Viscllia

The capital of the Federation was in a celebratory mood, the cobbled streets were lined with crowds awaiting the arrival of the pride of the fleet, the grand queen of the Visclian Armada, the Visentaz. The skies were a brilliant blue, clear of any clouds, the two suns of the system far away, their dance across the heavens uninterrupted by the festivities. Soon a shudder could be felt by all that roamed the streets, the lady of the void had arrived. The Visentaz was to appear.

An immense shadow blots out the sun in an instant, a creature of steel and titanium, its twenty gargantuan railgun turrets lay dormant, each larger than the city, packing enough destructive power to shatter planets and destroy gods. In time with the arrival of the vessel, a wave of fireworks flies into the sky calling a start to the festivities. The armada had done it yet again, flying out into the darkness of the void, fighting against the horrible enemies that surrounded their nation and had returned victorious.

As the ship continues across the sky, slowly the induced night returns to brilliant day, and the celebrations are now well underway. A series of small streaks of light leave the great ship and zip in close to the city before descending lower, to the outreaches of the holy city. The admiral and his retinue have finally returned to Obtera, the holy city of Viscllia.

The city was anachronistic, while in most nations, their cities were filled with tall towers of steel and glass, the city of Obtera appeared to be torn out from a storybook of old. This however was by design, the city was made with the goal of being comfortable and walkable, it’s skies free from any pollution, it’s roads safe for people to roam. While it wasn’t able to accommodate as many people as other cities, it was one of the best cities to live in.

The city was a wondrous place, it’s roads winding and interlinked, grand streets, ornate lamps, bikes and gardens. The buildings built from natural minerals, their roofs a burnished orange, their walls a lovely cream. Ornate electric lamps line the streets, warm light spews from the simple LEDs within. Most prominent of all is the Palace of the Council, a marble building watching over the city atop a mountain, it’s pillars each over a meter in width, a grand building which towers over the city of Obtera.

The marble in the halls of the council remain silent, while outside, the festivities are in full swing, the air in Palace of the Council remains pensive, reticent to join in for there is much to do. AThe Federation’s lines have been pushed back as attrition weakens its member states, their forces slowing ground down by the forces of the enemy.

The only force that has shown any success in the recent months has been the Armada, while it has taken losses after each voyage, it has continued to come out on top against any and all it comes up against. There are those in the council who are less than satisfied by the performance of their own fleets but see Armada as the reason why their own forces have failed having supplied a ton of the resources that go into maintaining the Grand Armada which could have gone to fortifying their own. However, the Armada stands supreme and has saved each and every one of them from total destruction.

The master of the Armada descends upon one of the many landing pads that decorate the rear of the Palace. The small craft opens its doors with a hiss, the lord of the void appears with his retinue, his second in command, communications officer, security officer, and navigator. The admiral stands regally upon the top of the steps before making his way down the step, each precise and calculated. His medals shining prominently in the sun’s light, his arm resting by his sidearm, a mark of a seasoned officer. He is followed by his second in command a woman nearly equal to him in age, who carries herself with equal prose. The communications officer follows, junior to the two ahead by many years, is distracted, using her datasheet to parse through the report the admiral will submit to the council. The security officer follows, hand rested on his scabbard, the other adjusting his cap to regulation standards. Lastly, the navigator appears, clutched to his side is a large datasheet and hanging from his pocket is a ring from which hang data chips, jingling as he walks down the steps.

They are greeted by the Chief Steward of the Council, who bows before the bridge crew of the Visentaz, as he does so, a multitude of other craft begin to land around them, each holding the commanders of the Armada, landing and soon they are stood in file behind the lord of the Visentaz, a force a hundred strong. Finally, the Armada has reported home.

The Admiral turns to address his staff, “I know all of you have fought hard and valiantly against the scourge that has attacked us and we have come home, victorious yet again!”

A cheer resounds through the officers.

“However, we still have many more battles to fight for the war is not yet over. I seek your strength in the future. I wish for the captains to remain, for we have much to discuss. With that, you are all dismissed.”

After all the lower officers had left, the admiral turned to the Steward and asked, “I would have a room for me and my men for I have matters to settle. When am I to report to the council?”

The Steward plainly states, “ Sire, a room has already been prepared, you are expected at the turn of the hour for the council is in session.”

The admiral’s face remains blank but he appears displeased by this. He commands his men and heads to the room, marching through the open doors of the Palace, held open by the palace’s caretakers.

A lone figure marches before a set of grand doors and with both arms, swings them open steadily. He is met by the 12 Councillors of the Grand Council of Viscllia.

Each sits upon a regal throne that surrounds a central elliptical table that displays multiple complex arrays of data. Most of them, of elder age with few exceptions.

“I see you’ve returned with your fleet in good health, Lord Visentaz.”, nodded the War Master. A regal figure from the Orth Dominion of the Federation, remarkably youthful for the role, only 90 years of age, unlike the average of the council which must have been around 300.

“I would have rather have not, Lady Sanfara, for it appears,” the admiral paused, looking around the room, “That I am yet to head out again on another voyage.”

While the man spoke evenly and calmly, there was a tinge of irritation in his voice.

Another councillor, one of Altesian blood, stood up, rage twisting his aged features, “ Admiral. Remember your place, we all have suffered much and your fleet is essential to our efforts. Might I remind you, the Eruthians have surrounded the Altesian homeworlds, placing them under siege. We must break the vice upon Altesia. A second wasted could spell death for billions of my people.”

“I understand your position, Lord Elron, but the Armada is not of sound state, the ships are damaged and my men need rest. Being overly hasty may prove foolish, sire”, while this was blatant disrespect to one who might have been called king a few centuries ago, Jundter had that power for he and his family were instrumental in the formation of the Federation, having conquered 8 of the 11 nations of the council. While he was a lesser lord by birth, he and his were revered for their devastating effectiveness upon the battlefield.

“Might I remind you if you had properly equipped your own fleet, this siege might not have been a forgone conclusion in the first place. I heard that the Altesian Fleet had, what was it? Had most of their weapons in derelict condition, reduced to floating prisons of death of all who lay within”

Councillor Elron was about to explode into a full rage but was cut off by the Visclian representative, Lord Alder, who held up a hand. While technically said to be equal, the structure of the council was deceitful in the fact that while the Visclians had let the rest of the nations remain free and sovereign, it did not mean they didn’t still hold power over them.

“Jundter, I would remind you to not aggravate the councillors, the fact remains, most of Altesia has fallen, with only the homeworlds still standing, if barely.”

The loss of Altesia had been one of the blunders in the defence of the sector, however there was little that could be done, while they were a Federation, each were to protect their own, with the great armada coming to the aid of those who needed the might of the Visclian Armada. While Altesia fell, the Armada had been busy in the southern nadir, dealing with the Gracian fleet, who’d thought Orth would be a lovely addition to their empire.

While the Armada was technically a fleet of the capital planet of the Federation, it represented the might of the whole. Likewise, it received proportional spending as the arm of the Federation. While it was powerful, it was not a monolith, as with any fleet it required repairs and its crew needed rest. The lack of this, rightly, peeved its admiral, for while the battleship Visentaz had been uninjured by the last voyage he had ventured upon, a single ship does not make the fleet. Half of his fleet was in various states of disrepair, holes in their hulls, damaged engines, missing guns, and dead sailors. What he needed most, was time. Time, to replace vessels, barrels and men.

There was some conversing among the councillors, but it was clear what was going to happen, there was no choice if Altesia fell, the inner sanctum of the Federation would then be left open, allowing the enemy free access to it’s innermost confines, ready or not the Armada would have to go.

“Lord Visentaz, you will lead Armada upon Altesia and retake the homeworlds. We shall see you off upon sundown, may the gods be with you.”

There would be no time, for there was no time left.

Lord Elron looked upon the admiral smugly, his face still tinged red and sweaty. While Jundter could say as he wished, he was still beholden to his vow to his country, and when the council ordered him to leave, he would.

And thus, the admiral turns foot to leave the room, with the doors slamming shut behind him, well aware that the next voyage of his may be his last.