#it reinforces the mandate and fall of the dynasty

[randomnameless]

You talked of a role reversal between Edel and Wilhelm, but aren't they similar? They both want to conquer Fodlan.

Yes, they are similar, but also different.

As units first, Willy isn't a front line unit, I was wrong about the HK's utility, but actually, it's not a pure support unit, it's a combat unit.

Edel’s toolkit (using her base form and canon classes) is geared to make her a formidable unit (lol armor) who is supposed to be able to solo maps on her own. Aymr enables her to act again and to basically smash something dead on her own.

I joke a lot, but to be fair, I don’t know what Willy was like, as a unit.

I know one thing though, Holy Knights aren’t supposed to solo maps, and they’re not supposed to kill things on their own.

Edit :

lol that thing's old

Then we got Nopes, and I still think it's very telling how Willy is associated to his shield, in Nopes, when Supreme Leader, while she has a shield in her model, always ends up with new axes, first it's Aymra, then Labrunda (who doesn't even have backstory like Wilhelm's shield, but is just in a pile of weapons the Empire had in store in Enbarr). Shield + Holy Knight vs Axe + Armor unit -> they're kind of different, right?

[unpeumacabre]

my kingdom for a horse: chapter 4

the year is 1601, a messenger has been sent to dongnae, and he has not returned. lord cho-hak-ju advises the joseon king to send crown prince lee chang to dongnae to investigate, but the plot he unravels there threatens the safety of the entire kingdom, and the stability of the dynasty.

a rewriting of kingdom, and lee chang finds love.

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Lee Chang/Yeong-shin

Read on AO3 (bc tumblr might mess up the formatting + more extensive author’s notes on the story)

Count: 3k

<-- previous next -->

In the morning, Lee Chang leaves Sangju with instructions to the soldiers to hunt for the monsters in the day, and destroy their bodies in the ways that would leave them permanently dead. The commander of the battalion also reassures him that they will further reinforce the walls and put into place new measures against the monsters, so that their defenses will hold.

Near the last few hours of night-time, nearing dusk, some more tenacious monsters had started banging on Sangju’s gates, but there had been so few of them that the guards on the walls had been able to hold them off. The men had reported a larger crowd of monsters that had been following, however, and had disappeared as the sun crossed the horizon. Lee Chang hopes there will be enough soldiers to thin them out sufficiently so they will not present a problem come the next night.

He leaves Sangju clad in thicker clothes, for winter is nigh upon them, and every breath comes out in a misty puff of air. And he leaves Sangju in Lord Ahn Hyeon’s care, as he had promised Yeong-shin.

“It is not that I am forcing you out of mourning; it is that the people need you,” he tells his master, seriously. “You must take care of Sangju in my absence.”

Lord Ahn Hyeon had gazed upon him with solemn, thoughtful eyes, then bowed and accepted with little protest. “I will see to it that the signal fires are lit, and that the men are deployed to find the monsters,” he murmurs. “Where will your next destination be, Your Highness?”

“I must trace the origin of the disease,” Lee Chang replies. “Someone is spreading this plague, very deliberately, so I must find its agent, and prove that he is an agent of Cho Hak-ju. I will journey to Jecheon, and if I do not find answers there, then on to Wonju, and so forth, to the other cities. I must stop the plague before it reaches Hanyang, and consumes the royal family.”

“You are certain you do not wish any of my guards as accompaniment?”

“I have Mu-yeong and Yeong-shin with me,” Lee Chang answers steadily. “And I wish to travel incognito – it will be difficult with an entourage.”

“Mu-yeong and Yeong-shin,” Lord Ahn Hyeon repeats softly, and his eyes dart towards Lee Chang’s left. Lee Chang feels Yeong-shin shift uneasily next to him, but otherwise, he makes no acknowledgement of Lord Ahn Hyeon’s gaze upon him.

“Yes, you will be safe with them by your side,” he acquiesces, and returns his piercing scrutiny to Lee Chang.

His eyes linger on Lee Chang for a moment more, then he nods, and sighs.

“If I may, Your Highness – I was wrong about you. You are not still the boy I left behind in Hanyang three years ago,” he says, so softly that only Lee Chang hears him.

“That boy would not have survived the past few days,” Lee Chang returns, with a dry smile.

“Mm, that is true. You make an old man long for his days back in Hanyang, Your Highness,” says Lord Ahn Hyeon, returning his smile; and it is on this bittersweet note that they make their parting once more.

The road to Jecheon is hard-going for their steeds, but it is quiet and with little distraction. They travel a great distance in the one day, and Lee Chang estimates they will likely reach Jecheon the next morning. They break for the night in a relatively-sheltered area of the plains, from which it will be easy to see approaching monsters, and then they divvy up the night watch as usual.

Seo-bi wanders off to gather more herbs to treat the various scrapes and wounds they have acquired here and there, and Yeong-shin volunteers to accompany her, both as a guard and to hunt meat for their supper.

The moment they are alone, Mu-yeong sidles up to Lee Chang, where he is seated by the fire and sharpening his blade with his whetstone.

“Did you speak to the tiger hunter last night?” he asks, glancing watchfully out towards the plains.

“I did,” Lee Chang says quietly.

“…And?”

“I do not know what to make of him,” he confesses.

“What to – Your Highness!” Mu-yeong splutters. “It is true that he has conducted himself well so far, but he is a dangerous man, and we do not know who he is, or why he has placed himself by our side for so long! He may well be in the pay of one of the numerous officials who wants you dead – oh!”

“It is alright,” Lee Chang murmurs calmly, swiftly pressing the fabric of his robe against his hand, where his carelessness has opened up a cut in the join of his palm. “My mistake. I was being incautious.”

Mu-yeong helps him clean and bandage his wound in a guilty silence, but he is not to be so easily put off the subject.

“Your Highness,” he presses, and his voice now holds a tinge of hurt, “Do you trust him more than you trust me, when I say that we cannot put our faith in him?”

“It is not a matter of weighing you against him,” Lee Chang says, a stern rebuff. He feels the sting of his fresh wound in his clenched fist, and forces himself to regain his composure. When next he speaks, his voice is cool once more.

“It is not that I do not trust your intuition in this matter,” he tries again. “He may very well have ill intentions. But my opinion on this is an opinion of necessity. He is a powerful warrior, and he knows these parts well. We would do well to have all the help we can get.”

“Then I will keep an eye on him,” Mu-yeong says obstinately. “I will protect you from his treachery, if indeed he proves to be a turncoat.”

“And I will rest well,” Lee Chang replies, granting Mu-yeong a soft smile, “knowing that you are by my side.”

Lee Chang takes the first watch that night, and even when his shift has been relieved by Mu-yeong, he remains sleepless for hours still, and tosses and turns in his bedroll. Yeong-shin is an enigmatic figure indeed, and yet he fascinates Lee Chang so. Lee Chang wonders why.

The next morning, they reach Jecheon in good time. It is a bustling city, smaller than Sangju but well-developed in its economy. The markets are in full-swing, and the shouts of customers and sellers alike fill the air. Seo-bi slips away to purchase more food and herbs, but Yeong-shin stays close.

“The crowds can be dangerous,” is his response, when Lee Chang asks him if he will not be making his own purchases.

“I am not helpless,” Lee Chang says patiently.

“And he has me,” blusters Mu-yeong.

“I know you aren’t,” Yeong-shin says bluntly, but still he doesn’t retreat. Lee Chang resigns himself to having two overprotective men plastering themselves to his side as he wades through the crowd. He almost trips over an old man buying crockery at one of the stalls, and bends to pick up the man’s straw hat when it falls to the ground. The man accepts it from him with a down-turned head and quiet words of thanks, and soon disappears, washed away by the surge of the crowd.

It seems an endlessly-long time before they reach the magistrate’s court, but finally they do. He is holding court, and as Lee Chang watches with aghast eyes, he orders a peasant stripped to his flesh and whipped within an inch of his life.

“My Lord – please believe me – the bull is mine - ” howls the man, but the governor turns a blind eye.

“How can it be your bull!” he sneers. “Tis the colour of gold – how would a lowly peasant like yourself be granted with so beautiful a creature? It clearly belongs to Lord Choi. Be grateful that I am being so merciful to you. Theft is punishable by death in my book, you know. Be grateful that I am only letting you off with fifty lashes!”

“My Lord, have mercy,” sobs the man, shrieking in agony as the whip tears at his flesh. “I have cared for this bull since it was a calf. I purchased it from Kim Oh Do in the marketplace – he can vouch for me!”

“Lies, lies, and more lies!” squeals a rotund man standing beside the magistrate. “I bought that bull from Kim Oh Do. You stole it from my farm two days ago!”

“Ten more lashes, for his lies,” orders the magistrate, and the poor man being whipped hardly has strength to react to the addition. His back is raw and torn open by the whip, and the copper tang of blood fills the air. Lee Chang can bear it no longer.

“Stop this immediately!” he roars, and strides into the court. The guards unsheathe their swords and step forward, but immediately Mu-yeong and Yeong-shin are beside him, sword raised and musket cocked.

“Your head would hit the ground before even you touched a hair on his head,” Mu-yeong snarls, and the guards balk.

“Who – who – who are you?” squawks the magistrate, shooting up from his seat in indignation. “And how dare you invade my court! Do you know who I am?!”

“Do you know who I am?” Lee Chang fires the question back at him, his voice cold. “By drawing your weapons on me, you have committed yourself to the annihilation of your whole family.”

A familiar figure stumbles out from the doors bordering the magistrate’s seat, and although it is initially difficult to recognise his face in the low light, the shape of his beard and belly give him away.

“It is the P-p-p-prince!” Cho Beom-pal whispers frantically into the ears of the magistrate. “The Crown Prince Lee Chang!”

Murmurs begin to spread among the residents of the court, then as one, they fall to the ground.

“All hail His Royal Highness!” wails the governor, his nose buried in the dust as he grovels. There is a sort of savage pleasure, Lee Chang thinks, to be taken in the way he and Lord Choi choke as they inhale sand up their nostrils.

“I have come here expecting a fair and noble man who justly deserves the mandate bestowed upon him by my father,” Lee Chang says, every word clear and crisp and cold, “and instead, what do I find? Help him up, and make sure he gets medical attention,” he says to the guard who had been flogging the peasant. He prowls towards the governor, who is now shrinking into himself and unconsciously wriggling backwards.

“Instead,” he murmurs, softly, and leans down to stare into the magistrate’s eyes, “I find a cowardly, unjust worm who serves only the rich and condemns the poor. It seems it is too much to ask, for a single magistrate in the south to fulfill their mandate to serve the people,” and he directs an icy glare at Cho Beom-pal, hunched over away to the side. The man shudders.

“Rest assured, my father will be hearing about this,” he says, straightening up and glancing around at the rest of the residents of the court. “I am sure he will be as disappointed as I am, that the nobles of this great kingdom have fallen so far in their stature.” He turns back to the magistrate.

“Get up,” he says dispassionately, “and prepare your soldiers for war. You saw the signal fires lit, did you not? There is a plague descending upon Jecheon, and it will be here by nightfall. Monsters that are half-dead, half-alive, and who crave human flesh as fodder, will come upon Jecheon in the night – monsters who can only be slaughtered by fire, or by separating their head from their body. You must send your guards to the gates to defend the city, and set up a barricade.

“Furthermore,” he continues, “there is someone spreading the plague internally, within the cities – you must send guards to investigate this matter, or you will be facing monsters both within and without Jecheon. Advise the citizens to hide in their homes and climb as high as they can, beyond the reach of the monsters.

“Dongnae has already fallen, no thanks to the man you have welcomed into your court,” and he directs another disgusted look at Cho Beom-pal, “and if you do not act, Jecheon will be next.”

“Yes, Your Highness!” answers the magistrate in a tremulous voice, finally daring to look up. “Your orders will be carried out to the letter – please be rest assured!”

“See that they are,” Lee Chang says coolly, “or your head will be the next one rolling on the ground. My blade will gladly do the honours.” He spins around, and makes for the entrance to the court. The guards part around him, and it descends into a scene of chaos, with the magistrate shouting out orders, and his men hastening to obey.

In an undertone, he murmurs to Mu-yeong, “Send a messenger to tell the king that someone has been spreading the plague of the resurrection plant around the cities of the south, and that I am investigating the matter. Tell the messenger to make sure my words do not fall into the hands of the Haewon Cho clan, and that they must be delivered directly to the king himself.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Mu-yeong says, and with a final distrustful glance at the men in the court – and Yeong-shin – he departs.

“The more enemies you make, the more I find you need me at your side,” Yeong-shin says quietly, from his side.

On impulse, Lee Chang turns to him. “Will you dine with me tonight? Later, if we calm this madness?” he asks.

Yeong-shin’s eyes widen, the first time Lee Chang has seen him so fazed. “Why me?” he says, voice rough. “Will you not be dining at his lord’s table?”

“I feel no urge to take my supper with that worm of a man,” Lee Chang says in disgust. “And I…” he hesitates. Somehow, I am compelled towards you, he thinks, privately, but of course he does not say it aloud.

“Your prince commands it,” he ends lamely instead, and tries for a smile to show that he does not mean it seriously. It does not work, and Yeong-shin’s gaze is still confused. Confused, and guarded.

“You may decline if you wish,” Lee Chang says softly. “I will take no offence.” His fingers itch – but he knows it would be improper to touch a man of so much lower a station than him. Perhaps he would not have minded, if they had been in private – but now, they are in public, and so subject to many prying eyes.

“How could I decline when the prince of my nation asks me so courteously to honour my table with his presence?” A tinge of bitterness has entered his voice. It is difficult to see his expression, for his head is turned partially away, and Lee Chang frowns.

“Yeong-shin,” he starts, but Yeong-shin shakes his head.

“It is getting late,” he says. “Did you not intend to conduct your investigations?”

“Yes,” Lee Chang says quietly, accepting the change of subject and coming back to himself with a start. He curses himself. It is not like him, to be so distracted. They make for the city.

 I must find out who has been spreading the disease among the population, he thinks to himself. The guards at the gates will be a good place to start. And then… and then I will dine with him, later tonight.

Unfortunately, his search brings little fruit, as neither the guards nor the regular vendors in the market have observed any suspicious figures who had approached them. Furthermore, news of the monsters has spread throughout the city, and the people are in a panic, shutting themselves up at home and refusing his questions. It is a maddening state of affairs, but Lee Chang knows of no other way he would have handled matters. Jecheon needs to be prepared for the onslaught that will soon follow.

As night draws nearer and nearer, he grows more and more desperate. The herbalist is the last lead he has, but she knows nothing of a resurrection plant as well, and reports that no one suspicious had visited her either.

“Except for someone who came this morning,” she recalls, “asking the same questions you did. A lady, not fair of face, dressed in white and green. Quite suspicious, if you ask me, with blood spattering her coat - ”

“This woman I know,” Lee Chang dismisses her words, wanting to reprimand her for her careless words against Seo-bi, but chary of offending her and wasting precious time soothing her ego. “Is there really no one else you recall? Anyone who had been acting strange, anyone at all?”

The urgency of his tone compels her to think further, and she taps her chin with a finger, caught up in her thoughts.

“Well, there was that one man…” she murmurs, drawing out the words as she thinks. Lee Chang feels Yeong-shin brush against him, and he forces himself to stop tapping his foot against the floorboards in impatience.

“A man, you said,” he prompts, as gently as he can.

“An old man,” she says. “He asked where the hospital was – I told him it was just down the road, the first left and then three doors away, and I found it odd that he did not know. He must have been a stranger. He seemed like a doctor, a harmless old man, and so I hardly thought of him at first… but see here, have you heard the terrible news? That monsters will come upon us tonight craving for our flesh?” She starts quaking, and there is real fear in her eyes. “I do not know what to do,” she wails, and tears spill from her eyes. Lee Chang suddenly regrets his earlier impatience.

“Lock your doors, and climb as high as you can, if possible,” he advises. “They cannot climb without aid. And bring flame and blade with you, if you can.”

“Will Jecheon fall?” she turns her tearful eyes on him. “I fear it will. Oh, what am I to do! My son… in Hanyang… I fear I will never see him again.”

“Jecheon will not fall,” Lee Chang vows, and every word he says, he believes in. “As long as I live, none shall fall in Jecheon if I can help it.”

“As long as you – who are you?” she asks, eyes widening, but Lee Chang is already halfway out of the door.

“Thank you for your information,” he says quietly. “I will see you tomorrow morning, for you will still be alive. I know you will.”

“The hospital,” he says to Yeong-shin urgently, as they leave the herbalist’s store, “we must hurry there – this old man she speaks of, he must be the one - ”

Then he realises that he can no longer see Yeong-shin’s face clearly. The lamplight in the herbalist’s shop had blinded him to the falling of night-time.

A scream rends the air, and he smells the familiar stench of rotting flesh, and hears the terrible gnashing of teeth. There is a click next to him as Yeong-shin arms his rifle.

“Too late, Your Highness,” he says grimly, “It has begun.” There is a flash of white as he offers a quick smile Lee Chang’s way – not even a proper smile, more a baring of his teeth – and says, “We will have to put off that dinner for another day.”

“I will hold you to your promise,” Lee Chang sighs, and his heart begins to beat faster. He unsheathes his sword. Even in the dimness of the night it glitters and catches the faint glow from the moonlight.

His last coherent thought, before he dives into the fray, is a prayer for Mu-yeong, and a prayer for Seo-bi.

[harlockauxillia30k-blog]

The Fall of the Centauri System

It was a miracle they arrived in time.

The imperial fists could not stay, but they left a sizable group of army troops and armor to reinforce the Centauri worlds. Our standing orders were to hold the worlds for as long as possible to delay traitor legions advancing on Terra. Likely, there were some traitor elements in Terra’s system right now, but as recon units, kill teams, strike forces. The main group was still en-route.

Harlock walked down the transport ramp to behold his old home. Almost 800 years of combat service created a lot of space for things to change. House Galm’s central spire spawned multiple smaller support spires, each as grand as House Gloriana’s, as the central one clamoured up to the heavens like the tower of Babel.

Harlock gestured to his men. “The colonel wants you moving out on the double! Our lords watch us now, do not ashame them! Move!”

Captain Spektor approached Harlock and saluted. “Greetings Major. my company is ready to redeploy. What news of our position?”

Harlock sighed. “House Galm is taking all the experienced troops to defend its spire-base. We have section 37. I don’t know how we intend to oppose enemy landings but right now it looks like our role will be purely defensive in nature.

Spektor tabbed a holo map and examined section 37. “Then lets hope we don’t fight against the iron warriors.”

“Or the world eaters” Harlock offered.

“Or the Sons of Horus.” Spektor continued. They both stopped at that, chuckling.

“We haven’t won a significant engagement since we’ve been deployed. Our imperial army units die like dogs en-masse, and only occasionally do we wound a traitor legion enough to be considered tactically relevant. The elite Solar Auxillia perhaps have a chance, sir, but we don’t rate like that. Most of my young men are more terrified of these warriors of chaos than they were when the war broke out.” Spektor said, matter-of-factly.

“Are you saying your giving up, Captain?”

“No. I’m saying we’re going to lose here, and we’ll all likely die.”

Harlock considered that for a moment.

“Then, considering the alternatives, this will be a good death. Surrounded by our comrades on soil that is our own, fighting to defend our people.”

Spektor cut him off. “Don’t remind me of our people. What if the Emperor Children are involved here?”

Harlock frowned. “Captain, you’ve gained enough ranks in this army to know when we are given an order, we do not question, we just obey to the best of our ability.”

Spektor begrudgingly agreed. “Yes, sir. We’ll show you what hard fighting noble Centauri riflemen are made of.”

With resignation to their grim task, the 2nd Centauri marched through its home. Instead of being met like a conquering parade, the common folk seemed terrified, malnourished, and poor. Few if any showed up to watch them.

In time, the column stopped before the thresh-hold of the Galm spire.Upon the steps, a man in a regal purple and gold robe awaited them.

“I am the speaker of House Galm! Welcome, defenders! Officers must follow me to meet with our lordship in the high courts. Soldiers, are to go their assigned positions. Glory to Centauri!”

Harlock, Colonel Galente, and three captains of the 2nd Centauri stepped forward.

“Your ‘captains’ are insignificant. Let them organize the rabble!” the speaker declared.

Spektor snorted at this- a mechanical sound, and in a voice that was not his own shouted “Sod off you limey bastard!”

Much of the common soldier got a chuckle out of this as Harlock and the Colonel crossed the threshold into the palatial spire.

“Never actually been inside the Galm spire.” Harlock said, looking around.

“Harlock, this is sensitive ground. Don’t do anything inflammatory.”

The major looked at the colonel. “Of course sir. I doubt we’d have time to seduce any more of their princesses.”

Galente massaged his temple. “Ah... at any rate, lets keep moving.”

As the pair advanced up the spire, they noticed increasingly complex metal statuetes, twisting beams of various minerals, and brighter and brighter colours towards the top of the ballroom. Behind Harlock, there were perhaps three other sets of colonels and majors from other, newer Centauri regiments that Harlock did not recognize.

At last, they reached the top, and stepped into the court chambers, aided by a series of lifts.

Sitting atop a throne of gold and silver, an immense man of absolute corpulence shifted in his seat to regard the newcomers, adorned in regal colours and fine tailoring. All around, the socialites of House Galm  stood arranged in various positions, grinning at the new arrivals. Harlock did not bother to look for his long lost beloved; she was dead. Everyone he knew on this planet was dead. It had been 800 years, and this felt as alien as any strange new human culture on the periphery.

“Soldiers of Centauri, you have bled across the stars in my name. I am your overlord, Master Vellam Galm. Welcome to my eternity tower. In here, you will see everything you strive to be. Perhaps, through total devotion to me, you may attain some measure of what you see before you.”

The overlord of Centauri prime extended a hand, pinkish from its pampering, and a filled goblet of wine was promptly deposited therein.

Behind the lot of Imperial forces, one man walked forward, frowning.

“Sir, I’m General Storm, here to supervise your planets defense. Let’s skip formalities and get to the point. We need to redeploy troops- they’ll do no good sitting on castle walls while your cities fall. I propose two task forces-”

“No. You command nothing. I rule here.”

Harlock looked between the two. General Storm was not your run of the mill do-nothing general. A part of his face was deeply scarred- so much you could see the outline of bone, while his left leg and arm had been replaced by cybernetics which the general did not bother to hide,

“I have a bloody mandate, from the high LORDS, and from Rogal Bloody DORN, that this world is to be fortified as I see fit. I’m not asking, I’m telling you- I dont give a singular damn about your god damn dynasty, or right to rule, or any of that garbage. You’re sitting next to bloody Terra! The throne! Your her last line of defense- and I’ll be thrice dead before I see Terra fall because I failed in my duty. Surrender your household and defense troops to me at once. I’ll be sure to post guards to keep you safe.”

Lord Galm grimaced, his face contorting as he did so, and lightly discarded is goblet of wine upon the ground, pushing himself up from his throne with surprising ease.

“I have a primarch I answer to as well.”

Storm stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. “And who the hell is that? Crusade command didn't tell me about anything like that?”

Galm’s voice seemed to change ever so slightly. “Lord Fulgrim, of course.” the overlord said, before stabbing into the general with alarming speed for a man of his girth.

Storm fell to the ground, and the remaining Imperial loyalists brandished their blades and weapons.

“Join me, warriors, or suffer for my pleasure.”

Harlock looked again at many of the lords and ladies. They grinned with unnaturally long smiles. A few of the women at a second glance seemed wholly unnatural, sporting strange horns atop their heads, bizarre disfigured hand-claws, and small devilish tails.

“My eternal master, Fulgrim offers you to join in his crusade against Terra. Long have the high lords and their emperor ruled above us, and long have we yearned to be free. Now, we are, and it is glorious. Submit yourselves, and become more powerful than ever before.”

Harlock, with weapons in hand. trembled.

To his credit, another, old colonel of the guard, pointed his bolt pistol at the morbid figure of the master of house Galm, and fired three shots into its head- perfectly aimed- only for them to bounce off a glowing pink energy field.

“I see. Regrettable. But we can still have our fun.”

In a hair of a second, daemonettes of the court, adorned in their pleasant dresses and frills, threw themselves at the imperials, cackling and screaming with delight.

“FUCK!” Harlock shouted, as they fell upon him. His best parrying and dodges seemed slow by comparison, and he was cut and nicked at by the creatures, who chittered and hummed in an alluring, alien way.

“Ah, Is that Jan Harlock? Excellent, Ladies, spare him for last. I will see him thoroughly defiled before he dies. Feel free to take his hands though, if you must.”

To his left, Colonel Galente fired wildly with his hotshot laspistol, swinging like mad as a daemonette in a lovely white dress ducked and weaved, until his arm was grasped with a claw, snapping the bone and forcing him to drop the gun. Her other hand precisely dislocated his shoulder, while it pinned it to his back. Galente screamed in agony as his arms were twisted around, as the daemonette took him from the fray, and began waltzing about the ballroom, screaming with laughter and pleasure, as the cult of Galm gave appreciative applause.

“Oh ho! Quick, play some music, this is an invigorating display!”

Shortly, some did, as the Imperial party fell one by one. some killed by their dancing partners before taking to the waltz, others screaming in agony as they died slow deaths in the arms of their daemonette partners.

Harlock was doing his best to duel with the daemonette before him, but even compared to inhuman strength and dexterity of an astartes warrior, this thing was like nothing he could imagine. It did not speak, but he could hear feminine voices in the back of his mind. Subtle whispers to submit, to caress, to lust and to hunger.

Harlock aimed his plasma pistol at his colonel, and fired a shot into the mans back, at last killing him, then flung himself towards the door, being struck in the leg for his efforts, but at last at the door to the ballroom. Daemonettes were hot on heels every step of the way, and he dueled and parried with a pair of them as he descended the steps, never landing a hit, always receiving some little cut, or wound for his trouble.

Over a spire mounted laudhailer, he heard: “Where are you running, Master Harlock? Do not leave your dance partners waiting. I thought you fancied Galm girls. Don’t you find these to your liking?”

As Harlock progressed down, he began to notice odd behavior from the daemons. They flickered, and seemed irritated or in pain. Eventually, they could follow him no further, and instead beckoned upon their step, exposing their lithe bodies and emitting gentle moans.

The whispers in Harlock’s head screamed to grasp them, but he knew better. Whatever these... things were, they were not human, and they were... bound, somehow, to the upper floors.

Harlock keyed his vox-com, and despite some jamming, got through to imperial lines. It was complete madness; entire regiments had begun suddenly attacking one another. The house guard used its position to fire upon imperial army units on lower sections, and a few emperors children marines had already been spotted. Centauri Prime had fallen long, long ago.

“All units of the 2nd Centauri Rifles, try to get to the promenade! Meet me at the Gloriana-Galm crossing!”

As Harlock shouted this, several Galm house troops arrived with ornate armor, guns, and a strange symbol upon their cuirasses. Harlock stabbed, shot, and weaved his way through the small fire team with ease; for all their equipment, the house troops were inexperienced policemen compared to his years of hard combat.

When he at last arrived at the crossing, a large stone bridge connecting Spire Galm and Spire Gloriana, he saw that he had already lost perhaps a company to the betrayal.

“This is the plan lads. There’s a private shuttle on Spire Gloriana big enough for the lot of us. We go there, get that shuttle, then call for a planet killer from fleet.”

The assembled soldiers looked ready to mutiny. “We cannot descecrate our home!” one shouted. “Call for reinforcement!” sounded another.

Harlock frowned. “Fine, but we’re getting out of here. We must cross this bridge, then go to the hangar. I know the way!”

The major and his men followed. Dienes and Spektor behind him, as he sprinted across the crossing. On the other side, an old woman flanked by noise marines awaited.

“Harlock, it is good that you’ve come home. Surrender now and we will accept you back into our house. That, and you’ll need to have a short ritual for our patron god Slaanesh.”

Harlock was nearly in tears. Her robe suggested she was the matriarch of Gloriana.

“Madam I cannot, and if you do not move I must strike you down.”

“Hm. I doubt that. Guards!”

The two noise marines stepped forward. Cheerfully, one spoke up. “Greetings, Star Rifles. Things shall get loud now.”

It keyed its weapon, and the world screamed out in agony as every vibration of sound ripped at the eardrums. Every fibre of Harlock’s being lurched in pain. He knew he would soon collapse.

“Thats... enough of that you noisy fucking git!” Dienes shouted, managing despite it all to raise his meltagun, and advance.

“Tech-sergeant-” Harlock managed to croak, before dropping to his knees from the sound. Other star riflemen, unable to take the abuse, flung them from the crossing to their deaths hundreds of meters below.

“You DARE interrupt?!” the emperors children astarte declared, upset beyond all measure.

“Yes sir I do.” Dienes replied, as his own ears burst violently with red gore, he hefted his meltagun and fired it, pointblank, into the noise marines helmet, killing it instantly.

“That, I’m afraid, is frankly unacceptable sergeant.” The matriarch of Gloriana said, and with her own laspistol, fired four rounds into Dienes’ chest, killing him.

“DIENES!” Harlock shouted, pushing himself up.

“Men of Centauri! Charge!”

Throwing himself forward despite the other marines best efforts, Harlock and his comrades fired upon the marine and the matriarch. A combination of plasma rounds, las bolts, and a lucky blade hit, brought the marine down laughing, leaving only the shielded matriarch.

“Leave her to me men, get on that shuttle!” Harlock shouted, exchanging blows with her force-baton.

“Afraid not, sir.” Spektor said, stepping up.

“With respect, I was born to kill noble poofs like this. Get the men to the hangar, only you know the way.”

Spektor gave the matriarch a slight bow. “Madam, I’ll be killing you today.”

The Matriarch laughed. “The galaxy will burn in the fires of passion. Come machine-man. Let us dance.”

Harlock and his men fought through the spire of his home. They struck down servitors, turrets, and house guards, but at last, they reached the hangar. Some had died on the way, but the better part of two companies remained, choking the stairs with their massed bodies.

“Follow me men!” Harlock shouted, rushing into the opening hangar doors, the regimental standard following in behind.

Inside the hangar, a full company of Galm house guards stood arrayed, with their guns aimed at Harlock’s forces. Leading them, the same corpulent master of House galm, now in a parody of a military uniform.

“Good day, Harlock! You did not think we monitored your vox call? Thank you for ridding me of Lady Gloriana. Now this spire is mine as well. We cannot, I’m afraid, let you leave though. You were so rude to my ladies.”

“What the HELL were those?!” Harlock shouted, his off hand gesturing for his men to take cover behind the door behind his back.

“The ignorant speak of them as daemons, but they are the angels of my house. Bound to the holy doorway we built for them. It is through one such door my old Fulgrim will come soon, and reward me for gifting him this star system. Our orgies and celebrations will be legendary. One last chance, you could make for a fine daemonhost.”

Harlock grimaced. “I’m going murder your lousy house guard by the bushell. I’m going to get fleet on the horn, and watch your spires burned to ash. I’m going to give a prayer to my lord the emperor for the souls you’ve consumed, but before all of that, I’m going to rip that fat, disgusting, disfigured insult to the human race you call a body, for all your demonspawn scions to see. You sick, depraved bastard.”

The lord of house Galm frowned. “Ki-” it said, before Harlock jumped aside to some crates, screaming “CENTAURI, FIRE!” as he did so.

A dazzling series of shots shot out across the hangar exploded in violence. Harlock crept about, knowing that his target would be happy enough to sit and watch the battle. Carefully, he leaned and aimed his plasma pistol.

“There! Pistol! Protect your lord!” A galm guardsman shouted, and shortly after lances of hot lasfire ripped into Harlock’s crate.

“Feth!”

From behind, Harlock heard Captain Markus shouted, rallying the men. “The Major is pinned! Centauri, we have the numbers. Follow me to undying glory, for Emperor, and Imperium! Charge!”

A stream of black and red uniforms stormed into the hangar. Proud men of the 2nd Centauri advanced, bayonets affixed, into the line of the enemy, firing fully-auto as they advanced. Lasbolts streamed like crimson lightning between the two forces, and a terrible melee was beheld. In the midst of it, the lord of house Galm laughed, quivering about in his uniform. Tendrils emerged from his sack of flesh, and launched out on all sides, strangling Harlocks riflemen. A half dozen men fired point blank at his shield, with no effect, shots and bayonets deflected easily.

“SLAANESH MY MASTER, WILL NOT BE DENIED!” it bellowed in an animalistic roar, continuing its onslaught against Harlock’s men. Soldiers died on all sides in the dozens.

Harlock got up, readied his sword, and stepped into the fray, dispatching every Galm soldier he came across with his vengeful sword.

“GALM! YOU SON OF A BITCH! FACE ME!” Harlock bellowed, standing atop the corpses of a throng of Centauri Star Riflemen.

Lord Galm glanced upon the officer, so small compared to his enormity, and ripped a man it held by its tendrils into pieces.

“There is no escape Harlock. Your drop zone is overrun. There are no reinforcements to be had. Your star rifles will die in this hangar. Your tech adepts were ripped asunder and violated by my Chosen. All is nothing before Slaanesh, my GOD!”

Harlock blinked. Oh no. The landing zone depot. Melissa...

Galm laughed and threw Captain Markus’ disembodied head at the major. “I think you’re running out of command staff, Major!” Galm roared.

Harlock said nothing, dashing amidst the tendrils and slashing and shooting madly.

The tendrils were fast and razor sharp, slicing through the air with unknowable violence. Soldiers that followed Harlock in who did not dodge as he did were knocked back or bifurcated in twain, their organs spilling onto the floor.

Somewhere, a shout. “For the regiment! Shoot that thing! Open fire!”

Las fire started arching out and into the shield from all directions. Harlock ducked and rolled, smashing his blade against its energy field as around him, the last of the Galm guardsmen died, and squads of Riflemen stormed in to stab at the abomination.

One man, Sergeant Hendricks, was disemboweled by a freakish appendage. Another, Private Miles, stabbed his lasgun with such force it passed through the shield and jabbed into Galm’s side, causing a pink-purple sludge to trickle out like bloody ichor, before his shield reactivated and cut off Private Miles’ arms.

A medic, Janthor Mannus, cut at the creatures tendrils with a buzz-saw tool attached to his gauntlet. He sawed three of the tendrils off, before one at last ripped his very face from its skull.

Three marksmen, perched atop the box Harlock had hid behind by the door, now fired incessantly at Galm’s head, with one of their shots even passing through the shield to burn its eye.

Harlock, at last, landed a hit himself; running his blade along the power field at last he felt it give way and depress in. Harlock capitalized and jabbed deep, inflicting a massive flesh wound.

“Emperor guide my blade!” Harlock shouted, stabbing further, aiming for the heart, before he felt the shield begin to return, and pull back.

Lord Galm bled profusely from his wounds, and began speaking in tongues as his body’s ornate dress uniform became soaked in filth and ichor.

“Slaanesh will p-punish you, harlock!”

“Open fire, open fire men!”

Harlocks remaining soldiers opened up a fusillade, emptying magazines of lasgun charge packs, picking up fallen brothers weapons to also empty into lord Galm. At last, eventually, the noble lord let out one final inhuman scream, and collapsed.

Harlock leaned on his sword, nearly exhausted. The vast majority of his forces lay dead fighting the abomination. From the hangar bay door, a stream of Gloriana and Galm house troops arrived, firing madly, killing the three sharpshooters first, due to their proximity to the door.

“Everyone, get to the shuttle!”

Harlock ran as fast as he could, firing his plasma pistol behind him, toward the hangar’s main feature; a large, well built Centauri Drop Ship, finely furnished for a Gloriana getaway, now the loyalists only hope of survival.

By the time he reached the shuttle there were a total of 7 men left alive in his regiment. Two were gunned down steps away from the shuttle ramp, leaving Harlock 5.

“Get in, Come on!”

He saw that none of them knew how to fly the machine, and gritted his teeth. “Cover the ramp, I’ll get us out of here!”

The major fired until his Plasma pistol shut itself down overheating, and left his men to exchange fire.

Running to the controls, they were blissfully simple in the ancient Centauri style. Combined with what he knew from Klicke, he was able to quickly get the engines online and familiarize himself with the dated controls, as well as raise the shuttle ramp.

Wasting no time, Harlock gently guided the ship out of the hangar, ignoring spire-mounted turrets that fired at the ships shields. Harlock sped away, toward the Imperial landing zone in the star port. He had to know if anyone else was still alive.

Hovering over the landing zone, Harlock saw that indeed there was some resistance; a barricaded warehouse was fighting off groups of house guards and even a pair of traitor astartes. Whirring up the shuttle cannons, Harlock fired at the group- inaccurately, to be sure, but close enough to destroy a marine and several of their lesser infantry elements. Between the warehouse and Harlock’s makeshift gunship, the forces of chaos were broken, and fell back.

Desperately, Harlock landed the ship roughly next to the warehouse, and moved to the back. There, he saw a pair of his survivors being tended to, in critical condition. “We’ll be safe soon, lads. You three, follow me.” Harlock said, too busy to mourn the losses of so many of his fellow men.

With the soldiers in tow, Harlock advanced on the warehouse. “Come on, get inside, we’re getting out of here!” Harlock called, and at this, the doors opened, revealing two dozen tech adepts with a few cyborg-skitarii bodyguards and several more servitors, all armed to the teeth with advanced weaponry. Among them, wounded but alive, stood Melissa.

“They slaughtered everyone- I- there were so many...” she began, but Harlock simply pushed her towards the ship. “We’re evacuating! Come on lets move!”

As soon as all were aboard, the shuttle lifted off, capable of breaking the atmosphere of the planet, it careened off into the void, toward a very confused cruiser, the ‘Angelus’

It did not take long to convince the Angelus to begin firing on the Galm spires, as proof of the treachery was everywhere; small warp signatures were forming across the capitol, fires from battles lit up the surface, and Harlock’s unit was not the first to flee the surface. With Storm dead, command fell to Captain Harper, of the Angelus, who opened fire upon the capitol, reducing it to a charnel ruin.

The remainder of imperial forces not yet engaged on the planets, dourly began to evacuate, as elements of the traitor 3rd Legion jumped into high orbit. Klaxons blared, and Imperial ships departed. All that remained of the 2nd Centauri Star Rifles was a handful of men- not enough to form a squad, and Major Harlock.

By the time the Angelus returned to the Sol system, the Siege of Terra would be well underway.

[afishtrap]

New archaeological discoveries since the 1990s mandate the rereading of primary sources that have been foundational to the understanding of pre-1500 Asian history. While this study is specific to the revisionist history of fifteenth-century Vietnam, it has wider regional and international implications, notably as the new evidence necessitates the rethinking of Indian Ocean networking prior to the Portuguese seizure of Melaka in 1511. This study evaluates the rise and fall of the Champa coastline of southern and central Vietnam, where a series of ports were the major Indian Ocean route stopovers between the Straits of Melaka and South China’s ports from earliest times until the Vietnamese Dai Viet polity (using new gunpowder weaponry) defeated the Chams in 1471 and temporarily recentered the international maritime passageway stopover on the Vietnam coastline in Dai Viet’s Red River delta ports. This study also addresses recent scholarship that has promoted the South China Sea passageway as an “Asian Mediterranean.” 

Hall, K. R. "Revisionist Study of Cross-Cultural Commercial Competition on the Vietnam Coastline in the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries and Its Wider Implications." Journal of World History, vol. 24 no. 1, 2013, pp. 71-105.

The Champa network of port-polities on the central and southern Vietnam coast was subject to the ebb and flow of the international trade, reflected in the fluctuations in Cham sovereignty. Caught between the Indonesian and Malay domains to the south and the Chinese province of Jiaozhi to the north, the Cham realm’s early history was characterized by shifting alliances among regional centers that were concentrated at the river mouths of the Cham coast, a situation not unlike that of the Straits of Melaka Srivijaya realm that had linked the Straits of Melaka and Java Sea by the early seventh century. In contrast to Srivijaya, however, the Cham realm had major neighbors to its north (Jiaozhi) and west (the Khmer realm that would become Angkor).

The Cham “state” was dispersed among several competing river valley courts centered in productive downstream river valley ricelands that not only provisioned international traders making stopovers on their Straits of Melaka to China voyages, but also linked their coastal ports of trade to productive upstream highland sources of commodities in high international demand: elephants and their tusks; rhinoceros horns (ground rhinoceros horn is a prized aphrodisiac among the Chinese); cardamom; beeswax; lacquer, resins, and scented woods (sandalwood, camphor wood, and eagle or aloes-wood); areca nuts and betel leaves, the chewing of which gave teeth a distinctive red color; cinnamon; and gold. In contrast, Champa’s Dai Viet neighbor to the north, which was initially based in the fertile Red River plain and delta in and around modern Hanoi, exhibited developmental patterns toward centralization. When the Vietnamese Dai Viet state declared its autonomy from Chinese overlordship in the tenth century, its court’s proactive support of economic expansion in both its agricultural and commercial sectors would ultimately reinforce royal hegemony relative to competing elites and institutions.

[...]

But from the ninth century the Chinese called this middle region Zhan Cheng, “Cham city,” and developed separate tributary relationships with Zhan Cheng and Huan Wang. Cham records confirm this division, as separate kings were ruling from the Indrapura central regions of Amaravati in the north and the collective Panduranga Nha Trang/Phan Rang southern regions. In the eleventh century, the Nha Trang–based king Pramabodhisatya claimed a victory that consolidated Panduranga’s authority over the south. In the eleventh and twelfth centuries the southern Nha Trang– and northern Tra Kieu–centered polities began to interact on several levels with their Khmer neighbors to their west, notably as trade partners as overland commercial networking between Angkor and the Champa realm heightened. In the north were the port-polities of Amarendrapura, centered at Lai Trung near modern-day Hue, and Visnupura, centered at Nhan Bieu.

Nineteenth-century French archeologists were highly impressed with the remains of Cham urbanism and regional networking as they explored their new Indochina colony. They found primary and secondary centers linked in the Tra Kieu region, connected by road networks on raised embankments paved with stone, stone bridges built over canals, and urban ruins 16 feet (5 meters) high on stone foundations on a rectangle 984 feet by 1640 feet (300 by 500 meters). These elevated ruins were not military fortresses but strategically fortified palaces, temples, and diverse residencies.21

By the seventh and eighth centuries the Cham realm balanced its wet-rice economy and its participation in the international maritime trade engagements. An important factor necessitating this balance was the fact that the Cham coast was by then strategically located on the principal maritime route between the Srivijaya Melaka Straits–based realm and China, a position that allowed the Chams the opportunity to take advantage of the economic benefits offered by participation in the trade as the trade heightened in the Tang and Song eras (618–1279). In the eyes of the Chinese, Champa, though important, was ultimately a region of intermediary ports, the last stopover between the Straits of Melaka–centered Srivijaya realm and China before ships reached China’s ports-of-trade. In time, however, the Cham realm would become increasingly important as a source of commodities desired by the Chinese elite.

[...]

Research on Southeast Asia’s past since the 1990s has been backed by new archeological discoveries—new excavations of pre-1500 residencies, courts, and temples and shipwreck recoveries that collectively mandated the need to reread the surviving textual sources. This variety of new evidence has especially enhanced the vision of pre-1500 Vietnam’s economic history, with wider regional and greater international implications.22 The most recent research centers on the thirteenth to fifteenth-century Jiaozhi Yang network that effectively linked the Cham (south and central) and Vietnamese (northern) coastlines from the Mekong delta in the south to Hainan Island in the north and beyond to South China ports.23 Prior to the ninth century the Cham coastline was the major maritime route stopover for ships going to or from South China’s ports, as ships sailed directly from this collective commercial area to Hainan Island rather than calling at ports in the Gulf of Tonkin region to the northwest.24 This was in part because it was more efficient to sail directly north from Cham ports to China, but also because there were huge hidden rocks along the Gulf of Tonkin passage, which were finally removed by China’s Tang dynasty governor in the ninth century. Previously the passageway was so treacherous that navigators of large ships with deeper drafts would not chance the passage, but would instead offload their cargoes in Cham ports.25

From there trade commodities traveled north on smaller boats, or were more often transported overland by human porters and pack animals via the Central Highlands, connecting to the upper Mekong River and from there north via Khmer and Lao (Lu Zhenla) regions to the Nanzhao/Yunnan South China borderlands into Vietnam (Jiaozhi). 26 An alternative early terminus of this overland route was via the Ha Trai pass to Nghe An27 and from there to the Red River delta and Jiaozhi. Early merchants, pilgrims, and envoys all landed in the central Vietnam Cham region prior to making this overland passage to Jiaozhi (the Chinese name for the Red River–centered northern region of Vietnam prior to its independence from Chinese rule as the Dai Viet state in the tenth century). The overland route was also the source of Jiaozhi’s most desired highland trade products: gold, silver, aromatics, rhinoceros horn, and elephant tusks. The route also served as the Angkor- era Khmer realm’s primary access to the South China Sea, whether to Cham ports to the east, or to Dai Viet in the north. Khmer kings thus sent tribute to the Dai Viet court nineteen times in the 960–1279 era, in contrast to only five to the Tang China court.28

The Zhufanzhi 1225 report of the sea trade filed by Zhao Rugua, commissioner of foreign trade at Quanzhou, the principal South China port terminus of the international maritime route at that time, provides the following description of his networked port’s trade partner Qinzhou (in modern-day Guangxi Province, then the Song prefecture bordering the Gulf of Tonkin north of Dai Viet) and its contemporary marketplace activities, incorporating the late twelfth-century account of Zhou Qufei:

"All Jiaozhi’s everyday wares depend on Qinzhou, thus ships constantly go back and forth between the two. The boyi [trade] field is East of the river outside the town. Those who come with sea products to exchange for rice and cotton fabric in small quantities are called the Dan of Jiaozhi [people known as Dan in Guangdong]. Those rich merchants who come to [have their products graded] come from [Dai Viet’s] border area of Vinh Tuyen prefecture to Qinzhou, these are called “small present” (xiaogang). The “large quantity present” (dagang) refers to the envoys sent by the court [of Dai Viet] to trade here. The goods they trade are gold, silver, copper coins, aloes-wood, varieties of fragrant wood, pearls, elephant tusks and rhinoceros horn. The small traders from our side who come to exchange paper, writing brushes, rice and cotton with the people of Jiaozhi do not deserve much mention; but there are rich merchants who brought brocades from Shu [Sichuan] to Qinzhou to trade for perfume once a year, often involving thousands of quan of cash. Those merchants haggle over prices for hours before reaching an agreement. Once it is agreed, no one is allowed to negotiate with other merchants. When the talk has just started the gap between the asking price and the offer is often as huge as between heaven and earth. Our [Han Chinese] rich merchants send their servants to buy things to sustain their daily life and even build temporary residences and stay there, in order to frustrate the [Jiaozhi] merchants. Their rich merchants stay calm and use perseverance as a weapon. When the two merchants see each other, they drink together; and as time passes, they get along. Those smooth-talking ones cut or add a few [quan] so the prices from the two sides become closer and closer. [When the deal is made], the officers [at the markets] weigh the perfume and deliver the brocade for both sides to finish the deal. At the trading site the [Song] officers only levy taxes on the merchants of our side.29"

[...]

The tenth-century Song state monopoly over exports and imports had hindered China’s trade with Southeast Asia. This changed in the late eleventh century, when the late Song court opened additional designated ports of trade and then withdrew a variety of state restrictions. Previous Song-era policy had required ship registrations that confined their coming and going to a single China port, and also stipulated a nine-month maximum shipping window that effectively constrained Chinese ships on outward voyages to a single destination using the northeast monsoon and a mandatory return voyage on the subsequent seasonal southwest monsoon. This travel reality effectively restricted trade to specialized exchanges in only a few volume regional products such as camphor, pearls, coral, aromatic woods, Java’s black pepper, fennel, coriander, jamuju seeds, safflower, and textile dyes, all of which were in demand in China. When the subsequent Yuan dynasty removed these registration restrictions and sailing window mandates Chinese ships and traders finally had unlimited opportunities to travel among several networked ports of trade throughout the Southeast Asia region on China-based sojourns. Ethnic Chinese established semi-permanent residential communities in Southeast Asia as bases from which they might more efficiently travel to and from China marketplaces, carrying a variety of Southeast Asia products, or specialize in intra-island trading. Thus, the new historiography now depicts the early fifteenth-century Zheng He voyages, and the subsequent Ming dynasty redirection of their interests inward, as having little lasting significance relative to the Indian Ocean trade network other than reinforcing already well-established privatized Chinese trade in the Island regions, with legacies to this day (see Fig. 2).33

[...]

That same year, Thanh Tong complained to the Ming court that seagoing links between Champa and the Ryukyu Islands had resulted in a raid on the southern Dai Viet coastline. That he was proactive in his regional maritime initiatives following his capture of the Jiaozhi Ocean network is illustrated by several complaints to the Ming court: one from Melaka in 1481 asserted that Dai Viet had interfered with their embassy to the Ming court.47 In 1487, 1489, and 1495, the surviving Kauthara and Panduranga Cham port-polities used their remaining connections to Guangzhou to promote a Ming military intervention against Dai Viet, which the Ming court refused, citing that this “involved merchants and the vast maritime region” as this was counter to the post-1430s Ming restrictions on China’s Southern Seas (Nanyang) engagements.48 In 1497, following Le Thanh Tong’s death, Champa tried once more to gain the Ming court’s support for the restitution of the Vijaya region by arguing that “Xinzhou [Thi Nai] is our country that has long been occupied by Annan [Dai Viet],” and asked for recognition “so that in future days [the king’s son] can protect the area of Xinzhou port.”49