411 Bastards Must Die! (1/2)
The Innocence, Bridge
”What flag is that ship flying?” The Captain of the Innocence called out to his bridge crew. ”Which nation is it from? The Iron Kingdoms? Tri State? Or the Dragon Lords?”
”Sir, the flag it flies bears no resemblance to any known nations!” The First Officer replied. ”It could be from some small country under the Loose Confederation. We spotted two demi people below.”
”Then order the Sinner to destroy it!” The Captain ordered without any hesitation. ”Let those lawless heretics be judged in the afterlife!”
The First Officer nodded and relayed the order to the signaller who stood outside the bridge on an open air platform. The signaller used the sun rays and started flashing a series of codes with a mirror towards the Sinner.
A series of flashes were replied from the Sinner and it dipped lower as it reduced the amount of aetherium gas in its floatation tanks and the steam powered propellers on its sides pushed it forward towards the ocean vessel sitting in the cove.
As the Sinner came within its steam cannon range, it opened its cannon hatches and the snorts of its steam cannons poked out and popped sharply, tossing mushroom shaped projectiles wildly at its target below.
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Dijon watched the girls disappear into the foliage and muttered a prayer for them. He turned to his sailors, two who came on the earlier trip and four who joined him when they saw they had no chance to row back to the ship.
”We make a stand in the shelter of the trees and rocks here!” Dijon ordered and pointed towards a cluster of rocks and trees. Between them, they had three repeating crossbows, each a hatchet or cutlass and Dijon's remaining revolver which was part of a pair given to him as a gift. He had given one of his revolvers to Sherene and he only has enough for two reloads.
His sailors took up positions among the trees and rocks and those with the crossbows readied themselves for the approaching enemies. Dijon pointed his cutlass at the line of red clad soldiers and yelled, ”Shoot them!”
The sailors worked the charging lever back and fore, spitting out thin iron bolts towards the approaching enemy. But to their dismay, the enemy soldiers took out a shield from their backpacks and continued charging forward, the shield on their arms shimmering with the glow of a magic barrier.
”How in the heavens do they each have their own personal magic barrier?” Dijon cursed. ”Concentrate fire on the same target!”
The enemy started running across the beach, the soft sand making their movements slower, giving the Dijon and his men some advantage as the crossbowmen fired at the nearest target. Finally, after over half a dozen shots, the lead enemy soldier's magic barrier over his shield shattered and the soldier paused as he braced against the bolts slamming into his shield.
The enemy with the depleted shield raised his short lance up and pointed towards their positions and there was a loud pop and a gust of steam burst out from the tip of the lance. A whizz went past Dijon's ear and he ducked in reflex and saw a smoking quarrel struck into the side of a tree trunk.
”Watch out!” Dijon yelled. ”They have ranged weapons!”
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Paladin Rico was in a foul mood. First, the rations on board the ship had been nothing but thin tasteless soup with hardtack and salted meat or fish for over a month. The only saving grace was there were dried fruits and watered down alcohol to break the boring fare. He did not fancy trying to pass out bricks from eating so much hard food.
Now, finally, he had gotten the chance to really stretch his body, despite the usual exercises performed on the decks. His thick boots sank into the soft sand with his weight and he clumsily ran towards the group of outlaws and faithless.
An order from the Chief had him slipping the attachable shield out from his backpack and clipping on to his left arm. He extended the shield panels and locked them in place, which also activated the runes powered by a mana stone, creating a small barrier over the runes drawn on the surface of the shield.
He saw his fellow Paladin in the lead, a guy called Winston, who was always the most enthusiastic fellow of his squad. Always the model Paladin and always the first to get into a fight. Paladin Winston braced himself as sparks erupted from his magic barrier and he fired his steam lance at the enemy.
Rico paused next to Paladin Winston and raised his steam lance, his left hand gripping the handle just before the wrist guard while his right held on the lower part of the handle where his gloved fingers were covered over the trigger lever.
He held his steam lance up to the height of his eyes, where there was a notch groove on the wrist guard and aimed down it. Rico squeezed his right hand and the pent up steam inside the lance erupted, spewing out a bolt that disappeared somewhere among the lawless.
With a flick of his wrist, he broke the steam lance handle in half and a wooden case popped out with a hiss of hot steam. With his left hand still holding on to the lance, he dug out a fresh case the size of his palm and slot it into the opening of the steam lance before snapping the weapon back.