Felucca Security Update

[Geryn Farodae]

*Geryn Farodae was kneeling at the Altar of Law, hands clasped before him palm to palm. The index finger of each hand touched the middle of his forehead in prayer. Geryn performed his daily communion with Winchester in solemn reverence. While in the middle of his communion, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. It was as if a sharp ring sounded within the confines of his mind that soon took on the form of words.*

Geryn! We need you!

*A half moment later, the eyes of the head priest popped open wide and he began to chant softly, his words barely audible, his lips barely moving. His robes were buffeted by an unfelt breeze and his body began to glow a pulsating blue colour. Looking to the side, he noticed the emmissaries guarding the sacred place stood with pride as the rejuvenating energy washed over their corporeal forms. Whispering softly like a mother to her babe, the priest passed his hand over his scepter, marveling at its expert craftsmanship. It seemed odd to him that such a beautifully crafted piece was nothing more than an instrument of death. With a resigned sigh, he packed his weapon away and brushed his long, wavy scarlet white hair from his face.

Feeling the immense power of Winchester saturating his soul, he mounted his powerful steed Destiny and began another chant. Upon completion, the air in front of him began to waver and distort, shivering as if the very air were trembling. Then, the world began to melt away as if it were nothing more tangible than melting candlewax.

With an echoing crack!, Geryn and Destiny appeared at the centre of Britain's moongate. With a shrill whistle, and a sharp kick, he spurred his powerful steed into a gallop. He charged down the path leading to the city with all speed, moving so fast that the trees on either side of him were nothing more than an indistinguishable blur.

Finally, the treeline broke and almost as if his horse's consciousness were an extension of his own, Destiny skidded to a stop as a horrific scene unfolded before their eyes.

The city of Britain was burning.

With a cry of Hiya! he spurred Destiny on, making for the bridge with all speed. The hooves of his horse pounded upon the wooden bridge louder than a thousand thunders, heralding his approach. He caught sight of his first target, a young man, it seemed, wearing the robes of an Imperial follower. The enemy kicked his horse into a run, yelling indecipherable gibberish.

Due to the inexperience of his enemy, his first attack missed cleanly, and Geryn was quick to oblige the error by slamming the foe hard in the right shoulder with the head of his scepter. The man gave a great, pitiful wail moments before wheeling his steed about and fleeing with all speed to his mechanical guards. Geryn followed, only to view the enemies predictably huddling behind the safety of their mechanical abominations. Only when the guards gave chase did the turtles come out of their shells, only to be sent running back the way they came.

It wasn't very long before he was joined by Diafan Tiamas, and Elya Neyli. Within the space of a few minutes the Imperialists were routed, and fleeing hard and fast for the graveyard. A fitting end to the battle, Geryn figured.

Once there, under the direction of Elya, the forces of Britain discovered the enemies in their hiding places, licking their wounds like whipped dogs, and poured over them like breakers on a beach. Geryn's first target, Alus Vitellus didn't even have enough time to scream in horror before the white sceptor crushed his skull.

Any other time, the sound of crunching bone, and the sickening squish sound of impact would have bothered the Head Priest. But not today. Watching with grim satisfaction, Geryn watched as the upstart fell from his horse and squirmed on the soft grass only for as long as it took for his brain to register he was dead.

"Charge!" Geryn shouted at the top of his lungs, seconded by Elya Neyli as the two led Diafan Tiamas, and Ivan after the fleeing Imperials. One by one, even the skilled tracking of the veteran Elya could not find them.

They recalled.

A great cheer rose up from the depths of the city, spreading out to infect the inhabitants like ripples in a pond. The forces of Britain rejoiced in the mid-day sun after having thwarted yet another poorly strategized attack on the proud city. Soon, Gorath Blackmind and Eldaric joined the forces to secure the city against another attack.

The victory celebrations were short-lived, however. Warnings sounded off as scouting outposts noted the approached of the battered and completely demoralized Imperial army. Though their last attack failed miserably nearly an hour before, Geryn believed that the might be interested in talking. When he ran up to begin talking with the High Consular, his words never left his lips before he had to duck reflexively to avoid an unprovoked attack. Geryn cursed himself for expecting anything more from the naive leader. Just as Geryn's scepter swooped in to take Marcus' head from his shoulders, the coward pushed one one of his mechanical guards into the path of the strike.

Sparks flew and fire belched as the holy scepter turned the guard into scrap-metal. But once the smoke cleared, the "mighty Marcus" was no where to be seen.

Though the Imperialists fought hard, their tainted beliefs, and poor teamwork soon got the better of them.

Very soon.

Geryn, flanked by Gorath, Ivan, and Elya charged the Imperialists, scattering them in all directions like cotton in the wind. Out of the corner of his eye, Geryn spotted Marcus charging for his back, the only position the man ever fought someone. The head priest was faster, though, turning around in his saddle to intercept a lumbering strike with his own sceptor, then slugged the man hard in the face. he stood there, blinking stupidly, but still managed to bring his shield up just in the nick of time. Geryn's blessed scepter crashed hard into the shield, and he could hear once again the sounds of bones cracking.

Geryn was distracted a moment later, before he could make the final blow by the sounds of a body hitting the ground. He turned to see Gorath, lying flat on his back on the ground. Meaning to use every ounce of rage flowing through his veins, Geryn turned back to finish off Marcus, but merely rolled his eyes as he noticed he was gone. Seconds later, Jayson fell at the hands of one of our forces as Geryn and Ivan gave chase on a third. Grolik ran as fleet footed as a deer, bouncing and springing between the trees in his flight, but his evasion techniques could not lose the dogged pursuit of Ivan and his powerful halberd. Geryn was close behind, there for support, knowing the skilled barbarian would not need his assistance to down this foe. Within seconds, the man was down, and Illidan was soon to follow. Next, with only Marcus left to hold up the valorous reputation of the Order of Imperial, the forces of Britain soon closed the proverbial noose.

Marcus managed to slip through the forward lines, striking Geryn with a strong blow that left him slightly dazed. But the hit did not go unchallenged, with his own scepter cracking once again against the rent and useless shield. The colour red flashed in front of his eyes everytime his heart beat. Searing, hot pain as if his skin were on fire lanced up his side. But then, energy pulsed into him, and the pain had all but subsided.

In the next exchange, it was Marcus running with all speed.

Geryn ordered for the man to be captured, or killed at all costs, and so the hunt was on. After several minutes of scouring the forest, Elya finally lost track of him, as the noble leader of Imperial recalled, leaving his men behind.

It was a great day for the forces of the Order of Law. Imperial was routed not once, but twice, and it was once again proven to them that they will not prevail. No matter how many times they attack unarmed, unarmoured, and non-combative people. No matter how many times they attack the cities of Felucca. And no matter how many dirty tricks and sneak attacks they use...

The Order of Law, and the forces of Britain, will be waiting.