The Shadows of the Damned

[Sprolf]

Four Weeks Before That Parting...


Planetside,
Rheinland


The dark grey cloak of clouds circled all around, leaving only the very top of the sky clear of their gloomy, suffocating bleakness. The sun shone across this rim, illuminating the snowy air within only barely. Each flake that fluttered lightly through the air, down from the encroaching clouds, was visible in the pallid rays of light. They swirled and twirled through the air, a chaotic precipitation in this dome of clouds.

The tower - or fortress, perhaps - stood at the very centre of this bank of clouds, a tall grey metallic castle that was nearly as wide as it was tall - about ten stories, disregarding the additional towers that rose from each of the four corners, plus the one that jutted out to form a landing pad bridged to the main structure with a sturdy metal arch. A Bretonian gunboat, red colours painted over to be grey, sat upon the landing pad, the ramp at its belly extended onto the surface of the platform. It appeared to be still running, as the lights were blinking slowly, creating coloured halos through the haze of snow.

The flag of Rheinland was emblazoned in each side of this structure, evidently abandoned (or at least crewed minimally) for some time. Despite the cares that had gone into this, the love and loyalty with which the flag had been cut into the super-alloy structure with plasma torches possessing grim efficiency, this facility hadn't been taken care of. Perhaps the need had passed, perhaps something else. The military seldom works in ways most can understand.

Now, the six-inch cuts into the building were covered over in rime, as was the rest of the structure. The frost grew across it like a white moss, or a mould. The grey sun did little to free this building of its icy shackles, only glinting in a dull shine from the always-cold metal surfaces of the tower.


Three figures were visible at the top edge, facing the sun.

The one stood at the very edge of the structure, toes not an inch away from the edge. He was wearing a long black coat, standard issue of the Rheinwehr. It was obvious, however, that he wasn't a Rheinlander, as his face had the colour and features of a Kusarian, distinct even under the mirrored sunglasses he wore.

The other figure was standing a bit behind him, her arms crossed over her thin chest. She had a Libertonian or Rheinlander look about her, it was difficult to tell. She wasn't what most might consider a voluptuous woman, by any stretch of the imagination. She wasn't necessarily thin, and kept her hair short. Businesslike, though perhaps tomboyish - which fit with what she wore, that which one might expect a mechanic to wear. Cargo pants, belt with areas for equipment, drab jumper. A wrench hung from her belt, along with a few things, vaguely mechanical in nature. A pair of metal-rimmed goggles hung around her neck.

The third being was another man, a Bretonian, from his looks. He was a bit younger, and wore a brown coat, as you might see in the Liberty territories more than anywhere else. He had a grey wool hat pulled down over his eyes and forehead, obviously in an attempt to combat the cold. His hair was a sandy blonde, and his eyes blue. He was sitting down, against an air intake that rose up from the roof.

"I do have to wonder when they'll be showing up." he mused idly, rubbing his hands.

The Kusarian glanced stiffly back at him. "In due time, I'm sure. You can't rush this sort of thing." His voice was perfectly level, controlled, just like the rest of his appearance.

"I shouldn't think it could possibly take this long." the Bretonian muttered.

"We're not going to leave until the facts clearly indicate something has gone awry." the Kusarian said, with a finality in his voice that prevented further conversation. "We...." his voice trailed off suddenly.


Looming out from the swaths of cloudbanks directly in front of and above them was what could only be the prow of a Rheinland cruiser, flanked by two gunboats, which were in turn flanked by four fighters each - and all headed straight for the facility on which these three stood. The hulk of the cruiser blocked out the ashen sun as it powered forward, snowy clouds billowing around its base like it was a ship of old.

The gunboats immediately started on a descent pattern.
The fighters dove for the fortress.


"Time to leave," the Kusarian said flatly, turning around.

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