End of Night Seven

The Anglo-Spanish War, c.1588

The morale of the English naval personnel had fallen to an all-time low following the death of Sir Francis Drake, the talismanic privateer responsible for many of their victories against the Iberians; while Lord Howard of Effingham still lived, his standing among his men could not match the near-mythical status they afforded the deceased Drake, and it showed as they were beaten time and time again in minor skirmishes in the waters around the British Isles.

On the other hand, morale for the Spanish Armada had reached euphoric peaks following exaggerated tales of a treasure convoy outlasting the Golden Hind in combat and scaring the mighty English vessel back to whence it came; additionally, the death of the Duke of Medina Sidonia had resulted in a more-accomplished admiral taking his place, and thus the Armada was able to overpower the English navy and prepare for an invasion, first stopping by the Netherlands to unite with Farnesio's thirty thousand-strong army.

Queen Elizabeth I had been aware of these facts for little more than a day before she snapped out of her near-catatonic state of shock and set into motion a series of contingency plans that would prepare the entire nation for invasion; these plans had been drafted with the assistance of the white-robed individuals who had so kindly given her the golden orb, plans that she had originally mocked, for the notion of the English navy failing to protect the nation seemed ludicrous at the time.

And now she stood before the standing army of her beloved realm, gathered at Tilsbury to meet the incoming Spanish rowboats fit-to-burst with the strongest soldados they could muster from both the Netherlands and Spain itself; men trained for the sole purpose of taking the British Isles by force.

In comparison, England had largely been reliant on her naval superiority and thus had neglected to maintain a sizeable army; this had led to extensive conscription, with every able-bodied male aged sixteen and above forced to take up arms in defence of the kingdom, the unfortunate downside being that they were given minimal training or mental preparation for the monumental task that awaited them.

Dressed in a less-extravagant variation of her usual pearl-white velvet dress and protected by a newly-crafted silver cuirass, Elizabeth looked the part; along with her suitable attire, along with her proven skill with a blade, she had shown that she was capable of walking the walk... it was now time for her to talk the talk, and she prepared to do just that as she sat upon her regal steed.

"My loving people!", she shouted, her usual reserved tone having been ousted by a stronger and more direct approach, "let the tyrants fear the courage of England!"

"By the grace of God, I have placed my chiefest strength and wellbeing in the loyal hearts and goodwill of my subjects", the Queen continued, her audience rapt with attention, "therefore I have come to walk amongst you, not for my recreation and disport, but because I am resolved, in the midst and heat of the battle, to live and die amongst you all."

"I know that I have the body of a weak and feeble woman, but I have the heart and stomach of a king... and of a king of England too! I think foul scorn that Parma or Spain, or any prince of Europe, should dare to invade the borders of my realm; to which rather than any dishonour shall grow by me, I myself will take up arms, I myself will be your general, judge, and rewarder of every one of your virtues in the field."

Elizabeth raised her sword into the air, eliciting a roar of enthusiasm from the gathered militia, before leading the charge to the Essex coastline, where the Spanish rowboats had beached, soldados storming through the fields under the cover of cannonfire from the mass of galleons and converted trade vessels massed in the English waters.



Twelve hours had passed since Queen Elizabeth I's speech and much had occured in the meantime; with much of the English militia unfamiliar with such intense combat, the initial assault from the Spanish forces had caught the defenders off-guard, a fact that the Iberians used to their full advantage by pushing the new recruits to their limits and making a sizeable advance through Essex in the process, only to have all their hardwork unravelled by a brutal cavalry charge led by Sir John Norreys.

Under the glow of an afternoon sun, lazily crawling across the sky as the day turned to night, the battle raged on as the two sides clashed once more deep in the Essex countryside; the inexperience of the conscripted English had been all but extinguished through a combination of Norreys' dynamic leadership and the sheer adrenaline of the situation, while the Spanish were finding it difficult to maintain the momentum of their initial charge without bombardment from the sea.

Sir John Norreys was right in the thick of it, his superior swordsmanship smiting many a Spaniard in mere seconds as he continued to dominate the battle and serve as a beacon of hope for the English; one soldado, known as TinCow, had managed to hold his own, his skill with a shield proving a difficult challenge for the accomplished English war hero, so much so that he managed to knock Norreys to the ground and gain the upper hand.

Prepared to embrace death after such a long career, Norreys closed his eyes, opening them shortly thereafter to find TinCow clutching his throat, hand stained with blood, with no apparant saviour in sight; breathing a sigh of relief, he retrieved his weapon and dashed several yards over to Queen Elizabeth, who had joined the battle alongside six of the royal guard, all of them occupied with fighting several soldados.

The arrival of Renata had boosted the morale of the English defenders, but in the same breath it had renewed the vigour with which the Spanish attacked, as the easiest means of securing victory was now within their grasp, or would be were it not for the strange gold sphere she held; beams of golden light darted from the artifact seemingly at her whim, striking the soldados fighting her royal guard and killing them all instantly, leaving Spanish and English soldiers alike to crumple lifelessly to the ground.

Wave after wave of invading Spaniards fell in this manner, but their numbers did not seem to dwindle and Elizabeth felt her strength draining with each successive use of the orb's power; she managed a weak smile when she saw a white robed figure approach her through the fray, a smile that quickly turned into a look of horror as he took the artifact from her feeble grasp and shot her at close range.

"Sorry, m'lady, but su... pow..r ca...t be le.. unche...d", the ro.... ...gur... whisp..... polog...ally......