shiftyd1

[shiftyd1]

Hi everyone!

This is a lore bit from my custom ttrpg that I'm developing. It's one of the more cinematic scenes I've written so far, and since I actually managed to compile it pretty well with some help from ChatGPT, of course, because I have the grammar skills of a dyslexic monkey so I wanted to share it

The Day of Reckoning

Perspective: Two footsoldiers of the Theocracy, moments before the first use of the Match Cannon.

The scene opens with a skinny young man, barely more than a boy. He’s chatting with another equally malnourished soldier, no older than eighteen. They’re leaning on their pikes, passing time between drills, talking about pay.

“Man,” the first says, “I really gotta start putting in more hours. I'm only getting fifteen copper pieces a week. I’m sending ten of those to my mom, but honestly—with how the war’s going and how much of our resources have stopped coming into the capital and started going into the skirmish zone—there’s hardly any wheat being sold. At least, not the premium grade stuff. And my mom’s too old to start up the farm again.”

The second soldier shrugs. “That’s what we get for messing with monsters. Honestly, I don’t understand why we’re even at war with them. We should just do what we did last time—accumulate a grand army, declare holy war, and annihilate them. We’re only losing because we’re sending regiments one at a time. If we actually centralized and sent our full force in, we would’ve won this war ages ago. Instead of being stuck in this stupid little skirmish that’s lasted, what, almost seven years now? Genuine bullshit, man.”

The first shakes his head. “No, if we sent all our troops to one place, all our other battlefronts would be overwhelmed. I think the high brass just didn’t expect these terrorist monsters to be this organized. What’s worse is that the Trade Federation’s dealing with these disgusting creatures. Honestly.”

As he finishes, the alarm bell rings.

A low, rising tone—urgent and unfamiliar.

They both snap to attention, rigid. They’d never heard that alarm before. They assume it’s the all-hands-on-deck signal and rush to their posts.

From the walls, they see two massive ships on the horizon, approaching the coastline.

The first squints. “What the hell are Trade Federation ships doing here? And they’re not flying any flags. What are these idiots doing?”

The second points. “Look! Look—they’re activating the barrier! No way! I’ve never seen this thing turn on!”

A thick blue filter starts to fill the sky. The marble towers surrounding the coastal capital light up—glowing brighter, the air humming—and a shimmering veil of energy stretches between them. The towers pulse, linking together, forming a dome over the city.

The first soldier turns to his companion. “This can’t be good. We’ve been here for what—five years? We’ve never seen these barriers up. This is bad.”

The second waves him off. “Oh, come on, man. These are top-of-the-line, premium-class barriers. Nothing gets through these. Come on, let’s go check out the ships.”

The first tries to grab his arm. “Wait, we should go to our battle stations. It’s not safe here. We don’t know what those ships can do—we’ve never seen Trade Federation ships in action.”

The second scoffs. “It doesn’t matter. Our intel says they’re all just projectile lobbers. Look at that—they’ve only got six guns. That’s not enough to bring down a whole capital’s barrier.”

Just as he says that, the ships begin to rise.

Massive iron hulls, lifting off the ocean’s surface. Gravity engines engaging, rumbling like distant thunder. The two soldiers stare, awestruck.

Not fearful yet. Not yet.

The ships hover, about six hundred feet offshore, a hundred feet in the air. Slowly, mechanical doors open along their undersides. Cannons—massive ones—begin emerging from beneath the waterline.

The second soldier whistles. “Whoa. I’ve never seen that before. That’s friggin’ cool.”

The first is frozen in place. Petrified.

The ships rotate, bow turning to port. The cannons shift—aiming.

Then, something else.

The city raises a second barrier. Smaller. Tighter. It wraps itself around the Kremlin at the capital’s heart, leaving the outer city exposed.

The second soldier's bravado starts to crack. “Wait, why would they raise a second barrier if they thought the first could hold?”

Before he can finish the thought, the outer barrier—the one shielding most of the city’s armaments—drops for just a moment. A massive volley erupts from the city’s defenses. Ballistae, catapults, enchanted projectiles, and spellfire light up the sky.

Any normal ship would be obliterated.

But as each projectile makes contact with the air around the ships, something strange happens—the clouds around them shift outward, like the force is being deflected. The energy just… vanishes.

The first soldier watches, wide-eyed. “They have barrier generators… that advanced?”

The outer dome seals again.

Reloading begins.

Then the ships fire. Both at once.

Beams of light slam into the barrier. It begins to fracture—visibly—like glass under pressure then it shatters no noise just gone.

The barrier shatters.

From the top decks, the naval cannons open fire on the barrier towers. Each tower falls in seconds. Without them, the city can’t restore its barrier.

The ships start turning. Their bows point forward again—directly at the heart of the city.

The soldiers don’t move.

The first clutches a pendant around his neck. A tiny locket, holding a picture of his mother. His eyes water. He kisses it.

Then the sound begins.

A howling. Deep. Impossible to place.

It rises. Then a screech. Two blinding lights—bright enough to burn the sky—tear across the battlefield. They move fast enough to see, but too fast to react.

The first soldier turns, just in time to watch the Kremlin’s barrier shatter like it was never there.

The beams strike the palace.

His mind goes quiet.

And everything goes black.

In the next moment, everything within two miles of the impact site is gone. Vaporized. People, stone, bedrock—all reduced to dust.

Bridge of the Devastators

Perspective: The Kaisers at the helm of Devastator 1 and Devastator 2 during the Day of Reckoning.

Clarification: Devastator 1 is on the left. Devastator 2 is on the right. Kaiser 1 commands the right ship. Kaiser 2 commands the left.

Kaiser 1, breaking radio silence.

"This is Kaiser 1. Breaking radio silence. How copy, Kaiser 2?"

Kaiser 2 responds.

"Kaiser 2 here. How go preparations?"

Kaiser 1, monotone but proud:

"All systems are green. No mechanical failures. Some analog problems with our rangefinders, but we’ve got sharpshooters. We don’t need them anyway."

Kaiser 2 replies:

"Please don’t joke. These weapons were entrusted to us directly by Mistress Fortress. Joke not about their mechanical problems."

The line goes quiet… then both Kaisers start laughing.

Kaiser 1 says, "Man, you sound just like Fortress."

Kaiser 2 chuckles, "If she knew we were talking like this over official comms, she’d have our heads."

Kaiser 1 says, "She will. This is all being recorded, remember?"

Kaiser 2 pauses. "…Worth it."

Kaiser 1 shifts gears. "We’re 600 feet from the target. I’d say that’s close enough. Let’s stop now and prep battle stations."

Kaiser 2 confirms. "Kaiser 2 copies."

The transmission ends. Over the crackling radio:

"Battle stations!" – Kaiser 2

"Battle stations!" – Kaiser 1

Inside the command center, Kaiser 1 turns to his three Centurions.

"Now, men, we’ve got two minutes to be battle ready. If pre-fire checks go green early, notify me—we’ll start prematurely if everything’s go."

The three Centurions scatter.

Centurion 1 heads to man the naval cannons. Centurion 2 starts barking orders at the engineers and non-essential crew, getting everyone to their bunks or stations. Centurion 3 gives a pep talk to the crew operating the below-waterline cannons.

As the ships prepare, the city’s barrier goes up.

Kaiser 2 radios, "It’s Kaiser 2. You see those barriers?"

Kaiser 1 responds, "Yes, I have eyes, man."

"Think they’ll be a problem?" asks Kaiser 2.

Kaiser 1 shrugs, then realizes Kaiser 2 can’t see him. "I doubt it. And if they are, we can just retreat. Not like they’ve got anything that can hurt us."

Kaiser 2 answers, "Overconfidence is the downfall of anything."

Kaiser 1 fires back, "As to you."

1:30 into pre-fire checks. Both crews report: all systems green.

They start 30 seconds early.

The gravity engines hum to life, lifting the ships from the sea.

Over the intercom, both Kaisers announce:

"Alright men. Just like we practiced back home. We’ve got this."

The city’s outer barrier disengages.

Kaiser 1 contacts Kaiser 2: "Weapons hot yet?"

Kaiser 2 replies, "No. We’ve got to test our metal first. Can’t go in easy. Let them volley first—but make sure to overclock your barriers, just in case."

Kaiser 1 acknowledges. "Understood."

He relays the order to Centurion 2, who tasks the engineers with overclocking the generators. They're hesitant. These shield generators probably cost more than their entire lifetimes twice over. But orders are orders.

The city opens fire.

A hail of catapults, cartridge rounds, and 250 mages’ spellwork comes flying.

The ships brace.

The gauges tick upward... slowly.

0.02% capacity. Nothing.

Both Kaisers radio each other—simultaneously.

Kaiser 1: ".01% to our barriers. Are you kidding me? This is supposed to be a military stronghold, not a civilian outpost."

Kaiser 2: "You serious? I risked our barriers for this?"

They both sigh in disappointment.

They step back from the forward viewing windows and slump into their command chairs.

Over the intercom, each speaks to their ship:

"This is Kaiser. Centurions now have full control. Standard procedure, as always."

They hand off leadership to their Centurions—not out of laziness, but to test command under pressure. And because this was a letdown.

The six Centurions coordinate.

Plan: full double broadside.

Estimate: three volleys from the below-waterline cannons to take down the barrier.

But on the first volley, the outer barrier falls.

All six Centurions are stunned.

They scramble to coordinate a second volley—this time from the topside turrets.

Each Devastator has six twin-barrel turrets, but only three are facing the city on each ship. Six cannons total.

They assign two turrets per target tower. Four towers total.

The two nearest the harbor are brought down immediately.

The final two—targeting the main gate and the eastern slums—are long shots, but the hits are perfect.

No backup barrier generators.

The towers crumble.

The city is defenseless.

Now the Kremlin’s barrier activates—an inner shield, glimmering blue. The city’s own bureaucracy just highlighted their most important target.

The Centurions take formation.

The ships shift into a forward-facing attack line.

"Fire the match cannons."

None of the engineers were ready. Trained? Yes. Prepared? No.

The moment they fire, the ships’ lights flicker. Control panels short for a second. The blast that follows is like nothing they’ve ever seen.

At first, it’s a spectacle. Then, a horror.

A blinding white light rushes toward the ships—fast.

The crews realize too late:

They were 600 feet offshore. The Kremlin was 1,000 feet inland. But the evaporation zone of a match cannon is two miles.

The engineers go into emergency protocol.

All non-critical systems shut down.

Power rerouted to the barriers.

External match crystals are plugged in, dumping energy directly into the shields.

Overclocked beyond safe parameters, the barriers hold—barely.

They bounce the force downward, into the seabed.

Two new ravines form beneath them.

Thirty seconds. That’s how long it lasts.

Bright white, then smoke.

When it clears, the capital is gone.

The two Kaisers sit in silence. Both radio each other, furious.

They didn’t warn us.

We could’ve lost both ships.

Each ship costs nearly 11 gold pieces. Losing them would’ve been a catastrophic blow.

Not for personal reasons. But for logistical ones.

They were more angry about the risk to their assets than their lives.

In the aftermath:

Power depleted.

Shield cores scorched.

Match reserves drained.

Their top speed, once 130 knots, is now just 50.

They limp home.

It takes two extra days to return to port.

But the consensus?

An overwhelming victory.