Author Notes:

This is the first chapter of Moment of Force, a Fantasty/Steampunk/Supernatural story about a man named Jas Pillon who has been dead quite some time. Under the guidance/control of the goddess Eirel, he must complete a simple task which spirals out of control, leading him to hell and back (quite literally). I would like to be able to give you two chapters a month minimum, with four or five in May and December (from April Fools and NaNoWriMo respectively). If you would like to beta read this story, please send me a message, my email address is in my profile.

Anyway, on with the story! Reviews and Constructive Criticism are greatly appreciated.

6th Ashwin, 3 Prior Founding, Outside Port Wolfton, Indilius Colony, Isle of Anisum

Jas stood on the brow of the hill, surveying the port barely a mile ahead. From this vantage point he could see over the forest that still covered ninety percent of the island without making himself too visible to enemy snipers. He watched a small merchant ship drift into the harbour through a pair of antique field glasses, cannons strapped to the deck, crates stacked on every available surface. They way it sagged in the water meant it was either gold, or more likely, guns. Behind him, a tall woman, flanked by a pair of wolves, waited.

She looked entirely out of place. Her carefully crafted features more suited to a lords hall than the little hillock, her golden locks more suited to a hairdressers windows and her open faced fur coat more suited to the northern climes than the equatorial heat. But this didn't seem to bother her. And if just to confirm that she didn't belong, her footprints left no marks in the soft soil.

"Jas, you know this action is pointless." The woman sighed, hand on her hip, pushing the rich fabric of her coat aside to reveal a thinner white vest and shorts ensemble below, the woman's one concession to the heat. The wolves prowled around her feet, and unlike their master, churned the soil around their paws.

Jas pulled the glasses from his face and turned to face the woman, giving her the first good look at his clothing. He was wearing a deep blue military uniform, splattered with mud which refused to dry in the unrelenting humidity, the brass buttons dulled to a dirty matt finish. "Eirel, no offence, but this may be your war, but I am the one in charge of fighting it. If I need council on matters of the gods, you are the first I would ask, but please leave the fighting to me." He asked, breathless. Shaking his head, he turned back to his glasses and looked down at the harbour just as cannon shot rang out across the isle. One of the dock cranes began listing to one side and men in green jackets ran from the quayside.

"Come on, you know I'm right. Even if you are committed to this near suicidal action, at least let me help you!" She pleaded, reaching out to touch the officer on the shoulder.

"Goddess, as much as I appreciate your support, we both know you cannot help those who do not believe, less still the godless." He shrugged her hand away and stowed the field glasses in a pocket. "And I've seen too much to truly believe in you."

Eirel sighed. One of her wolves padded over towards Jas and looked up longingly. "Can't you put past differences aside?"

"No." The soldiers tone of voice made sure that was the end of that.

As Jas walked away, Eirel turned on the spot to face him. "You know I should just kill you if you won't accept my help. I'm sure your successor would be more receptive to my advances."

Jas couldn't help but laugh. "We both know you couldn't do that if you wanted to, since I'm not the only one who can't put past differences aside." He chided, turning back to face the goddess. "Am I?" The goddess huffed at the comment and followed the soldier down the path back to the encampment. the path was slick with mud and small stones, leading even the goddess to watch her footing. The encampment was a collection of canvas tents in a small clearing of trees surrounding a large open pit fire. Anyone passing by would guess it was a merchants camp, even the racks of rifles would cause a minimum of fuss, the entire region was in a state of war, the colonists (of which Jas was a member) wanting independence from the government that founded them. As such, most merchants were on a high state of alert, many employing mercenaries to protect their investments.

Stood around the fire pit were several people in similar uniforms to Jas, William Bacon, a largish man with gray-white hair was tending to a cauldron, Luke Parker, an older, much thinner man and his daughter, Marissa, all blue eyes and blond hair (whitening in the case of the father) and Wade Bines, a squat man with jet black hair and a medics patch on his arm. All four were outlined by the glow of the flames, none quite licking up past the height of their shins. As Jas and Eirel approached, Jas removed his jacket, hanging it on a rack near the fire. Despite the heat, the flames sucked the humidity from the air, making the area much more comfortable than the rest of the camp.

The three men were in the middle of a discussion meandering far from it's original course when they noticed the goddess, causing them to pause for a moment before continuing, only the girl paid the woman any heed, smiling warmly. The goddess, however, was not amused. She snarled at the group, holding her face in her hand. "Some holy war this is, you are all a bunch of atheists!" The wolves around her feet growled at William, in particular.

Luke turned away from Marissa to stare down the goddess. The contempt in his glare radiated through the clearing. "This is no holy war. This is a war of liberation." The old man began, pointing at Eirel. "You only joined the fray because it suited you. Because this isle happens to be your land too. Either help us or leave us, but do not stay here and torment us."

Eirel huffed. Light wisps of smoke started to curl around the gray fur of the wolves, their growls becoming more subdued. As the harsh light of the dying sun passed the goddess' coat, similar wisps had begun to form. "Don't say I didn't offer you help." She chided, the wisps covering the wolves in entirely now and was forming a shroud around her. As it began to blow away in the light breeze, it appeared to take the wolves and the ungrateful goddess with it, much to the joy of the group.

Marissa coughed and waved at what smoke remained. "Jas, how come you know such an ungrateful bitch of a goddess? It seemed like you two have some sort of history going on up there on the hill." The girl sniggered, picking a warm bottle of beer from a small table set up beside the fire pit and throwing it at him.

He caught it just before it hit the ground just before his feet and pulled a short dagger from a trouser pocket to pry the lid from the top. "I helped evacuate one of her temples over in the mainland, Albias I think. Then I tripped over a tripwire someone had rigged up to the explosives hidden around the temple." Jas paused for a moment to take a swig from the bottle, cringing at the warm beer. "She took it pretty well that I blew up her temple. I only had to dig my way out of six inches of loam."

Luke, who did not appear to have any other emotion apart from contempt, stared at Jas. "You lie. You lie like a cheap Lyrian whore. There aren't any temples to Eirel in Albias, they worshiped Aerren in that neck of the woods."

Wade laughed at the old man and shook his head. "Luke, Luke, Eirel is Aerren's daughter. They are one and the same." He placed his beer on the table and moved towards William and the pot. As he tried to peer into the cast iron receptacle, William swatted the medic's head with a ladle before beginning to dish the broth into small tin bowls stacked neatly on the table. It wasn't much, root vegetables, some local fruits and a brace of chicken-like birds caught earlier in the day, but it was warm, and it was filling.

The sun had dipped behind the trees, giving the clearing an almost ethereal feel. Everyone sat around the lightly glowing embers of fire pit, the humidity of the day now drawn to the trees to settle as dew drops on their leaves. There were now thirty or so soldiers, medics and gunners sat around the pit, each with a tin bowl in their lap. Luke was sat next to Jas, who had a small pipe out, filled with a local plant with a mild sedative effect. "Jas, do you really think we can take the port?" The old man asked.

Jas took a puff on his pipe, careful to send the smoke upwards, instead of into anyone else's face. "Would I send my men and women into certain death?" He asked in return.

Luke laughed at the soldier. "Why yes, if you thought it would do any good, and I would follow you deep into the jaws of hell if you said it was important."

A small breeze pulled the puffs of smoke away from the group as Jas laughed. "I'm glad you mentioned that. Once we're done here..." He chuckled, letting the laughter die away on it own accord. "But in all seriousness, this may be the last battle."

"Jas, my old friend, every battle could be our last. It is merely a part of what we do." Luke started, his face contorting into what could be vaguely classified as contentment. "We shall either survive, or we shall be having breakfast in hell." The old man picked up his bottle from beside the chair and looked down it's neck before holding it up for a toast. "Here is to the freedom we fight for, and the freedom we very may well die for."

Around the fire pit, the men and women all raised something, bottles, plates, underwear, and cheered. "To freedom!" Their voices echoed around the clearing, small birds flew from their nest. And a few people started expecting soldiers to come rushing in to ambush them before they had a chance to ambush the port, but nothing happened. As far as the world knew, they were just a bunch of rowdy merchants.

As the sun set, people starting moving back to tents, or slept where they sat. It was barely five hours until they moved on the port, but every minute of sleep counted, every iota of wit they could gather before the coming storm could just well save their lives. But the wolf sulking in the shadows knew better. The wolf knew what would come the pass, if only for the briefest moment as the goddess took control. A trained eye could almost see the wolf sigh before slipping further into the forest.

7th Ashwin, 3 Prior Founding, Port Wolfton, Indilius Colony, Isle of Anisum

As the morning approached, the twenty second Indilius Revolutionaries were all packed up and marching headlong into Port Wolfton. The sun straddled the horizon behind them, reducing them to mere slivers in the harsh early morning light. Left behind in the clearing were several mortars, large iron barrels ready to bombard the port with gunpowder and steel. Each soldier carried a long bore rifle, the steel barrel set in a rosewood frame, the self loading magazine allowing ten shots before each reload. They were much better equipped than the standing guard. No-one expected an entire regiment of Ibassi Legionaries to have docked over night.

When the first shells fell on the town, the blasts reduced most of the uncovered machinery on the quayside to shrapnel. The next explosion caught the consignment of gunpowder sat on the deck of the AFN Safe Harbour, tearing large rents into the deck of the merchant ship and letting the choppy early morning sea into it's hold. The third explosion, and the last, caught three Legionaries stumbling out of the barracks just as Jas and the other soldiers reached the edge of town.

A pair of the normal guards in their midnight blue police uniforms, carrying small pistols and truncheons, were stood at the gate, completely unaware. They were supplemented by three Legionaries, panicked and out of breath, half dressed in their vibrant green jackets and immaculate white breeches, yet missing the belt, the bandoleer, and most importantly, their weapons.

The first round tore through the first man's shoulder, splitting the fabric and flesh on both sides and scattering gore across the others stood near by. As the force of the shot tossed him, the second round halted his momentum, catching the left side of his rib cage, skin and bone exploding in a shower of blood. And almost as if to add insult to (considerable) injury, the third round caught the back of the man's head. It smashed the plate of bone and bore through his brain, picking up tissue before throwing a grapefruit sized lump of human matter through the poor, ignorant soldiers face.

The local guards stood and stared as the man fell to his knees, a life reduced to little more than a macabre statue. The other two soldiers fared a little better, reaching to take the guards pistols, but to little avail, the hail of bullets following the first three knocked out the left-hand soldiers knees before puncturing his heart, liver and lung. The right most soldier was less fortunate, a bullet nicked his throat before embedding it's self in the guards brain, draining the green clad man over a matter of minutes.

"Please, please don't hurt me." Whimpered the remaining guard, dropping the pistol in his hands and falling to his knees, hands clasped in a position of prayer. "For the love of Aerron, please don't kill me." Jas and his platoon of soldiers walked past, ignoring the prostrate man. One of the women picked up his pistols before walking off. The guard fell to the floor with a sigh, thanking the gods. High above, he heard a whistling sound, gradually deepening it pitch and increasing in volume until he had to look up. And he wished he hadn't.

Jas and the platoon had moved into the port proper, each man and woman taking up positions around the make-shift barracks under cover. When the shells began raining down on the area, the sign for the attack to begin, they charged the building, busting open doors and firing through windows. Everyone should have either been asleep or only just awake, still in a state of daze, but instead the first few who ventured inside were welcomed by two dozen rifles with their fully armed and armoured legionaries holding them. It was an ambush.

The shells too did not perform as expected, many exploded high above the town instead of on impact, the wind carrying shrapnel out to sea. When they did hit as hoped, they either failed to explode, or hit one of Jas' troops, further reducing their numbers. They had been reduced to a siege, unable to move forwards into the building. Every so often, a legionary would emerge, often in twos or threes, and take up a position around the entrance, moving forward to surround and split up Jas and his troops.

He was quickly running out of ammunition, and each time he ducked behind the small stone wall he had been hiding behind to reload his gun, the number of green shirted bastards had increased. Every shot they fired got closer to killing him, and they had already killed the other three people who had been hiding with him. No sooner did he stick his head over the wall did a bullet find it's mark in his chest, thankfully throwing him back behind the wall to avoid further wounds. But he was bleeding heavily, he could feel his blood pooling onto the flagstones he lay on.

"Eirel. Eirel you bitch." He moaned to the veranda above, delirious from the pain and the rapidly dwindling supply of blood to his brain. "Why didn't you help us?"

A further explosion rocked the ground, and several panels from the roof had fallen to the ground, burning. His vision was blurring, but he was starting to make out a shape moving into his vision. A thick coat, long hair, a woman. Eirel! One of her wolves nudged his side, sending a sharp pain soaring through the wound.

"Eirel, help me!" He tried to scream, but it merely came out as barely a whisper. It grew dark, cold, the pain was going at least. "Eirel..." The final moments were of sicken clarity, the goddess turned to face him, face blank. A frown formed on her lips, and she was gone.