Golden
Active member
They descended from above.
The Dragonfly had seen them coming. With miles of golden orange sand, dunes the size of buildings, and nothing - nothing - resembling life, the pirates were hard to miss. Without cover, they followed, toying with the royal ship like it was nothing more than a field mouse.
Heavy and purposeful steps echoed through the air - tension filled air - as the soldiers prepared to fight, reaching for steel and iron, a calm voice leading them forward. Racing to his office, the navigator reached for his poorly developed maps, the maps they'd supplied him, and began to consider other options. Options that didn't exist. There was no where to run, no where to hide, no sanctuary, not in this strange, dangerous land.
Cannons, splintering wood - it was deafening. But nothing compared to the sound of heavy boots slamming onto the deck, nothing compared to the clash of iron. Nor the screams. Led by a figure cloaked in darkness; their face hidden, bright yellow eyes gleaming, even through the covering that shielded their gaze.
When it started, he turned away from the maps, knowing that they wouldn't help, not now. With shaking hands, he reached for his own weapon, heart thundering in his chest as realization sank deep, down into his very core.
He was going to die.
Glass shattered, and a cannon shot through the room, destroying the adjacent wall. Distant buzzing filled the air and his mouth went dry as he looked through the gaping hole. Beyond, it approached, unnaturally fast. A wall of grey and orange, taller than anything he'd ever seen before. Dwarfing the tallest building in Costa Duba; taller than the Academy, taller than ten of them, stacked on top of the other. He began to shout his warning, entirely in vain, and scrambled for the supplies he'd been given. For the head covering, the material that'd cover his nose and mouth, the goggles that'd shield his dark eyes. The material would stick to his face, staunching the blood flow from his wounded cheek - and then the wall would hit the side of the ship.
Had they known?
Screams were swallowed by sand, and then there was nothing but the heavy groans of wood. Nothing but the motion of falling. The feel of the doorway beneath his grasp, fingers digging into the wood desperately. Nothing but darkness.
The Dragonfly had seen them coming. With miles of golden orange sand, dunes the size of buildings, and nothing - nothing - resembling life, the pirates were hard to miss. Without cover, they followed, toying with the royal ship like it was nothing more than a field mouse.
Heavy and purposeful steps echoed through the air - tension filled air - as the soldiers prepared to fight, reaching for steel and iron, a calm voice leading them forward. Racing to his office, the navigator reached for his poorly developed maps, the maps they'd supplied him, and began to consider other options. Options that didn't exist. There was no where to run, no where to hide, no sanctuary, not in this strange, dangerous land.
Cannons, splintering wood - it was deafening. But nothing compared to the sound of heavy boots slamming onto the deck, nothing compared to the clash of iron. Nor the screams. Led by a figure cloaked in darkness; their face hidden, bright yellow eyes gleaming, even through the covering that shielded their gaze.
When it started, he turned away from the maps, knowing that they wouldn't help, not now. With shaking hands, he reached for his own weapon, heart thundering in his chest as realization sank deep, down into his very core.
He was going to die.
Glass shattered, and a cannon shot through the room, destroying the adjacent wall. Distant buzzing filled the air and his mouth went dry as he looked through the gaping hole. Beyond, it approached, unnaturally fast. A wall of grey and orange, taller than anything he'd ever seen before. Dwarfing the tallest building in Costa Duba; taller than the Academy, taller than ten of them, stacked on top of the other. He began to shout his warning, entirely in vain, and scrambled for the supplies he'd been given. For the head covering, the material that'd cover his nose and mouth, the goggles that'd shield his dark eyes. The material would stick to his face, staunching the blood flow from his wounded cheek - and then the wall would hit the side of the ship.
Had they known?
Screams were swallowed by sand, and then there was nothing but the heavy groans of wood. Nothing but the motion of falling. The feel of the doorway beneath his grasp, fingers digging into the wood desperately. Nothing but darkness.