The East Pacific

Zantralerhafen

Even with all this activity, the surface fleet did not stir much. The handful of destroyers and frigates owned by the Konigsmarine were from Osterriech shipyards and much to par, but with the fall of the grand Reich they have become much more prized. There is much talk about a domestically produced design, but the need to supplement the current existing surface vessels has not been felt yet. What they are employed to do, however, is keep pace with the great ships of the AOS, with specially outfitted Spatz helicopters acting as long range submarine hunter-killer helicopters. As the ships slowly trickle out of port with their assigned charge, the sound of the wailing turboprops could be heard as the massive M-31 Ausf Ms began to scour the seas.

Felsinselian Unistan Territory

Still, Dabiristan had given its mandate to the colonial powers in Unistan. They may have forgotten Felsinsel, but Felsinsel still felt the effects and is now to retaliate. There would be no announcement of armed conflict. There would be no warnings of the vast minefields about to be laid. All there would be was the stark silence of the shipyards as the last of the five dozen midget submarines joined the fleet beneath the waves, joined by twelve Korsar SSK/ANs and of the fourteen Korsar SSK/GNs, the deadliest ships produced by the Konigsmarine to date. Among them are two even more specialized Korsars, designated the SSK/Y for now, with special payload. The T-660 “Whalerman”, Felsinsel’s heavyweight torpedo, and ten of them, to be fired from two tubes, one on either side, replacing six tubes of the standard 533mm. That still left two of the standard tubes with 10 torpedoes of their own, for engaging submarines not worth the Whalerman. These submarines had larger prey in their sights.

The South Demetric

Felsinsel’s silent blockade of Dabiristan’s ports and straits has begun. It would now be a matter of time before an unlucky ship found itself sailing straight into the minefield while Felsinsel braced itself for a true conflict.

Most gods don't feel fear. Even those who have a predilection for mortal avatars merely absorb the sensation, without really feeling it in the way that a creature does.

But as the Great Goddess Enaia is carried higher and higher in the talons of a steppe eagle, with her only true believer far below at the foot of a great shrine, she begins to understand. This is why, when she and the other Divinities were at their heyday, the God of Death never got sacrifices. She wonders, absently, if he was ever bitter about that.

I'm in pain and I'm afraid and I'm going to die...

And then the eagle dives, picking up speed so fast that Enaia is jerked out of her train of thought, as her conscious terror turns to panic. She closes her eyes, waiting for the sensation of falling and the final moment of impact...

And lands softly in Modden's outstretched hands. "Behold! The messenger has brought to me Enaia's hare! It is a sign," declares the goatherd, "that the Twins favor us!" Suddenly, he goes rigid, before gently placing Enaia on the ground and falling to his knees.

"O Twins! I am not worthy of this! Gift it to another, I beg!" The crowd behind him begins edging closer. After all, if the Twins are willing to choose another to receive Their gift, he'd better be close at hand, for Their convenience. Modden bows his head, utters a frantic and mumbled prayer, and rises to his feet before setting off in an apparently random direction. He calls back over his shoulder, "Come all, and see the beneficence of Enaia and Ãdàmrìtsk!"

As the assembly dawdles after the prophet, eager to see what he means by beneficence, Enaia hops over to the ancestor shrine, jumping up on the offering table next to the eagle. That hurt, you know. The eagle contrives to shrug its shoulders.

"Sorry. Some instincts cannot be overruled." The figure of Ãdàmrìtsk, already less blurry and more definite than he had once been, materializes above the small strip of leather. Both he and Enaia look expectantly up at the shrine. Come!

Another figure, remarkably like Ãdàmrìtsk in all details, fades into view before them. It glares at the ancestor deity, and then down at Enaia. "I saw that little stunt. Don't think I take kindly to... missionaries." Insofar as an immaterial spirit can spit, this one does, pronouncing the word with distaste. Enaia hurriedly takes the initiative.

Your table was empty when we got here. I bet your clan has been leaving less and less recently. The shrine-god freezes her with an angry stare, but gives a sigh of resignation. "That is true. It is rare enough already that they speak my name, but soon I suspect the offerings will stop too. They have had good prospects recently, and why pray for intervention when life is good already?" Enaia, despite herself, gives a short nod.

I can tell you all about that one. But, here's the deal... Our little prophet there is a persuasive one. He's already convinced half your clan that he can See visions. One of the shrine-god's incorporeal eyebrows rises. "A vision? I haven't given anyone one of those in... Generations. I'm amazed they believe it's still possible."

Like I said, he's persuasive. Now, either we can tell him to keep doing what he's doing, and you can fade away to a howl on the wind... or... Enaia metaphysically nudges Ãdàmrìtsk. Threats are all very good in and of themselves, but it helps if the one making them is taller than a foot. Ãdàmrìtsk takes the hint and continues. "We will take your power and your essence. You will live on with us -- none will know your name, but they will know ours, and through us you will also be remembered. The stories of your deeds will be retold, though they bear our names. What do you say?"

The shrine-god sighs once more, and draws the ethereal sword at his side, laying it across his hands. "In life, I was Pálob Móràts. I slew great beasts and brought bounty to my clan." He lays the sword upon the offering table, where it becomes solid, shining in the early dawn. Then he looks back to Enaia and Ãdàmrìtsk.

"Very well. All I ask is that you remember. And... Take care of my people." The figure fades, and Enaia feels a strange tingling -- the sensation of absorbing power. That's that, then. Let's go check up on Modden. The hare hops off the offering table and, with the leather scrap in her mouth, follows the distant shouts.