"It was raining. Pouring, really, because of course it was. They don't have the guts to attack us in broad daylight. That's why the crews are usually mixed - we have better night sight, unicorns have magic. Where was I...? Oh yes... We were both soaked to the bone, but we kept watching the sky, firing shot after another, the gun shaking with recoil -" "Hang on, recoil? Doesn't it fire laser or something?" "What's a... laser?" "It's... well, basically, a really bright, concentrated beam of light." "That sounds like something the Princess would use." "Hm, yes." "But... no. The projectiles are actually something called 'plasma'. It's kinda technical." "Plasma? Plasma of what? It's red, so maybe nitrogen from the atmosphere... But how do you even feed enough energy into that thing? You'd need like... a star or something! Not that a laser would be much better, when I think about it. The waste heat alone should torch the whole gun -" "Hey! Look, I don't know all the details! I aim, I correct, and I shoot. The spotter is usually the one powering the gun, and doing most of the maintenance. All I do is 'Hold this here' and 'Don't touch that!'." "Right. Sorry. I just thought I'd learn something really groundbreaking." "I get it. Heh. You unicorns are all the same when it comes to these things. All I know is that it's something to do with the channeling crystals. It takes time to charge them up, and they eventually stop working all together. Just go find a group of spotters in a pub, and they'll ramble your ears off with environmental factors, cool down periods, recharge times, magic flows, ignition energies... Ugh. Just thinking about it makes me want to take a nap. Where was I?" "It was a dark and stormy night?" "Right! It was a dark and stormy night..."
Wars of great kings and clash of armouries Whose swords no man could tell, whose spears Were numerous as wheat field's ears Rolled over all the great lands, and seas Were loud with navies, their devouring fires Behind the armies burned both fields and towns And sacked and crumbled or to flaming pyres Were cities made, where treasuries and crowns Kings and their folk, their wives and tender maids Were all consumed. Now silent are those courts Ruined the towers, whose old shape slowly fades And no feet pass beneath their broken ports I need no call of clamant bell that rings Iron tongued in the towers of earthly kings Take a ride on, ride on, on your rotting horse on that deadly ground Take a ride, ride on, on your rotting horse with a pounding sound. Here on the stones and trees there lies a spell Of unforgotten loss, of memories more blest than mortal wealth. Here undefeated dwell the fog immortal under withered elmes, Alalminore one in ancient realms