Wagon; a rather spacious but…nevertheless, condensed one at that. It was moving, fast but not too fast, on a rather…bumpy road. The foreigner was seated near the entry-exit of this moving wagon, peering out and about from its edges, her finger slightly tapping.
It was not just her on this wagon, of course; there were dozens of other fellow arm-band donning volunteers…both in this wagon and in all of the other few wagons both front and behind. Alongside these volunteers, however, were also the Company’s own…so-called ‘infantry of the line’—their soldiers and troopers, in other words.
All of them, from the volunteers to the Company’s soldiers, were wearing thick, tightly affixed, and rather annoying-to-breathe-in facemasks…alongside specialized tight-fit goggles of sorts to protect the eyes. Albeit the foreigner…already wearing a rather tightly fit masquerade half-mask…had simply opted to wear only the face-covering.
Such protections were necessary precautions, for this wagon-convey’s destination…was the city of Coastfield.
Having had spent more than a week or so in that medical encampment, once again the foreigner was being reassigned; this time…she was returning to clean-up and body retrieval within Coastfield proper, a task she had only been assigned to during the earliest days of the aftermath before she—and most other women to be frank—was quickly assigned elsewhere. Yet after little over a month of being moved all over and around from camp to camp…she was finally returning to that city.
So far, most of the efforts were focused on repairing, rebuilding, and cleaning up the outskirts…which was where the remaining population of Coastfield still resided. On the other hand, the inner-walls—which surprisingly still stood—were completely sealed off, with everything close to them having been evacuated and cleared.
The foreigner herself…obviously…had not been conscious to witness…or experience…the full happenings; she only knew what she was told and what she has…heard, never mind seen of the aftermath herself…
Essentially, almost the entire city beyond the inner-walls…was reduced to…a sea of charred rubble, toxic ash, and fine carcinogenic dust—beyond hazardous to even step foot into. This was all due to those putrid nasty-red fires and what the locals called a…‘fire-tide’.
As it turned out and as she herself had…hypothesized from her own observations, that so-called ‘demon-fire’…although it spread rather slowly initially…the longer those nasty-red flames burned and the longer the transmutative reaction fueling them continued, the more violent and volatile the whole thing would become…in a self-fueling cycle that only worsened more and faster as it worsened on, burning hotter; likewise, the reactivity only intensified when in contact with other similar…nasty-red flames and reactive processes.
If allowed to accumulate in a high enough concentration and if allowed to burn for too long of a time, these nasty-red fires could reach a tipping point…whereafter those ‘demon-flames’ would rapidly spiral into an uncontrollable hyper-reactive and hyper-volatile cascade that…behaved more akin to a ‘wave’ or ‘tide’…that would ‘wash over’, burning through anything and everything even vaguely combustible…with both extreme heat and speed.
This so-called ‘fire-tide’ was a rather…defining property of this ‘demon-fire’; though, such was only half the picture…for there was another destructive catalyzing event that had apparently set everything off.
From her understanding…at some point following the second barrage during that night of inferno…the burning inner-city had experienced a large…large detonation. A thunderous nasty-red explosion so potent and powerful…that the shockwave was enough to topple buildings in the inner-city, damage ears, and shatter windows as far as the outskirts.
Indeed, ‘the largest explosion they had ever seen’…thus those who saw it had so deemed.
That explosion, the resulting shockwave, and the onslaught of ravenous fires it had unleashed…were enough to trigger the formation of a nasty-red fire-tide that proceeded to rapidly devour through the inner-city…reaching all the way to the inner-walls.
The only reason why the fire-tide did not ultimately bleed into the outskirts…was because of the quick-thinking of the guards…who swiftly shut closed the inner-walls completely, trapping the tide, themselves, and everyone else…still stranded, sealing their fates along with the gates.
Left without anything more to consume, the fire-tide…as fast as it had devoured…quickly withered behind the inner-walls; though, not before unleashing a truly…nasty charged cloud of putrid smoke and toxic ash which the wind had carried straight over the outskirts. Lightening and scorched ash had proceeded to hail down…igniting the outskirts into another fury of fires, devastating much of it…never mind thoroughly smothering it in that burning toxic ash.
Only due to the intervention of the remaining Griffon Knights, the freelancer mages they had on them, and even adventurers from the Guild, who themselves had long sprang into action, had the outskirts managed to survive that night; albeit, the mages were the ones who had ended up doing most of the fire-control work, apparently and…not surprisingly.
Suffice it to say…despite more than a month of continued arduous work…the situation in Coastfield still remained precarious and…hazardous.
Trade had broken down, the economy of theirs was practically non-existent, and anyone who still remained in the city had to wear constant protection whenever outside due to the still present contamination of toxic ash and traces of…lingering crystalline dust. There was still so much needing to be done in the outskirts and city proper; but…progress was still being made, nevertheless.
Though…the Company’s higher leadership…did not necessarily see it that way.
Apparently, from what she had…eavesdropped…from the leading officers, their higher ups were becoming impatient over the apparent slowness, especially in regard to the lack of any deployment to beyond the inner-walls—where the Company’s ever-precious port and other facilities still remained in ashen ruin. Such was the case for good reason, of course, but now…hands were tied; thus, beginning soon was…the arduous cleanup operation of the inner-city—hazardous conditions and dubious safety…notwithstanding.
The foreigner sighed…her mask-obscured eyes peering out from the wagon’s back…even outside of Coastfield, everything appeared more…alien than it used to be. Militarized in many ways…the once empty fields of grass were zoned with layers of defensive trenches and primitive artillery placements…with shanties and improvised encampments sprinkled around and about.
Silent. The wagon was silent.
The foreigner, having not much better to do, began to peak around at everyone. The volunteers were seemingly…half asleep and barely present, for indeed it was…still rather early in the morning and well-restedness was more of a luxury for them. She then peered at the accompanying Company soldiers…who were also half asleep and only somewhat present.
Hmm…she stared…her obscured eyes could not help but…keep peering at them…
An interesting bunch, these ‘line infantries’ were; they wore specific colored coats of sorts, styles largely uniform but dependent on which ‘regiment’ one belonged; colors of their coats ranged from black, dark-grey, dark-aquatic, with some blues, whites, greens, and browns here and there; and, of course, they all donned that ever-iconic Far Western ‘tricorn’ hat; though, officers donned a ‘bicorn’ hat as well as…a more elaborate uniform and even a short shoulder-cape.
Indeed, stylistically they were Far Western line infantry in all ways—a style in continuation without deviation for more than a century.
Their equipment, on other hand, was peculiar. They had breech-loaded rifles, with a few specialized ‘light infantry’ units having repeaters. Most of them had rudimentary hand grenades dangling from their equipment-belts; likewise, a few had shovels, hammers, even cutters…and other such equipment more becoming of a specialized ‘sapper’ than a line soldier.
Certainly, they all seemed far more equipped for quasi-trench warfare than they were for simple line formation tactics. Truly, they appeared as if they themselves had no idea whatsoever what era they were even in anymore.
Though, of course, the foreigner herself was not at all attending to most of these specific details, rather…what was catching her attention was the…other apparent similarity which she had…with these Far Westerners. Indeed, the…uniform stylisms and appearance of these Far Western ‘line infantry’ were…on a basic level…similar to the Remnant’s own—uncannily so, in fact, with their colored coats and fancy hats.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
Albeit the Remnant’s own were beyond standardized, the colors only denoting branch-affiliation and specialization; likewise, their ‘hats’ were…taller and were not necessarily ‘hats’, and never mind that these Far Westerners had not a HUD-mask nor…any other convenient equipment and integrated systems; most certainly, still primitive in all ways.
Yet despite these, among many other, fundamental and concrete differences, the similarities were still enough to…play with her mind more often and in more ways than she…cared to admit.
The wagon convey, at last, finally reached within sight of the outer-walls of Coastfield; the Company’s flag waved in glory around the entry gates and towers, while air balloons dotted the sky above the city with watchful eyes. The Company entry guards, spotting the arriving convey, immediately opened the gates…as the wagons galloped in without pause.
Almost instantly, the air around became more murky and ashen, but…it seemed remarkably better than the last time she had been here.
As the wagons made way, the foreigner peered and looked…evaluating the city around, seeing the burnt ruins…but also the repairs underway…and the much clearer streets and paths, free from both…rubble and…bodies. Many denizens were out and about, going about their many doings—facemasked and goggled of course, which had been provided by the Company at a…credit.
But regardless…slim normalcy was starting to return, seemingly.
Noisy…it was much noisier than the last time, but…such was hollow—nothing compared to what Coastfield used to be. It was clear and evident that the lingering population was just a…fraction.
Most were displaced by the bombardment and subsequent fires and were now being housed…in encampments outside of the city; though, many had opted to simply leave the realm entirely; those who did remain…even with all of the precautions…were still lowering their life-expectancies. Even though the inner-walls trapped that sea of toxic ash, the wind…still blew some of it over.
Yet despite that, the denizens here…nevertheless…seemed cheery enough; optimistic too, even if a bit…hardened and…
“Traitors!” A fruit of sorts suddenly came lancing, smushing into the wagon…followed by a few more.
…and perhaps somewhat rowdy.
Ignoring this, the wagons continued on until finally…coming to a halt.
“[All right! That’s enough! We’ve come deep enough! Everyone out!]” so ordained an officer. “Alright, this is it; everyone hop out” another repeated in local tongue.
Everyone quickly hopped out, volunteers and soldiers separating and self-organizing into their own respective columns and groupings. So many volunteers…silently whispered in conservation, stretching and yawning away, as the foreigner stood in static silence among them…they were by no means as disciplined as the soldiers.
A Company officer of sorts approached the volunteers who promptly turned silent.
“You volunteers, you all live here, no? For most of you, it must have been a long month away, right?” the officer asked, the volunteers largely nodding affirmative.
“Well, since the expedition doesn’t begin for a few more hours, you’re all free to take a short leave… to see your homes, catch up with friends and family…or do whatever must be done; but just be sure be right at the interior walls well before your watches’ hand turns to twelve…and stay in groups…do not wander alone…for your own safety” he said and instructed.
Dismissed, the volunteers all collectively acknowledged before…respectfully dispersing. So many whispers and murmuring voices began to flare; many eager, many thrilled, many excited, yet also many dreadful and anxious…to finally be back home.
The foreigner swiftly began to wander off, alone, taking out from her pocket a…well…a ‘pocket-watch’—a small primitive ‘gear-clock’ of sorts. Accurate timekeeping was becoming an essential component to Far Western…well…everything, but militaries especially. So much so, in fact, the Company had provided all the volunteers these pocket-watches…free of charge.
She inspected this ‘pocket-clock’ gizmo. Hmm…this clock was divided into twelve hours…which she still found to be odd…but hmm…the hand was pointed at around seven-ish…or at least was close enough…thus she had…five or so local hours?
Huh…well in that case, she may as well explore around.
-||-
Noises. So many noises. Marching boots, trumpets, and regimental drums…echoed from patrolling Company columns. Denizens; coughing; talking; chatting; crying; moaning; yelling; arguing; bartering; remarking. So many colors and shades of denizen noises echoed and bounced in the air around...despite being a hallow corpse of what they once had been.
Though, such noises…she did not find them as irritating as she once had; they did not…pierce her mind so. Tolerable…they were tolerable; if anything, these noises were far more preferable to the…ones she had been hearing…over the past month or so.
Yet likewise…these denizen noises were not just…noises, as she had come to more properly acknowledge; they were voices…speaking words, saying things, conveying meaning…conveying information. Indeed, the foreigner tuned her ears…as she began to focus and…pay attention to the noises which hardly…really attended to prior, taking it all in as she strolled the streets, her presence so unremarking it was practically hidden.
Complaints; praises; rumors; hearsay; gossips; from so many such things, she began to learn and…piece together by simply…listening.
The Company’s presence here has been, so far, firm but…loose enough. The residents themselves seemed to have a varying degree of feelings and…opinions. The Company had established an interim government from surviving officials and the city’s own lesser council to maintain some stability, while the Company’s garrison maintained order. The Company alongside the Green Frogs have also been providing food, water, medicine, and material supplies to those around…albeit largely as a ration.
Yet gossips speak of many things, however, such as bribery and corruption…as those with the coin seemed to be getting far more than others. Likewise, rumors spoke of a few Company soldiers forcing themselves onto the local women and girls—the most desperate of whom…allegedly being forced into effective prostitution in exchange for extra rations and supplies.
Indeed, occasional abuses, exploitative acts, and other such similar affairs…she heard complaints of; the commanding officers themselves…seemed to be inconsistent in enforcing regulations and discipline…if not, in some cases, partaking in such themselves—which certainly did not help local sentiment.
Likewise, although the Company was directly helping with the cleanup and reconstruction, many voices spoke of…stratification and selective assistance…with the more—now formerly—affluent areas being prioritized over the poorer areas.
Yet…despite these complaints, given the situation, the locals seemed content enough; no doubt, most were still exhausted from recent events. Indeed, some of these issues seemed to have existed with the county’s prior guard force as well…and relative to them, many remarked that the Company’s soldiers were at least more ‘tame’ and helpful even if…arrogant and pompous.
Though…the foreigner halted, her mask-obscured eyes peering…as she saw a Company guard…wiping away writing which had been…‘illegally’ painted onto a battered wall.
‘Hero’s Shield to the Empire! One land! One people! One nation!’ so read the words inscribed in paint.
She then turned her eye and saw…yet more painted words nearby.
‘Unification! We will not be divided and conquered!’ thus read those words inscribed.
Indeed…even though Coastfield used to be staunchly opposed to that ‘Empire of Pegasus’, ever since the bombardment…many were swinging to the opposite direction, seemingly. This ‘pro-Imperial’ sentiment was increasing, and…they were making their presence both loud and known, some of them being…more…openly antagonistic to both the Company and…volunteers such as her, with…certain incidents not being unheard of.
Many—especially among the more learned—seemed to feel that the Company had deep ulterior motives; that the interim government was…a simple facade to the Company’s direct control; that their occupation was simply the first step in ‘colonization’. This was certainly not helped by the…ambiguity and still present confusion surrounding the entire…event.
Indeed, who had done the bombardment…was still an open question for the general population, a problem confounded by the…former Count’s and his sovereign court’s silent…discretion…regarding ‘intercontinental diplomacy’ and the Far Western powers’ own secrecy regarding the affairs of their ‘mainland’—never mind the general slow spread of information.
Thus, even if the Company’s leading officials knew—and they most likely did—they were not saying a word to the residents, not yet at least.
Nonetheless, whispering discourse from some…seemed to imply a rising belief among the more informed…that the Company themselves were the ones responsible in order to justify an occupation and de-facto conquest—a tactic that had been allegedly utilized in other lands, thus the words spoke.
However, such sentiment made little sense to her; her time with the Company so far had made it abundantly clear…that they were anything but happy about this entire affair…even if the Company’s officers were being awfully…quiet about this specific subject. Though, it was clear from her periodic…eavesdropping…that both Coastfield and the Company had been targeted mutually due to their ‘close association’.
Indeed, whispers from both more informed locals and…talkative Company soldiers…speculated of many suspects who had some problem with the Company and thus potentially Coastfield.
The ‘Folkwealth of Elkland’, who had long standing disagreements with the ‘renegade’ Company; ‘Royal New Elkland’—there were two Elklands apparently—whose ‘radical abolitionist’ ruler was ‘crusading’ against the ‘slave trade’ of both humans, ‘demi-people’, and other ‘races’…Coastfield having been a hub for the Company regarding such a ‘trade’; ‘Royume’…a backer of Pegasus which opposed the Company’s influence in the continent; ‘Rejinards’…whose presence predated the Company’s and was still a chief rival; such were the common names she heard spoken.
The foreigner continued to make way…strolling down the ashen streets, heading to wherever it was she was gravitating towards. Yet her ears continued to tune into the noises around…as she pieced more things together, bit by bit.
Truly, how much information…she was managing to collect by just…listening to what those denizens were noise-making about among themselves; by just paying attention to their world around…and to those who experienced and lived in it. All biased and sometimes contradictory pieces of a puzzle needing to be slowly completed in order to arrive at possible half-truths in this ever-ambiguous world of theirs.
Such a trove of information that she had been neglecting so; that she had been making herself deafened to. Truly, for as analytical and observant as she seemed to be…she certainly felt prone to being so blindly aloof; even now, in many ways…she still was.