Hope in Danger!
Cycle 0
Cycle 0
There was one word to describe the weather: miserable.
Thick clouds bundled over the sky, blotting out the sun and casting everything in a dimness that made the ruined cityscape of Vintergard even more desolate at a distance. Droplets splattered intermittently against the ramparts of the hastily-reinforced gates of Camp Hope, the heavens threatening cloudburst, but the storm had not yet arrived, leaving the atmosphere charged. Charged with anticipation, charged with trepidation. And cold. So miserably cold, as if winter had arrived already.
It was a creeping cold that seeped deep into the bones, but no material could be spent on bonfires now. Only through labor was the chill chased from one’s fingers and toes, and the inhabitants of Camp Hope labored infatiguingly. Forges burned so hot that they scorched, pyromancers working with smiths to hotforge blades and barbs, shovels and shields. Merchants and their caravans evacuated all their commercial wares, leaving behind only food, potable water, and medical supplies. Burdenbeasts snorted and heaved against trodden earth, their massive frames pulling forwards greater constructions, while the most fleet-footed adventurers were scrambling in every which direction, delivering supplies to and fro to the sappers out in the field.
Three times. Three times now, that Camp Hope IV had survived the onslaught of the DEAD.naught. Three times too, that they have failed to destroy it.
It had returned stronger than before, evolving with each iteration, and they have numbers greater than ever before as well, with Astorea’s government finally moving towards the reclamation of Vintergard.
This would be the fourth. This would be the last.

“Hammer those stakes deeper! It’d be disastrous if the ballistae became dislodged during the opening salvo! Medical team, where’s the report on our supplies? Lions, get those constructs to the salvage team!”
Levi’s voice carried well through the camp as he strode, calling out orders and observations throughout. The Lions Pride had always been the shield of Astorea, and in this critical moment, he would gladly take the mantle of responsibility here.
Sweat slicked his forehead, and his body chaffed beneath his armor. Between chaos of unexpected betrayals, the troubles that less-scrupulous adventurers have caused, and the near-endless amount of tasks he had to supervise, the man’s mind was fraying at the ends. But it was in this moment as well that he was in his element, even as his eyes burned from sleep deprivation, even as his armor had long lost its sheen, and that fearless smile of his remained.
He was the red-headed devil, the Lord Commander of the Lions Pride, and, most importantly, he wasn’t even the one under the most duress.

"Chin up, Meriam,"
Levi said, eyes glancing over at the untouched cup of tea by the smaller woman.
"What's the report from our forward scouts?"
Levi said, eyes glancing over at the untouched cup of tea by the smaller woman.
"What's the report from our forward scouts?"
The faerin rubbed her eyes, letting out a long sigh. Exhaustion was more acceptable for her to show compared to the Lion’s shining paragon, and all this was fundamentally unpaid overtime.

“Not great. Or good.”
The Faerin’s brows furrowed.
“Might be bad. Faster than before. Sporting a triple-barreled tank cannon too. Omni-directional physical shields. Escorted by a detachment from the Ruined Palace, according to the Far Seers. And…”
The Faerin’s brows furrowed.
“Might be bad. Faster than before. Sporting a triple-barreled tank cannon too. Omni-directional physical shields. Escorted by a detachment from the Ruined Palace, according to the Far Seers. And…”

Levi's gaze remained on that tea cup. The fluid. It was shaking. Minutely, but growing.

“...it’s scorching the earth behind it.”
Meriam winced.
“Won’t be able to flank it from behind like last time.”
Meriam winced.
“Won’t be able to flank it from behind like last time.”

“Well, wouldn’t be a challenge otherwise.”
Brave words.
"I trust it's still on course?"
Brave words.
"I trust it's still on course?"

“Through the trench, heading towards the Northern Gate.”

“An AI with a grudge.”
Levi nodded. That was within calculations. For all the futuristic weaponry of the Dragonship’s magitech soldiers, the mechanical titan remained stubborn in its focus of destroying Camp Hope from up close, and it had been due to that nature that they had managed to hold off its attacks for so long. As long as it continued to charge, as long as they continued to charge in kind, the gate would remain.

“I’ll continue on and out then. Keep up the good work, Meriam.”
She didn’t respond. More messages were coming in, frantic messages about how the arrival of that Camp Crushing machine was imminent.
But the two had both been well aware of its advent.
It was the rumble of thunder, where there was no lightning.
It was the smell of ash, where there was no fire.
It was malice birthed from the binary, where there ought to have been but rationality.

“TAKE YOUR POSITIONS AND STEEL YOURSELVES!”
Levi’s voice rang bright, revolting against the oppressive skies.
“THIS CAMP CRUSHER HAS FAILED THRICE. AND TODAY? IT SHALL NOT SURVIVE FOR A FIFTH ATTEMPT!”
Levi’s voice rang bright, revolting against the oppressive skies.
“THIS CAMP CRUSHER HAS FAILED THRICE. AND TODAY? IT SHALL NOT SURVIVE FOR A FIFTH ATTEMPT!”
The Sword of the Fated Hero sang as it surged from its scabbard, a mirror sheen to reflect its wielder’s peerless valor.

“LIONS PRIDE! TO ME!”
And whether accompanied by fellow braves or alone in heroic solitude, Levi strode forth, towards the thunder, the furnace, the steel.
What Commander would he be, if he led not from the front?
[ … ]
Meriam groaned as he left.
Heroic speeches were fine and everything, but his voice had certainly blown out at least one of her eardrums. She gazed at the cup of tea once more, the fluids shaking frenetically against the sides of the dainty cup, and drank the cold, mildly-caffeinated fluid down in one gulp. She’d need the energy anyways, to continue coordinating for tho-
The Faerin stopped. Blinked. Then swore in a language that couldn't quite be translated.
Her connection with the scouts had been cut.








