A Collection Of Nonsense-Chrono's Challenge Thread

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I am planning on participating in delcie & captain's 100 scene challenge

So, on top of the 1200 other things I have to do, I've decided to try my hand at a little bit of writing. Seeing as my precious characters are in desperate need of some torture love, this challenge seemed perfect!
Font 'Fell French Canon" size 44


"Little by little, day by day, okay?”// “Get. Off. Right now.” // “... That’s it.”
// “So, uh, we should… probably run now.” // “You’re insane! I love it.”
“Hey, I offered to help you.” // “Who’s laughing now?” // “Would you please just be quiet?”
“Whoa, buttercup, whoa.” // "I can’t believe you talked me into this." // “Marry me?”
“Hey! I was gonna drink that!” // “You did all of this for me?” // “This isn’t over.”
“If you die, I’m gonna kill you.” // “Well, this is awkward.” // “It was you who was standing there.”
“That is the stupidest idea you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in.”// “Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always.”
“Uh, she’s gunna punch you, man.” // “BAHAHAHA- ahem.”// “I think I am concussed.”
“You have got to be kidding me.” // “This ain’t that kind of movie.” //“Is it… dead?”
“I’ll just sit here and wait for you to be finished.” // “You wound me.” // “Trust you? PAH.”
“I don’t know who you are.” // “It’s okay. I promise. I’m here.” // “Oh, this is going to be good.”
“Well, I finally got your attention.” // “Like a hole in the head.”// “I'm... okay.”
“Well, are you coming?” // “Where are your pants!?” // “Help me push it.”
“It’s almost midnight, no way!” // “Positively smashing.” // “Don’t let go, okay?”
“You can’t leave me like this.” // “Say that to my mother.” // “Sing me a lullaby, please?”
“This hurts worse than I thought it would.” // “Hah! - oh, wait, you’re serious?”
“As much as I’d enjoy that…” // -gasp- “The plague!” “No!” “YES.” // “I won’t let you do this.”
“I’ve still got it.” // “I can’t do it. I just can’t.” // "Don’t you ever do that again!"
“I thought I lost you.” // "Teach me?" // "Don’t you dare throw that snowball-"
"It could be worse." // "We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you wanna stop and feel the rain?"
"I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice." // "What are you so afraid of?”
“How did you get that scar?” // “You said WHAT?” // “Can you stop bringing that up?”
“Wait for me!” // “We’ll be dead by morning.” // “STOP TALKING.” // “I do.”
“I don’t want to.” // “What did I ever do to you?!” // “Follow me.”
-SIGH- “I can’t reach it.” // “What are you waiting for?” // “WAIT NO THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT-”
“I don’t need you.” // “You deserve better.” // “If you love something, let it go.”
“Why do I have to wear this?” // “Here goes nothing.” // “Where the heck were you?!”
“I don’t need help.” // “We’re gonna be parents…” // “I didn’t think you knew.”
“I thought those were poisonous.” // “Don’t make me go alone.” // “I’m sorry… I didn’t know.”
“I’d be lost without you.” // “Just leave me!” // “I dare you to…” // “Run!”
“How did you manage that?” // “Liar!” // “I don’t even want to be here.”
“Oh crap, we fell asleep!” // “Is this the life you wanted?” // “GIVE ME THAT.”
“Get back here!” // “Let go of me!” // “I’ll just follow you.” // “YOU DON’T SAY.”
“And yet, you love me anyway.” // “I just thought I’d have a swim.” // “Don’t cry.”




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For no particular reason other than a few laughs, I've entered this challenge as well.


`☆ 3 & 5 have a heart to heart
`☆ 6, 2, & 10 get lost
`☆ 5 & 10 have to rescue 4
`☆ 9, 3, 6, & 5 think the world is going to end.
`☆ 8 & 1 are left in a room by themselves.
`☆ 9 & 10 find a puppy
`☆ 4, 5, and 6 and ramen
`☆ 8 vs. 4
`☆ 6. 4, & 8 and the world "reckless"
`☆ 4 & 2 & heavy metal
`☆ 1, 5, & 7 and a graveyard.
`☆ 5 & 1 and a disagreeance
`☆ 9 & 3 and the song "Titanium, by Sia"
`☆ 2 & 10 and "... you're stupid."
`☆ 6 & 7 and "houston we have a problem"
`☆ 8 and 4 and salsa dancing
`☆ 1 vs. 10
`☆ 6 and 2 and "Just pull it out!"
`☆ 1, 2, 3, 4, and 9 and whatever you please.
`☆ 7 and 9 and the color maroon.
`☆ 3 & 7 and a fire
`☆ 8 asks 5 on a date (joingly, or.. for real?)
`☆ 1 and 6 and a bad piece of cheese.
`☆ 4 & 7 and "... Rude."
`☆ 6 and 7 and "I think we killed it."





1. Ignatius Twite
2. Captain Joseph Bentley
3. Lord Dalton
4. Margarethe Sitz
5. Angus Conláed Driscoll
6. Captain Frederick
7. Leonardo Bishop
8. Martha Pollard
9. Anton Fábián Vastag
10. Dr Charles Pollard




These short stories will most likely focus on my RN characters, and will not necessarily follow their timelines. Generally speaking, I'll heap a pile of nasty dilemmas on top of Rogers and Frederick, since they have the most rotten luck ever. I'll try to throw in a sappy love story if I feel like it XD I plan on exercising my right to change five of the prompts, though I'll do my very best to stick to the guidelines.

Wish me luck!

PLEASE NOTE: These stories are not to flaunt my nonexistent writing skill. They are to help me develop a relationship with my characters and understand them better.

No posting, please!

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In which Midshipman Rogers encounters the true fragility of human existence.

Featuring:
Acting-Lieutenant Edwin Hansson
Midshipman Alexander Rogers
A rather panicked surgeon
Several angry Frenchmen with firearms

Word count: 1018

THE racket was unbearable. The screams of the wounded mingled with the shouts and yells of anyone in a suitable state to attack, creating an awful cacophony, supported by the erratic staccato of both the French and English guns. The song of war, the most horrific song to ever be heard. Midshipman Rogers stood by his men, happy to be a part of the chaos, hollering at the top of his lungs, adding his voice to the symphony of destruction. Thick grey smoke hung in the air like a curtain, combined with the acrid perfume of gunpowder. This is precisely what Rogers had signed up for; giving Monsieur Crapaud a good thrashing, and telling Boney who really ruled the waves.

Acting-Lieutenant Hansson had HMS Nightingale's port side guns ticking like a fine Swiss clock. With each crushing broadside, the frigate and her men took a step closer and closer to victory. Months of drill had paid off, and the French were paying the price for their wanton use of unskilled sailors. Despite her superior firepower and seaworthiness, the captain of the French ship, Récompense, clearly did not have luck on his side.

As doomed as they were, the French simply would not give up. The one thing that could be admired about them was their sheer, pigheaded determination. They were not cowards as England liked to believe. They were far from it. That much was clear as Récompense choked out another sporadic and ill-aimed volley of shots, the majority of which did nothing but put a couple holes in Nightingale's sails.

" Vous ne pouvez pas ... la liberté!"

Some poor fellow had taken to hollering in incomprehensible French at his attackers, no doubt in a valiant yet failing attempt to turn them away, Drowned out by another crushing broadside, Rogers could barely make a couple words out. Something defiant about freedom, he presumed. Despite all those lessons and long hours, he never seemed to be able to fully grasp the language. Turning his attention once again to his division, Rogers dutifully began shouting the well-worn orders to prepare his gun to fire. Récompense would strike her colours soon, but not without one last little fight. With a rather lax move on the part of the captain, Nightingale had shifted windward into the path of an impeding assault from the French. To be fair, with their numbers and training, the French could hardly do any significant damage. Unfortunately, 'hardly any significant damage' usually meant the loss of a few lives.

A murmur rippled through the ship. Everyone knew exactly what was coming next, and prepared for it the only way the knew how; one hackneyed expression dripping with sarcasm. Rogers joined in, muttering the words under his breath as he eyed the enemy across the water.

"For what we are about to receive, let us be-"

The world turned upside down. It fell on its head and shook like a madman. Reality seemed to break its bonds, and dance around like a drunkard with two left feet.


***


Oddly enough, once everything settled down, the first thing Rogers noticed was the incessant ringing in his ears. Then the pain. It raced through his veins and clouded his mind like a thunderstorm. Dully, he could hear the men of his division shouting, and the now all too familiar shrieks of the injured.

'I'm fine.' he wanted to shout. 'Back to your post, you men.' But the words simply wouldn't come out. And to tell the truth, he really wasn't fine at all. His left leg hurt like hell, and his the world swam before his eyes.

They carried him gently, passing the sentry at the door who waved them by without a second thought. Rogers was touched by the kindness of his men. He'd never known they actually liked him, with all his childish shouting and pride. The sea formed strange relationships, though liable to tear apart in the cruel game of fate that was war. Careful not to injure him further, his men carried hIm down to the cockpit where the surgeon had pulled together a makeshift operating table and haphazardly set out his instruments. The place was dark and smelled terrible, with the short little surgeon running around hurriedly. His white shirt stained red, the man frantically tried to pull his panicked self together.

"Dear God, not another one!"

The man's shaking voice and body did not help to calm Rogers at all. A pang of fear stabbed through his chest as they laid him out on the table. Still in pain, he felt himself slipping away. Naturally, he struggled to stay awake, but the darkness was warm, and he was feeling ever so cold.


***


"You can retire. You'll draw a pension - fifty pounds a year or something. Please Alexander - just stay alive!" In his scarce spare time, Hansson found himself visiting his dear friend Rogers. Bedridden, the young man was in and out of consciousness day by day. What remained of his left leg pained him badly, and the thoughts of his ruined future did the same. The life of a crippled sailor was not a life to look forward to.

"The surgeon said you'll only live for a day or two. I don't believe that - not at all!" Hansson fought the tears with all his strength. It was no good for an officer to be crying over his juniors. The navy had forced him to grow up quickly, but sometimes the kindhearted little boy from Kent broke through. Rogers wasn't dying. That was the firm belief he clung to with all his might.

A still hand stirred underneath the sheet. Eyes still closed, a grin spread across Rogers's pained face.

"Of course. I'm fine."





Ew no. Don't read this. Here, we see a prime example of no research, sloppy writing, and pure laziness.
HMS Nightingale and Récompense are fictional 'cause I was too lazy to look up the names of ships in the channel around 1793ish. Don't worry - Rogers doesn't die. Yet.

Fun fact: Font name for title is 'Fell French Cannon' Coincidence? I think not.

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In which Ignatius faces a moral obligation to the equine equivalent of a tasmanian devil with anger issues.

Featuring:
Ignatius Rutherford Twite*
Lieutenant Franz Wymer
Doctor Charles Pollard
A very temperamental horsie


*Titles omitted due to taking up space

Word count: 1148

HORSES in particular never bothered Ignatius. Having grown up in a rural area, they were always somewhere nearby, to help the farmers and workers, or for the leisure of the lords and ladies. To him they were quite noble and lovely creatures, deserving of great respect. Faithful beasts of burden, beautiful in their strength and agility. A man on horseback far surpassed the one on foot, and the true partnership between man and animal was something even the most dull of people could appreciate. Unfortunately, the equine before him was not the sort of creature that seemed to think about 'partnership.' In fact, she seemed hellbent on proving that she would never work with one of the humans leaning on the fence watching her with a critical eye, seemingly arguing over nothing.

"At least we can tell she's sound." The somewhat portly little man on his right noted as the mare wheeled around and threw several bucks in quick succession. Next to him, Ignatius stood with a keen eye on the raging animal, quietly approving of her athleticism. To his left stood a young man, desperately trying to hide the fact that he really did not like horses at all. "Though with respect; what good is a sound horse going to do you if you can barely even get within ten feet of it?"

The question fell onto a silent audience. Picking nervously at his sleeve, the young man flinched with fear as the animal once again raced past them, prompting a disproving glance from Ignatius. "A project, I suppose. Though she is quite the looker - perhaps I could sell her to Meyer's to improve their bloodlines." Naturally, his first response was kept quiet. He wasn't one to tell his juniors that having found the mare lost in war-torn Europe he succumbed to pity and took her with him. 1915 Belgium was not the nicest of places to be, though inevitably fate forced him to wind up there somehow. Riderless, panicked, and injured, she had crossed his path at the most inopportune of moments, leaving him with no choice but to catch and calm her. How could anyone with a heart have left the beautiful creature to die? Surely, without his intervention, she'd have fallen prey to the hungry Germans, or recruited by the French to pull guns. Modern warfare was not the place for the most beautiful of God's creatures, and it was his duty to rescue the mare.

"Your verdict, if you please, Doctor Pollard." Not wanting to waste more time standing around, Ignatius was keen to get the veterinarian's opinion on the animal. Hopefully, he'd speak in her favour so there would be no dispute or snide rumors if he kept her.

"Hmm, yes. She's perfectly sound - we have already established that. Those scars on he legs will heal up with time, though they will always be visible. Her conformation is decent, but her legs are too long, same with her back," A quiet nod of agreement came from Ignatius. The retired surgeon spent his time well with his gaining of a doctorate in veterinary science. Heaven knows how hard it would be to live on an island without a qualified vet. "Beastly temperment, though." He continued on, listing the flaws and virtues of the mare. Everything the man said was completely true, much to Ignatius's approval. An honest and intelligent man was to be valued beyond measure in this decietful world.

Throughout the majority of the conversation, the young man remained quiet, save for the occasional involuntary squeak when the horse galloped by, flinging her feet dangerously near his face. Now, however, he saw his chance to speak up. "Sir, do you think it's wise to keep such a dangerous animal? Surely Meyer's would take her?" For all the things the boy could have said, he was more concerned about the safety of his commander. Ignatius was touched, but his blatant disregard for tact and politeness irked him. Besides, it was wrong for a junior to question the motives of his superiors.

"When your opinion is required, I shall ask for it, Mr Wymer." The curt response signaled the end of the matter. Ignatius would keep the mare, regardless of wether the public liked it or not.


***


"I'm telling you mister; this animal is dangerous! The only thing it'll understand is force - surely a man like you would know that."

"I'd advise you to leave, Mr Pearson. I have no intention of keeping a shallow - minded twit like you on my property any longer." By this point, Ignatius was positively seething with anger. Though he was not one to be provoked, the way Mr Pearson had sauntered onto his land, claiming he knew all the secrets of horsemanship seriously irritated him. Some civilians were convinced they knew everything, maintaining a close watch on the world in their little bubble of self - satisfaction. It diddn't help that the man had advertised himself as a 'top quality horse trainer' as well, not to mention the disgusting lack of respect with which he spoke.

He left eventually, amidst sputtering protests and shaky reaffirmations of his own competence. Glad to see him go, Ignatius turned to deal with the mare, still tacked up in the old bridle and surcingle dug up from the depths of his garden shed. Previously, he'd only kept a team of horses for the small coach he owned, but this lady bumped his count up to five of the beautiful animals. She really was quite a lovely mare, evident despite her relentless tries to destroy the stable door which she was tied next to. A creature like this should never be beaten into servitude. Rather, she should be worked with and respected for the treasure she was.

"Belay that!" It diddn't seem odd at all to use the purely naval expression towards a horse. Once a sailor, always a sailor as they say, and the commanding note the words held did indeed halt the mare's methodical destruction of the door. She eyed Ignatius curiously, wondering what this fellow would do. He didn't seem mean like the other one, and she was greatful for that. The man had good intentions, she concluded. However, he seemed to want to be in charge, and that would never do.

"We'll take this one step at a time. Is that clear? Little by little, day by day."

Fancy that; the mare seemed to an aknowledge his words. She was an intellegent creature, despite her temper, and would hopefully see the sense in learning to work with him. Ears flat back, she nipped at him as he led her out into the sunshine, receiving a swift slap on the nose. Unfazed, the mare quieted down, and allowed Ignatius to rig the lunge line through her bit.

This was going to be a very interesting day.




Have fun, Ignatius. Try not to get yourself killed a second time.

Wymer, you horror, speak when you are spoken to. Or only when I need some words to bump up the count -_-
You'd think Ignatius knew he'd keep the horse from the start. If he hadn't, he wouldn't have gone through the
three foot pile of paperwork needed for importing agriculture.

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In which the USA really regrets electing a certain 'do nothing' president.

Featuring:
Leonardo Ellis Bishop
Jasmine Fullerton
Bad economic decisions

Word Count: 778

NOBODY really panicked on the 18th of October, 1929. Well, at least no one important. 'It was only natural for the stock market to have a bit of a bad day,' they said. 'She'll be back on her feet before you can trade away your share in General Motors.' If the experts weren't worried, why should the people be? Looking back, top brass probably should have stepped in at the first instance of decline. Perhaps then, with enough new rules and regulations, the following landslide could have been avoided. Like a blind sheep, I followed the crowd in a frenzy of selling. Desperation, tears, and financial ruin now dominated a practice that had promised only riches in the past. Six days after the initial scare, the fatal blow was struck. Wall Street became a beehive of worry, with myself in the thick of it. We still had hope, though. No matter what went on in that pillared building standing proudly over the street, we as Americans never lost that tiny smoldering ember that kept us from thinking the worst.

Then, on the 29th of October, my dreams were drowned in a sea of ticker tape and shouted numbers. Hearts sank alongside the share prices, and any small spark of hope was stamped out by yet another loss. What were we thinking? People try to teach you money isn't everything. I don't quite think there's much truth in that, especially when so much is at stake. I had told my friends the good times would last for ever. Like countless others, I was wrong.


***


"They can't just take our money away from us. Surely that's not legal - is it?" With a face painted pale in worry, my closest friend sought a reassuring answer. Sadly, I did not have one.

"Jazz, I've told you before; banks sometimes fail. They can't give us our money because there's none left." There was only bad news, these days. America wasn't the country of dreams and wealth anymore. It was the country of broken people with broken hopes. Even the carefree Jasmine, who sang in a backstreet speakeasy and could dance the night away without a second thought, was crushed by the overwhelming weight of recession.

Silence found its way into the conversation. There really wasn't nothing much to say. Only the occasional twitter from the scattered group of birds filled the air of Central Park. The clangour of the city had fallen silent, save for the hushed murmur of saddened voices wherever you went. There were few cars on the street; hardly anyone could afford petrol. None of the shops were open, either. A sad, detached poster encouraging people to buy Luckies cigarettes floated past on a sharp breeze, as if to drive the truth in like a nail. We couldn't buy anything. We couldn't even keep a job.

Shivering, Jasmine huddled closer to me on the wiry park bench. The cold didn't make her shake, for it was only early November. It was the thought of a desolate, futile life that would surely be unavoidable in this time of ruin and hopelessness. Her job as a typist was unnecessary. Nobody needed anything down on paper anymore, for news spread with strange swiftness through the community that so desperately wanted a distraction. As a journalist, I wasn't needed either. All of America was on its toes, waiting for a scrap of good news to once again rekindle hope. But we had no good news, for Wall Street was silent, and nothing of much importance was heard from our dear leader.

"I've seen things the news - 'Prosperity will be just around the corner,' What do you think?" Trust Jasmine to turn to something optimistic. She could turn nearly any situation around with her steady cheerfulness. Unfortunately, 'nearly any' did not include the current crisis.

"The only thing I see around the corner is yet another poor fellow begging for work," I couldn't help but smile in order to bring a note of lightheartedness to the conversation. Gloom never did anyone any good. "I don't quite understand how that promises 'prosperity,' but I'm definitely willing to learn!"

Laughter was my reponse. A rather forced and hollow laughter, but laughter nontheless. It was a welcome sound after days of hearing complaints and negativity to no end. Jasmine knew just how bad the situation was, but at least it did not impair her ability to make light of a situation as best as she could. With her by my side to smile away the worst of times, even the current depression coulnd break me.

Without a friend by my side, things could be a whole lot worse.



My obsession wth my USA depth study is getting out of hand. I wonder what would happen just put this story in the exam and hoped for the best XD

Don't worry, Jazz and Leo - you can smile away the depression!

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In which Cpt. Joseph Bentley discovers the trials and tribulations of civilian and fatherly duties.

Featuring:
Joseph Bentley
Farin Bentley
Nathalie Bentley
Adeline Bentley
Bentley invasion

Word Count: 887

WARM afternoon sun filtered through the tall French windows, catching tiny particles of dust in a minute golden halo of light. The early summer breeze carried the laughter and shrieks of children into the dull office, causing a tired-looking man to smile to himself as he studied paper after paper on his desk. Nobody in their right mind would voluntarily stay indoors on such a beautiful day, but it was by decree of his superiors that Joseph Bentley should sit down and correct the incredibly dreary minutes of the last few meetings. Proper civillian work was boring at best, but if it helped to keep his family happy, then he would do anything. It wasn't quite so bad inside, though. The air rang with gentle birdsong, and the soft sunlight bathed the office with a radiant warmth. Lulled by the dreamlike atmosphere, Joseph felt a sense of deep calm, leaning ever so slightly on the edge of drowsiness.


***


"Daddy? Daddy, we need your help," A brilliant shock of red hair hovered tentatively at Joseph's elbow. The clear blue eyes of Adeline Bentley stared up mournfully at her adopted father, begging for his assistance. He must've dropped off to sleep, for the clock on the wall read three-quarters of the hour ahead of when he least checked. Odd how if he'd beeen caught sleeping whilst on duty, they'd make a proper example of him, but here, nodding off due to overwork was just a simple and forgivable blunder.

"Daddy? Please?" Adeline was the most downright impatient child Joseph had ever encountered. Yet he loved her with all her faults, for she was also one of the most kind and gentle children he'd ever met. She had absolutely no leanings towards meanness or dishonesty.

"Yes Adeline - what is it?" Fully awake, Joseph was actually quite curious as to what had prompted the little lady to interrupt him without notice. A sudden pang of fear shot through him - had something gone wrong? Was one of his children hurt?

"Come!" It was incredibly rude of her to command her father like that. But for the sake of curiosity, and the fact that Joseph didn't have the heart to reprimand her when she looked so worried, he took her hand and allowed the little girl to lead him downstairs and outside. He was greeted by another somewhat disheveled child, Farin, who had most likely been the one causing the most problems and noise outside for the past hour. Uncharacteristically quiet, he and Adeline led their father to the far corner of the garden, where Nathalie, the eldest of the three, sat cradling something in her arms. With doleful eyes and a quiet sniffle, she raise her head to look at her father, and shifted her arms to reveal the battered figure of a small canine.

A grey island fox, or Vulpes nisicyon. Fascinating and beautiful creatures; Joseph partially remembered studying them for a rather pointless course in ethology. This poor creature seemed to be in quite a bad state, with limbs twisted at odd angles and dull, almost glazed eyes. Only the weak and ragged rise and fall of its chest indicated that a small spark of life still remained somewhere inside its broken body.

"Can you save it? We couldn't just leave it to die." Nathalie was crying now, bless her. She could never stand to see anything in pain.

Save it? The poor thing looked like it had been run through one of those newfangled internal combustion engines. It must have been caught unawares by a stray dog. Really, the kindest thing to do in this situation was to make sure the animal did not have to endure any more suffering. Looking down into the teary eyes of the three children before him, Joseph realised this was not an acceptable option. They wouldn't stand for it, and to be honest, he didn't quite like the idea either.

"We can call the vet! He knows everything; he once saved -"

"Adeline," Surprisingly, the though of what he had to say next pained Joseph. He sighed and continued with a heavy heart to deliver the bad news. "Doctor Pollard is away. There is no vet on island, which means there is nothing we can do."

Only the ragged breathing of the fox could be heard as the children fell silent. Their case was hopeless, and it was heart wrenching for their father to watch as they lapsed into despair. The only thing worse than ignorance was helplessness, and at this moment, Joseph had absolutely no idea what to do, nor could he have done anything if he wanted to. Sometimes, it was best for nature to take its course.

The little animal sighed, and seemed to crumple like discarded paper. Its eyes closed softly after looking up at the humans surrounding it, as if to thank them for their kindness. With barely a whisper, the creature simply faded away. Life gives and takes, reflected Joseph. Sometimes, it takes for reasons no one can understand, and we just have to accept it. No one spoke for a wile. Silent tears fell from the children's eyes, and even Joseph found himself sniffling a little. It was little Adeleine who finally broke the silence with the question that everyone kenw the answer to.

"Is it... dead?"



I don't even know where I was going with this. I don't even know what to do with thes characters anymore.

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Fancy titles can wait.

In which Ignatius discovers gold lace is not bulletproof, science is a whole
lot more difficult than the 19th century makes it out to be, and he is immortal.

Featuring
Some peeps

Word Count: look, a number

DEATH did not frighten Ignatius. To him, it was simply a part of life, especially in this time of war. In fact, many men had lost their lives by his hand, and though the thought was appalling, it was at least deadened by the fact that their loss of life was a necessary evil. What did frighten Ignatius was the prospect of his own death. Only the unknown lay after it, and the pure feeling of uncertainty was deeply unsettling when the topic was brought up.

His death came without warning, as most deaths do. An ill-aimed shot, fired in the blind heat of battle somehow found itself buried in Ignatius's chest. Surprisingly, there was not much pain, only a dull sense of discomfort and an awful feeling of tiredness. Determined not to stumble, Ignatius gave his last order befor collapsing into the arms of his flag captain; "Signal to Larkspur: Keep better station-" It was terribly embarrassing to fall in such an undignified manner, especially to be caught by his second in command. No matter how hard he tried, his feet wouldn't respond, and the fallen