Epilogue

All was silence, all was cold.
The cave wall had closed itself behind her, but not before an icy wind had blown through the strange tunnels she had thrown herself into while trying to escape the rad-wasps.
The cold however did not bother her, or rather, there was something else that took precedence over the discomfort the cold brought her. Cripa was alone.

She knew her father had dove down ahead of her, she knew he should be here. But he wasn’t, and that was something that bothered her far more than some slight frost bite.
First things first, she would have to find her dad, and he was not here, so of she went into the ever winding caves before her, unaware of their nature, or the true horrors they held. Unaware of her fathers less than glorious fate, and above all unaware that she killed him.

Acting Commander Ton of the Tower cursed under his breath, every second word was in fact a curse. “Full grmbl SPEED!” If there was one thing he hated more than anything it was failing, and currently he was doing just that. Certainly some might argue that he had been injured, however he considered it his failure none the less. After all the Knight Commander had trusted him enough to task him with the recovery of the Camelot, and now that very ship was right there, running away from him. Normally catching up with a vessel would be simple enough, few vessels had engines like the Sword of Damocles, the Camelot however seemed to have similar engines, now Sir Ton was no engineer of course, and frankly he knew rather little about the Camelot’s specifics, such as its maximum speed, or its firepower, aside that it was a fortress class ship, one of only six ever built. He also knew that it’s defenses were reported to have been the mightiest in the history of the fortress class, but other than that, well his teacher had been more concerned with blowing things apart. “Sir, heavy debris seems to be scraping of the Camelot’s sides, it’s too dangerous to push the Sword in a straight pursuit Sir!”  Acting Commandership be damned if the men would not even obey a simple order. “What is the exact nature of the debris?” He tried to force calmth, it always seemed to work for Mordred, but he was not Mordred.

The enemy screamed, the sound echoing for but a minute. It was however all the warning Sir Bron needed, immediately he used his override to engage the magnetic boot locks on his fellow Knights, followed by the override for their helms, “All on the wall! Secure for void! I repeat! All on the wall! Secure for void!” No sooner had he spoken or the wind caught up with his words, the screaming drowned out by the howling of atmosphere being ripped asunder, he could feel the battlements shudder as the added oxygen boosted the ship’s speed to a nigh on impossible level. he looked to the sky, and could see the stars as the slight blue grey literally burned away. He watched helplessly as three of his fellows got sucked out of their armours, he remembered ordering them to wear their helm earlier that day, they hadn’t listened. Below he could see the destruction of the entire Ork population. In a way, he witnessed a victory, but he did not see it as such, after all, they had not actually fought, and when one of them had, it had been a dishonourable affair, more like shooting a flea with a cannon than fighting an equal opponent. No to Sir Bron there were no victors today.

Sweat beaded on Sir Ingles face, walking his way down to the floor between two active engines was proving to be more challenging than he had feared, especcially due to the blasted heat, but he was making a form of progress, reaching the far wall had only taken him three hours, certainly his armour would last another four, if his body would however, was a different matter entirely. He could already feel the shaking of his foot as he lifted it in order to plant it on the wall. “It’s just twenty metres Sir , you can do this!” Dame Spriggot as usual had nothing but faith in him, he would ask her permission to court her if he got out of this. “Ey make sure to get a tan eh? ” One of his other men, as was common among the order of the road, made light of the situation. “If it’s all the same to you lot, I rather not, though this would make a excellent cooker ! ” The jest was weak at best, and a tad far fetched, but he had to put on a brave face, or he would never make it down. His second boot joined the first, he would just have to make it down so he could come up with a better joke.

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This entry was posted in Geen categorie, Last Order of Knights, Verhalen van de koude grond and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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