The sound of a heavy "Thump" and continuous "Scraping", a brief jerk forward brings excitement and anticipation to Thorn knowing the ships have collided with each other. Thorn quickly looks around the oarsmen's hold as the slaves pull in the oars and begin to line up waiting for the Dominus to chain them together and cheer on the masters to victory. Thorn can hear the clatter of the shackles being drug in his direction and the wide eyes of the Mwangi man pleading silently at Thorn to please blend in and not make a scene. Thorn gives the Mwangi man a mischievous smirk of the lips and a quick wink of the eye giving the Mwangi man no hope of escaping his fated lashings.
Thorn quickly clears the elated emotion from his face and bows his head with his hands slightly raised in a submissive position. Thorn whispers to Wyn "Be ready to act, I do not care what you do with the guard but the Dominus is MINE!". Thorns stares at his hands with concentration as a flood of memories and emotion fill him as he now remembers all the long hours of strenuous rowing . The extra lashes given so graciously to break him and make him forget where he comes from . The many attempts by the Dominus to make him submit to the Dominus will and make Thorn forget who he was . Thorn will show this Dominus the meaning of submission and he will pray he had never met a Syndergaard much less attempt to break one like a dog.
Thorn observes the Dominus stop just before Thorn's feet, Heavy chain shackles slowly being raised towards Thorn's hands. The Dominus speaks to Thorn but the words reach deaf ears as the pounding from Thorn's heart beat wildly in Thorns ear rivaling the Chelish Bard's battle drum. Thorn grabs the shackles by the chain with lightning fast reflexes while pushing towards the Dominus causing him to stubble backwards and lose his balance. As the Dominus attempts to catch his balance after being caught off guard, Thorn rips the shackles from the Dominus hands while letting out a thunderous "RRROOOOAAAARRR" that could wake the gods. The Dominus eye's widen with terror as the heavy chain shackle rushes towards his head in a "Whooosh" and a "Clink".
The chain lands with a heavy blow staggering the Dominus and quickly wraps tightly around his neck. Thorn grabs the other end of the chain as they cross around the neck. Thorn pulls the two end apart in separate directions making a loud rapid "Metallic Clinking" and choking the life out of the "Dominus". Thorn pulls the Dominus's back in closer to Thorn to get better leverage on the Dominus and too use his body as a shield from the guards. The Dominus's head begins to turn red and purple as he fights and gasps for air. Thorn stares into the guards eyes with dead lifeless eyes and a wicked grin of pure pleasure.
Vrunyar shakes his head when Jax goes down, as the sounds of combat and drumming fill the air.
From life under a mountain and having a cousin trained as a tunnel drummer, the dwarf knows the value of rhythm in banding allies together in work or combat. Absorbing the ship’s movements in his legs, he steadies his arms, takes aim at the Chelish War Bard and launches his crossbow bolt.
Seeing the bolt strike the drummer, Vrunyar smiles with little satisfaction as he reloads.
Holding back a curse Beshra moves purposefully to the ropes and attempts to look like she is doing a great deal more than she is, even the motions required for such a deception making her burned hands radiate pain.
The disciplined Chelaxian sailors continue the boarding with silent efficiency, even as Doran's knife slips between the light armor of one to finish what Iakob's bullet started. As more of them cross the gangways between the ships, they have to slow their assault to have enough space to maneuver and fight. One of the sailors on the gangway waits, causing a veteran back on the Hellsmouth to bark at them, "Keep moving! Keep moving!" The group of sailors begins pushing their way past the crew of the Lighthouse, making just enough attempts with their blades to force the crew members back. The group of crew members at the stern of the boat quickly finds themselves flanked on both sides by enemies, with little they can do to stop it. The newly arrived sailors leap onto the deck, attacking the crew from behind. One of them badly misses, nearly embedding his blade in the wood, but the other two strike true. One splits John's armor open at the chest, laying his chest open; the veteran falls to the ground, weakened by the blood loss from twin blows. The latter sailor manages to cut Iakob in the right bicep deeply, spilling his blood to mix with John's on the deck.
The dominus's eyes fill with hate and rage as Thorn attacks him with the chains. He hacks and coughs as he pulls away, neck raw from the attempted throttling. He yanks the cat-o'-nine-tails, his favored weapon to rend the flesh from the backs of slaves, from his belt. He steps forward and brings it to bear against Thorn, as he has so many times before. Years of whipping men has given him much practice and much strength in his arm. He tears a bit of flesh from Thorn's side, though the elf barely seems to notice in his anger.
Round 1, Initiative 2
Wyn's push knocks off the guard's balance, forcing him into an awkward spin. She successfully gets the chains wrapped around him briefly, long enough that he has to tear them off before he can draw his weapon and attack her. The guard draws a light mace with a thick leather handle and a padded head. With the slaves, it generally makes more sense for less lethal methods of control.
The other prisoners stare at them in shocked silence. They all know that the punishment for revolt in battle is summary execution. This sort of thing has happened before, but none have been even close to successful. Admiral Endymion is known for performing a decimation in retaliation for a slave revolt, in which one in every ten slaves is sentenced to die for the sins of one. It seems none of them are willing - yet - to join into Thorn and Wyn's rebellion.
Captain Harrigan seems to be working himself up to a frenzy, pacing back and forth with a jaw clenched in true hate. His crew tries not to stare at the man, lest he kill one of them to satisfy the bloodlust he clearly feels. Plugg orders the black sheets unfurled. Beshra stares up at them as she fiddles with the ropes, remembering their presence the night that she was captured and Kerith was killed. She must be doing a poor job of imitating sailor's work, because Plugg comes up to her and hisses in her ear. "You lacking for work? I can arrange something more suitable if you don't want to do the best you can!"
[ooc]MA: Move to flank with Thorn. If I need Acrobatics check to try to avoid AOO: Acrobatics
Slowing him down a little was all Wyn knew she could hope she could do--as well as draw the guard's attention from Thorn.
But Thorn was taking a hit from the dominus, and it was he who needed to fall to boost the slaves' morale, so she rolled toward them and threw her fist in the direction of the dominus' face.
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Viscously hacked by the Chelaxian marine, John Rawkins... Husband... Father and Marine waivers. This could be it. The one legged man thinks as he looks at wave after wave of marines aboard the Hellsmouth ready to assault the tiny corvette. Alima... I love you John whispers, coughing up blood. Hearing the clash of steel and the screech of the winged demoness above in the air John feels the overwhelming sense of tiredness that has pervaded him since he lost his leg.
Falling to one knee, John watches as the marines slowly close in on him like a Shiver of Sharks. Then in the blink of an eye John remembers clinging to the golden wings of the Righteous Eagle preparing to face down the great bloody Jigsaw Shark that maimed him. Like then his face curved in a bloody smile.
Roaring, John sweeps his blade forward drawing in a sudden wellspring of power. John screams hacking down the first sailor in a spray of crimson blood. John roars again bisecting the second marine that had closed in on him from shoulder to hip. Laughing madly, his face bloody, hair sweat slicked and eyes wild John roars again. He had finally found something that hurt more than the endless throbbing in his knee.
Wavering on his feet and surrounded by the din of battle John points his greatsword at the next wave of oncoming chelaxian soldiers thinking that he must look more like some red haired ulfen berserker then a proper marine. To the pits of hell with all of you, you black hearted devil kissers. John screams one last time while praying to Abadar and Cayden that this works out.
Thorn felt a quick pinch at the right side of his body followed by blood and skin leaving his body attached to the hooks of his old friend Nine Tails. He knew his friend all to well and they had spent many hours getting to know each other with the help of the Dominus making their meetings longer and more frequent. Thorn already boiling over with rage and anger finally accepted it as a part of him and allowed it to take control. The heat embraced Thirn's body by washing away all of his pain and turning his hatred into a deadly purpose to end the Dominus.
Thorn swings the heavy chains in blind rage towards the Dominus's head but Thorn misses the mark as the Dominus dodges a haymaker from Wyn's abnormally large brawlers fist aimed at the Dominus jaw. The Dominus shifts his weight slightly left avoiding Wyn's wild punch all while avoiding the heavy chain shackle racing past his head wide to the right.
AC 16, Touch 14, Flat-Footed 12
hp; 3/11
Fort +3, Ref +5, Will +2
Effects; fortified drinker
SA:
Grunting as he takes the slash to his thigh, Iakob nearly falls over from the wound, gritting his teeth he thrusts his cutlass toward the sailors gut, only to have it easily slapped to the side, nearly sending him keeling over. Things were bad, real bad.
As John cuts their enemies down in what seems more and more to be a futile last stand, Arturo assists with a cracking blow straight into the unprotected face of the nearest sailor. Blood spurts from the man's nose as he staggers backwards, nearly knocked unconscious with a single blow from the heavily muscled sailor. Arturo growls at him, shouting wordlessly for the man to come and face him.
In the air, Captain Jonas points a hand at the flying devil summoned by the Chelish war ship. A crackling power of electricity draws the attention of both ships to their aerial battle as he blasts the creature with lightning. The fallen angel uses her dark wings to shield herself from the worst of it, smoking from the electric assault as it passes. A smirk comes to her face as she pulls another arrow out of the ether and places it in the string of her longbow. Jonas seems a sight of terrible rage and crackling power, a beacon of arcane might floating in the sky.
On the ship, the bard on the drums misses half a beat as he tears out Vrunyar's crossbow bolt from his flesh. Just as quickly, however, he mends his injuries with magic and is back to his steady martial drumming.
The Admiral points upwards at his summoned creature and makes another intricate arcane gesture with his other hand. A flash of light envelops the erinyes with a hum of power, which builds into a popping sound. The smoke from being struck by lightning fades as she takes aim at the captain with her bow.
The summoned devil launches two arrows so fast that it seems both were shot at the same time. Jonas starts to summon a spell, likely a wind barrier to cut away at her advantages with a bow or perhaps a wall of force to protect him. Jonas is not fast enough. The first arrow tears through his throat, silencing him and leaving a terrible, burning hole in his neck. The second hits just below, nearly severing his head in tandem with the first. Henray Morgan Jonas, captain of the Empty Lighthouse, has no time to summon any more magic before he plummets lifelessly into the sea. The great cost of breaking his vow is paid in full, and quickly. The erinyes launches one more arrow at him, seemingly out of spite instead of any martial consideration, but this one misses his falling body. Into the sea falls the former pirate, sinking immediately beyond the sight of anyone on the ship.
The dominus takes a few steps back from Thorn's swinging chains, having been struck by them once already. He spits as he speaks, venom dripping from his tongue. "I'll strip the skin from your bones, elf. I've wanted you to do this for so long. I'll relish killing you." He steps forward and whips at him with the sharply stinging weapon, but the elf's speed and power are more than a match for his half-hearted attack.
The dull guard grabs Wyn by the shoulder and slams his small mace in her face, causing her to see blackness and stars. Blood drips from a contusion on her face, rapidly swelling into a black eye that threatens part of her sight. He gets low, ready to strike her again. The other prisoners remain totally frozen in fear. Both Wyn and Thorn can see that this is not a fight that favors them unless they can draw the help of the other prisoners and overwhelm them.
Wyn reels from the mace blow, but forces herself to smile, spitting away a few teeth she's sure she didn't need anyway. "That's it. I haven't gotten in a good brawl for awhile." Still, she knows if she takes another hit like that, she'll be another "example" set by the dominus and his goons. There's only two of them, but she doubts they could get reinforcements, but THEY could have reinforcements if these poor souls would join them.
She looks at the cringing slaves; she adopts a defensive stance to help ward off blows but keeps her smile wide as she addresses the prisoners. "Come on, ya big girls' blouses! You can hear the fight above, NO ONE is coming down here to help these wretches, NO ONE. And we take care of these guys, then we help the other ships above finish off the rest of the Hellsmouth crew. The only thing keeping you from freedom is your own fear to fight! Or is it your wish to die knowing you had freedom within your grasp and you threw it away because you were too goblin-hearted to fight like the men you are?"
She remains standing behind the dominus, to help continue to give Thorn whatever advantage he can by reducing the dominus' options to move.
Light on his toes with a slight spring to his step, Thorn feels the blood filling his legs slowly and washing away the numb felling the hard wood bench has left over the long years of pushing and pulling that damn oar. Angrily jumping away from the Dominus feeble attempt of an attack. Thorn avoids nine tails while countering with his own attack. Thorn's eyes widen as he realizes he has miss judged his own strength and has jumped back to far from the Dominus to land the counter attack. Thorns heavy chain shackles swing violently over the nine tails arc and just short of the Dominus head.
Thorn becomes enraged at himself with the skills he has lost over many years of rowing this damn boat. He quickly vows to himself to sink this damned ship but not before he breaks his oar off in the Dominus arss.
Doran cannot believe what he has just seen - Captain Jonas, his head nearly taken off by devilish arrows, and his body fallen into the sea! Jonas, who took him on his crew, made him welcome, gave him more of a home than he had ever known.
Cursing his foes wordlessly, Doran positions himself to benefit from the slight advantage in numbers they've gained in this small stretch of deck, in the hope of killing one of the Chelish attackers and perhaps reversing the momentum of the fight. Unfortunately, his sorrow and rage at Jonas' death cause his strikes to miss badly. Doran grimaces, knowing that if their fortunes in this battle continue to go this badly, he and his new friends will soon follow the captain's fate.
Wyn's words spur the other prisoners from their stupor and fear into joining the rebellion launched by her and Thorn's action. The Mwangi slave seated with them stands and launches himself into Wyn's guard with a wordless cry of pain built up over years. Collapsing into the deck with a grunt, he strikes at the guard with a feral, primordial anger. Despite his age, years of hard labor makes him stronger than he appears. The rest of the unchained prisoners rise up and launch themselves at the guard and the dominus, punching and kicking with as much strength as they can muster. Moments later, the guard lays beaten to death and stripd of his arms and armor, while the dominus lays prone with Thorn standing above him. The elf holds the whip of his office, having wrested it from his grasp as the other slaves held him down. Blood stains his teeth as he begs for his life. "Please... It was my duty.... Nothing more..." The prisoners shout for his blood, demanding that Thorn kill him. The rest look fearfully at the door of the hold, as if expecting reinforcements coming through any moment. They stare at Thorn and Wyn, looking for guidance - ironically, giving up their own decision-making willingly this time.
Beshra works as best she can with her ruined hands, though it was easier back in the kitchen to fulfill her tasks. The ship cuts through the water quickly, heading east. She notices that it is much faster than its appearance would suggest, probably helping when closing in on its prey. The cruel captain stands silently at the stern of the ship, lost in thought or intense purpose. She edges closer to him, curious as to what dark thoughts fill his mind. Suddenly, he slams his fists on the railing. "He was mine to kill, oathbreaker! How dare you steal my vengeance?! I will have you torn to pieces and scattered through the seas!" His voice carries over the ship, giving pause to everyone on board. Even Plugg and Scourge pause in fear of him. He turns to the crew and points at them. "If we do not arrive within the hour, one of you will be keelhauled every minute beyond that."
Thorn quickly regains a defensive position to prepare himself for the ensuing counter attack to his fail attempt but is shocked to see a wave of frenzied slaves rushing to Wyn and his aid. The slaves swarm the Dominus and guard like an army of ants using their numbers and pure determination. Thorn stands witness to the slaves as they strip the guard's lifeless corpse of his armor and personal possessions. The Dominus is engulfed in a mass of slaves all trying to return the punishment they received.
Thorn slowly walks towards the mass of slaves as they spread to reveal the Dominus raised to his knees in a defeated position begging for mercy and Thorn to spare his life. "Please... It was my duty.... Nothing more..." Thorn continues his slow walk towards the Dominus dragging the heavy chain shackle on the wooden deck below. The shackle bouncing at the seam of each connecting plank. Loud cheers and outbursts came from the slaves demanding the Dominus's head. Thorn stops just before the kneeling Dominus, staring down into helpless eye's of a defeated man. He reaches out as a slave hands him the nine tails whip. Thorn grips the handle tightly as he stares at both of his hands struggling to decide the Dominus fate and which hand to use.
A few moments pass before Thorn drops the whip from his hand and quickly swings the shackle end of the chain around the Dominus neck in one fluid motion. Thorn grabs the shackle with his free hand as it swings back around crossing the chain in front of the Dominus face and pulling the two end in separate directions to strangulate the Dominus. Thorn slowly pulls the end further apart tightening the chain as the Dominus's face begins to change from a shade of bright red to purple and finally blue. Thorn watches the Dominus thrash and fight to pull at the chain but the chain has cut into the Dominus neck. Thorn smiles at the Dominus and as his watery blood shot eyes begin to bulge from their sockets.
Thorn burning with rage can hear the steady chant of slaves in the distant back ground of his mind demanding the Domius's head slowly loosens the chain. A large gasp of air fills the Dominus lungs giving him a brief feeling of hope before Thorn fiercely snaps each end of the chain in opposite directions to form a taught line above the Dominus. The slaves roar out in cheers as the Dominus's head flys up and away from the body slowly rotating forward before coming to a rest at Thorn's feet.
Thorn grabs the head by the hair with its eyes open wide with shock and fear and raises it high in the air to please the roaring mass of slaves while giving them hope. Thorn orders the slaves to sit the headless body against the wall across from the entrance to the slaves hold. Thorn then places the body's two arms and hands in a cupped position on the body's lap before resting the head in the cupped hands making sure the face of fear is facing the entry way. Thorn knew this would cause fear and possibly terror in the next guard or Dominus that entered into the slave hold. Thorn knew they would need all the help the god could offer.
Thorn recovers the nine tail whip as he yells out to Wyn and the rest of the slaves"Grab what you can; We're going to sink this cursed ship and KILL EVERY LAST DEVIL WORSHIPER IN THE PROCESS"
Time appeared to slow down a moment as Wyn herself was almost shocked by the power her words held, and she watched as the fear-shaken slaves widened their eyes, and terror spun into bloodthirst.
It was a glorious but also terrifying thing, to see these souls' desperation transform into vengeance, however deserved. As the guard lay dead and the rowers chanted for the dominus' death, Wyn neither interfered nor cheered on as Thorn took the wretched slavemaster's life. She did not wish the dominus mercy, for she was certain the joy he took in punishing the slaves was no mere devotion to duty, but as he pled for his worthless life, she reflected that the rowers in the galley were not the only slaves upon the ship.
But freedom they would bring all on the ship, if not in brotherhood, then, if it had to come to it, in death, which might be the sweetest mercy they could know. After all, what true joy in life could there be in living in the thrall of Hell?
As soon as the dominus himself was "freed" by Thorn, Wynifrid begins heading toward the above decks with whomever will follow her. She had no interest in watching Thorn create the gory effigy with the dominus' defiled course. She would wonder later at whether earning this brother in arms would be a curse or blessing; she sensed a noble soul at heart but doubtless his years amongst the Cheliaxans had tainted his senses.
She hears him call out to sink the ship. Better we make it our own, she thought, or at least not sink it until they had passage ensured elsewhere, but there was no time nor opportunity to argue.
As the Captain’s nearly decapitated body tumbles to the sea, Vrunyar doesn’t know what to think. Was that an illusion? Will he sabotage the Hellsmouth underwater and then return to the fight, bursting from the oar-churned sea? The dwarf doubts it. Looking up at the erinyes, hearing the drumbeats from the ship, he feels this battle is lost.
”John, fall back and let me tend your wounds. No reason or sense to die. Ha!” He yells at the human as he cranks his light crossbow with another bolt for that drummer. ”Archers, get the bard!”
He aims and fires. When he sees the bolt miss his mark, he growls.
As John cuts down two sailors, the rest of those who have already boarded rush to the middle of the main deck. Their boots rattle on the wood of the deck as they move into position, engaging the second group of defenders. As they free up space at the choke point, more sailors from the ship jump off the gangways and make their approach. They attack - silently and inexorably, instilled with the discipline of Hell - with their blades as they enter. In the chaos of the melee, most of their attacks miss. Only one strikes true, but it is enough to drive the already-injured Iakob to the ground.
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John bellowed, Cleaving down two chelish marines within a half second of each other. As John bellowed and Iakob parried another blade, John watched as Captain Jonas took to the sky listened as the crew of the Empty Lighthouse Began to cheer. Common lads! Get into them. John roared again. Striding forward on his wooden peg, the pain in his knee temporary lost amidst his other, far more grievous wounds John felt the rush of hope.
Watching as Captain Jonas became wreathed in lighting and channeled the blue crackling power outward in a blast towards the winged hell-cursed temptress, John couldn’t help but cheer himself. That’s it lads, we got em! John cried woozily. And then it happened. Wings dark as night shield the fallen angel. Unlike the golden protection that gave solace to John, these are harbingers of doom. One, two then three arrows lash out at the redeemed captain, the first two striking swift and true, vicious and deadly.
And for a moment everything became silent. The marching of the marines, the splash of the waves, hope turned to ash. As quickly as hope became kindled in the hearts and minds of the crew of the empty lighthouse it fell away like a cannonball into the depths of the ocean. Wordlessly, morosely John watched as a pale skinned marine with high cheekbones slid forward like oil on water and cut down his dear friend and lieutenant. John watched as four more marines trudged forward to the beating of wardrums and replaced their fallen companions as easily as one might grab another egg to replace one that had been broken. John knew this moment. He had seen it before. It was defeat.
Gulping down his fear, John shook his head. He could hear the dwarven doctor calling for him to retreat but John refused to do so. He would not allow his fear to take over. He could not. Nodding to himself, John took a halfhearted strike at the nearest marine who had lashed out towards him. Blade turning on the marines armor, John gave a grunt. He could hear the pounding of his own heart in his eardrums and felt the warm gush of blood running down his cuts and gashes. His time was short. Spitting rich crimson blood onto the deck, John smiled, his teeth lined red like some mythical vampire.
Pushing his way through the melee on deck he spotted the tall, pale skinned marine that had struck down Iakob. Pointing his sword towards the bastard, John pushed through the fight a hard gleam in his eye and softly singing a shanty.
Farewell and adieu to you, Andoran Ladies,
Farewell and adieu to you, ladies of Andor;
For we've received orders for to sail for old Absalom,
And we may never see you fair ladies again.
Parting though the crowd, John reached the aristocratic looking man who stood towering over the unconscious form of Iakob. Well ain’t you a pretty one. John rumbled maimed and bloody from half a dozen wounds. Don’t worry, I’ll fix that. The former Andoran marine growled stepping forward and dropping Iakob’s attacker with a single blow.
We will rant and we'll roar like true Andoran sailors,
We'll rant and we'll roar all on the salt seas.
Until we strike soundings in the channel of old Almas;
From Triela to Souston is ninety-five leagues.
As Captain Jonas goes down, Ollivor feels his heart sink in his chest. The fight threatens to leave him entirely and he can't seem to find the dragon in him. Still, he hears others urging them to fight on. So he does. When they get to him, and they will, he plans to claw their throats out, but for now, he fires at a Cheliaxian, ANY Chelaxian, just wanting some bastard not to make it.
To his pleasure, one enemy sailor is clipped, blood spilling from the Chelaxian's shoulder, but it's not enough to down the man.
The escaped slaves follow Thorn's instructions, grabbing what weapons they can fashion out of oars and chains. Those who the now-dead dominus locked in chains are let out by the others. They are a ragged group, but the Chelaxians may have sealed much of their own fate by keeping them in good health and good strength to row without stoppage. Now, too far to back down, the slaves smash open the door to the galley with shouts and cries for freedom. They flood out of there, heading towards their shared quarters to free the other slaves.
Blood soaks the deck of the ship as its captain sinks below the waves. The Chelish sailors are joined by their more veteran comrades, though they have to climb over an ever-mounting pile of bodies at the stern of the ship. Most of the fallen are Chelaxian sailors, and a marine or two. For every person that the crew of the Lighthouse strikes down, another takes his place. The Chelish losses are high, with at least a dozen sailors dead and another dozen badly wounded, but their numbers are too great. Their devil-binding captain's magic, their bard's cadence, and the arrows slamming into the crew from above are too much for the ship to bear. The crew is forced into surrender as its defenders fall into unconsciousness or death. As hard as they fought, the battle takes less than five minutes before the smaller ship is crushed under the plated boot of Imperial Cheliax.
Joining Jonas and Malakay in death are Kabek - cut down as he charged a marine in desperation - Symon Gund and Bucky Sabors, both cut down by the devil's arrows. The remainder are cut down but not killed, as the Chelish sailors know how to pull their blows so as to avoid fatally wounding potential slave. The sailors lash them together with heavy ropes, binding them tightly. A learned surgeon with both a kit of his profession and with magical healing comes by to treat their wounds, ensuring the value of their new property. There seems to be some sort of commotion back on their own ship, leaving about a dozen sailors who keep an eye on them as they start cleaning up the bodies of their fallen comrades and of the Lighthouse's fallen members. One of the sailors picks up the limp, tiny body of young Malakay and dumps him overboard into the waiting maw of the sharks that have gathered at the site of bloody battle.
Now armed with whatever they can find (and the guard's sword going to Thorn, and his shield and club going to Wynifred), the freed slaves storm out of their long-shackled prison. Some of them have gone from quarters to galley to mess hall daily for years, with their only view of the outside world coming in the gaps between the oars. They swarm upwards, trying to squeeze together through the narrow hallways that they have walked two-by-two so many times before. Most of them head to the locked quarters, smashing at locks with their makeshift weapons until the doors swing wide open. Excited chatter bubbles into the quarters as the other shift awakens and gladly joins the rebellion.
The two leaders of the slave revolt, Thorn and Wynifrid, lead the way up the stairs from the galley to the second deck. In battle, almost all the arms and armaments are likely in the hands of soldiers, and almost all of the soldiers should be on the main deck fighting their prey. With limited manpower on board ships, they have to use as much as they can in the battle. As the pair lead the dozens of slaves upwards to freedom and assaulting the ship of their captors, Wyn grabs Thorn by the arm as he barrels forward. She gives him a look, wanting him to be a bit more cautious. Her caution pays off, as she looks around a corner and sees a armed and armored guard facing the opposite direction. He seems to be smoking something with his blade sheathed away. If he is down here instead of boarding an enemy ship, the battle is likely over.
The black-winged devil swoops down to the deck of the captured Empty Lighthouse, though she stays aloft and hovers a few feet above the ground. Her malicious sneer cuts down any dark beauty her features may hold. Up close, she seems a fallen angel with black hair and fine, pale skin. She wiggles her fingers over her bow, seemingly discontent with the body count. She sees the glowering look that the crew gives her and mocks them, "Oh, were they friends of yours? The boy never saw it coming, but at least the sorcerer had some fight to him."
A snapping voice comes up from behind her. "Lashasan, I release you. Taunt them no more." The fallen angel looks at them with annoyance and contempt, then wraps her dark wings around herself and disappears in a haze of smoke. The smell of sulfur lingers in the air, overpowering the blood and salt. The man, a finely-dressed man wearing the official uniform of the Imperial Navy of Cheliax, speaks directly to the captive crew members. "I am Admiral Arronyx Endymion. Who speaks for this ship? The ship stands accused of piracy and crimes against Cheliax - namely, in that it was helmed by the war criminal Jonas Markhorn. Who of you goes by this name?"
Doran continues to dodge and wheel about the deck as the Chelish marines pour onto his beloved ship. He manages to cut one or two of them, but can see he will be outnumbered and overwhelmed soon enough. Taking a quick glance at the ship’s rail, he says to himself, I’ll not go back to a life in shackles – better to take my chances with the sharks, or join Jonas’ fate in trying. He takes two quick strides toward the rail, and just as he bends his knees to spring up on it, he hears a gruff voice says ”Oh no ye don’t, little’un.” Doran feels a powerful blow, like a cannon-ball striking his head, and the world goes dark.
Doran comes to slowly, his head pounding and his vision blurry. His years as a Chelish ship-slave have accustomed him to beatings, but not those dealt out by Imperial Marines intent on capturing a prize. As the scene around him comes into focus, the horror of his situation also becomes clearer. What twist of the sea-god’s curse is this? I’ve wondered many times whether it’d be better to die and have done with it than watch my crewmates drown when I survive. But to have us all enslaved, just as we’re about to leave Cheliax leagues behind?! Ah, the gods of the sea have a bitter sense of humor, and have made me the butt of it, and made those who sail with me pay the price!”
He lifts his head blearily, surveying the scene of carnage around him, as it is rapidly and brutally tidied up by his hated countrymen. Well, best keep my mouth shut for now, lest my accent give me away as a runaway. And now I’ve got another hard choice ahead of me – travel with these Chelish bastards in the hope the seas will lash out and sink them too, or get over the rail as soon as I can and into the maw of one of them sharks, and see if I can’t face down the sea-gods in hell and put a couple of questions to ‘em.
Sitting on the deck with his hands bound behind his back, Vrunyar watches his companions, wishing he could tend to the injured, while exploring the new gap in his teeth from a missing premolar. He has other injuries, but the missing tooth preoccupies him as he ranks the crew for treatment. John’s skin looks like chalk, not a good sign. He’d be the first for treatment, followed by Jax and Hojo. He can’t tell exactly, from his position, but neither has stirred since the crew was captured.
He tries to work out where he was fighting when the marine hit him with the mace, as he gazes along the planking, board by board, looking for his tooth. His memory is hazy about that blow. Had he swallowed his tooth? Or had it gone flying? A lost tooth, better than having a sword cut open his face, or an arrow split him in two like Malaky. His thoughts are interrupted by Admiral Arronyx Endymion’s speech.
Accused of piracy! By far this is the worst situation Vrunyar has found himself in. The dwarf is afraid that if he speaks he will just make the situation worse. He almost chuckles, Worse? How could it get worse?
Vrunyar clears his throat, ”None of us go by that name, sir. Our captain was killed by your devil.”
Ollivor kept fighting to the end, though his bravado had turned into a desperation. The last thing he remembered was a belaying pin smashing him from behind...
and then to awaken hearing the of the mocking she-devil, and the admiral. Ollivor can't keep his hatred for either from showing on his face now that he's back to the world of wakefulness.
A snapping voice comes up from behind her. "Lashasan, I release you. Taunt them no more." The fallen angel looks at them with annoyance and contempt, then wraps her dark wings around herself and disappears in a haze of smoke. The smell of sulfur lingers in the air, overpowering the blood and salt. The man, a finely-dressed man wearing the official uniform of the Imperial Navy of Cheliax, speaks directly to the captive crew members. "I am Admiral Arronyx Endymion. Who speaks for this ship? The ship stands accused of piracy and crimes against Cheliax - namely, in that it was helmed by the war criminal Jonas Markhorn. Who of you goes by this name?"
Vrunyar clears his throat, ”None of us go by that name, sir. Our captain was killed by your devil.”
The sorcerer also speaks to the admiral,"This ship committed no piracy while any of us aboard it, and Captain Jonas, whatever he was before, died a good and brave man defending his crew!" Ollivor asserts. He'd grown to admire the captain, and he doesn't like the idea of this featherless bastard soiling his memory.
Admiral Endymion steps closer to Ollivor and looks at him closely. "And what is your name?" He looks at the whole motley crew of captured sailors. "What are all your names? Lie to me about your identity and you will rue the consequences." His gaze bores down upon them, waiting to ferret out any untruths and determine if it is true or not that his target has been killed.
"My name's Ollivor," He answers looking the Admiral in the eye, "And everything I said so far is true, especially about Captain Jonas dying a good and honorable man."
Years of serving as a slave of Cheliax have taught Doran how to mask his feelings and present a blank face to those who have power over him. He feels a torrent of rage and despair boiling up inside of him, at the death of his crewmates and captain, and his return to Chelish captivity. In spite of this storm of emotions, he presents an impassive face, looking very much the ordinary sailor, afraid and despondent at having been captured in battle. He is careful to hide any trace of Cheliax from his accent, and says, in the tones of Andoran, "Doran Tidewrack, sailor."
For a moment he considers lying, but wouldn’t be surprised if the admiral was using magic to discern the truth. For a future date when he can look back at this moment, he packs away the thought that the admiral’s interrogation is like sailing through treacherous waters. “Vrunyar is my name. Vrunyar Magmabeard,” the dwarf says. His voice is subdued, missing the normal vigor and zest for life.
The dwarf indicates the near-death John with a nod. ”His name is John. Those unconscious next to him are Arutro and Hojo. The dead include Bucky, Kabek, and Gund, whom I called Grond on more than one occasion. You see I’m not very good with names. I think Malaky was the first to die.” He takes a moment to swallow and clear his throat.
”I am the ship’s chirurgeon. Please let me aid the injured; your injured as well. We're not uncivilized. As Ollivor said, we aren't pirates.”
Knowing physical subtlety is not a strength of hers, Wyn figures a hopefully quick and dirty fight is the best way forward, and she's fairly certain Thorn is not going to object. She cocks her head toward the guard and a nod, indicating silently, "let's rush the guy," and (presuming his affirmative response), immediately begins running headlong along the corridor swinging her club toward the guard's skull, aiming for impact before he even quite clocks what is about to happen.
Silent and sleek it glided through the water. The water was cold here. The was endless. It could never stop moving. If it stopped then it was dead. The was endless. Somehow it could sense prey ahead.
Unaware the harem of seals frolicked through the water.
Gills flaring as its powerful tail pushed it through the icy water, the blue and white beast began to make powerful strong strokes, its caudal fin threshing through the water pushing it forward faster and faster while its dorsal and pectoral fins guided it towards its prey.
Behind him trailed other, smaller kin, but he was the . Instinctively the beast knew that none would challenge it. They knew it as well. To challenge him would be death.
It would be a frenzy of flashing teeth and roiling water. And .
Pushing forward towards the prey, they suddenly became aware of the shadow looming behind him.
Rushing through the water, the beast of nightmares carved through the water. It was near now. Its skin tingled and it could hear the frightened chirps from the furred prey. It could feel them ahead, it could taste their in the water. But it could not see them.
Bursting forth from the water from below, the gigantic jigsaw shark breached the water, a seal caught within its jaws. Flipping over in the air, the shock of the strike stunned the furred prey. Diving back down into the waved, the others closed in, working in concert to decimate the harem.
Teeth gnashing, tearing and shaking the beast devoured his prey before slipping back into the darkness.
But the remained and it was as deep and endless as the sea.
The insurrection of slaves on the Hellsmouth was little-noted in the official records of the Chelaxian Navy, but its effects on the flagship and on the career of its admiral were devastating. The flood of human misery, fueled by years of captivity and terror, slammed into the ship's crew like an uncontrollable typhoon. In the first few minutes of the insurrection, nearly a quarter of the Chelish sailors were slaughtered as the rebels struck them down and took their weapons. Blood soaked the decks of the ship as the former slaves assaulted their captors. After the initial surprise wore off, however, the discipline and tactics of the naval officers drove the rebels back. The veterans of so many breachings and boardings assembled themselves into an impregnable bastion upon which the slaves threw themselves again and again. With neither armor nor shield, they had little to protect themselves from the sharp and magical blades of the Chelaxians, nor from the flaming arrows of the devil re-summoned by their commander.
The purported leader of the slaves, an elf held captive for over a decade, cut through a half-dozen or more sailors in the early moments of the insurrection. His shirtless torso slick with the blood of his enemies, he slaughtered as many as he could in a frenzy of steel. He slashed his way to the admiral's winged devil, intent on ending the malicious woman. He and his companion - a woman of great strength and fortitude - tried their best to fell her, but her strength and speed were too terrible. She battered them with her wings, cut them with her flaming sword, and still they tried. She laughed at them with a cruel pity, striking down first the elf and then the human. She would have killed both, had her summoner not ordered her to allow them to live.
A quarter hour after the slaves freed themselves, most of them laid dead on board the ship. Close to half of the crew of the Hellsmouth joined them in death. The defeated crew of the Empty Lighthouse had watched helplessly, hoping desperately for the victory of the slaves. Bound, guarded, and badly injured, they were unable to offer any assistance - though it would likely have not made a difference.
Admiral Endymion, himself wounded with a bloody gash above his left eye, ordered the two leaders of the insurrection brought to him. After having them healed of their injuries, bound with iron chains, he awoke them on the deck of the Empty Lighthouse. He explained - coldly, dispassionately - to his prisoners, "The cost of rebellion against Cheliax is execution." To illustrate this point, he had his men march the beaten slaves from the Hellsmouth to the Lighthouse one by one. His scribe dutifully recorded the slave's name, age, race, and homeland - then Endymion calmly lashed the arms and back of each to a metal ballista bolt before throwing the slave into the water to drown. One by one, he forced Thorn and Wynfred to watch as he drowned fifty-six of their fellow slaves. To the other prisoners on board the Lighthouse, it served as a warning as well.
As the final slave slipped into the sea to suffer and die, a horn from the Hellsmouth's bard alerted them to an oncoming ship. They look to the west for salvation, hoping that perhaps the Andoran navy had come to assist them. Their collective hopes are dashed when they see a massive black ship as large as the Hellsmouth with black sails affixed to three huge masts. A lit bullseye lantern, gleaming red even in the daylight, sits atop the central mast above a massive clock with its hands pointing a few minutes from midnight. As it comes closer, the name of the ship comes into focus, painted in crimson on the side of the ship: Wormwood.
Endymion showed no worry as the ship approached, beckoning to the pirate ship with a dismissive wave. He commanded his crew to stay where they were as the Wormwood slowed its pace and pulled next to the Empty Lighthouse. The tiny Lighthouse floated helplessly between the two massive ships, almost crushed between them in the water. The crew members of the pirate ship Wormwood threw a plank between their ship and the Lighthouse, across which Admiral Endymion stepped alone.
The captives of the Empty Lighthouse gazed upon the crew of the pirate ship, who looked back upon them with curiosity. The most imposing figure, with whom Endymion speaks alone, was likely the captain of the ship. The huge, muscular man with dark skin - likely hailing from Garundi - and an eye patch stroked his long, gold-bound beard as he spoke to the Chelish admiral. They were far too distant to hear what is said between the pirate and the admiral, though their conversation looked far from friendly. A young man, shaved except for a long queue of hair, shirtless with a long coat and a rapier at his side, stood next to the captain and interjected with agitation during the conversation. Quietly and ominously, a man with a whip seems to be a mix of the two - wearing a braided beard like the captain, and a long coat - like the other. The rest of the crew mixed together as they watch the conference silently - several male and female humans, a male gnome, a female halfling, even a female tiefling.
A few minutes later, after the conference concludes, the admiral returned to the Empty Lighthouse over the plank. Coldly, he informed the captives, "You will be transferred to the custody of Captain Barnabas Harrigan, the captain of the Wormwood, as penance for your crimes against Cheliax. This ship will be granted to him as well. You will wish that you had stayed in servitude to Cheliax, for you will know the sting of his lash far more often than mine. Lieutenant, see them to their new ship." As the admiral returned to the Hellsmouth, Chelish troops carried the bound captives over to the Wormwood. A skeleton crew from the pirate ship moved on board to the Empty Lighthouse.
As the Hellsmouth detached and sailed to the northeast, the newly captured Lighthouse and Wormwood sailed together to the west. Harrigan had the captives thrown into a darkened hold as they sailed, likely to come to grips with their new situation.
It was all a blur to Ollivor. He remembered cheering for the slaves rebelling,and then growing silent as it went...well, wrong. He remembered hope once more rising in his chest as a new ship started to come into view and then it fell again as the Wormwood was revealed to be some sort of ally not to those of Andoran, but to the Admiral.
Finally, in the dimness of the hold, the young man spoke out to his compatriots, "Did that bastard Admiral just 'give us' as gifts ?"
Arturo retorts in the darkness in his thick accent, the bitterness of his words clear. "It seems this way. What will we do? Have we a choice?" His words carry a broken sadness, as if the spirit of the strong warrior were broken with the battle aboard the Empty Lighthouse.
Jayce coughs weakly before replying. "We might as well make the best of it. If we'd been slaves to the Chells, we'd be shackled every minute of every day. Right, Doran? But press-ganged into piracy, we can make our own destiny. We embrace it and we can have some freedom. It's more than our lives at stake."
"Chells working with pirates? I know little about the ways of the waves compared to many, but is that typical?" Ollivor's scowl is still fixed on his youthful face. Since the healing captives were given, his voice is better, but he'll probably bear the scar on his neck for years if not all his life.
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::Don't leave me my love... whispered a voice from the darkness. Around him was the crash of steel and the cries of the dying. Men bled their hearts blood into the ocean as death rode upon the waves. Though the umbral smoke and fog, John stumbled. Glancing down he had both of his legs and the pain was gone. "Is this the Boneyard?" John whispered in the darkness, while chasing after the fleeting figure of Alima. On and on the mists swirled around him, seemingly endless. The air was humid but cold and it smelled of peat and salt. Something slashed beneath his feet.
Abruptly the mists parted. He was standing on an ocean. The waves solid beneath his feet, but he could still feel the swells, currents and eddies below him. The water was endless and dark. Hunger lurked below the surface. and . A cold sweat ran along his spine. Rising and falling and then rising again with the movement of the waves, John glanced down. Around his feet were miniature ships each caught in a glass bottle as they rocked against each other, some colliding causing the glass to crack and shatter. To his left was the shape of the Righteous Eagle and the Steadfast locked in battle with the Carrion’s Maw to his right was the Empty Lighthouse, its bottle tiny and dwarfed by the Hellsmouth and a second unknown ship.
Stomping forward along the waves John lashed out with his phantom leg at the figurine of the Carrion’s Maw and the Hellsmouth causing the glass enclosures to shatter in a spider web of cracks and the models of the ships themselves to fill with water and slip beneath the surface. Stepping away, John blinked and when he gazed back upon the ships locked in bottles each had reformed around him, gently clinking in the calm sea. In the far distance John could make out a storm. He could see fins slowly circling him. One of the beasts was larger than the rest and its fin carried a distinctive blue and water pattern resembling the shape of a child’s puzzle.
Eyes frantic, John gulped, his mouth dry. They drew closer and closer and soon they would be upon him in a frenzy of flashing teeth and roiling water. And .::
Gasping in pain John Rawkins awoke from unconsciousness to find himself in darkness. Weakly attempting to back away, the marine whose eyes were wide with fear, blinked several times before taking a deep breath. Coughing from the smell of mildew and pitch the John grunted. Running his hand blearily along his side John could feel that the gash in his side had been bandaged tight and recently sutured with stitches.
Throat dry and hoarse from trying to rally the crew of the Empty Lighthouse John coughed again before looking at the other surviving members of the Empty Lighthouses crew. What happened after I fell? John rumbled, looking around. And does anyone have some water?
Wynifrid turns her head toward Ollivor. "It's a common practice, apparently. I was 'gifted' to the Hellsmouth before we were now 'gifted' to Harrigan. Do you know why? I chased a thief onto a ship, who knocked me out in the cargo hold. I was trying to help someone. And on the ship... trying to help. We were all dead already, for no slave's life is living. The risk was worth reaching for that one scrap of hope we found. Now most of the slaves are truly dead, and are thus the luckiest ones amongst us.
"And I envy them with a fierceness that frightens me. Part of me is tempted to twist myself up in the chains that bind us until I choke myself and die, abandon you all as I take the easy way out. But then, that would let the bastards win, now wouldn't it? One more victory to toast, one more death to cheer.
"And after all, I fought a devil and lived--how many can say that? So when hope shines in the distance I'll make a grab for it, or die trying--but not until then."
She shifts slightly within her small space in the hold, and smiles with the half of her face willing to move at the moment. "Sorry for the speechifying. Not much else to do. My name is for the record, not 'pathetic mewling slave,' but Wynifrid. Back home, I was called the Peace Keeper. Not doing so well on that right now."
Doran looks skeptically at Jayce and asks ”You ever been a-piratin’, dreamer? It’s not like yer visions of fair sailin’ and chests of gold and a woman in every port. You’re a prisoner on yer ship, same as a slave in some ways. No decent port will have you, most ships’ll attack you on sight, and yer mates’ll stick a blade in you for lookin’ at ‘em funny, or because they think you might have two silver pieces to rub together.”
He pauses and looks around at his friends from the Lighthouse, and the new arrivals from the Chelish ship. ”But you might have something there, Jayce. We’ve got a pretty good crew right here in this dark little hold. We might one day set up to sail on our own – we’ve a cook and a doctor, some folks that can fight by the look of them, and a few who know the difference between a bight and a billhook once it’s pointed out to them a few times. And until we can get a ship of our own, we can watch each others’ backs on this one, as full of ill will and bad intent as any I’ve seen.“
Turning to Wynifrid, he continues ”Good to meet you, I’m Doran. And I’d respectfully disagree with the first part of what you said. I’ve spent more of my life as a slave of Cheliax than as a free man, and hope is the only thing that can keep you alive. Without it you’re under the waves and gone, sure as good old Cap’n Jonas. I’m sorry as sorry that all those slaves today had to pay the devils’ price, but if we never rise up, if there’s never a chance that slaves will act on the hope of freedom, then the slavers have truly won, as you say – they can throw away the shackles, because their slaves will have shackled themselves.”
Finally, hearing Rawkins croaking for water, he kneels down next to him and says ”Ah, John, I’ve no water, though p’rhaps we can find some here in the hold. But let’s make you comfortable here, with the great wound they’ve just healed up, and tell you the tale. I don’t know quite when you went down, but suffice to say we lost a fight, then the slaves on the Chelish ship rose up and fought fiercely, but the Chells wouldn’t have it and fought ‘em back. Killed dozens of ‘em just to prove a point, then gave those of us here to a Cap’n Harrigain, commander of this foul barky, the Wormwood, as the worst penance he could dream up. And when a captain in the Chelish navy can’t think up a worse punishment, you know you’re for it.”
She shifts slightly within her small space in the hold, and smiles with the half of her face willing to move at the moment. "Sorry for the speechifying. Not much else to do. My name is for the record, not 'pathetic mewling slave,' but Wynifrid. Back home, I was called the Peace Keeper. Not doing so well on that right now."
Ollivor grins, "No need to apologize, Wynifrid. I think you've the eye of the falcon on much of it, but Doran's got his point too. Me? I've never tasted a lash, that's likely to change, but I'm an Andoran, and we don't take well to slavery. Fought a whole rebellion against it, least wise our grandfathers did. I may have some odd blood in me, but I won't be shaming any part of it. My name's Ollivor Myles, I'm ...was the cook on the Lighthouse. For proper sailor, you'd want to see Doran and the others there. He's a wizard with a ship he is."
To John, he agrees with Doran, "The Admiral kept demanding any of us who'd been pirates to speak up. I told him I never was such a thing, and that the Lighthouse wasn't a pirating ship. Was tempted to spit in the man's eye...but then I've always had more balls than sense." A rueful chuckle.
Wyn nods to the halfling. "I think we're actually in agreement, Doran, just come at it from different paths. Can't speak to what you've been through, but there was no hope at all on the Hellsmouth for a while. Thorn here finally found an opening, and for a brief time we were resurrected. But we can take our current prospects as we come."
She gives Rawkins a sympathetic smile as he comes to, but none of them have any water to give.
And then turning back to Ollivor. "The cook! Good god man, you're the most important one of all! No man can fight or sail on an empty stomach. Keep this one alive boys, in case we have chance to fight for our freedom again."
Ollivor laughs at Wynifrid's comment, "Well, THAT'S pressure not to burn the bacon."
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Propping himself up weakly with arm, John cursed under his breath with his heavy Souston burr of an accent. By Lamashtu rancid teats, this is bad. Wait?! Vrunyar, how is Iakob? The last time I saw him, some arrogant high cheeked bastard had cut him down. Is he ok? Looking around the hold, John scans the shadows for his lieutenant. There had been so much death already. Sour Gund, Young Malakay and the Capt. Shaking his head sadly, John swore again under his breath. While searching for his golden key pendant. Frowning when he realized that he had been striped of his belongings, including his precious journal John closed his eyes in worry and leaned back.
Lord, I'm not one to usually call for vengeance but Endymion needs to die. I won't do it out of hate, but he is a rabid dog. He just needs some killing. Lord, if it won't be my hand then I beseech you let it be delivered by another. Frowning at the missing weight of the brass key that he had usually held in his hands, John sighed while looking up at the halfling while taking stock.
Doran.. John croaked again as the halfling tried to make him more comfortable. Even in his weekend state, John leaned in pulling the halfling in close. Doran.. Iakob and I.. we won't be popular on a ship like this. We fought pirates, killed more than a few. It will go bad for us.. John exclaims by gripping Dorans shoulder tightly. If we have any hope of making it out alive, we need to have a plan the moment the pirate scum come down here for us. Doran, I.. I don't know a lot about you, but I think that the crew might take better to you than someone like me. The moment we are out here, I want you to break ties with us. Make them think that you hate us. Do what you have to do. I won't hold it against you. Get friendly with them. If you can earn their confidence we might have an advantage. Tiredly leaning back, John nods at Doran, looking at him in the eye. I know it will be hard. But it could be our only chance. I trust you.