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"Father, I need to see our nation for what it is. I will never learn to be the leader they deserve from within these walls." His father's mouth had opened and closed a number of times and Bastion could see the tensing of his muscles. It had been hard enough asking to be trained in the art of combat, another thing the emperor had vehemently opposed. Your strength is your mind, my son. Not everyone needs to be a weapon. But it was not about that. Long ago the boy had chosen to never harm others without an entirely justified reason. Only in the protection of others would he raise his blade to another. Wisdom could only be gained through experiences. He had to understand his people, to know what drives them and what he has to provide for them. So it was that he finally succeeded, Akeem relented and allowed his only son to venture out on his own.

Almost.

This wasn't the first time Bastion had been on a ship, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. Aramil technically was a gigantic island, water travel was one of the fastest ways to get around. From the deck the boy gazed out to the Port City, watching the people go about their daily lives. A crowd had initially gathered to watch the ship dock, wondering why an emissary from the palace had been sent. Even his crew had asked him why here? Port Narada was the closest city to Geshan and Amaranthine, on the western most part of Aramil. Since the war began there had been reports after reports filing in to the war-room of the palace, a place Bastion often frequented. Pirates, assassins, contingents of Makassari mages trying to turn the city to ash. It never ended. He weighed his options heavily, knowing there were far easier ways to prove himself. Would his father have thought less of him for taking a safer route? Surely not. Still, Bastion had a lot to prove. A fully armored knight approached from the rear, clearing his throat and bowing his head when his commander turned to see who required his attention. "Sir? When would you like to disembark?" The title felt strange on him, like a coat that was too big for his frame. Often times there was this underlying feeling that everyone around him thought he was just playing Emperor, trying to fill his father's shoes. It never showed in their actions, but their eyes spoke differently. "Soon. I'm waiting on- No, a leader did not speak like that. "There is a man whom I wish to add to my battalion. He is a newcomer to the army, though every bit as devout to the cause as you or myself. Damien Wellington is his name. I've heard word that he is already here. Tell the men to head in to town and resupply where necessary. For now, I shall have only you and Tristan by my side. He had tried his best to emulate the way he had seen generals speak, powerful though not harsh. Carefully he watched Tristan, the senior knight who had willingly sworn loyalty to Bastion. The man had been his mentor and trainer through much of his life. Pride beamed from the man, who gave a terse nod and turned to deliver the orders. Walking down the gangplank Bastion kept his head held high and met the eyes of the citizens. He smiled faintly, icy blue eyes still reflecting his inner timidness. He knew what Galahad would say, so he tried, really hard. It was relatively easy to pick him out of a crowd. Even for a boy his age he was tall, a trait from a long since forgotten lineage. Hair whiter than the first snowfall crowned his head, falling freely in smooth curls. His garb was reminiscent of the sailors in the navy, lined with a captain's coat. A sword was belted to his side, the master-crafted hilt poking out within reach. Hopefully, he thought to himself, he would not have to use it here. Bastion would walk up the port, perusing the wares and spending time listening to the common folk.

Bastion was feeling...out of touch. How was he supposed to blend in with these people? They were so vastly different from him and not because his shirt was probably worth more than they made in a week. These Aramilians were born here. Their fathers and mothers grew up in these lands, made it their homes and passed it on to them. Bastion was a stranger. He wasn't even natively from this land. The memories were distant, but there were times in his dreams he could see the vast sky from atop the mountains where he was born. Even so, was it truly ever his home? No, there had been no chance to make it such. Bastion swallowed past the lump in his throat and forced himself to smile at a merchant showing him the hand-made jewelry her family had been selling for generations. He selected one, half out of admiration and half out of guilt, paying two-fold the actual cost. When she tried to hand the gold back Bastion had already turned away.

It took longer than he had expected for this Wellington fellow to show up. Giving Galahad and Tristan a sideways glance the boy picked up on their boredom. As well trained soldiers this had to be incredibly tedious. They both had volunteered for this adventure, were they regretting it? Bastion could feel his face growing hot with embarrassment. "Galahad, would you show me the way to the barracks? I wish to speak with the captain of the guard here." Nearly half a day had already been wasted. Bastion felt like he was falling behind. The older man could see the sheepish look in his prince's eyes. He sighed inwardly and nodded his head affirmatively. The boy would fall in step with Galahad, walking behind him through the marketplace.

The trip was long, moreso than Bastion had expected. Through the lower districts they trotted, past such an array of different people. The prince had received grand privileges these past few years. Not only did he get to live in the castle, but he was able to do whatever he wanted. His father decreed that no room, no tome, no secrets be kept from the boy. Many of the advisors greatly disagreed, calling Bastion too fragile and young to understand the matters of the nation. Still Akeem did not baby him. For that Bastion had always been grateful. There were surely children and young boys his age who would think sitting in a conference room with twelve adults debating the socio-economic issues of Aramil were as dull as dirt. But not Bastion. He made it a point to always be prepared for the day and sat in with the people who made this country run as smoothly as it did. One of the things that always interested him was the census. Every year the officials would go out and collect data on the types of people coming, going, and staying in all of Aramil. In the recent years, since the ascension of his step father Raphael Giletti, a mass amount of incubi had settled here. After that the population began to skyrocket. He tried picking them out of the crowds. Was it the fair skinned woman pandering her wares? Or the handsome young boy begging for scraps of food despite his finer clothes and well-groomed appearance? It would be impossible to tell just by looking at them.

Eventually they made it to a garrisoned fort, quaintly named for the city it resided in. There were guards posted at the gates who stood immediately at attention when they saw Galahad approach. "Tell your captain Prince Bastion has arrived and is seeking an audience." One of the guards raised an eyebrow at the declaration. He leaned to the side to look past the seasoned veteran, at the boy behind him. Bastion tried to stand straight and hold his head high. The guard tried to stifle his derisive snort, but did not do a very good job. The boy tightened his jaw and glanced at the floor. Leather boots scuffed against the ground as Galahad rushed forward, grasping the guard with both of his hands by his shirt and lifting him clean off the ground. "You watch yourself, show some respect for your Prince." Bastion shut his mouth when he realized it was hanging open. He stepped forward swiftly and rested a hand on his soldier's arm. "It's alright, Galahad. I'm sure I don't seem like much, he didn't mean any harm. Let him go." Galahad gave one last menacing glower before releasing the guard, who stumbled and caught himself on the wall. With a faintly awkward smile Bastion moved past him, not wanting to cause a bigger scene.

The guard's mate slapped him on the chest and motioned him to run ahead and pass on the message. Giving a wide berth to Galahad he did just that. The soldier leaned over to whisper in to Bastion's ear as they walked. "My lord, you've got to assert yourself. Don't let these people walk all over you." Dismayed, the boy's shoulders slumped downward. This was harder than he thought it would be. Every action and word required this false persona he was still crafting. All of this was on the fly, no real experiences beforehand to help shape and guide his actions. "I'm sorry, I'll try harder." From behind Tristan piped up, clapping Bastion on the back and moving past him. "Yer doin' fine kid, let it come to you. We got yer back." The prince would try to take that to heart and visibly relaxed. As the trio made their way down connecting hallways they were headed off by an incredibly large woman. Bastion had honestly never even seen anyone stand that tall before. He furrowed his eyebrows trying to make out a face between all of the plates of armor stitched together intricately. Two hulking shoulder pauldrons spared but the smallest gap between them. Shock crossed his face as he met blazing eyes of passion boring in to his very soul. The menacing frown accompanying it made him involuntarily shiver. "Lord can yah imagine workin' fer a lady like that." Tristan spoke under his breath before standing at attention. "Prince Bastion Malek!" The woman's voice boomed down the hallway like a blast of wind from a mighty dragon shaking the skies with their wings. Bastion flinched before he could stop himself and meekly gazed at her. It took an elbow from Galahad to get him moving again. "G-greetings, are you the Captain of the guar-" Before he could get it all out the lady cut him off with a sudden salute, her gauntleted fist clanking loudly against her breastplate. The boy clicked his mouth shut audibly, a bit at a loss here. He couldn't help but see how her head very nearly skimmed the roof. "Brynhildr Gladiolus, the very one! Pray tell, what are you doing in my town? Not that it isn't an honor, but I would have expected a royal emissary to have alerted me ahead of time." Bastion nodded his head and opened his mouth to talk but was silence with a raised hand. "Come! Let us sit for awhile and talk in my office. I'm sure you're here to check up on the recent rise of contraband." The boy let out a small puff of air in affirmation. He was beginning to wonder if he would ever get a word in edgewise. They followed the clunking captain back the way she came and in to a cramped office. She skirted around her desk, forced to do so like a grab else her armor would scrap against the edge and the wall. With only one remaining chair, Galahad motioned for Bastion sit and then stood with his arms crossed over his chest. Brynhildr shifted a few papers about before retrieving a log book. She opened it and turned to one of the last pages. Handing it over to her prince, she folded her hands before her face and waited for his assessment.

Galahad smiled. Bastion was finally in his element. The boy's bright eyes scanned the pages, each containing dozens of dates, referenced files, companies and specific docking numbers from all around the port. It was the customs, the department of the government whose job it was to ensure any imports were up to standard, were not blacklisted, and were safe to the native peoples and creatures of Aramil. Lately they had been given the task of handling infected from the western countries as well. At the palace he had seen the quarterly reports increasing twofold in size. Port Narada was dangerously close to the eastern countries they were at war with. It was under constant threat of invasion from pirates. Trouble like that always brought more, and Port Narada's biggest problem was with smuggling. Foolish and brave privateers venture in to the wilds of Val'ghast, stealing treasures and risking life and limb for the eggs of monsters. These were highly illegal and incredibly dangerous. The havoc that a single asexually reproducing poisonous fungus could wreak in a small amount of time was astronomical. Bastion had seen projected studies and hypothetical global infection rates and patterns. "Can you provide me with the files referenced from the East Haven Company, the Salty Sea Sailors, and the Iron-Hardt Pact? It seems these are the only three that have had trouble this past month. I would like to specifically see what the issues were." Brynhildr stroked her chin for a moment before complying, leaning to the side and flipping through a few folders before finding what the prince was asking for. She began trying to explain the situations. Bastion held up a single finger to silence her, his eyes rapidly scanning line after line as he opened all three before him. Galahad, with a satisfied smirk on his face, shared a look with Tristan that expressed his pride.

It took a few hours, during which time the prince's soldiers were allowed to take a break to eat and rest. Bastion declined the offer of food, though accepted some hot chocolate to warm him. The lordling was quiet throughout the ordeal, entirely involved in his task. "Seven times this shipping company is listed as chartering a boat from East Haven Company. Seven, in the past month alone. That seems strange for a business listed as a logging industry. Look here, the other logging corporations are only ever listed as once or twice every few months. There is a discrepancy here, and I'm willing to bet that things are not all that they seem. I'll need an escort, someone who knows the ins and outs of these files, a well as knowledge about each and every one of these companies." Brynhildr blinked three times in rapid succession before suddenly standing to her feet and saluting once more. She provided a name, Venali Norran. A messenger would be sent telling the man to meet with the Prince at dawn.

Bastion felt fairly pleased with himself. Ever since he stepped off the boat the day had been quite the ordeal. First, no Damien Wellington. His father had assured him that the man could be trusted though Bastion was having a hard time believing it if he could not even be trusted to be on time. Night had long since fallen while the boy was perusing the files. Now, he was alone in his captain's quarters aboard the SERENITY. A small candle upon his desk kept the room well lit. With pen in hand he wrote in his journal.


DAY ONE

Today was rocky, at best. Galahad is right, I need to learn how to stand my ground and assert myself. Every time I have to confront someone I cannot help but wonder what they see. My father? Merely a boy? Who am I to them, what am I to be? Only time will tell, that I know. Unfortunately until then I am completely at a loss. Hopefully tomorrow will prove to be a better day.


The night proved to be a fitful one. This was the first time Bastion had slept in a ship in a very long time. He could not help but be reminded of the immediate days after his salvation and nightmares wracked his brain. He was dressed before the sun broke the horizon, standing out on the deck to watch it rise. Galahad approached soon after, noting the weary look upon his Lord's face and choosing to remain silent. It was nearly an hour later that Tristan joined them. "Come, let us not waste any time today. Let us find this Venali Norran." He turned away and walked towards the dock, his cloak swishing in his wake. A nameless building was their destination, the location provided by some locals up early. Galahad walked up to the door and knocked three times. It took a moment for someone to answer. When the door opened a frazzled looking Dawn Elf poked his head out and spoke. "What, what do you want?" Before his lieutenant could speak for him Bastion stepped forward and eyed the man. "I believe we have a meeting scheduled." He had rehearsed that a few times, choosing to not introduce himself and assume he was known. The recognition in the man's eyes proved him correct. Holding a single finger for them to wait, he closed the door and three more minutes passed before he exited and locked the door. Without a word he briskly walked past and began to lead them in the opposite direction.

"This has all been very tiresome I must say. An unannounced visit from the Prince of Aramil. Then, the very first thing he does is request for an entire business be halted for a day. And for what? Routine inspection. Tedious, absolute tedium." Bastion could feel his face growing redder by the second. He was here as a soldier, not as royalty. Why was everyone questioning this? Tristan spoke up this time. "Seems to me that yer askin' questions that you ain't privy to knowin' the answers too. So why don't you keep movin' and show us where this place is?" Venali bristled at that, gritting his teeth and choosing to hold his tongue. Bastion could not help but smile at that. They were taken down the docks to one of the larger warehouses in the district. Despite every single other area being well populated and busy this was a ghost land. "Have all the men been given the day off?" An entire day's wages gone. For some folk that could prove detrimental. Should nothing be amiss here the Prince made a mental note to seek compensation for their time. Venali looked to the boy as if there was a large hole in his brain and his question befitted a rock who had gained sentience for the very first time. "Well, obviously. They'd only get in the way." Bastion saw his first knight give the elf a sideways glance. That was a strange tone of voice.

Producing a set of keys from his pocket Venali entered it in to a side door meant for employees. Stepping aside, he motioned for the trio to enter. Their footsteps echoed on the floor of the vast warehouse, with its high ceilings and massive open space. This place was absolutely stocked to the brim with row after row of metal shelving, reaching almost to the ceiling. Everything was very finely organized here. Disappearing for a moment VenalI emerged with a ledger. "Everything is detailed in here, all of the shipments in this warehouse should be listed. Have fun." He pushed the book in to Bastion's hands and stalked off. The prince waited until his footsteps receded before nodding his head and cracking it open. Honestly, it would be easier to work without such a negative man here to drag them down. "We can split up here. Tristan, take rows A-H. Galahad, I-P. I will do the rest. Look for anything unmarked, mislabeled, or out of place." The warehouse was large enough that this would require them splitting up. This task could potentially take all day. Bastion let out a gush of air from his mouth. If only he had more men to work with.

Crate after crate, ladder after ladder. This was taking forever. Bastion rubbed at his eyes and stretched out his back. He had already checked four hundred and seventy eight crates, all matching with the records. There were only a few rows left and dismay was filling him. What if he was wrong? Maybe there was actually nothing wrong here at all. The young boy sat with his legs crossed, arms outstretched behind him to keep him sitting up. His head hung down in growing shame. Maybe this entire idea had been terrible. Maybe he should turn back now and- Bastion's head snapped upward at a sudden outcry. Tristan? A rush of fear filled his body. Rushing to his feet the boy gripped the hilt of his sword and peered around the corner of his row. Icy blue eyes tried to pierce the relative darkness of the warehouse, but to no avail. "Galahad? Tristan?" His voice felt tiny against the expansive quietness. No response, that was out of the ordinary for his men. Bastion closed his eyes and tried his best to sense their location. The three had established a prior connection so that they would always know where each other were. No matter how hard he focused it felt as if there was only him. Slowly he slid Heart of the Lion out of its sheath, the blade shimmering even in the low lighting. With caution Bastion moved, peering through each row before moving to the next. He was acutely aware of how powerfully his heart was beating. Illogically the young commander wondered how loudly it was echoing in these halls. "Tristan!" Bastion's voice cracked with the sudden increase of tone as he shouted out his soldier's name. Rushing forward he slid on his knees to the man's side, dropping his sword to cradle Tristan's head. He was bleeding from the side, the thick liquid coating his face like paint.

The smell. Oh gods the smell. The bile rose in his throat and Bastion had to clutch his stomach. When he took his hand away it was painted crimson. His vision before him wavered, flashbacks from the laboratory flooding his mind. Tightly he closed his eyes, trying to breath through his mouth deeply to calm himself. This was not the time to panic, something was doing on here and Bastion needed to find Galahad. It took another bout of deep breathing before he got his hands to stop shaking so hard. Grasping Tristan below the arms he heaved with all his might and dragged the man away from the scene, propping him up between two crates in hopes of keeping him from further danger. Bastion crouched now and moved as quietly as he could without scuffing his leather boots on the floor. "Ba-astion...run..." The sudden gravely voice had the prince flinching in place and whirling around to behold who it belonged too. Galahad stood before him, hand pressed in to a wound that was bleeding fiercely. Rivulets of blood poured down his armor that had been slice through. He could not comprehend what he was seeing, how could steel break so finely? How could two highly trained knights be bested without even the slightest sound?

A flash of light and a rush of sound later, Bastion was launched off of his feet and sent flying. Crashing in to the wall yards away, the breath was knocked clean out of his body. The unexpectedness of the blow had him rag dolling through the air, thrashing out his limbs to try and gain his balance. Had he not been able to naturally fly the way his head slammed against the cement would have knocked him unconscious. Instead it made him bite his tongue and cough out a globule of his own blood. The sting made his eyes water. He looked up at his assailant and felt himself at a loss for words. "Surprised? Of course you are. Your kind never think of anyone but yourselves!" Venali held out his hands as a ball of light formed, crackling a sickly green with his energy. Strings of black ran through it and Bastion could feel the darkness. This was unnatural. He held his arms up before him and braced for the blow. The spell collided with his body and rippled across him. Every muscle tensed and involuntarily he screamed. Before he even had a chance to rest it he was hit again and again.

Bastion must have blacked out. He was slumped on the floor, watching Venali approach from afar. The world felt hazy, his limbs too heavy to lift. H had changed himself, somehow. The elf they arrived with was now human, completely different than what he first appeared as. A trick of some kind?"No one will even know who did it. I'll report that you never showed up. They will never find out what is going on. I was so very angry. Tell me, how did you figure it out? How did you know where to look?" Venali bent at the knees to squat down to Bastion's level. He grabbed the prince under the chin and forced his head upward. Dangling around the human's neck was some sort of medallion. It was glowing, a residual malignant energy radiating. This close Bastion could feel it. Realization dawned in his mind. This was the darkness he had felt earlier. Meeting Venali's eyes he glowered at him, through his fear and pain. This human was evil. He murdered his friend, his mentor, and was trying to murder him. "No matter, I'll be gone before long. With this my power is tenfold. Weak little boys like you don't stand a chance now, can you imagine how powerful I'll be once I gain control of it?" No, Bastion would not let that happen. He gritted his teeth and reached his hand out. Venali looked down to it and pretended to pout. "Aww, how tragic. The poor little prince has no one left to come to his rescue! How patheti-" A sickening squelch and Heart of the Lion was through Venali's chest. The blade had been called forth, returning to it's claimed owner's hand. Bastion had left it on the floor earlier, in his haste forgetting to pick it up. Venali had never given him a chance, but he had also underestimated the boy. Confusion crossed his face as he gazed down at the hole in his chest. "But...how...?" The boy pushed himself to his feet and watched Venali's body slump to the floor. Reaching down, he tore the medallion from the necklace and stared down at it. It was vaguely reminiscent of an eye, crossed through with a slash and crescent. The symbol meant nothing to him, but even just holding it told Bastion everything he needed to know. It felt sentient, like it was calling to him to wear it. Now was not the time to worry about this. Pocketing it, the commander sheathed his bloodied blade and ran to save his friends.

DAY TWO
Galahad is recovering. Tristan was concussed though ultimately fine. They told me it was not my fault, though what leader blindly leads his men in to a trap? A failed one. My journey has barely begun and it is already falling apart. We will have to stay here in Port Narada for a while longer, at least until Galahad's wound closes. I am scared to write home. What will father think? For now I shall remain silent. Maybe if I can find out what this symbol means, where it's power comes from, maybe then I can show him my deeds. Hopefully no one else gets hurt.

I took my first life today. Inside, I feel empty when I think about it. I do not know what more to write.

Thrice now Bastion had checked his reflection in a mirror overhanging a sink to his right. Each time he had been strongly compelled to attempt a smoothing of his collar. Did he look stately enough? He made sure to sit up straight, though his back had begun to ache from the strain. He practiced different ways of addressing the two mercenaries, wondering if perhaps he should come off as stern and cold or warm and inviting. What did they know of him? Prince of Aramil, younger than most who chose to join the army, probably nothing more. He had never enjoyed the spotlight and often remained reserved whenever interviewing attempts had been made. When he first arrived in Villiath Palace there had been droves of reporters there to snap the picture of the scrawny and wide-eyed boy the Emperor brought home. His growth, both physical and socially, had since then been something of keen interest to the common folk. Everyone was wondering what kind of man he would grow up to be. Bastion was still trying to figure that out himself. His inner musings were interrupted by the sounds of raised voices from outside his cabin. Quickly he rose just as Tristan was beginning a threat to Tenrai for not relinquishing his staff. "If you think we're letting your a** in there with the one thing you'd need to blow off the Prince's head well then I've got two words for you, Vakk An-" The door behind him opened and Bastion stepped through the doorway. Today he chose his captain's attire, a blue and silver long-coat that covered much of his body. Hard leather pauldrons were strapped to his body. He had chosen to to leave Heart of the Lion inside the cabin, hanging on a wall near his desk. It seemed only fair that he should be weaponless as well if he would be imposing such a rule on any guests. "Sir Tristan, that will do. These men are our guests, if remaining in possession of certain tools will bring them comfort than so be it. Far better that they feel secure and comfortable. Besides, I trust you two will be ready for anything, staff or no staff." Tristan nodded his head at Bastion and begrudgingly stepped aside. Few would be able to tell but already the interaction had the boy's heart rate higher than normal. He turned and smiled softly at Tenrai and Aldrich, stepping aside and gesturing for them to enter.

The cabin was by no means opulent. It was large enough to accommodate maybe a few more people before feeling cramped. Decorated sparsely it just met the requirements to be called 'comfortable'. A large desk topped with maps, tomes, scrolls and more dominated the center of the room. Posted against the wall was a large map of the world, with smaller maps of specific areas like Aramil, Port Narada, and Essfraxon. There were many pins holding up pictures of people and locations, files overlapping one another depicting where Bastion was at in his research. Before the desk were two chairs . The Prince sat behind the desk and would wait for the two to settle in before beginning. "I would like to thank you for accepting this job offer, though I am sure the lack of details may have been unsettling. There was need for relative secrecy, which I shall explain in due time. I am told by your business associates that the two of you have a high rate of success when you undertake a task. I am hoping that to two of you gentlemen can aid in an endeavor of mine." Bastion pushed aside a stack of books written in Meritian to reveal sea maps. These were locales all around Aramil, reaching far in to Los Anthos and around the bordering countries. There were a number of red circles dotting the map. "A strange tale has been spreading around the prots of Aramil. The sailors have grown immensely cautious of the expeditions they are willing to undertake due to mention of...a ghost ship." The boy had steepled his fingers before him and pursed his lips. He knew how asinine it actually sounded. There were so many holy orders between here and Yuran. If such a ship existed why had no one been sent to exorcise the ghosts and send them on their way to the third plane? "This ship has been marauding up and down the coast of Aramil and must be stopped. The bounty is on the head of the Captain of this vessel. Though, I am ready to offer a greater reward than what was stated upon the request. Any miscellaneous loot discovered while on board this ship you can keep. Should we be able to find any of the listed stolen items I have here then they shall be returned to their rightful owners." Bastion would produce two copies of the list, handing it over to both of the men. Numerous names of businesses had been catalogued, each with their own requests for returns of their possessions.

"Now, I am aware that Los Anthos is far too large a body of water for such a small vessel to traverse in search of a single ship. I have already devised a plan." Bastion rose to his feet and paced back and forth, his hands folded behind his back. "We will be undertaking body guard role for a high-profile transferring of weapons from the East Haven Company." Few would know what he had just been through with the gigantic industry, though it mattered little now. It had been founded that Norran acted alone, the company choosing to wash their hands clean of him than attempt to defend his actions in any way. Bastion had offered a deal. A clean name in exchange for aid in his conquest. The company had been swift to agree to the matter. "Our route will take us directly in to the center of where I believe this ship docks for repairs and refueling. I have calculated this by using each reported attack and seeing where they all revolve around. Now, with all that said, do you still agree to undertake this quest? I have no idea the kind of enemies we may face. If you have questions I will do my best to answer them." Bastion looked to the two men in turn in order to verify their intentions. He was sincerely hoping they would say yes. Such a sensitive mission required finesse and practiced execution of the task. Bastion may be intelligent and a budding master tactician, but he utterly lacked in experience. Truth be told this would be his first naval battle. The extra back up was just too enticing to pass up.