The Red Gathering

The Battle for the Dreadnought

The dock workers hastened their tasks, pushing more and more of their own into the misty water. It was strange. Any sane crowd would have ran by then. Moments later, a line of Returned formed about four houses behind us, shieldbearers and skirmishers alike. A pocket of healers had even began to set up a triage by the side of the docks. All were led by my Vicaul friend, Bjorn.

"You all need to go back now," he said, marching towards us.

"We're fine here," said Kormacc.

"I am sure, friend but there will be trouble. It is best if you stay with the others."

"I'm sure it is," pressed Kormacc, "but I'm under orders by Sir Edward Marastine to hold this area."

Bjorn's eyes then tightened at the squire. "I outrank you, friend. Now go back to the line."

"No, I outrank you, and I stay here as my knight commands," Kormacc then shook his head, before marching deeper in the docks.

The Vicaul then stifled a grumble before snapping to me. I knew what he was going to say next. "What are you doing here, Merry?"

"I'm with Kormacc," I told him, trying to maintain a cool tone. "Fight where the fighting is the hottest and get a first hand accou-"

"That is not wise, friend."

Bjorn then stared me down like a parent telling his child to go to his room. It was not a comfortable thing to feel in front of Kormacc's band and the large line of Returned behind us. I doubt they heard our exchange and I doubt they'd even care much about it, but I felt their stares linger towards me, a simple chronicler.

"Well I have a spear and-"

"That is good, now back away from here!"

"NO!"

This was one of the harder parts to write in this chronicle, for it was only until later did I realize how rational Bjorn's prudence was compared to my temper. I have been late to almost every battle that happened in this gathering and I was sick of having to clean up stragglers. I tightened my grip on the spear and with that Bjorn's fists grew rigid.

A thundering crash forced all our sights to the docks. One of the Dreadnought's colossal masts had fallen flat into the water. Finally forcing its many workers to drop their tasks and scatter.

Amidst the dust that rose from their panic. another figure came running from the Dreadnought, but this one wasn't as scared as the others and was better dressed. The dock master.

"Are you all Returned!" she ran to us, drenched in sweat.

"Yes," said Bjorn.

"We need help finishing the Dreadnought," she swallowed, trying to maintain her breathing. "I can't do it by myself."

"Why do you we need to finish the Dreadnought now?" I asked.

"Bad things are going to happen, I just know it," she snapped her eyes to the night sky. "If the Dreadnought isn't done by the full moon, this town is going to hell!"

I looked up with her and found the cloud had grown thin from the moon's light. We were minutes away.

In panic I shouted to the line of Returned behind us, asking for any of our able bodied craftsmen to assist in the deed. They responded immediately, but I then stammered at what I had done. I forgot that most of our craftsmen made up a large fraction of our shieldbearers and once they had marched passed Bjorn and I, all that were left were unguarded skirmishers and magic users. They began to scatter, destroying the formation that Bjorn had organized. I slowly threw my eyes to the sandy ground, watching the Vicaul stomp away in my periphery.