Lunar Nightscape Archive

Chapter 1 - The Last Day Aboard the Kriggamortis

There weren’t always dragons in the valley. So long as that stayed true, we would be fine. It has been three days since our fleet was decimated by those blasted hunters. We are the only ship left of the six. Why couldn’t those elves have just left us alone! If they had, we wouldn't have had to take up piracy. One ball turret is still broken, and one booster is disabled. Spike will fix that. Finally we have some peace. May our fallen warriors find their everlasting rest in the Valley of Dust of the Eternal Star Fields — Daily Flight Log Entry: Day 258

“Don’t lose them! Don’t lose them! Keep that dwarven cargo ship in our sights!” The deep, melodic voice of Captain Vargis Growlach boomed in the cabin. He towered over the others, standing nearly eight feet tall. His shimmering, pale green skin, fine tusks protruding out from his dark lips, and black and blonde streaked hair—obvious traits from his orc chieftain and royal elven heritage—added to the grandeur of his visage.

Each member of the crew aboard the Kriggamortis was of orc-elf heritage—having the cleverness and natural beauty of the elves, but with more-well-defined muscles from the orcs. But Captain Growlach was the only one aboard the ship from the ancient, royal line of the orc-elf race. His sister, Ventris, had been captain of the sister ship, Kriggamantids, which had gone down to the pirate hunters three days prior, along with the four other ships in the fleet. They were alone, now; the remaining crew of nineteen. The last of the exploration team.

Brogotha, the youngest member of the crew at seventeen seasons, with mossy coloured skin, daintily curled tusks that barely poked out from deep, violet lips, and hair that looked like maple and oak leaves in autumn, thought about the poetic moment of this situation as the Kriggamortis flew through the Valley of Dust like a swallow, which she read about in the human lore books of ancient Earth. She liked reading, and one of the ancient writers, something-spear, which sounded like a good warrior name to her, wrote: “True hope is swift, and flies with swallow’s wings.” They were the last, true hope of their people, and they needed to be swift in this skirmish.

Their flight was aided by the fact that they were in The Valley of Dust, a region in the Eternal Star Fields that had more space debris than others due to the amount of pollution that inhabitants from the planet, Nocturn, and its moon in orbit around it, ejected into space on a daily basis from the active mining operations. The planet was always cast in an eri darkness due to the layer of debris that orbited around the planet itself. The fine particulate dust that floated in this section of space around Nocturn gave the Kriggamortis some level of camouflage because of the lower visibility their enemies would have of their ship. Ships, especially larger ones, avoided The Valley of Dust, due to the damage it could cause to the filtration systems, and engines. It was easier to maintain the systems of smaller ships while flying through the dust, and Gwher, systems manager, and his team were working on it right now. So the crew felt somewhat at ease, even though they were in a skirmish with a dwarves’ cargo ship, that no dragons would appear in this region.

Brogotha stood there, watching the pilots maneuver through the spray of laser-light-knives—pointed capsules filled with raging energy spells, crafted by dwarven druids, and capable of overwhelming and damaging electrical systems to incapacitate a ship—like a bird through a swarm of hornets. She trembled with excitement, seeing firsthand the skill of the Hammarskûl twins, Nera and Nehan, who flew with such grace and expertise, positioning the Kriggamortis within range so the gunners could take out the ball turrets and cannon aboard the cargo ship.

Brogotha dreamed of one day being a pilot, and had leapt at the opportunity to join the expedition to find a new homeland for her race after the attack by the elves. Her parents had been proud to send her on the trip—their eldest daughter showing the toughness and grit needed to be chosen by Captain Growlach himself. Her job, aboard the ship, was to work for the loadmaster. It was an...uninspiring job, but she knew she needed to start somewhere. When she was free from her tasks in the cargo hold, though, she was given leave to be in the cabin, watching and learning from the best pilots in the orc-elf race.

“Nera, Nehan, we need to get to that ship!” Growlach growled, slamming his fist onto the roof of the cabin.

“Yes, captain,” Nehan replied. “We want to be sure to not get in range of their axe-beams, though. Those dwarves know how to hit you hard if you get too close.” With sweat beading on his face, the tension was evident in his voice as he strained at the controls. “It’s taking everything we’ve got just to avoid these blasted knives! They sure are well equipped on that ship over there. Must be somethin’ really good!”

A scratchy voice came over the intercom, “Cap’n, we’re in range of the cargo ship now. Me ‘n Jag can take ‘em out.”

“Aim to disable the guns only! We were forced into piracy, but we won’t become murderers,” Growlach said firmly.

“Acknowledged,” came the crackly voice over the intercom.

Covered in geometrical patterns and ancient dwarven runes, the dwarves’ cargo ship was a blocky and squarish hulking mass with an external finish that looked like expertly carved stone, reminiscent of the ancient dwarven mountain homes of old. Easily fifteen times the size of the Kriggamortis, it loomed in the distance—a cave bear staring down a weasel—and had, from what Brogotha could see, as many as ten ball turrets, and thirty broadside axe-beam cannons. This weasel is quick and knows where your jugular is, she thought to herself, gripping tightly to an overhead handle to steady herself as the twins formed a perfect drag-and-thrust maneuver, evading the knives and repositioning the Kriggamortis for a cleaner shot.

Brogotha had proven herself for her ability to see a great distance, further than normal for an orc-elf, a trait of the ancient elves that survived in her bloodline. As they neared the cargo ship, she peered through the shimmering veil of fine particulate matter that constantly collected in this area of space, earning it the name, The Valley of Dust, and she was sure she saw the royal flag flying. A sense of dread filled her. “C-c-captain,” Brogotha stammered, “that ship is a royal ship, one of King Hagalfaré’s own.”

“What!” Growlach exclaimed. “How do you know?”

“I see the flag flying on the ship—two crossed hammers with an axe on its side underneath, all on a blue background fringed with gold.”

“You can see that from here through all the dust?” Growlach asked, slightly in disbelief. He looked at her, and she nodded. “Flake! I can barely make out that it’s a blue flag,” he said, looking back at it and squinting.

Brogotha nodded. “Yes, Captain.”

“Did you hear that down there?” Growlach demanded.

The intercom crackled, and a voice answered, “Affirmative,” then asked, “What should we do, Captain?”

“To go against a royal ship invites death,” Growlach whispered, more for himself. “But what choice do we have?” He paused, then said in a firm voice, “Continue firing. Again, aim to disable, not to kill. Maybe we will receive some small mercy if we are only viewed as thieves. Brogotha, keep tabs on the radio to see if you can hear any communication about a dragon. It’s unlikely one will appear in the valley, and we’re too close to the debris belt. But we should be careful.”

Brogotha agreed. If a dragon did appear…well, she had only ever heard about them. The dragons were monstrous ships used by the Intergalactic Council of Rulers to enforce peace in the Eternal Star Fields. Their methods were often disastrous for those they deemed peace breakers. It would not matter that those aboard the Kriggamortis were looking for a new home because theirs had been destroyed by elves. They would be seen as peace breakers.

Brogotha saluted smartly and picked up a set of headphones which she held up to her ear as she watched through the viewport as their skilled gunners disabled the cargo ship’s defenses. Both Spike and Jag expertly rendered the guns of three ball turrets useless, leaving the operators inside alive, but frustrated at having their guns crippled and incapacitated. Then the dwarves opened fire with their axe-beam cannons.

The axe-beam cannons were a wonder in themselves. Brogotha watched with intrigue. The projectiles that shot through the air looked like beams of phantom axes swirling through the air. They had a finite distance they could travel, though, before their magic ran out. As a result, they really were not that useful against the Kriggamortis, which was a small ship that could easily evade them. The axe-beams were slow, but coupled with the blisteringly fast fired knives, any wrong manoeuvre could be their last.

“Nera. Nehan. Any chance you could manoeuvre us behind the enemy ship so that Spike and I can get clean shots at the back. From what we can see, the two dwarves at the back are the more experienced ones. We take care of them, and the others will be easier.”

“Copy Jag. Strap in,” Nera said to everyone over the speakers. Brogotha put down the headphones, and everyone aboard the deck found a seat and strapped in as Nera and Nehan flew the Kriggamortis in a wide arc circling towards the back of the dwarves’ cargo ship, the gravitational equalizers, or GEQs, kicking in to compensate for the extreme forces that would cause each one aboard the ship to pass out from the gravitational force inflicted on their bodies from the maneuver. Looking up, Brogotha saw the gauges for the GEQs about to hit the red line, and blackness creeped in around the edges of her sight, her head becoming heavy.

“Almost there!” Nehan shouted, as the twins slowed the ship, straightening them so they could follow the cargo ship from a safe distance behind, easily evading the enemy knives. The dwarven cargo ship was large, and well protected, but it was not nearly as mobile as the smaller ship that had danced through the haze and laser-light-knives and axe-beams. She watched two well placed shots destroy the ball turrets at the back, one after the other. She heard Jag and Spike let out whoops as they celebrated. “We got this now,” came Spike’s crackly voice over the speaker.

Working like a well oiled machine, Nera and Nehan, and Jag and Spike did their parts to systematically take down the defenses of the dwarves' cargo ship. The remaining five ball turret guns were taken out first, ensuring that there would be no danger of losing control of their ship. Once that was finished, the axe-beam cannons were of no threat as those were a slower projectile, and easily avoidable. To be safe, Spike and Jag did destroy the entire bank of cannons on one side near to the front of the cargo ship. Then it was simple for Nera and Nehan to maneuver the Kriggamortis so that they stayed out of the range of the other cannons.

All aboard the Kriggamortis relaxed, unbuckling themselves from their seats. Brogotha picked up the headphones again and fiddled with the scanner dials, listening for any long range communication. Growlach reached for the scanner a moment after and set the dial for close range communications, though, ending her task. “This is Captain Vargis Growlach of the Kriggamortis, please acknowledge.”

A low pitched, thick-accented voice growled over the intercom. “You filthy mongrels! You’ve gone and destroyed my ship! I’ll have your heads for this!”

“I’m afraid you are in no position to be making threats,” Growlach said calmly. “Please, with whom am I speaking?”

“Hagalfaré, king of the dwarves,” came the furious response.

There was silence aboard the Kriggamortis. The king of the dwarves himself was aboard that ship? Brogotha stood there in stunned silence.

“King Hagalfaré,” Growlach began, “as you can see, we have only taken down your defenses, but have left your ship intact. We have no wish to harm you, but we find ourselves in need of supplies. If you could be so kind as to fill one of your escape pods with food, water, medical supplies, and maybe some gold, and release it into space, we will collect it and be on our way.”

“How about you try to take what you want, you piddly parasites.” Hagalfaré challenged. “I’ll not have it known that I, King Hagalfaré, king of the dwarves of the Everlasting Star Fields, and lord of Iril An’galast willingly gave in to the demands of a deplorable and degenerate group of of thieving orc-elves! Oh yes! I know who you are, Growlach, and if you ask my opinion, it’s a damn shame those elves didn’t finish off the entire lot of you! So whatever you want, you’re gonna have to come and take it!”

“I’m sure you have a small army holded up in that ship ready for a good old fashioned head smashing session,” Growlach replied in his low voice, “but I want to keep my crew members alive so…”

“You’re not getting anything from us!” Hagalfare screamed over the intercom. “Especially none of my gold!”

Brogotha could practically hear the spittle flying from the angered dwarf king’s mouth.

The intercom crackled faintly, “...the dragon’s almost here.” It was barely a whisper, but Brogotha was sure she had heard it. She looked to the captain, who also stood looking up at the intercom. His eyes snapped back down to his pilots.

“Get us out of here!” Growlach roared.

Without a question, the pilots maneuvered the ship, slamming the boosters for extra speed. Brogotha stumbled, grasped at a handle, and steadied herself. She looked over at Captain Growlach, his jaw set, eyes hard, waiting for the inevitable. Then it happened.

A tearing in the very fabric of the universe itself—a dragon roaring its challenge—reverberated through the dust and debris of The Valley of Dust. The shock wave of the explosive energy sent debris flying in every direction and the Kriggamortis careening off course, disabling nearly all the boosters.

“Captain,” Nera started, panic in her voice, “all boosters on the right side are disabled. We have two remaining boosters on the left side.”

“Spike!” Growlach yelled as he picked himself up off of the floor. “See what you can do to get a booster working on our right side.

“Already on it, Captain,” came a tense voice over the intercom.

“Nera, Nehan, see what you can do to keep us moving! We can’t be a sitting target for when they come. That boom was powerful, yes, but by my best guess, they are still at least one-hundred-fifty miles away. Any closer and that boom would have destroyed our ship and the dwarven ship.”

“We’re gonna move in circles until Spike can get a booster up and running,” Nehan grunted.

“Just do it! I…” Growlach was cut off as a maniacal cackle came over the speaker. It was the king of the dwarves.

“You’re in for it now you greedy, ragtag, rotten, good-for-nothing dogs!” The hatred in the king’s voice was palpable. Any threat to his riches was worse than a threat to his own life or the lives of his fellow dwarves.

“Flake! They’re here!” came the panicked voice of Spike over the intercom. “By the beard of Jynx above, they’re here!”

Brogotha ran from the deck and into the cargo hold. She looked out of one of the port windows and saw the gargantuan ship looming in the distance and closing fast; twinkling stars and space debris amidst a faint green glow creating the perfectly sinister backdrop for the craft. Painted red, the dragon was an awesomely terrifying sight to behold. Still many miles off, it loomed in the distance, a massive ship that it dwarfed even the dwarven cargo ship. She saw a flash of light from the ship, and knew it was all over.

“Booster enabled!” Spike shouted over the intercom. “Get us out of here!”

“It’s too late,” Brogotha whispered, feeling the heat of the incoming beam through the metal sides. “It’s…too…late.”

Brogatha was startled as the door to the escape pod next to her flew open and felt herself pushed into the pod. She fell to the floor, scraping her knee on the diamond plate steel, and looked behind her as the door hissed, slamming shut. She leapt to her feet, looking out the window back to the cargo hold and saw Captain Growlach slam his fist on the eject button, sending the small escape pod shooting off into space, freed from the Kriggamortis.