Part 2: PHASE 1 Naval Engagements
Bury The Hatchet... In Our Shared Foe
Chapter 1
Vernos checked his watch as he stepped up the stairs of Gehenna’s First District’s Town Hall. The large stone building was pleasantly airy, with huge openings into the stairwell allowing the warm oceanic air to flow into the floors. Before coming to the island... Gods, it would be over ten years ago now. Back in Infinitum, when he was still a student in Kronistadt, he’d thought a Deadbeat’s thinner body would be well-suited to the heat of these latitudes, and it was. But under the tropical sun, any poorly built building could become an infernal furnace. The lack of building regulations outside larger cities had let him get acquainted with plenty of deathtraps lacking any proper ventilation; once, he’d had to meet a supplier in an office that must have sat at a balmy fifty degrees Celsius!
Well, no such issues here. The larger building in the hot, dry Gehenna even had water running through their walls to assist with the cooling. Despite the harsh sunlight outside, the rooms within were comfortable. Some thin, pale functionary just about avoided him as he rushed up the steps and looked at his watch one more time. He’d make it just in time. His secretary should probably have put more time between his meeting with the Black Fleet quartermaster and this obligation.
He was there, fifth floor, main assembly hall. Vernos took a seat on an ebony bench engraved with a blossoming cherry tree, miniature chunks of pink quartz embedded for each leaf. Gehenna had flourished since the establishment of the Kronie base, and his employer Chronobanks, was in no small part to thank for this. A measure of pride filled his chest.
He looked to his right, towards the tall black and white gates leading to the historical meeting. Folklore sung that Gehenna had been the first Deadbeat city to exploit gold en masse, the shining veins exposed in the arid, stony cliffs as you approached the mountains. The sparser vegetation shielded from the humidity of the West coast by the Underworld’s plateau made it easier to start and exploit mines, compared to digging into the rainforest. Thus, this heritage was celebrated in a mural depicting skeletons hauling the gold nuggets out of the tunnels, and presenting them to a beautifully rendered Goddess of Death.
But this was no time for the appreciation of the arts. Behind those doors, friendly diplomatic proceedings were unfolding between officials of the Matiyotl Navy, and Moriji’s, for the first time in at least a century or two. Black Fleet marines covered in black plate, armored militiamen, two veiled Goddess Faithful priestesses, and a set of Varangian guards without an inch of skin untouched by tattoos were all standing guard next to the door, ready to raise their weapons and rush to their respective VIP’s defense should things go awry. The smell of well-oiled steel hung in the air. It was quite a gathering of killing potential, but Vernos knew the hard-hitters were within the room; and besides, you got used to such displays in his line of work.
A few more minutes passed; it seems they were running long, hopefully for good reasons. As Vernos was beginning to feeling unbearably febrile, the doors slowly swung open, prompting all the guards to stand at attention. Sounds of chatter poured into the hallway.
A cool breeze engulfed Vernos, a welcome relief from the day's warmth. Katabatic wind... He’d never encountered a priestess with enough latent cryomancity to generate it. The first officials out were Vice Admiral Cairnko and his Matiyotl equivalent, Cuetzpalli Thrumasson. The snow-white, long-boned soldier made for a funny pair next to the tanned, shorter, wide-shouldered cannibal captain. Both seemed in good humors, with smiles on their lips, so Vernos gathered that this first meeting had been a success. Behind them were the mayor and his assistants, more Black Fleet officers, and Matiyotl captains. These included the perhaps the biggest man Vernos had ever seen. The mountain of muscle strode forward, much of his ritually scarified skin exposed. His fists each felt as big as a man’s head, and covered in scar tissue. Something glinted in the muscle-corded arms... Metal? Slivers of steel seemed embedded in his flesh, a gnarly sight.
Right behind him were the Goddess Faithful, Priest Yuluko and... Vernos’ breath caught in his throat. He knew she’d be present, but with everything going on, he’d forgotten about it. Code name ‘Frostmourne’, she was near as tall as the Matiyotl stomping in front of her. Vernos had no doubts about it; the catalognaut ace must have been the most chuubanitic Deadbeat he’d ever seen. Her body was shrouded by flowing sable and scarlet robes, the silken fabric pushed effortlessly by her limbs. The inner lining was cloth of gold; it reflected the cold white light of the whale oil lamps onto her glistening ivory skin. It was wet, not from sweat, but from humidity in the air being forced to condensate by her coolness. She was certainly the source of the Glacier’s Breath, as glaciologists called it. And her hair, it was unlike anything he’d seen before. The saturated red-pink locks hung heavy over her shoulders and around her chest, a bit damp. They seemed to shine with their own light, tinting her sculpted cheekbones a pinkish hue.
Despite being at least twice his age, he couldn't perceive any wrinkles on her pristine face, granting her an almost uncanny doll-like appearance, moreso than other priestesses he'd met. He couldn't see them well from here, but he could have gotten lost in her crimson eyes, like a pair of bloody rubies. Among Deadbeats, dark red irises, as opposed to pink, were a rare characteristic, known as the mark of the Goddess. Her alienness was equal parts alluring and scary. This otherworldly energy was emphasized by the barely visible wisps of mist that escaped her lips with every imperceptible breath...
Vernos’ hand went to his sternum, grasping brusquely for his wife’s Bone Promise. Feeling the talon fastened to the pendant dig painfully into his palm helped him get his passions under control. The claw felt almost warm, compared to the cryomancer's aura. This image would haunt his mind for some time, Haruko grant him strength... Still, he dearly hoped he’d get to speak with the priestess later on, she was supposedly going to be involved with all the Goddess Faithful military operations over the course of the exercises. He tore his gaze from the operative to see another pair of priestesses following her, and closing the march... There they were. Ouda Shinko, and Timward Temporal, ambassador power duo.
His eyes met the Kronie’s simultaneously, who smiled at his old tutor.
Vernos joined his two friends at the end of the procession with calm, measured steps.
Timward whispered to him “Pick your jaw off the floor, you rascal. You’re a married man, for Boros’ sake!” Ouda chuckled at the jab.
Vernos scratched the back of his bald head with an embarrassed smirk. “Was I so obvious?”
It was good to see Timward again. Vernos had been here for many years, so he felt very at home by now, but seeing a pupil from his days in Kronistadt was pleasantly nostalgic. “Yeah, but don’t worry about it, they’re used to it. Plus, these haughty people of violence care little what us lowly ambassadors and quartermasters are up to, heh.” The Chronobanks employee could already feel the stress from nearly being late dissipating.
Looking at both Ouda and Timward, Vernos asked: “The mood is light, I take it things went well?”
Ambassador Ouda Shinko answered him, his gravelly voice carrying easily through the busy hall, even as a whisper. “Well enough, I think. The brass mostly just went over the different phases of the exercises, addressed concerns regarding accommodation and cohabitation, and handed any of the ‘boring’ stuff to us or the mayor. There was one thing... The two catalognauts, they didn’t have much to say, but they kept staring daggers at each other. Feels like bad news... They’ve been training their whole life to kill the like of each other, so I guess there might be some tension.”
Tensions between the two walking weapons, that didn’t sound too good. Here’s hoping the respective factions could wrangle them. That much power got to the head of some, Vernos knew...
Well. Better to put such scary thoughts aside for now, Vernos had other questions. “So, what now? Are we following the established agenda?”
Timward rolled his eyes. “Ah, you know how they are. For anything that isn’t life, death, or boats, those sailor types are awfully loose with scheduling. The Matiyotl guests have showed interest in some Gehenna wonders, so they’ve whipped up an ad-hoc tour of the city. Check the mint, the lobster pens, the empochiba, this kind of stuff. That’s what the people ahead will be up to. As for us, well, remember that boring stuff I mentioned earlier? The brass thinks we need to procure more paint ammunition, they might want to extend some exercises.”
Vernos nodded. “Alright, that’s what we’re here to do. The supplier for these is a friend of Chronobanks, I’ll send him a bird right away. We should have them before the first exercises. When’s that, exactly?”
Ouda smiled slightly, unusually enthused. “We’re leaving shore in thirteen days. Let’s get to work.”
Nathanata walked down the Town Hall’s stairs with the same quiet, confident step as always. But her eyes had been transfixed by the Matiyotl catalognaut since he’d entered the assembly hall. His lifespan... It was down to a few months now, dropping quickly. She only saw the like of that in people afflicted with worsening illnesses.
Her research in the records hadn’t yielded much in terms of results. Nathanata had an encyclopedic knowledge of death in all its forms, and could often feel out the causes behind unusually low lifespans with ease, she spent quite a lot of time helping diagnostics in Goddess Faithful hospitals, as many Moriji catalognauts were encouraged to. But this one truly stumped her. Could it be some strange effect of the cannibals' magic? She did not recognize this as the effects of Matiyotl chuubanite, but her encounters with Matiyotl catalognauts were short and violent, ill-suited for scientific study. She might just have to ride it out, see where this went. But first, she’d need to have another chat with him.
Chapter 2
“I see, make the arrangements for repairs to be made on the double, have them tugged to the fourth District docks if necessary. We’ll need those ships in next week’s exercises. Any other news?” Vernos’ cabin felt stuffy, even with a window open. The breeze blew the familiar smells of a clean sea into the space filled with blue Chronobanks-themed memorabilia. This particular ship had been designed to operate in much colder seas than these, South of the Serene Republic. The sunny Moriji coasts turned its well-insulated walls into a drawback.
His young Deadbeat assistant, Yoko, looked over her list again, before enunciating in her professional, even voice: “There is one more thing, the repairs are complete in our warehouse in South Cocytus. The Custodian Event last month caused it to shut down, alongside much of the surrounding quarters, remember?” Vernos nodded somberly, how could he have forgotten. From the accounts, this had been a true fire and brimstone scene, with the exact cause still unknown. Acts from Custodians weren’t insured under the Cocytus branch’s policy as well, an oversight that would likely be corrected now...
“Well, it’s back in operation now.” She shuffled through her notes, just to confirm she’d completed her report.
Vernos thanked her, dismissing the secretary before turning to the window. Work kept piling up, but most of it would have to wait until they got back to shore. The air was crystal clear, ideal for observing the assembled fleets on the horizon. Today’s exercise was an interesting one. This was the seventh naval training operation; the previous ones had taken Deadbeat and Matiyotl through gauntlets of maneuvers, boarding operations, chases. Sparring was an interesting activity; in actual combat, you wanted to go all-out, regardless of who your opponent was. Half measures led to defeat.
While sparring, it was the opposite. Sparring with an unknown, possibly untrustworthy quantity was an unsure affair. In the first exercises, the men of both nations struck one another gingerly with their blunt and padded weapons, unwilling to cause a diplomatic accident. A poor test of their respective skills. But as the trust between the forces increased, the confidence of the strikes increased. The Skeletons and the Cannibals both prided themselves on the intensity of their sparring tradition; they knew their hard bones and well-trained muscles could take it. Soon, the men felt comfortable enough to go at their partners with all the strength they could muster, to the approval of their commanders.
Today’s exercise would be particularly boarding-heavy, ideal to display the close-quarter combat preferences of the warriors. On the Deadbeats’ side, three H-4 frigates sat upon the calm waters. Most of their sails were missing, handicapping the vessels’ speed, to simulate sails damaged by a difficult engagement.
North, East, and South-West, three teams of Matiyotl vessels were approaching the vulnerable ships, angling for boarding actions. An overwhelming numerical and tactical advantage; a hopelessly one-sided match. The Black Fleet was rarely on the back foot in its national waters; It would be interesting to see them in this position.
Sounds of creaking wood took Vernos out of reverie. ‘Oh, that must be her!’ The MCS Overtime’s decks could support the weight of Chronobanks’ finest cannonry, they wouldn’t whine under any mortal’s step. He grabbed his telescopic eyepiece and walked out of his cabin into the cleansing oceanic wind. There was a strong East-bound draft, forcing the frigates to sail upwind, not their preference even in nominal conditions.
Vernos took measured steps up the steep stairs to the aftcastle’s deck. A few sailors were massed next to the balustrade, including one of the official arbiters of the match, from Timward’s Kronie underlings. The man held a steel-and-gold pocket watch which glinted brightly under the azure skies. The time to begin the operation was near.
Ah, and there she was, elbows resting on the stern. She was chatting with the Ryonaheim captain again, the one with the silver slivers in his arms. It seemed Timward’s previous worries were unfounded. The tanned giant pointed to one of his compatriot’s ships in the distance and the ice witch chuckled brightly. The moist, warm ocean air was chock-full of moisture, so she was dripping wet. Shimmering beads of moisture raced down the line of her jaw, collecting into a single fat droplet on her pale chin, about to fall... Vernos turned his eyes away, and took a spot next to Kroger, the observer. He opted for exchanging some small talk with the shorter man.
He did want to talk to the catalognauts somehow, but they were somewhat hard to approach... They had quite an aura. They were also busy in recent days. Them deciding to come observe the exercise without participating was a boon; he might get his chance after the operation.
Minutes passed, and soon the arbiter was staring at his watch while holding his flare gun up towards the sky, primed to shoot. A proper Kronie, this one. The second hand crossed the threshold decided upon, and he pulled the trigger, firing a green flare. An assistant stationed next to the mast unfurled a signal flag, and the vessels came to life.
He heard the Deadbeat catalognaut propose a wager to her Matiyotl equivalent. “One Jito on the Deadbeats.”
“Hah, you’re on. The lads have this.” Many of the sailors were elbowing their fellows and showing each other cold hard silver to bet on the outcome. Gehenna put people in a gambling mood, for some reason. But then again, seamen never needed an excuse to gamble away their pay.
Vernos glanced at Frostmourne one more time before raising his telescope and turning his attention to the formations. The spectacle of these engagements never failed to impress. Those initial stages were the most interesting in many ways; the slow dance of the commanders attempting to out-maneuver their opponent was fascinating to him. The limping frigates made a good attempt at evading the enemy groups, but soon, the smaller vessels had successfully encircled and out-maneuvered the Black Fleet ships and were bearing down on them, many powered by oars as well as sails.
And then, came the fire. The ammunition and charges had been carefully tuned to preserve as much range as possible while reducing the risk of lethality to nil, though a freak accident was still possible. Paint pellets flew from one of the frigates first, which were granted a greater range by their heavier cannonry. Clouds of green mist exploded on the bow of one galley; the broadside had found its target. In the end, they had come to a simple scoring system: each class of ship was assigned a number of points, and every successful hit subtracted a quantity from this number, depending on the caliber of the simulacrum of a projectile. The arbiters were tasked with counting out the hits and having the status of the ships signaled with flags.
Already, the first message to the Matiyotl vessels was being hoisted. The galley had been struck by enough pellets from the broadside to see its points reduced to zero, and was soon ordered to drop its anchor while the battle raged on.
The other ships on the galley’s side did have an extra wrinkle to deal with; they did not simply have to “sink” the opponent, their goal was a boarding, followed by subduing the crews sufficiently to steal and hoist a special flag stored in the frigates’ respective captain’s cabins.
Both sides continued the naval ballet for some time, the Matiyotl skippers skillfully weaving in and out of the frigates’ lines of fire while approaching their prey. Still, a few more broadsides hit home on the nimble targets, a credit to the Black Fleet artillerists. By the time the first successful boarding began, quite a few boats from each approaching formation were anchored. The Matiyotl made use of their own ranged weapons; catapults threw smoke bombs on the decks.
Deadbeats and Matiyotl were both acquainted with this type of weapon, and well-familiarized with the other side’s version through decades of being on its receiving end. To reduce the impact on visibility for the arbiters, and minimize the effects of chuubanite overdose or berserk effects, each vessel was limited to a single volley of smoke-based ammunition.
Vernos focused his optics on the frigate under assault. Men from both crafts were firing paint pellets at one another, though the Deadbeats’ higher ground made them a more difficult target. The Veston intellectually enjoyed the subtlety of the pre-boarding maneuvers, but the clash of close-quarter combat was what really got his blood pumping. Colored dye splattered the combatants, prompting them to retreat to their vessel’s infirmary.
As a longship managed to attach itself to the front of the frigate, one brave Matiyotl from the galley climbed up a grappling hook to the deck without being shot down. The man wore only light armor; his every move was well-practiced power and precision. He swung himself over the guardrail, landing light on his feet, and swung a padded axe in a wide arc around himself, clearing a landing zone for his compatriots. Vernos grunted with compassion as the weapon struck one Deadbeat’s side directly. That would leave a bruise, and the sailor also had to back away from the fight, as per the rules of the simulation.
More raiders were joining the trailblazer onto the black planks, strengthening their foothold. Marines clad in dark armor and demonic Death Masks came pouring out of the hold, but were fighting two fronts at once, as the longship’s crew was swarming up the frigate’s hull as well. At this moment, grenades with Moriji smoke were used; the chuubanitic aerosols would impair both sides for some time. The fighters clashing on the ship made for an impressive sight in the eyepiece’s lens. A part of Vernos wished he was closer to the action, to hear the sounds of screaming men and metal, smell the sweat and stress in the air... The spectator’s seat would be much closer during the amphibious exercises, at least.
He tore his gaze from the first frigate to see how the others were doing. One was dealing with its own two accosted longships, with a third bearing down, though it was repelling climbing boarders better. The third had managed to align a broadside perfectly while doing evading maneuvers, and unleashed a tsunami of green pigment on a longship, taking it out of the fight. The sailors around him were hooting and shouting at each development, constantly asking for details from those of them lucky enough to own a telescope.
Vernos got more comfortable on the balustrade. According to his preliminary research, these boardings could be fairly lengthy and messy affairs...
“YEAAAH! SMASH HIS FACE IN!”, yelled Nextic, his low voice filled with enthusiasm as he held the binoculars to his face. The last Deadbeat marine defending the signal mast deflected the heavy blunted saber with the katana in his left hand, and thrusted the right one’s rounded tip into his assailant’s sternum, knocking the air out of his lungs. But he was hemmed in. Another Matiyotl knocked aside his swords with a powerful swing of his axe, and followed up with a direct hit to the Deadbeat’s helmet. Out!
The sailors with money riding on a Matiyotl victory cheered as the capture flag was hoisted above the frigate. That was two out of three, with an intense melee unfolding on the last frigate in play. It had done well compared to the others, but the front half of the deck was covered with raiders. Its stern carronades were firing on boats which were attempting to board the aftercastle; it was completely surrounded. It seemed to be only a question of time before the cannibals claimed the win.
But then, a shout. A sailor pointed West, towards the coast. Vernos had been so focused on the last frigate, he hadn’t noticed them.
It seemed the Matiyotl had used up too much time, the cavalry had arrived. Four recently built Rose-class M-9 battleships had departed from Gehenna’s Black Fleet naval base just as the exercise began, and were now bearing down towards the allied frigate. One of them turned during its approach to bring its primary armament to bear on the small vessels that were circling the last frigate, vulture-like. It had been quite a challenge to design high caliber Vitaiho paint shells that approached the range of the real flechette-style projectiles while remaining mostly non-lethal. Vernos had explained to the arbiter in meticulous detail how the pellets were designed to break up three-quarters of the way through their trajectory, reducing their velocity and harmlessly splattering the target with the dye.
The massive weapons boomed pink flames and sparks. Vernos’ eyes saw the flashes of magical light and the splashes of green paint on the vessels before the powerful sound had made it to his ears. These battleships had enough gunnery, that each deck had targeted a different ship, taking each out of the match in a single volley. The Matiyotl really had to end this quickly, now. As one battleship bombarded at a long range while circling its enemy, the three others were briskly advancing towards the action, the wind filling the immense black sails.
On the deck of the frigate, the two forces clashed again; the Deadbeat marines were holding a defensive formation around the entrance to the aftcastle, with support from shooters hidden within. Some fighters had to take their leave after each engagement, but these Deadbeats were especially disciplined; the few warriors that took a participation-ending hit saw another sailor quickly take their place in the ranks.
With most Matiyotl ships soon to be eliminated, and the battleships’ sharpshooters near close enough to pick off the boarders, the raiders readied themselves for a final, decisive charge.
From that day onwards, while recounting the day’s events in taverns, the Deadbeats would be giddy to quote the frigate’s captain’s words preceding this last fight: “If you let one of those cannibals fucking touch you, I’ll make ya wish he’d chopped your head off! In Mori’s name, fucking hold!”
So they did. The marines fought like the demons depicted on their masks, matching the Matiyotls’ every attack. The boarders pushed hard, but soon, the battleships loomed above the deck, pushing longships out of the way, and hundreds of riflemen peppered them with paintballs, putting an end to the charge.
The flag of the Black Fleet still flew on the third frigate’s signal mast; dark, and proud as ever.
The spectators erupted in cheers and expressions of disappointment. Vernos found himself yelling happily as he clasped the arbiter’s shoulder; though Chronobanks was a neutral third party in the proceedings, Vernos couldn’t help but root for the outnumbered Deadbeats; he had a soft spot for underdogs.
The arbiter did not seem too concerned with Vernos’ outburst. He was busy jotting down more details on the last few moments of the exercise in a notebook.
Vernos observed the participants of the exercise through his telescope again. Obviously, the Deadbeats were enthused at the outcome, but the Matiyotl were also good sports about it. There had been some soreness on the losing Deadbeats’ part in the first day of exercises, leading to an unplanned scuffle, but now that both forces had exchanged some wins and losses, all seemed more prone to accepting the results.
‘Well, this is my chance’, thought Vernos, as everyone wound down from the excitement of the match. He approached the two catalognauts.
Frostmourne was chuckling softly. “Hah, looks like your boys did not, in fact, have it.” Her hand hid her mouth as she laughed, her fingers long and graceful, but with a certain hardness to them. The knuckles seemed a bit thicker than normal, as though she had a very mild case of gout. Except the growths were likely due to increased mineralization of the bones at the joints. The skin was taut and supple over the bones, smooth with callus on the palm and fingertips.
“Yeah, yeah, they got damn close, though.” Nextic pulled one heavy golden coin and flipped it out of his hand to Nathanata.
She caught it out of the air with a smirk, “Thank you for your patronage!”, before noticing Vernos’ approach.
He bowed deeply, doing his best to hide his nervousness with a veneer of formality: “Captain Nextic Nopalson, Priestess Nathanata, good to see you’ve joined one of our observer ships for today’s exercise.” He straightened his back before continuing. “My name is V-“
“Vernos Dhasense, right? Chronobanks official. Well met.” To his surprise, besides knowing his name, she also extended her hand towards him. He shook it as naturally as possible, attempting to ignore how cold, strong and large it was. Surprisingly dry as well, had she subtly wiped it on her sleeves before offering it?
“Erm, that’s right! I am flattered you know of me, Priestess.” He turned to his other interlocutor, but the Matiyotl’s body language was not as open.
... A subtle glare from Nathanata seemed to change his mind, though, and Nextic soon extended his huge paw of a hand to Vernos. Nathanata’s hand easily covered his; Nextic’s engulfed it.
She explained: “Well, actually I was thinking of speaking with you. You’ve worked with Priestess Hecatia at a Gehenna Jitofurin laboratory, right?” Vernos wasn’t surprised anymore, he was properly stunned. He’d never expect a stranger to know such a detail of his academic career. He acquiesced wordlessly, with a nod.
Nathanata looked to Nextic again, as though she saw something no one else could, her face suddenly serious. “Based on your knowledge of Vitium Science, can you think of any lethal inter-catalognaut interactions?”
That was a bit much all at once. ‘Did I bite off more than I could chew?’ Vernos only intended to have an informal interview, not to be some kind of consultant. Ah, who was he kidding, he couldn’t let this opportunity slip by. Inter-catalognaut interactions? His curiosity as to what she could be talking about flared up instantly.
Vernos’ next words came out with utter confidence and purpose. “Priestess, Captain, we might want to sit down for this. Why don’t you join me in my cabin for tea?”