The Battlefield

It was always strange to hear the distant sounds of battle.

To some extent the idea seemed absurd, that something as significant as dozens, perhaps hundreds of soldiers dying could be happening right over that hilltop, without him being there to witness it.
It made him feel powerless, with how clear the world told him it did not care for his existence, and would carry on no matter what. Like a guest in a busy kitchen.
That was fine. He got used to it, and he was here to see, not be seen.

Specifically, he'd been instructed to look for any reinforcements, prospitian or dersite, that might join the nearby conflict. He wasn't sure what his superiors would do with any information he could bring them, given that their grasp of tactics didn't seem to extend any further than a head-on charge (or diagonal charge, depending). But regardless, he kept his eyes open as he crept trough the outskirts of a small forest.

A noise made him turn his head skyward. In the distance, a handful of dersite ships were approaching, engines drumming loudly as always. They had already started their descent, signifying they would land but a little farther. Now observing the airspace more carefully, he noticed some prospitian ships coming from the other side as well (and making far less noise, he noticed with satisfaction).

Hm, which group to inspect first? The Steadfast Pistoleer mulled the question over for a moment, then took off.

The Priest sat uncomfortably in the hold with a large amount of pawns and rooks. One pawn eyed him in wonder, possibly thinking they might get themselves a new Arch Deaconstructor. He waved weakly to the pawn before looking down to the ground. He slips his hand in his robe pocket, making sure the letter is still there.

His hand grazes the dersite magic book, causing him to involuntarily flinch. He takes his hand out of his pocket before the ship starts to descend. The bishop grips his staff tightly until the ship lands.