BECMI Chapter 392 – Grounded in Omicra

Nobody knew that I was familiar with the geography of this particular remnant of Delpha. I was even more familiar with the scattered shattered skylands that were beyond the Mists, and beyond the shattered asteroid field that contained everything here within.Jaderose had been here in the past, and left her legacy in Omicra when it was safe to do so. Likewise, Hydrosa had done the same with Iotar.

None of these remnant kingdoms had anywhere near the spell power of the Followers of Air or Fire. The exodus of the two main factions had stripped this world of Overmagi, and indeed almost every Caster of Archmage Rank or higher, including the Clerics. Combined with the shattered planet rewriting the geography of the region entirely, and the survivors left behind basically were plunged back to low-magic near-barbarism to survive.

Unsurprisingly, they’d built up a legacy of massive distrust of mages as their societies rebuilt themselves from their shattered remnants and scarce populations to the semi-successful remnants that endured today.

They were a far cry from the planes-traveling, world-hopping, reality-bending power of their ancestors, and didn’t regret it at all.

They were also proud, warlike, and totally willing to defend themselves and the way of life they’d clawed up from from near-extinction.

There were three kingdoms, but four powers ahead of us.

Omicra was the largest and most successful of the remnants, spread through the rocky and mountainous land of this skyland, with the most and best access to ores, stone, and defensive ground, courtesy of the very caves and caverns of which had allowed them to survive when a storm larger than a planet scoured the lands above them to scrap.

Iotar was the smallest and most magically adept of the three kingdoms, with the least land, but the best farmland. They also had the most skilled navy, realizing their weakness in population and skills, and successfully held at bay their larger neighbors thereby.

Thatallix was run by thieves and scoundrels. They were aggressive, greedy, duplicitous, convinced they were smarter than the others, and were being discriminated against because all that gold out there wasn’t pouring into their pockets without effort. They had the largest number of opportunistic privateers and assassins at work, and most pirates on these seas came from Thatallix.

The last factor was the Merchant’s Guild, a multinational organization built around some opportunistic merchant families who’d purchased an island and set up an organization to profit from the trade between all three nations, taking the side of none of them, making money off of all of them.

No, no, this wasn’t a tinderbox of a military situation, which an armada the size of any one of these powers coming into couldn’t totally send on its ear. Nosiree, Bob. They’d all be happy to see us coming and an Immortal wasn’t going to be fanning the flames of fear to start a war, one trying to kill us and another happy to watch the resulting carnage as entertainment.

I still had Sims out here, watching, quietly observing, occasionally teaching, minimizing their effects on Time with the Rune thereof.

But they didn’t have to do that anymore. It was now the present, and they could totally take charge now that I was in the ‘current’ time stream. Hah!

It turns out, there are a lot of things you can do when nobody knows you are doing them, nobody runs into them, and they take place in such secrecy that they affect nothing.

“They do seem to be panicking a bit, don’t they?” Captain Sigmal remarked with a half-smile.

The lighthouse ahead was built upon a small island that marked the furthest edge of Omicra’s territory. They’d seen our sails coming in, and promptly sent off a small airship under full sails to convey the warning to the homeland. Showing great bravery, they’d also sent off a galleon to intercept us in return, hoping to cause some confusion and inflict some losses before they were overwhelmed by this massive unknown fleet of invaders.

Well, it was time to put a humorous stop to that.

“Gentlemen, if you please.”

The two dozen Omicran natives took deep swigs of some rather fine ale to loosen their throats and their tongues. Drums beat softly, a flute off to the side murmured a low and haunting melody, and the tenor in the lead began, just as a took their less-then-perfect images and splashed them across the sky.

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I didn’t Sing along with them save as a supporting melody, but that was enough. Swirl some magic around them, feed them with Heartsong, and the Omicran sailors were singing their hearts out with their yearning to see home and probably never leave it again.

It wasn’t true Bardsong, as I didn’t have the Levels and the magic wasn’t known here. But it was a damn good facsimile, the Sublime Chord meant it was coming in from a totally unexpected direction, and the Words of Creation gave it the Heartsong edge we needed to make it totally weird and unique without it being beyond Mortal.

In the distance, I Watched a shadowy black Aura upon the ship coming our way shudder, palpitate a bit, and then die and fade away as the Heartsong hit it and bit through the fear and prejudice.

There was no mistaking that accent, and carrying it with subliminal and , there was no way the Enchantments to start hostilities could withstand the battering of +16 or so to what was basically a save against Fear.

Contesting Enchantment and Charm magic against Heartsong? As if!

The ship barreling in with ballistae and catapults and even an ancient magic cannon armed and ready faltered as the image of those slightly-drunken sailors in all their imperfect glory was painted across the sky, and they couldn’t believe anyone singing out like that was making ready to attack them.

They were obviously countrymen, especially with some of the hick accents and very old and localized verses that were offered up for everyone’s understanding and amusement. They were talking of their home valleys and local sights only someone from Omicra would care about, and singing along to that refrain came to them almost helplessly.

The siege engines were stepped down, and the galleon actually came about to match our course, as opposed to barreling in for a valiant fight to the end.

The glided up to them, just above the waters, and moving considerably faster than their vessel. The wingmasts were stepped back but still obvious, making it plain this was a ship that could navigate the void, and indeed, it was plain to the captain of the other ship that all of our ships now had such modifications.

An entire fleet coming through the void meant we were definitely not local, and the lines of our ships reinforced that. But there was that group of eight men, right on the deck, an audience of sailors around them and some musicians helping keep the time, while my ethereal voice beyond them raised their voices to the sky and they sang better than they had in their entire lives!

“Lieutenant Penskid Halleter, born in Gronnanwall Vale, sir,” one of my stranded sailors, his uniform a bit torn and ragged, saluted the captain of the , the Omicra galleon stationed at Longwatch Point. “I seem to be the only surviving officer of the Omicra crews who were stranded at the Island of Nonce, Captain,” he explained resolutely.

“The Island of Nonce!” the grim and still somewhat wary Omicran officer returned the salute formally. “How many of you survived the witch’s island, Lieutenant?”

“There’s one hundred and fourteen sailors of Omicra, sir,” the lieutenant replied a bit forlornly. “There were another eighty-three from Iotar, and another sixty-odd from Thatallix, the Guild, and a scattering of sea clans. The Lady Edge gathered us all up, returned our human forms, and brought us away from the witch’s island, sir.” The young man’s face screwed up slightly, his lip quivering. “S-sir, can you confirm what year it is?” he asked, his voice shaking.

The grizzled Captain Manswor looked over the watching sailors, the Omicra easily picked out for their deeply tanned skin and brown to blond hair, with eyes that tended to blues, grays, and greens, and tall yet compact builds.

“675 from the Stonepact, Lieutenant,” he replied softly, and could only watch most of their faces crumple in tears and disbelief and shattered hope.

“Sir, it was 595 Stonepact when the witch transformed me and my lads, sir,” the young officer explained, his voice hollow as a single tear fell down his cheek. “Some of the men, they were there from before the Stonepact…”

The captain could only look sympathetic at their plight. Save perhaps some who were Wizards or Priests who might extend their lives with magic, all of their friends and families would be long dead at this point. Any of their children would likely be dead, and most of their grand-children, never having known them.

I was waiting at the prow as they met, but I was listening, and now I spoke to the armada, and all within it.

“I paused to let that information sink in for a good five minutes before speaking again.

Captain Manswor gave me a slow nod, while faint cries of despair and loss echoed across the waves as some of the survivors vented their emotions.

Omicra was the least changed of the Remnant Kingdoms, but it had long been in a warlike state, bruised and chagrined when its plans to expand and conquer the other Remnants to rejoin them all together in unity, had run headlong into the utter refusal of the other Remnant Kingdoms to bow to them. Indeed, those kingdoms had their own ambitions to the same effect, and the hostility between the three kingdoms had now been worked into the national character of each place.

They would find their homes very different from when they left, with precious little support for sailors thought to have died decades or centuries ago…