Into The Rift

Imminent Concern (33)

-1652 Military Hours
-Visegrad Island, Sonarai Village

"Four more ships yet to dock, they will arrive before the sun's decline," a stern voice announces overhead, the figure in question clasping his hands tightly in an unspoken sign of urgency.

He dons a dark cobalt armor, its design a graceful mix of nobility and strength, the carapace plating styled in the intimidating likeness of the shelled predators of the deep. The jagged pauldrons spikes and ornate pincer crest displayed on the helmet, impossible to regard as anything else.

These traits mark the person in front as a Cabal Marshal, leaders of the finest caliber.

Beside him, subdued voices linger in the air as his commanders converse amongst themselves, my ears idly catching their words. The teal armor they wore, crafted to resemble the smaller but equally aggressive bonehead fishes. Scaled plating instead of carapace, different but no less imposing with their persistent gleam under the sun's watch.

"...yes, the troops are accounted. My officers report them to be ready."

"I still await half of my own from the last ships, but the rest are ready for commands."

"Good... start having our pathfinders seek out their holdings. I want numbers, their weapons... anything of value." The Cabal Marshal declares, his subordinates accepting his decree without issue.

"It will be done, I'll send seven of my best to vanguard the quickest routes." The one from the left responds.

"Do it..." A short response from the Marshal, the two words heavy with emphasis. What they failed to convey, his tone and posture did.

"Understood sire." The commander promptly leaves, feet destined to bring him towards the Grand Cabal's main encampment further inland, closer to the village I called home. Conflict might be set to arrive on our shores, the first in so many seasons since the great retreat.

Peering my eyes out over the deep blue, I set my sights on the bright masts of the warring ships. Just four more ships, powered by the favorable winds, each carrying the might of fifteen Grand Cabals.

"Battle ready as they are, nothing can be assured when it concerns the unknown," I abruptly say, turning the heads of the Marshal and his remaining commanders.

Recognition briefly flashes within the eyes of the Cabal Marshal, before the cold expression returns to his pair of green. Continuing to send my regards through the open silence, I wait for his response, curious to know what my usually stoic friend shall do next.

"Continue with the finesse of our details at camp, I need to speak with an old friend." He says, attention on his commanders, tone still leveled but underlined with a sliver of anticipation.

"Kaidel, once the rest of your warriors are off the ships, have them be ready at once. Standard formation, as we all have been taught. Be ready to march at anytime."

"As you wish sire." The named commander tightens his posture, now resting both armored hands on his long sword, further driving the enchanted steel's edge into the gravel.

Moving away from the docks, I stroll along the coastlines, my eyes chasing a flock of sea birds in the distance. The sound of boots on gravel meant my trusted friend is just behind, a greeting still left unspoken as he follows my lead. Perhaps a cue for me to start?

"It has been awhile," I begin, passing by the ships that have already docked. Their masts lowered, the wooden ramps creak in protest as warriors and sailors move to and fro, offloading much needed supplies for the uncertain days ahead.