where Siegeblast earned his rank as Centurion. The Renegades and Separatists have geared up and grown their ranks the same time the Flame Legion did. They hit all of our recon units. Even Ash Legion's covert setups for mortars were all exposed to the enemy and taken down. For a while the Citadel was completely blind. Thankfully, Siegeblast has a network of scouts of his own that got us a lot of valuable intel. Ever since, he's been our eyes in the field."

Varrock pointed at a far-away Charr with his thumb and added: "I've long suspected that the enemy has moles in Ash Legion. If there's Ash Legion Charr supplying the Renegades with intel on their movements, it's no wonder all the Citadel's recon is crippled. Secrecy is key in this, so I made an alternative that holds true to that. No-one knows its members, no-one knows where they are, no-one knows what they do, the only intel that gets out is what I pass onto Tribune Goreblade. I have eyes posted all over the regions surrounding our convoy's destination. No-one can move even small troops a major distance without me catching wind ahead of their arrival. There will be no surprises, I can promise you that."

"I guess you have it all figured out then." Rytlock audibly didn't like putting blind faith in a sudden up-and-coming Centurion he knew nothing about, but he resigned to letting things be for lack of a better option. His eyes narrowed and he pointed right at the engineer. "I'll hold you to that promise."

"You have my blessing to, " was all Varrock had for an answer.

"Now that our plans going forward are gotten over with." The Iron Legion tribune excused Varrock and turned to the Commander. "What else did you come here for? Since neither of you knew about the situation here, surely you had other reasons."

"One major reason, possibly two. I primarily came here to investigate the murder of Queen Jennah. I have reason to believe the ammunition used in her assassination came from a factory in the Citadel." The Commander had brought with him one of the bullets from Nebb's lab and now saw fit to place it on the table.

The Tribune picked it up and inspected it from several angles. "Yep. I'm not sure about the front end, but beside that, this does look standard issue for Citadel sniper ammunition. We can get this out of the way right now. Brimstone, can you hold the fort?"

"Sure, I'll just keep anything they pass over here in one place."

While the Commander and Tribune Goreblade strolled down the ramps and catwalks towards the forges and factories hidden away behind some of the public manufacturing halls, the Tribune asked him: "You mentioned there might be something else besides that lead, what else is there?"

"That's nothing important, I didn't know the situation was as dire as it is when I first came here."

"We're waiting on Siegeblast to move out and get a head-start. If there's any smaller things to wrap up, the time for that is now."

"All right. You are aware of Destiny's Edge, right?"

"Brimstone's old guild? Sure."

"I suggested to one of his old guildmates that we should get them back together and see if other regions had problems similar to Kryta. He thought it'd be better if I made my own guild instead."

"So to put it bluntly, he turned you away. And now you're going from Destiny's Edge to Destiny's Rejects."

"I don't think I'll be calling it that. Nonetheless I thought if I'm already traveling to the Citadel, a densely populated place far away from Kryta might be a good starting point looking for volunteers."

"You got any idea what kind of volunteers you're looking for?"

"Not really…" He was dumbfounded, having had little thought put into what kinds of qualities he was even looking for here. "Wherever we wind up going, we'll probably run into a lot of danger. So it should be someone who can hold their own and survive without holding everyone back. But at the same time, I can see you're pressed for numbers, I don't want to deprive you of valuable manpower."

The Tribune scratched his chin. "Hm…so you're looking for people that can get through tough situations without a scratch and who we wouldn't miss if they left."

"I suppose…why?"

Goreblade put on a toothy grin. "I think I know someone right up your alley." He stopped and called for a nearby soldier who was sitting on a bench, assembling his rifle. "You! Run up to central command and pass a message to Centurion Gearclaw. Tell him to set up a minefield for a defusing drill in the usual place outside the Citadel. Full scale for a proper drill but he isn't to schedule an actual drill, it's for private use only. And tell him to bring along the sideshow."

He just resumed his path to the factories leaving the Commander rather befuddled. "A full scale minefield for private use?"

"You'll understand when we get to that part. First things first, let's see to those bullets."

Canton Factorium got its name from the many factories tirelessly producing weapons and ammunition from within the shadow of the perimeter above. Here, blocks of various metals recycled within the great smelter on the opposite end of the Citadel were reused to support the legions' wasteful usage of hard-forged equipment.

The fires of the ovens powering the machinery down here filled the factories with an oppressive heat, rendering even the act of entering them a discomforting task on its own. And the dark, rusted and uniformly built walls separating the different halls gave those unfamiliar with them no avenue navigating between the very samey production lines. All areas not designated for crates that were to be filled or emptied as part of some manufacturing process were littered with piles of scraps of either broken tools or bungled products that no-one had bothered to remove.

Along hand-operated conveyor belts, racks of would-be ammunition for firearms of different sizes were passed through lengthy rooms with Charr lining the sides, each operating blowtorches or other more specific contraptions. Each engaged in their respective routine tasks repeated over and over again for every rack that came through.

The Tribune appeared to seek out one such hall in particular and once they reached it, he walked right up to a foreman looking over his assigned production line. Upon spotting him, the foreman saluted, having to shout to even be heard over the noise of the machines and ovens surrounding them: "Tribune Goreblade. I apologize for the mess, I wasn't aware a visit was imminent."

"That need not be a concern. Foreman Searsplinter, this is the Commander of the Pact. He's investigating the murder of Queen Jennah and we believe you can help him in this investigation."

"Of course, how can I be of service?" The Tribune handed him the sample bullet the Commander had brought. After examining it briefly, he concurred: "I see why you came here. You're thinking it's a local make." It was noticeably the same type of bullet manufactured right behind him.

"It's our best guess at this point. He will need a list of all your customers. Small-scale, bulk, any purchases large enough to supply a small amount of sniper rifles."

The foreman became nervous and scratched his head. "My apologies. Compiling an inventory of who we sell to might take a while."

"That's all right. If the Commander is willing to stay to help us with local concerns, he'll be here long enough for you to finish putting that list together as well."

With that out of the way, they paced back out of the fiery depths and onto the brittle earth of the ground-level canton. "So much for that. I'll arrange for free lodging for your stay while you wait. Putting a good word in with the Pact is enough help, but I speak for the legions if I say I'd appreciate you joining our ranks when we move out the main force."

"Of course. I'm only one person, but I'll gladly help. The Flame Legion taking the Citadel would be disastrous."

The Tribune smiled and nodded. "Very good. Every bit helps. Now, let's see how that defusing drill is coming along."

As they wandered back up the catwalks to the upper roads, the Commander pressed him on where exactly this was going. "So what is the defusing drill for?"

"To demonstrate to you what our little sideshow can do. When you told me what qualities you were looking for, she was the first person I could think of. Her name's Rokka Shortfuse. But most people shorten it to 'Rox'. Fumbled through every discipline from the Fahrar all the way to even entry-level drills in adulthood. She's a lousy shot with virtually every ranged weapon from bows to rifles, pistols and even heavy artillery. For close combat, she's about as 'strong' a fighter as you can expect HER to be. And she's very clumsy so every position in engineering or manufacturing is a no-go. People have tried that and a lot of valuable machinery was completely destroyed in the process."

"So what exactly is she good at?"

"Surviving. I don't know how many lucky charms were involved in her conception, but she has a habit of getting through pretty much anything thrown at her without a scratch. You can set up a gauntlet with death traps, mines and even Charr firing at her from close range and she will just trip and fall in the exact way she needs to in order to dodge everything without getting hit. At several points her instructors thought she was a genious pretending to be inept just to amaze people when they didn't expect it. But there were too many cases where she obviously wanted to succeed at something and simply failed. Eventually, we just started using her in lieu of an explosives expert, because she can trip up any number of mines without suffering any injuries whatsoever."

"So you're saying she's…very lucky?"

"Either she's extremely lucky, or she's even better and more dedicated to faking incompetence than anyone could believe. We've since exhausted all the minefields set up between skirmishes with Flame Legion outposts, but from time to time when there's someone who doesn't know her yet, we set up a minefield for her just to show that we're not making this up."

"And that's what that drill is for?"

"Yep. If there's one single Charr in the Citadel you will never have to worry about putting in danger, it'll be her. Whatever it is you might get into, I can guarantee you she'll be fine."

In the vicinity of the shooting range north of the cattle farms around Smokestead, there were ranges with target dummies set up for training in several disciplines. Among them, there was one fenced-off area, lined with painted-over metal plates saying things like "DANGER, DO NOT ENTER!" or "MINEFIELD, BEWARE!".

Several Charr were gathered at the open gate and saluted upon seeing the Tribune arrive with the Commander. Among them was one female Charr with a very conspicuous and out-of-place appearance. Her snout was more flat, her spotted brown fur was shorter and much more smooth. Her eyes were grotesquely large and her pupils were so wide, one could actually see them without squinting unlike with most Charr the Commander had seen. Overall her face looked less like that of a cheetah or a lioness and more like that of an ordinary house cat, or with those strands of fur hanging off the sides of her face, a lynx. This impression was only mitigated by the fangs hanging out of her closed mouth and the two pairs of horns pointed forward, though the lower pair on the sides of her cheeks was abnormally small as well. Her clothing bore the Blood Legion's typical shade of red along with modest leather wrappings covering her torso, legs and upper arms.

Goreblade pointed at that exact Charr and said: "There's the star of the show. Keep your eyes peeled, Commander. I doubt you'll believe it unless you see it with your own eyes. Shortfuse, are you ready?"

The deformed Charr looked very unsure about all this "As ready as can be. Do I really have to do this?"

"How many injuries have you endured in any of the last fifty-one times we've done this?"

She hung her head down and sighed. "None."

"See? I don't think there's much to worry about." If Goreblade's confidence was anything to go by, then she had nothing to fear, but the Commander could see why she had reservations. She was treated as little more than a freakshow, presented to her audience of one as a carnival would with a midget or a bearded lady.

"Here we are…" the Tribune began as they closed in on the fence. A few Iron legion Charr finished up closing the last hole in the ground, burying one of many mines set up within the perimeter. "Since I called for Shortfuse, they knew I wanted it to be thorough." As the engineers carefully backed out through the gate, the star of the show sighed, carrying a shovel in one hand and a small tool case in the other.

If there was a last chance to stop this, that time was now. So the Commander asked Goreblade one more time: "Are you absolutely sure about this? If she isn't prepared for this…"

"She is, she's done this dozens of times. Observe and wonder, Commander. Observe and wonder." The certainty was definitely there and the Commander wasn't in a position to go over the Tribune's head, so all he could do now was watch. With soft and slow steps, the anxious Charr ventured into the fenced off area. She swung the shovel over one shoulder to free up both hands and open the box. She couldn't risk putting anything on the ground after all. The box was apparently cramped as she had to peel out the device she was looking for with quite some effort, almost losing balance as she did. When she turned it on, a red light flashing in far-apart intervals indicated the proximity of a mine.

With her gaze fixated on the device, she snuck over the earth. But after only a few steps, paying too much attention to the light became her undoing. She failed to notice an unevenly elevated patch of earth on the ground as her foot glided along its path. She tripped over it, lost her footing and fell forwards, instinctively bracing herself for the fall with her hands to the ground. She lost grasp of the shovel and the crate, in fact in the swing of her fall, the crate was launched halfway across the field. The Commander took a step back and tried to look away, but he couldn't.

The crate hit the ground - without tripping up a mine. But despite not doing so, it somehow fell to the ground with enough of a force to launch itself further, rolling along by a few more feet until inevitably, it triggered an explosion. Patches of earth both dry and muddy were thrown about, the biggest one falling to the side, which triggered another explosion, launching more bits of metal and dirt into the air. Then one more mine blew up, then two more, an entire chain reaction of explosions ensued across the minefield, encasing the scenery in an impenetrable shroud of dirt.

By the time that the smoke cleared out enough that they could see again, the minefield looked like a battleground. One could still see from the round patterns in the ground, where all the explosions had occurred, every single mine that could conceivably fit into the area, had been detonated. Everything was completely devastated.

Except for Rokka. She lay on the ground, covered in dirt, but as she got up and patted down her armor to get most of it off of her, there were no obvious wounds, she wasn't bleeding, she somehow lived through all of this - at ground zero of all these explosions - without getting hit in any tangible way. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine…" She checked for possible injuries herself, but it was apparent that she wasn't aware of any.

"That's enough, Shortfuse." the Tribune announced to both her and the Commander's relief. "You can come back out."

"What about the tools?"

"Just leave them inside, the engineers will clear it out."

Upon hearing it, Rokka shrugged, tossed the shovel back to where she had fallen onto the ground. The moment the shovel hit the ground in the exact same spot she was lying in all this time, two mines right in that spot went off as well.

The Commander was indeed astonished, but most of all he was simply baffled. "How did she do this?"

"If we knew, we'd find something better for her to do. Shortfuse, come to me!" She followed the order and came along with much more upbeat steps. She was relieved before, but from up close one could really see how glad she was that this was over. "Shortfuse, allow me to introduce you to the Commander of the Pact."

The Commander extended a hand and she appeared to know enough about human customs to grab and shake it, even if she used both hands. "Rokka Shortfuse. But call me Rox."

"I've been telling the Commander all about your curious talents. He's here on official business but besides that, he's looking to recruit people, and you sound just like the Charr for the job."

Her confidence simmered down somewhat, unsure of what this was about. "What kind of job?"

"I'm looking to open a new guild - a task force of sorts to deal with threats throughout Central Tyria. We'll operate from within Divinity's Reach, but we're likely to travel from place to place. I'm sure we can secure pay from Krytan coffers, but the kinds of situations I get into tend to be very dangerous."

"More dangerous than walking right into a minefield?"

"Maybe not quite that dangerous."

She raised her right hand. "Right! I'm in."

"Wait - That quickly? We've barely gone over…"

"I'll take anything over what I'm doing now. Traveling around and doing stuff sounds way more exciting."

The Commander didn't know what to say. He expected a 'no' or optimally a 'maybe' followed by having to sit down and hash out the details of this hypothetical guild. Dumbstruck enough to not make any unnecessary moves, he budged around to face the Tribune. "Can I even recruit her for this not-yet-guild? I don't want to step on the legions' toes."

Goreblade chuckled. "Trust me, you're not stepping on anyone's toes here."

From here, both Rox and the Commander were sent off with two Iron Legionnaires to the Hero's Canton, one of the residential districts with many one-room apartments, narrowly stacked on top of each other in the inner and outer ends of the district. Brought to one of these one-room pods stacked up and flimsily attached along one of the inner rings of the Canton. These would be the quarters they reserved for him - he was happy to receive quarters with actual walls, since a lot of locals appeared to live in tents.