The Chronicle of Lannion

The cobbled streets of Lannion shook as the missiles struck the quaint city of 30,000. Women screamed as debris rained down on the thatched roofs which flanked the narrow roads and clouds of black smoke billowed upwards from the impact sites in the centre of the city. Fires spread rapidly amongst the tight-packed wooden houses and embers drifted from roof to roof bringing terror to the population who attempted to flee the carnage, agonised screams tore the air as unlucky civilians burnt to death in their homes: entirely families killed where they had so recently lived in peace.

The city sloped gently upwards from the gates in the south to the towering cathedral of St Joan de Arc in the city centre, its spires still casting a long shadow over the mayhem in the streets below having survived the initial blast without any major damage. In fact the only part of the cathedral that had been affected by the attack was the huge bell which hung in the main tower which had cracked in the shock wave of the explosions and now it rang with a horrendous clangour reminiscent of the chimes of doom as women and children fled towards the Holy building seeking refuge within its thick walls. By now the buildings closest to the impact zones had collapsed hurling embers and ash into the air and aiding the spread of the blaze which seemed to have engulfed nearly the entire city.

The few Royal Wardens set to guard the usually peaceful city rushed from their homes in the shadow of the gatehouse below the rippling banners of the King and immediately and resolvedly hurried into the ever-thickening smoke. As they went further towards the city centre they began to pass bodies smouldering in the streets and heard the tormented shrieks of children who cried for their parents as the four walls which had previously seemed so safe collapsed under the weight of Shireithian aggression. Finding most roads blocked by flame and debris the Wardens soon decided to head for the cathedral which was quickly filling with the panic stricken citizens of the city as the Abbot fruitlessly attempted to bring some order to the ever swelling crowd before the altar as the dreadful toll of the bell still deafened the crackling of the fire, the smoke from which now obscured the sun and cast the city into darkness.

The light of the dancing flames illuminated the stained glass of the cathedral as the citizens of Lannion fell to their knees before the altar and prayed to God and St Joan to deliver them alive from their ordeal. The city burnt but the people yet lived; the Royal Rose still guarded the city from on-high above the gates: freedom remained.