Having driven off the Kilmoorian invaders, the group that had gone to the aid of Lady Elundra at her palace return back to the town. Some of the buildings are still smouldering, and there are many bodies being laid out in rows in the streets. It was a very vicious surprise attack and many have heavy hearts that it will again mean war between Corvel and Kilmoor. Many wonder how many more will die in this conflict before it ends.
It is late in the evening and all are tired. However, the unusual group seems to have hit it off rather well. "Let's get something to drink at the House of Duels," says the strangely dressed orc called Maurice. "I would like to drink to our victory against the Kilmoorian dogs!"
The shoddily dressed Dril looks up at him, a strange expression on his face. "Yah. Why not." He then spits out some more nasty chewing tobacco.
"I could use a few drinks as well," says Kazier. "Maybe St. Kayla will help me find someone to keep my bed warm tonight."
Galith, the pixie from Green slowly buzzes around the group, looking this way and that. Dril looks up at him, grinning some with stained teeth. "You were one of the faeries that kept the dragon distracted, right? Good work there."
He sighs, and raises his tiny hands. "True. However I seem to have lost my companion. Have any of you seen him? Dalin? He was just here a moment ago . . ."
"Maybe he got smart and left," says Kazier.
Getting back to the House of Duels there are others there also drinking, half in celebration the other half in just trying to calm their nerves. It is not every day that you go through a life and death struggle. Fare remains at the bar, looking at all who return, dirty and bloodied. She tries not to think of the losses they have taken.
Maurice goes and gets a tray of drinks for his new comrades at arms. "Let's cheer our victory!" He says, handing drinks to Kazier, Dril Moonblade, and the fluttering pixie Galith. Raising a stein high he calls out "For King Cedric and Corvel!" Many others then raise their own drinks when they hear that, joining him in that toast.
After their mugs are drained he goes back to the bar, seeing that Fare looks saddend. "What is wrong my dear?" Asks the oddly courteous orc. "We have won a great victory this night against the Kilmoorians! They tried a surprise attack on us and we stopped them! At the palace they had a dragon and that little sprig over there," he points to the sloppily dressed Dril. "He threw a blade into it's eye and drove it away. We have much to be grateful for!"
Fare runs a hand through her thick, blondish hair and gives him a rather mournful smile. "I know it was a great victory. It could have gotten very bad for us." She sighs heavily and pours herself a shot of whiskey. "It's just that, well, you know Olar, the person you duelled. Well, he got killed fighting on the docks against them."
Maurice's grin instantly fades, his eyes going to the floor, clenching his fist. "Damn."
Reaching out Fare puts her small hand on the orc's large one. "I knew him for a long time and he wasn't bad for an orc. He was a good and loyal soldier of Greyhelm."
Slowly Maurice nods, fighting something back, something he isn't quite sure of. "I am sure he died with honor. I will drink a toast to him and may his soul make it to the City of Truth in the Underworld."
Fare gives a bit more of a smile now after hearing this. "I am sure he would like that."
Returning to the table Maurice hands out a new round of drinks, and tells them all of what happend to Olar. All of them, even the pixie, raise their drinks to the air and give a cheer for the departed duellist.
"I just hope he killed a lot of those bastards before they got him," says the sprig Dril. "I had wanted to go down to the docks to fight but . . . I don't know why I decided to go up to the castle. Kinda strange how it worked out."
Kazier nods. "Hey, weirder things happen. If you hadn't been there that dammed chaos dragon would have incinerated all of us below. We were lucky you went the way you did."
Galith flutters his purplish wings some on his back, making a slight humming sound when he does so. "Well Dalin and I tried our best to hurt the big beastie. But all I think we were able to do was annoy it and his rider."
Through brownish teeth Dril grins. "Heh, yah. But you gave me the opening I needed. I always wanted to do that to a dragon."
The group does some more drinking and word slowly comes to the bar of the number of people that died defending Redshore. The triumphant mood quickly becomes a somber one. Some tears come to eyes here and there. The toasts and boasts end and many just drink in cold silence.
A man in plate and chain armor, somewhat sullied, comes over to the table of the four unusual individuals. He has short, dark hair and bears the tetryl falcon and gray crescant on his breastplate. "Greetings gentle sentients. May I sit with you?" He asks in a voice barely tinted with the accent of one from Tseraq.
"Certainly," says Maurice extending a hand. The two grasp each other on the forearm and look into each other's eyes. It is well known that the rulers of Tseraq were Kilmoorians at one time that broke away from the dragon worshippers long ago and settled in Corvel. Though as a people they have always served the country well, distrust and suspicion still follow them. Especially on a night like this one.
"I am Victor Norelven," he says, taking a seat by Kazier. "I was one of those people who fought down at the docks. It was a pretty intense battle."
With that Kazier chuckles. "It was pretty crazy up at the palace where we fought too. I think the Kilmoorians were trying to make a hostage of Lady Elundra or kill her."
"There sure were a bunch of them," says Dril, taking a hefty draw from his glass. "Good thing there weren't much more."
Victor rolls his own bottle between his hands, looking at it as if in contemplation. "I couldn't agree more with you, small sir."
Dril chuckles at this. "Don't call me that. I'm Dril Moonblade. The orc is Maurice, the elf is Kazier, and the little faerie is Galith." He says, pointing to each one as he makes the introductions. Turning his head he spits some tobacco juice into a corner, making a nice, brownish splat.
Maurice raises an eyebrow. "Forgive me Dril, you have mispoken. I might be a bit on the husky side I know, but I am an elf."
With that all eyes turn towards him and just stare. Maurice just smiles, quite toothily, and puts his fingers to his ears. "See? Look at these. Pointed aren't they?"
Kazier slowly nods. "Uh, yeah. They are kind of pointed."
Maurice then laughs, "Glad to clear that up then, my elven brother."
Dril, taps the orc on the wrist. "But your skin, it's green."
"True," he replies. "The better to be camoflauged in the forest wouldn't you agree?"
The little pixie Galith is listening intently to all of this. He has always thought the biggers were a tad on the strange side. They are too tall and the air must effect their minds in funny ways. He just shrugs and drinks some more spiced nectar from a thimble cup. "Sounds logical to me . . ."
Victor chews on his lower lip for a moment, wondering if he made a mistake coming to this group. He had heard they performed quite well in battling the Kilmoorian force at the palace but several of them seem disturbed or outright mad.
"Well, I am glad we know who we all are then," he says. "I just had a question, one I wanted to put to a group of skilled warriors like yourselves."
"What might that be?" Says Maurice, once again giving that happy grin.
Victor pauses for a moment, wondering how to phrase what he is thinking properly. "It's just I have to wonder where they all came from. The Kilmoorians I mean."
After saying that each in turn does begin to wonder. "There sure were a lot of them," says Dril. "A lot more than could have rid on the back of a dragon."
In a more hushed voice, Victor leans in towards the center of the table. "That's what I was thinking you know. They had to come from somewhere. And when we were battling in the harbor I know we didn't kill all of them, a few ran off to the marshlands to the south of here."
"They had to go somewhere," says Kazier.
"Indeed. I think they have a vessel or two somewhere out there, somewhere nearby." Saying this everyone now leans in to more carefully hear what he has to say. "Right now they are on the run, in disarray. If there is a vessel out there I think it would be our duty as loyal Corvellians to go out there and find it, don't you agree?"
"Sounds wonderful," says Maurice.
Dril jumps to his feet, checking the knives he has tucked into his belt to make sure he has enough. "So what are we waiting for? Let's go find these bastards."
The group gets up from the table and heads on out the doors. Before leaving Maurice goes to the counter and gives Fare a handfull of geld, far more than is necessary. "Thank you for your kindness, dear lady," he says.
The dwarven woman looks at all the coins before her and then back up. "What's going on?"
He just gives a familiar toothy grin. "Going to take care of some business."
They head out of town, past the groups still organizing the bodies and taking care of the wounded. Several buildings are still smouldering, having been set ablaze by the Kilmoorian invaders. It is very late and the sky overhead is clear but moonless, thus they are guided on only by starlight once they leave the borders of Redshore.
Southward they go, moving carefully so as to not make a great deal of noise. The pixie Galith sits atop the shoulder of Kazier. The glitter of his wings if he flew would certainly give their position away. Victor has the most trouble with his armor. He moves with cautious steps, minimizing the sound of his plate and chain armor. With stealthful steps they move into the marshy area.
The palm trees here are tall, their broad leaves swaing silently in a gentle breeze. There are many shrubs about and frond's of sea grass. Before too long the lights of Redshore vanish into the distance. The air here is particularly salty, and shelled crabs and other nocturnal creatures skitter about before them as they go this way.
Kazier's keen eyes point to the ground and tracks can be seen, many tracks. He goes to a knee and looks them over carefully. "They moved in a line, one behind the other. Not sure how many but there were a lot." His voice is barely above a whisper.
With weapons drawn, they move forward. Galith isn't quite sure what to do, he just hopes his magics can help his new friends if a fight is to break out. Ahead, hidden by brush, are found eight small boats. Obviously these are the craft the Kilmoorians took to make it to shore to stage their surprise attack.
Going to the sea's edge, the waters there lap gently at Dril's torn up boots. He peers outwards and sees a dark silhouette against the stars. With a motion of his hand everyone looks out as well. It takes a few moments to make out the shape of a large ship, a galleon anchored just a few hundred feet away. There are no lights aboard at all and it's sails are furled.
"How many do you think are on board?" Asks Victor.
"Not enough to save them from us," answers Maurice with a vicious grin.
Kazier looks back at the uncovered dinghys. "Do you think any returned from the fighting? Or did you get them all in the harbor Victor?"
The warrior from Tseraq slowly shakes his head. "I thought some got away, but only Rellian knows for sure."
Together they take one boat and drag it on out, all climbing aboard. There is just one set of oars and Victor is the one who decides to stretch his arm muscles. Slowly, deliberately, he begins to row towards the darkend galleon beyond. The actions he makes take time, as he does his best to be as quiet as possible. If there are a lot of Kilmoorians on board it is hoped by all to take them by surprise.
They make it to the vessel without incident and Dril ties the dinghy off. It is obvious he knows a bit about sailing. Cautiously, one at a time, each climbs up the rope netting on the side and make it to the top deck of the ship. Amazingly, no watch is about, no watch at all. Once Dril climbs up everyone is there.
All have their assorted weapons drawn and Victor nods towards the doorway below decks. He steps that way and the wood beneath his feet creaks just a bit. Everyone stops at that, wondering if anybody besides themselves heard the sound.
There is the pounding of feet and it the sounds of men cursing. The group fans out, taking fighting positions. Maurice and Victor stand side by side, one with a saber and the other with a two handed longsword. Kazier and Dril hang back, hoping to use thrown knives and other weapons before engaging in melee. Galith flies high, hovering above. The pixie begins drawing on his magics to befuddle and confuse the foes that are charging their way.
The door crashes open and out comes pouring over a dozen, dusky skinned Kilmoorians. In their foreign tongue they cry out as they rush forward with curved blades in hand. They are all bearded men, with hard, cruel eyes. Around their waists each bears the green sash of their nation and each is more than ready to kill.
Maurice lunges foreward, the point of his saber running one through right in the midsection. The large Kilmoorian howls like an animal as the blade sinks deeply into him. Yanking the weapon out there comes a great spray of blood and the dying man falls to his face, trembling in the agonies of dying.
Whirling about Victor chops with his great blade, hewing through flesh and bone. His sword hews left and right, only meeting the resistance of cloth and flesh. One curved blade glances off his breastplate but he is otherwise untouched. "For Corvel!" He yells.
From farther back Dril Moonblade throws and handfull of knives. The blades spin forward and bury themselves in the face and chest of two foes. Both spin in opposite directions, one silent, the other shrieking in pain. One flops about, clawing at the knife buried in his cheekbone and the sprig swiftly moves up and drives a blade into his throat.
While the battle rages on Kazier slips into the shadows and moves behind those engaged in fierce hand to hand combat. He draws out two blades, elven weapons called draenenmun. With these slender, curved blades, he drives their points into the backs of the distracted Kilmoorians. The dark poisons that he has secretly put on them greatly aid him in dispatching several of the foe.
Above Galith casts a spell and ensares one with it. The snarling man is suddenly surprised as he finds that he is suddenly dancing and twisting, his body no longer under his own control. He hops this way and that, moving to some silent tune conjured up by the pranksterish pixie who laughs at how silly the bigger now looks.
The battle ends relatively quickly and the worst wounds any have are just bruises and scratches. All those save two have been killed. The one who is dancing has it come to a vicious end as Maurice punches him square in the face. Another is badly wounded, a gash deep to his leg dealt out by Victor's sword.
Both are then taken and tied up to the main mast, hands securely bound by the sprig Dril. Maurice cannot help but notice that he makes the knots particularly tight, biting into the men's flesh. "Who else is on board?" Dril asks in their native tongue.
"Rot in hell," says the one that Maurice decked. "I'll not answer the questions of a stunted inhuman!" The Kilmoorian glares down at him, his face filled with hatred and contempt.
The rest of the group spreads out, trying to be ready for anything while Dril does his interrogation. The language of the Kilmoorians sounds brutal and harsh to their ears, but the short sprig seems to know it fairly well.
"They saying anything?" Asks Galith, now perched on the railing.
Dril grins maliciously. "Oh, nothing yet. We just had to get introductions out of the way first." He then takes out a dagger and promptly cuts the man's little finger off. There is a very loud shriek as this is done and the sprig holds up the bloodied digit in front of the man's agonized face.
Both Galith and Victor are a bit disturbed by this action, as is Maurice to a degree. However none intervene. These after all are the enemy.
"Want me to cut off some more?" Asks the sprig in a merry voice.
"No! Please no!"
The finger gets thrown overboard and Dril raises his dagger again, glistening with the man's blood. "So is anyone else on board, you sack of shit!?"
"The Captain! The Captain is still here!"
"Where!?" Asks Dril, pressing the dagger at the man's next finger. "Where is he?"
"I don't know! Somewhere below I think! Please, don't hurt me anymore!" The once defiant man turns his head and begins to choke in pain and the humiliation of being tortured. Tortured by a lowly sprig no less.
The two prisoners get gagged and they prepare to go below decks. Somewhere the Kilmoorian Captain will be there and he will not be so easy to take as his underlings were. Maurice takes the lead, being able to use his saber more easily in close combat that Victor who needs some room to swing his sword. Kazier, Dril, and Galith bring up the rear.
"Should we split up?" Asks Galith.
"Never split the party," replies Kazier. "If you go away from the main group you always get killed. Everyone knows that."
The little pixie's eyes get big when hearing this. He brushes back some of his hair and hums his wings. This adventuring is all very new and strange to him. After all he is only two years old. "I'll stick with you."
"Good idea."
They creep down into the depths of the vessel. All the lanterns have been snuffed out, and the place is nothing but shadows and twisting turns. Victor is having the worst time, being human, for he can barely see anything. The eyes of everyone else is good enough to help them navigate somewhat down here in the dark.
Stealthfully they go room by room, not knowing the layout of the ship makes this slow and difficult. The Captain could be anywhere. Nobody knows what to expect. Though evil bastards, the Kilmoorians are smart, very very smart.
Being in the lead Maurice glances down into the hold. Below he can see a dull, sparkling light. It takes him a second to realize what is going on. There is a trail of black powder going towards a series of large kegs, and that trail is burning. They are gunpowder kegs, with more than enough potential to destroy the entire vessel and all aboard.
"RUN! GET OFF THE SHIP!" Yells Maurice at the top of his lungs. Without hesitation everyone turns and moves as quickly as they can. He's seen something bad and they are doing exactly what he said to do. Only Galith stays where he is, letting everyone else run on by.
However, he does not follow them.
The big orc dives down in the hold and leaps towards the smoke powder. Everything seems to move like it does in a dream. He hurls himself through the air, arms extended their full length, trying in a desperate attempt to stop the gunpowder from igniting.
As they race to the top deck they see a figure at the bow of the ship. It is a large man dressed in ornate battle gear. He's the Kilmoorian Captain, with a huge moustache and even greater beard. With a sneer on his lips he dives overboard, leaving his two pleading crewmen behind.
Both Dril and Kazier dive overboard as well. Though in leather armor and clothing they will at least be able to swim. Victor, in his heavy plate and chain, knows that he will sink like a rock to the bottom. He moves over to the two squirming Kilmoorian prisoners, sword drawn. Looking them in the eye he wonders to Rellian what is going on but knows he can't run any further.
In the calm waters the Kilmoorian begins swimming to shore. However his clothing and armor is much heavier and bulkier and thus it takes him much greater effort to swim. Right behind though is Dril and Kazier. Almost humorously the sprig still has his ratty hat on, little arms splashing madly through the water as he swims with grim determination.
Below Maurice dives forward, slashing his saber down to break the fuse. He strikes too late, sword cutting short, and it blazes forward. He knows that it is over, he will not be able to move fast enough to stop it before it explodes.
In a blur Galith comes buzzing down like a speeding dart and he slides his tiny body across the powder line, breaking it. It blazes towards him, bright sparks spraying. But then it fizzles and dies out. It is over. The quick thinking pixie stopped the trail of black powder in the nick of time.
He stands on his tiny, booted feet and grins, looking over at the stretched out Maurice. "You okay?" He says in a merry voice.
The big orc just chuckles and grins.
Both Kazier and Dril make it ashore before the Kilmoorian Captain does. When the man finally slogs his way out of the water and draws his sword he is quickly tackled by the two and fiercely pummelled into submission. Dril takes particular satisfaction by kicking the man in the head several times.
"Should we kill him?" Asks Kazier, more than ready to cut his throat.
Dril shakes his head, putting some more chewing tobacco in his mouth. "Naw. We could use a prisoner or two. It'll be nice to see this bitch crawl."
The Captain is taken back to the galleon and tied up along with his two crew and the ship is then searched top to bottom. A great number of food and weapon supplies are found, plus a world map. There are also cannons along with the barrels of gunpowder below. They definitly came with hostile intentions.
Maurice finds a pistol and takes it, along with a powder horn and some shot. In the Captain's quarters some geld, swords, and some daggers made of dragon bone are found.
Some of the items are given out, others are not. Basically they are all beginning to realize that they have done nearly the impossible. This small band has taken a Kilmoorian warship intact.
Dril does some searching on his own and finds a secret compartment thre, loaded with jewelry and gems. Diamonds, emeralds, pearls and coral are what he finds. Secretively he pockets this, not knowing when he might need such treasures in the future. His companions seem to be decent, but he doesn't know any of them well enough to really trust them.
"This is a nice ship," says Victor. "However I don't think there are enough of us to sail it."
Sadly Dril nods in agreement. "I know, it's too bad."
There is a quick discussion and all realize they cannot keep this galleon. With war having broken out between Kilmoor and Corvel again, warships will be certainly needed in their nation's defense. All know that Lady Elundra Lorechester would certainly be able to use this vessel in protecting Redshore from further attacks.
"If we are at war with Kilmoor again, we need to think not of ourselves but our country." Victor paces back and forth, as if he is assessing everyone else's feelings in this. "This ship is worth thousands of geld, but we can't really use it. But our brothers in Corvel certainly can. Think of the honor we will have in this."
"Can't spend honor," says Kazier. "We're doing the right thing I guess."
"I suppose we are," sighs Dril. "Sucks don't it?" The sprig then glares and spits some chew at one of the tied up prisoners. The Captain just stares back at Dril. He can sense there is a great hatred burning within the little sprig, and he wonders what he might be able to do to take advantage of it.
With some difficulty the sails are unfurled and the ship is guided slowly towards Redshore. Dril knows a bit about sailing and gives most of the directions, helping them keep the vessel from running ashore and going the way it is supposed to.
As the gray light of morning dawns, the townsfolk see this great, Kilmoorian vessel steering towards them. For a moment there is a great deal of fear and panic. That is until they see on the prow the Kilmoorian flag being waved back and forth by an oddly dressed orc. An orc whipping a banner of the dragon lords back and forth is not something you see every day. Or any day for that matter.
The militia quickly scrambles and as the ship gets to the docks Captain Scrimm and three dozen soldiers are there to greet them. All are armed and armored, but they gaze in near confusion as they see the strangely assorted people slowly pilot the ship in. It is a very unusual sight.
The elderly Scrimm looks at the ship and then at everyone on board.
"How in the name of the Creator did you manage this?" He asks almost in disbelief. Slowly, recognition comes to him. "Wait, aren't you the people who helped defend the palace last night?"
Maurice bows, handing him the Kilmoorian banner. "It took courage and skill, Captain Scrimm. But victory was never in doubt."
With that Galith raises a little eyebrow but says nothing.
Behind Maurice comes Victor, towing along the three Kilmoorian prisoners all roped together. "My Lord, I am Victor Norelven. These prisoners and the ship belong to Lady Elundra, they are at her disposal."
Scrimm gives him a formal salute, seeing that he is a man of quality. "For that Lady Elundra will be most pleased. We will certainly be able to use this vessel."
Kazier hops off onto the dock, looking the ship over fondly one more time. "You should be able to get a lot of money for it, repair the damage that these guys did."
Everyone is quite pleased with what has happend. It was a hard fight but in the end they were victorious, having taken an enemy vessel, it's supplies, it's guns, and three prisoners. Things have been tough but it has gone well.
The prisoners are grabbed by the guards and roughly pushed along at sword point, going up towards the palace and then to the dungeon. The Kilmoorian Captain glances back, locking eyes with Dril for just a moment. He is then kicked in the ass, helping him move along. Dril just glares back as the man is taken away.
Maurice adjusts his red bandanna, positioning it to keep his long hair out of his eyes. "This has been a day of triumph, Captain Scrimm. Redshore has repelled the Kilmoorian invaders and now we have captured one of their warships intact. This is indeed a great day."
With that Scrimm slowly turns his head, looking back towards the palace and the damaged buildings on the docks. He can see the rows of bodies laid out there from those killed in the fighting the night before. There is something wrong in his manner, something is not right. He gives a heavy sigh and rubs at his eyes for a moment before speaking.
"We just got word not more than an hour ago that there were attacks all along the coastline, hitting the provinces of Tseraq, Cirabur, Stengal and others. This was not an isolated assault. It was a very well planned attack. A lot of people were killed last night."
"How many?" Asks Maurice, all triumph gone from his voice. The joy of victory has suddenly been whisked away in a heartbeat. Kazier, Victor, Dril, and Galith come close to Scrimm, all of them can tell that something else is wrong. In each a dreadful fear begins to build as they realize they are about to learn something terrible.
Scrimm looks back at the orc. "Unknown. But there were a lot." He opens his mouth to say something else but stops. He stops as if he is unable to bear what he is about to say next. The faces of the soldiers around him are the same as well, they all carry a sad, grim look to them.
"In Blariston there was an attack on King Cedric. Assassins from within his own guard attacked him while the rest of this was going on. He did not survive. The King is dead . . ."
Chronicled by Ken Paynter aka...Maurice leChevalier