SONS OF THE REPUBLIC - CATACLYSM

[Javert 9615]

 

SONS OF THE REPUBLIC;

CATACLYSM

A Salvian Ranger attempts to escape in the aftermath of the Fall of Salvo, 279 S.A.

 

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Blood.

 

The blood of the Salvian martyrs had run through the streets of the former Orc city of Ghorazad for hours now. Even now, Imperial and Idunian soldiers roamed the streets, looting what they could and dragging whosoever they could find from their homes to kill them on the spot. Quarter was not offered for the Salvians, but such was the price they knew they would pay for resistance. Fighting had died down roughly an hour after the Imperials had secured Fort Liberty and those who could not hide had begun attempting to flee with their lives and whatever they could smuggle.

 

Percy Calhoun, son of the fallen Mark Calhoun, was one such Salvian. He hadn’t participated in the battle that destroyed his beloved Republic, but he had arrived in its aftermath in the hopes of retrieving his Father’s body as well as whatever arms he could grab from the fallen. Yet the presence of the Imperial and Idunian armies proved a great challenge - although Percy was able to locate his Father’s broken body on the bridge beneath Fort Liberty, he found that moving it without drawing attention was too difficult.

 

A certain pain and guilt swelled in Percy’s chest. His Father was there, he could see him, but he could not retrieve him. All he could do was watch from a distance as groups of Imperials crossed the bridge from time to time, with some going as far to poke the bodies of the fallen to ensure they had expired. He cursed his apparent weakness in his head before disappearing into the alleys of Ghorazad to continue with his second task - retrieving weapons.

 

“I will come back for you. I swear it, Father,” he muttered to himself as he walked through the dark alleys. Collecting the weapons of the fallen proved easier than collecting their bodies; swords, spears, axes, crossbows, anything that Percy could stuff into a bag discretely, he grabbed.

 

Whilst turning a corner into another dark alley, he found himself seized by the arm and pulled into an abandoned house. The door was quickly shut and before Percy could react, a knife was held to his throat.

“Salvian or Imperial?!” The hooded figure demanded, keeping their voice to a whisper despite the apparent fury. Percy sputtered to respond in his shock.

 

“I- wh-”

 

The knife pressed further against his throat. “Salvian or Imperial?”

 

“Salvian!” Percy finally uttered. He could feel the knife ease from his neck as the figure shrouded in cloak and darkness rose to their feet. The knife was soon sheathed as a hand was outstretched to Percy. He readily accepted the hand, slowly rising to his feet while rubbing his neck.
 

“Good. I’m glad I am not the only one.” The figure pulled back their hood to reveal their face; “Cicero.”

 

“Percy Calhoun. Mark Calhoun was my Father,” Percy replied as he looked around at the quiet house. “If we two are alive, there’s more of us.” A pause settled over the room before he turned to look at Cicero. “What’re you gonna do?”

 

The Salvian Ranger hummed in thought at Percy’s question, followed by a shrug. “I’m not so sure,” he finally uttered.

 

“You could stick with me. The Salvian fleet’s untouched. If we can find a few more survivors to come with us, we could crew them and set off. Keep the Republic alive.”

 

Percy didn’t quite know where this had come from, but it felt right to say. At least, to him it did. Cicero offered only a nod before beginning to crack open the door. “Maybe. But right now? I’m getting the hell out of here.”

 

With that, the two parted ways without another word down their separate paths of the alleyway. Percy himself didn’t linger much longer. Once he collected as many weapons as he could carry, he began to quickly make his way out of the city as quietly as he could. In that time, he had managed to round up a few more Salvians to escape with him - though they traveled one at a time to limit their visibility and each carried two weapons that Percy had found. With most of the few Salvians he could find out of the city, all that remained was for Percy himself to exit.

 

Slowly did Percy creep towards the gate beneath the cover of night with a dagger in his right hand and a crossbow in his left. The wind which blew so fiercely in the badlands had covered the sound of his footsteps, at least most of the way. Whether he was a second too slow or it was purely bad luck, an Imperial soldier caught sight of his boot as he ducked behind a house for cover.

 

“Who’s there?!” The voice of the guard roared out in the windy night. With his spear braced, he began to approach the alley which Percy had darted into. His hands began to shake as adrenaline filled his body. He could feel his pulse quicken as he waited for the guard to draw near.

 

“Last warning! Come out, terrorist bastard!”

 

Just as the Imperial rounded the corner, Percy lunged out towards them and tried to jam his dagger into the man’s skull. Either the adrenaline had thrown him off or the soldier had been too quick, but the Imperial caught Percy’s stab by using his spear to block Percy’s forearm. Percy quickly tried to aim his crossbow for the Imperial’s ribs, only for it to be knocked from his hand by an upwards knee. With his hand free, Percy quickly made to slap his hand over the Imperial’s mouth to prevent him from yelling out. The two fell into a grappling match on the ground there in the alley with the Imperial’s spear quickly being dropped in exchange for a rondel dagger. The Imperial stabbed towards Percy's ribs, only for the blow to be just barely intercepted by chainmail despite the tip of the dagger still digging into Percy’s skin. A loud grunt of pain escaped the Calhoun before he pulled his own dagger back, grabbed its hilt with both hands, and used the whole force of his body to drive its blade into the Imperial’s throat.

 

A quiet moment of catharsis followed. He was alive. He had survived.

 

The moment did not last long as the dying whelps of the Imperial had mustered half a dozen more to begin converging towards the alley. With a frustrated scowl on his face, Percy grabbed the weapons he could from the dead Imperial and ran for the open city gates, just barely making it out undetected and into the conquered badlands.

 

 

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[EmiliainWonderland 2309]

A woman sat, still mourning the loss of her husband. That was the way of things, wasn’t it? To be a Teufel was to lose the things you loved constantly. First it was her mother who’d passed when she was 8, then it was her father who’d disappeared. Then her sisters who she’d seen a few times but never really got the chance to know. Then it was all of the friends she’d made in Salvo which was the only place that had ever really felt like home. 
 

No loss hit quite as hard as Mark, but even moreso, the loss of her son Percy. Percy wasn’t dead, but… he was so much like her, so much like his father, that she worried. She was still lamenting, lamenting everything she’d heard about his plans for the future.
 

“You were never supposed to turn out this way, Percy. I was supposed to keep it from you. Keep you safe. I know we brought you here, but you had the choice to go live your own life. Why didn’t you take it? Why come back for us? You can’t die too, please, don’t die like he did because you’re fighting the cause we lived for. Please.” 
 

She knew he couldn’t hear her, but she spoke it into the winds anyways. Diana would do anything to keep him from meeting the same fate.