Grand Expedition of Viron

The Santa Varia cuts through calm blue water as the New World rises ahead, its distant shore softened by a veil of light fog. Gentle rainbows arch across the brightening sky.

Only minutes remain before the Grand Expeditionary Fleet reaches unfamiliar land. Polished hulls and colorful banners move in orderly formation behind the flagship.

A young adult woman with a sturdy build stands near the forward rail, her dark braid tucked beneath a crimson cap. A blue officer’s coat strains against the wind, and a brass spyglass hangs at her belt.

Across the decks, sailors check ropes, spars, and boats with renewed purpose. Laughter travels between stations, mingling with gull cries and the steady creak of timber.

Griffith stands among the armored command presence of Viron as expectation gathers around him, while the mist ahead slowly begins to reveal the unknown shore.

Griffith steps toward the prow, silver armor catching the rainbows. Beyond the fog, green hills descend to a broad cove sheltered by two low headlands.

He studies the shoreline: no watchfires, palisades, or vessels break the wooded slopes. The cove's wide mouth offers calm water, a firm beach, and room for landing boats.

Flags snap from the mast. Santa Varia turns obediently toward the sheltered inlet, while the remaining ships shorten sail and anchor in ordered ranks offshore.

Twenty knights and squires of the Ashen Order turn toward him, silver and blue beneath the wet sky. Elara, a tall young adult woman in weathered plate with a lean build and blue-trimmed pauldrons, stands at his side, her auburn hair braided beneath her helm and one old scar crossing her chin.

Griffith raises his fist. The command costs him a raw throat, but the twenty answer with a thunderous cheer that rolls across the flagship and carries over the water.

Squires seize bridge ropes and check buckles while knights lower visors. Beyond them, the cove waits green and silent, its beach now close beneath Santa Varia's bow.

Anchor chains roar through their guides, and the flagship settles against the tide. Sailors swing the broad gangways outward until their ends meet the pale sand.

Griffith pats Elara's shoulder and strides toward the middle deck. Behind him, Alpha Company closes ranks, armor bright beneath the rain and banners snapping overhead.

He descends the gangway with measured care, shield and mace steady, then places one armored foot into the damp sand. The New World receives him.

Alpha Company crosses after Griffith in disciplined file. Boots press a fresh trail into the shore as the first Vironese standard rises above the beach, marking the moment history begins.

For several heartbeats, only surf answers the landing. Then reeds shiver along the cove's western edge, though no wind reaches them, and pale eyes glint beneath the wet grass.

A broad-shouldered adult beastfolk rises from the reeds, shaped like a tall marsh stag with dark hide, branching antlers, and a woven rush mantle over his chest. A stone-tipped spear rests in his hands.

More shapes stir among the reeds and low trees: furred, scaled, and feathered figures keeping low behind cover. Their weapons remain lowered, but every gaze fixes upon the standard.

Alpha Company closes ranks around Griffith. Shield rims meet with a hard clatter while the blue and yellow banner snaps above the beach, bright against the watching wildfolk.

Griffith raises his shield before him as the company locks into place. A young adult man in a gray wool robe and blue mantle steps forward, carrying a copper-bound staff and wearing a narrow silver mask over one eye.

The mage speaks toward the antlered guardian, and his words emerge in the beastfolk tongue, shaped by a strange, measured cadence. The reeds fall silent around them.

The stag lowers his spearhead a fraction, not in surrender but in warning. Along both headlands, hidden weapons remain still while every watching face weighs the company’s claim.

Griffith sighs deeply behind his barred visor and fixes upon the stag beastfolk guardian. His sword clears its scabbard as he surges across the wet sand.

Alpha Company follows in a crashing shield wall. Griffith reaches the stag beastfolk first, and his sword cuts across the guardian’s throat, killing him before he can raise his spear.

The stag beastfolk’s body falls among the reeds. Around him, his fellow stag clansmen recoil and lift their weapons as the Ashen Order presses into the shore.

A signal flashes from the flagship. Santa Varia’s cannons roar toward the tree line, sending smoke and splintered branches across the hidden stag positions.

The stag beastfolk tribe scatters deeper among the trees while Vironese soldiers seize the beach, shields locked and steel raised beneath the snapping banner.

The shield wall stops amid churned sand and trampled reeds. Banners strain overhead while the surviving stag defenders vanish among the trees, carrying their warning into the green depths.

Bows bend in a single dark line. Arrows hiss into the foliage as a crimson flare climbs above the beach, its smoke twisting against the rain-bright sky.

Offshore, signal flags answer. Santa Varia and the waiting ships turn their guns toward the wooded shore, crews moving with practiced urgency as distant reports roll over the cove.

For five grinding minutes, Vironese guns thunder against the tree line while arrows follow in dense volleys. Smoke and rain veil the cove as the forest falls silent.

When the firing stops, the stags who fled lie scattered among the reeds and wet undergrowth. Most are dead or too injured to rise, and the survivors cast aside their weapons.

Ashen knights advance a cautious distance. Several surviving stags lower their antlers and raise empty hands, submitting beneath the smoke-stained Vironese standard.

Beyond the flattened reeds, a firm natural track winds between the trees, newly visible from the beach. It offers the landing force a direct route inland without forcing the densest forest.

The beach remains in Vironese hands. Smoke drifts seaward, surrendered stags stay motionless beneath watchful steel, and the cleared track waits beyond them.

Griffith points toward two stags who stand uninjured enough to travel. Smoke drifts around their antlers, and the kneeling survivors watch with reverent, shining eyes.

The two stag survivors bow low, joyful rather than fearful, then turn inland along the cleared track. Viron releases its only healthy messengers, surrendering useful captives for the promise of obedience.

Begin the fleet's landing