High Seas Shenanigans (Updated: 12/04/05)

[Emperor Valerian]

Drag'n'fly typed up this update, including the song (one of her own creation). So kudos goes to her for her hard work!

Viktalia Cheers Up the Town... or... An Incident at the Bar

What a crowd! Viktalia peeked her slim muzzle around the corner of the curtain. Every available seat was filled, and many more were standing, all facing toward the small stage that stood on one side of the bar. Her sharp eyes eventually picked out Siran, of course sitting at the bar. I think that man is always drinking...

She pulled her nose back and ran her hands over her dress quickly, smoothing wrinkles and brushing off lint. Tonight she had opted for a slim, dark number, in honor of the slaves the elves has taken and the dead they had left. She ran her fingers through her hair, checking for snarls, as her mind picked over her choices for the performance tonight. Something uplifting would be best, to prepare them for tomorrow. I think I’ll concentrate more on singing than dancing tonight, this stage isn’t really large enough for a full performance. Maybe ‘The King’s Hunt’, or I can tone down the gestures in ‘Night of the Walking Water’… A decision in mind, the Fomorteran drew a deep breath, thought of something beautiful to bring a smile to her face, and stepped out onto the stage.

Immediate wolf whistles and howls battered her, but she kept her smile and strode forward to the small chair that had been set up for her.

“Greeting everyone.” Her voice brought more whistles, mostly from a small table in a dark corner of the room. She waited until they had stopped, and then said again. “Greetings. My name is Viktalia Starwynd, as most of you already know. Tonight, I’d like to treat you to an evening of some of the finest music that you’ll ever hear about life, beauty, and...”

“Since us a war song, lass.” A voice in back cut her off.

“Yeah, something good about slicing up elves.” Another voice from the opposite side of the crowd added.

Cheers for this suggestion rang out, surprising Viktalia with their ferocity.

“Do you mean to tell me,” she asked slowly “That you would all rather have a tale of death and hatred rather than one of humor or love?” The resounding affirmatives set her ears back. She glanced at Siran, but the cleric gave her an empty look across the top of his glass, then a nod. She narrowed her eyes at him, then faced the crowd, squaring her shoulders.

“You poor fools…” her voice, though quiet, instantly silenced the bar. “I’ll sing you a song, all right, one to strike the very soul within you, and perhaps teach you about the consequences of war. You’ll get what you asked for, a song of death, of fighting, and perhaps, if you’re lucky, you’ll get a whole lot more too.”



Siran stared at her in disbelief. Never before had he seen a bard so unwilling to play a song of choice for a crowd. She must be really angry, to insult the entire town like this. The town didn’t seem to care, however, as cheers greeted her announcement.

They want a war song... makes sense, considering they’ve been at war for several weeks already, the cleric thought, downing the drink before him and ordering yet another.



The next minute, Viktalia began to hum, a slow haunting tune that sent the familiar chill up his spine. However, when she began to sing, the sadness in her voice made her almost sound like she was crying.

The Ballad of Red

All you mighty warriors
Come listen, young and old
Rest now as I tell a tale
From many years ago

When the stars were young
And the world was fresh and green
There was a young Chirop boy
Whose tragedy I will sing

He was tall and strong
With a coat of deepest red
Red as fire, red as youth
And his name was Red

Like all of his race
Creation filled his life
In his forge he worked so hard
Shaping metal day and night

One day a traveler came to town
White Kaelia, with eyes of blue
All of the boys strove for her favor
And Red was smitten too

He hurried to his forge
And worked ‘til the morning broke
Then finding Kaelia, he knelt
And offered her a metal rose

Its leaves were finest silver
And in the light they shone
Kaelia stroked the petals
Red as passion, red as love

Then the beauty smiled
And offered Red her hand
That day they spoke of all the things
That lovers understand

But, alas, for these two younglings
Bliss was not obtained
On the day of their wedding
Tragedy rode the waves

The hatred of human and elf
Goes back to the start of time
Fomorterans don’t join the fights
But still we lose our lives

As the wedding graced the hills
Two ships crashed upon the sand
The battle that started on the sea
Continued on the land

Sword crossed sword, and arrows flew
Cries split the splendor of the day
The battle flowed up to the hill
The forest filled with flames

Red and his bride tried to run
But arrows rent the air
Kaelia shuddered as she fell
Flowers tumbling from her hair

She lay quite still and peaceful
White fur marred by streaks of red
And all around lay roses
Red as blood, red as death

The battle slowly faded
The survivors limped away
And as Red buried his wife
He swore his vengeance to the waves

Now the flames of his forge
Burned with the hatred in his soul
After his creations formed
Only his tears made the metal cold

One year after that fateful day
A black ship full of men
Was sneaking up an elven coast
To rape and pillage once again

The first mate heard it first
As he stood upon the bow
A dull thump and scrap of steel
Coming from the prow

Hand on sword, investigating
Was the last thing he ever did
A flash of metal, and spray of blood
Across the deck bounced his head

The seamen all came running
Only to halt with dread and tremble
At the figure sheathed in dripping blades
At the wing spines wrapped in metal

It flashed them out with deadly aim
The ship’s wood stained with red
Red as sorrow, red as anger
And the figure’s name was Red

Up and down the coasts he reined
Dealing justice by his creed
But no matter how much he killed
He couldn’t satisfy his need

How can anger and violence
Replace love, so pure, so brief
When you feel there is nothing left
But to gorge on revenge and grief

Finally, to quell the bloodshed
And purge the terror from their minds
Elf and human banded together
For the first ever time

They hunted the metal-winged warrior
Across oceans and through the lands
Till finally they cornered him
Upon his marriage hill he made his stand

As twilight fell, they slew him
And left his body rotting by the sea
Ground stained bright as scarlet coat
Empty eyes and shattered wings

But still on moonless nights, they say
A pale light graces the beach
Walking beside a guardian
Red as pleasure, red as peace

So now you’ve heard my tale
So very sad, so very true
Hatred only breeds more hate
While death stalks after you

Instead of all this fighting
Harken to the Chirop way
Create true love and laughter
Walk in happiness all your days

Viktalia finished on a ringing note that blasted the bar. Silence fell thick over the unmoving crowd. Then, slowly, two men near the door turned quietly and left, their faces thoughtful. A couple more started mumbling softly to each other, then a few more, until a soft, quiet murmur filled a room used to shouts and cheers.

But it was from the dark table in the corner that the loudest voices came.

“Bravo! Bravo! Never in all my YEARS have I heard such an exquisite voice. And what a body…”



Siran could almost hear Viktalia’s groan as two men and a halfling, all clearly drunk, stumbled up to the stage. Rolling his own eyes, he nevertheless stood up and began to edge forward, just in case the bard couldn’t handle her admirers. Drunkards... bah... The humans looked like everyday workers... rough wool clothes, slight beards. Dockworkers probably, Siran thought. The halfling, however, was clad in outrageously expensive clothes, jewelry dripping from his ears and fingers. Siran immediately realized what his profession was, as well, and edged closer to the bar. Just in case he doesn’t take to her too kindly...

“Now then, miss Starwwine,” the halfling slurred, stumbling up towards her.

“That’s Starwynd,” the Chirop corrected him, and stood up from her chair.

“Yes yes, as I was saying,” the halfling waved his hands dismissively. “A women of your caliber should not be sailing around the seas, getting into all sorts of mischief! Hows about I offer you a place in my one of a kind, top of the line, House of Repute.” The halfling grinned, and one of the drunk men chuckled at the clever name.

“A House of Ill Repute!” Siran couldn’t tell if Viktalia sounded more shocked or amused at the suggestion.

“No no no,” the Halfling quickly corrected, “None of mywomen are ill.” More dark chuckles from the two cronies. “Now then, I am prepared to offer you quite a handsome deal of course, 10% of the profits, and a chance to perform for the customers every evening….”

“I am sorry, sir,” Viktalia gave a small bow, backing away slightly as she did so. “But I must refuse. You see, I love my life, and I have no wish to trade it in to be a mere…pleasure-woman. Although your House does sound very nice.” She added politely, making Siran confused. Why is she being so nice and courteous... hell... I’dve slapped him across the face! Maybe she doesn’t think she wants to tangle with the cronies... The cleric edged closer and closer...

“Now look here, lady.” The halfling’s voice grew cold. “I don’t look too kindly on women saying no to me. So I’m only going to make my offer one more time.”

In his mind’s eye, Siran could quickly see the situation going sour, and began to hurry over the last few feet towards the stage. I’m sure Viktalia could handle herself if it was just the halfling, but if those two lumps of muscle he has with him attack her at the same time… He was surprised to see no look of worry on the Chirop’s face as he drew close.

“And one more time, sir, my answer is no.” Viktalia smiled sweetly as she made her denial quite firm.

Oh boy... here we go... the cleric thought, as he saw the two humans tense up, ready to lunge.

“Well, missy, I tried to be nice…” The halfling looked at the two men, and jerked his arm toward the bard. As they stepped forward, Viktalia stepped backward, spread her arms, and barked a single sharp note at the man in front. Instantly, the man wobbled widely, even for a drunk, and as he blinked and tried to take a step forward, his arm reaching for her, he collapsed to the ground with a loud crash.

Siran took this opportunity to charge the second man from behind, and bring his chain-wrapped fist down onto the man’s skull. He collapsed without a sound.

“Punk...” the cleric growled.

The halfling looked around at his fallen men with a cry of dismay, then glared at Viktalia and leapt onto the stage, chasing after her with a bellow, his jewel bedecked hands outstretched, grasping, clawing...

Viktalia flapped her wings once and jumped several feet backward. As she landed she again gave that short barking note, and the halfling fell onto his face.

By this point, the rest of the bar had finally overcome its stunned shock at the turn of events, and the bartender and another man had jumped up after the halfling, grabbing the prone little man. As they apologized profusely to Viktalia, they grabbed his armpits and hauled him to his feet. The halfling looked the far wrong side of drunk, with glazed eyes and a rapidly bruising lump above his right eye. Both men began to haul him off, when Viktalia stepped forward.

“Don’t hurt him.” She said, steel behind her voice, but mirth dancing in her eyes as she gave a mischievous grin. “I have something better that will set him right. Bring him backstage.” She winked at Siran as she followed the trio back behind the curtain.

What is she going to do to that ugly little thing? Siran wondered. The two humans were beginning to stir, so with more than a little glee Siran loomed over them, openly displaying his chain-wrapped fist.

“Lay quietly, like good little boys,” he hissed. It was hard not to laugh when the two drunks lowered their heads back to the ground and made small “eep” noises.

Seconds later, there was a loud cry of dismay from the back, shortly followed by a roar of laughter. A short, lace-covered figure tumbled back through the curtain and landed spread-legged on the stage, angrily swiping at the smears of rouge across his face.

High-pitched laughter from behind him caused Siran to turn to see a small group of young women who had just entered the bar, pointing at laughing with glee at the halfling in the dress and makeup. Their rakish, gaudy clothing left no doubt as to what their profession was.

“That’s our employer! Ha! I’ll never work for such a ridiculous man again!” one of the women snorted. The others laughed their assent, as Siran and the others in the bar joined in, and a few pieces of half-eaten food found themselves tossed at him.

The halfling on stage covered his red-smeared face with his hands. “I’m ruined!” he cried.

Viktalia emerged from backstage, laughing as well, but as she turned, her eyes fully caught Siran’s, and he knew that the bard was thanking him. Siran merely looked down at the men at his feet, grabbed his drink, and raised it in salute in return.

Note to self, do not to mess with Viktalia, he thought to himself, before looking back at the women at the bar’s doorway, picking out the prettiest of the lot. Now... I think I should check and make sure that she is definitely not ill...

 

[HalfOrc HalfBiscuit]

Well, I've finally caught up with you on this storyhour too.

Great stuff again, Emperor V. This is shaping up to be a more than adequate successor to the Celestial Empire.

Bring on the elves ....

 

[Emperor Valerian]

Next update will be tomorrow or Saturday.

 

[Emperor Valerian]

Unexpected Guests


Viesel stood rigidly, telescope in hand, scanning the horizon as the next day began to dawn. Everyone had insisted the night before that he help rebuild the fort, but Viesel had balked.

I have sharp eyes. Enemies can arrive early. I am best suited to watch for them, until the sun has arisen and human eyes can see as well as mine. He’d argued the same point the night before, and persuaded his superiors to agree.

As he scanned the horizon, looking for threats, his eyes spotted something indistinct, just to the left of the rising sun. He raised his telescope, shielding it partly from the blazing light, and looked just long enough to see a speck of white.


This is not good. There was an old adage in the Imperial army, that no plan survived contact with the enemy. Especially if the enemy arrives early, the warforged thought, quickly loading a charge into his rifle, and firing a blast into the air. A half-minute later, he fired the gun again. Two shots... danger!



Siran grumbled, and tried to pull the covers over his head, only to have something hold them in place. He tugged again, and still the light kept attacking his eyes. Finally, he sat up, rubbed them, and squinted, looking about the room.

Laying next to him was the woman he’d ‘checked’ the night before, her arm keeping her half of the covers firmly in place. He was about to wake her up, to see if any more ‘medical tests’ needed to be done, when he heard two sharp cracks echoing through the window.

Gunshots... Viesel!

Immediately training kicked in, and he leapt from the bed, only to stumble and fall to the ground as his feet got tangled in the covers. Twisting and turning like a pro, he tangled himself even more, as his companion rolled over and sleepily whined for quiet.

“Anias’ flaming... toothpick... bloody... flaming!” the cleric twisted, freely his arm only to entrap his legs even more. Finally, with an enormous kick, he forced himself free and leapt to his feet, just in time to see the door to his rather seedy inn-room thrown wide open.

“Gah!” Viktalia backed away, shielding her eyes from the unholy horror that was Siran uncovered, “Put some clothes on!” By the grimace on her face, it looked as if she’d seen the ugliest ghost in existence

“Sirraaaannn?” the woman’s sleepy voice whined again, “Its eeaaarlyyy...”

“I’m trying to!” the cleric fired back, donning his trousers hurriedly and cursing on the names of various pagan gods. “Damn stupid Pelor’s flaming...” As Viktalia groaned again in complaint, Siran looked up at her, pulling on his tunic. “You’re not helping!”

“How can I help when I’ve been scarred for life?” the bard fired back, still shielding her eyes.

“Sirraaaan!” the woman whined, “Not noooowww. It’s eaaarlyyy...”

“Your money’s on the dresser,” the cleric said hurriedly, buckling on his breastplate before blowing the half-sleep and confused woman a kiss. “It was a fun time, may we meet again, and yes, you are definitely cured!” he called, before dashing out of the room.

“Gah,” Viktalia groaned, following him.




“How many?” the cleric asked about ten minutes later, shouts and orders ringing across the docks as both the Spotted Pinnace and Kaled’s Black Joke prepared to hurriedly put to sea. While Siran had struggled to escape the webs of his evil covers, Viktalia had rounded up the ten crew that were not sleeping on ship the night before... all had been in the same inn as Siran, fortunately.

“Viesel said three ships,” Hrik said breathlessly in response. The poor boy had run down from the warforged’s sniper point to report the information. “He says that one ship is bigger than the others. I think its the elves. If its the elves, everything is going to go bad. They weren’t supposed to come like this. I have a gun. I can shoot it. Icanhelpyououtright? Right?”

Siran ignored the boy’s questions, raising his own telescope and looking out to sea. “Three ships,” Siran rumbled a moment later, snapping the telescope shut. For a moment, the captain in him took over, and he barked several more orders to get the ship underway as quick as possible, cursing up a storm to encourage the rather tired and somewhat hung-over crew to hurry.

“Gods be damned!” Siran heard Viktalia say, and for a moment, the cleric agreed with the Formoteran. Siran spun back around, looked through his telescope again, and growled.

“Three ships!? All three ships have returned!?” Siran hissed to himself a moment later. The sail had now grown larger, revealing itself to be a large ship with at least three masts... something easily as large as Kaled’s cromster, if not larger. Beneath the sea of white canvas hung a long and low hull, its sides painted green, its gunports painted brilliant red. Siran gulped as he counted eight blood red spots on one side of the large ship.

Sixteen guns there... and they’re probably bigger than ours, on top of being bronze...

On each side of the larger ship came two smaller vessels, only two masts each, like the Spotted Pinnace. Their hulls, following elven tradition, were also painted brightly, this time a searing sky blue. Siran couldn’t count their guns just yet, but eh safely guessed each ship could easily hold as many guns as the Spotted Pinnace, in a worst case scenario.

So at worst... we’ve got 24 guns, counting the pieces on Kaled’s ship, Siran quickly added in his head. And they have... 32, some of which, at least, are larger than our own. And at least some of the guns are bronze. He winced, and decided he needed to leave the math behind for someone like Hrik.



Visiel quietly ordered the four other sharpshooters with him to check their weapons, as his glowing eyes glared at the oncoming ships. He squinted, and frowned again.

The large ship... its larger than Lieutenant Kaled’s!

The warforged raised his gun, and shots again rang out over the harbor.



“What is Viesel doing now?!” Siran turned and snarled, alarmed and annoyed, before raising his fist towards the bluffs above. “Dammit! Stop wasting ammunition! We know there’s something dangerous out there!”

What could Viesel have noticed that would’ve made him fire his gun again? Viktalia thought. It definitely was not like the warforged to brazenly waste ammunition... there was some purpose to his firing of the guns. We know there are three ships... unless there’s a horde of tiny other ships, the only thing could be...

“The big ship is larger than Kaled’s,” Viktalia thought aloud. Worst case... three ships, heavily armed with many crews, versus our lightly crewed and comparatively lightly armed ships... Several whispered curses rang from her lips.

“Probably has a hundred crew,” Siran whispered back after hearing her words. “We can’t fight that firepower! We’ve got only twenty here, and maybe another twenty on Kaled’s ship! Bah!”


“We need a distraction,” Viktalia stated the obvious, and Siran nodded. The cleric looked down for a second as the Spotted Pinnace lurched forward, the first wind catching into her sails. Suddenly, he looked up, an idea in his eyes.

“Hey!” he barked to the few townspeople gathered to see them off, “get Lady Rowena! Tell her if she’s such a druid, to make a illusion or fogbank or something to get those some of those ships to head away!” Several of the townsfolk turned and dashed away, in pursuit of the druid.

“What? Why?” Viktalia asked sharply. “She’s supposed to be helping Viesel once we pin the elves in the harbor!” What about our trap? It’s still possible to pin the three elven ships here...

“There won’t be any trap. They’ve probably seen our ships already,” the cleric replied grimly, “but that doesn’t mean we can’t spring something different on them.”

“But why fog?” the bard persisted, “why not try to have her make an illusion of another ship? A fogbank won’t attract...”

“Oh yes it will,” Siran cut her off, the grimness still in his voice, but a slight smile was now on his lips. “If you saw several ships in harbor, then saw a fogbank creeping away from the harbor... a small fogbank, an obvious fogbank, one large enough it could still hide a small warship...”

“Oh...” Viktalia stopped, a smile starting to form on her own lips. Brilliant!

“If we can get either the big ship or the two little ones to chase after the fog, we can run down the other group... and stand a fighting chance,” the cleric paused, as he looked through his telescope again. “The big ship’s got sixteen guns... it looks like the smaller ones have ten apiece. If they split...”

“Siran...I might have underestimated you a bit,” Viktalia grinned. Devious and impressive!



She looks very stately up there on that ridge, Siran thought about ten minutes later, looking up at Rowena as the druid raised her arms towards the sea. The wind flapped against her silk, making it billow behind her as she called on the powers of the ocean itself, her voice distant, but rising in a melodic chant that seemed to almost soothe his ears. I bet she was a real looker when she was herself... before she was cursed, the cleric mused momentarily. It was a welcome distraction.

To the side of the Spotted Pinnace, Kaled’s Black Joke was already building up speed, racing past the smaller ship, before turning sharply to starboard, a move that would take her towards the east, and a small cove east of the town. The Spotted Pinnace followed suit, both ships raising full sail, their act of being panicked merchantmen in full swing.

As Siran watched intently, behind them the small elven flotilla seemed to stop, before finally they raised sail again, turning steadily towards the party’s two vessels. Then suddenly, in front of the harbor, the sea began to boil. Steam began to billow from the harbor depths, growing deeper and stronger, until a bank of fog, perhaps 50 feet wide and 20 feet tall at its highest, obscured a section of the sea. Siran blinked in surprise, as the fogbank slowly began to move, further and further down the coast in the opposite direction from where the two real ships were sailing.

After a few minutes, the largest elven ship seemed to pull in her sails, as her two smaller companions piled on canvas, and spun away from the Spotted Pinnace and Black Joke towards the now rapidly moving fogbank.

They’re going after the fogbank. Siran was miffed that the big ship wasn’t chasing the fog... they stood a better chance, he thought, against two smaller ships than one big one, but even now, at least they stood a chance.

“Boys! Pull down the sails! Make it look sloppy!” Siran shouted, not caring that the last part of the order probably wasn’t necessary. We need to look panicked, scared, as if we don’t know what to do... lure the big ship closer... “Helm, turn us 20 degrees to port!” Just enough that when we stop, our broadside will be facing the elven bastard...

Now... to hope that Rowena’s dog can go on long enough to keep those other elves away...



Viktalia too, watched the large elven ship as it slowly made its way towards them, its triangular lanteen sails only half unfurled.

“Why are they coming so slowly?” she asked, annoyed and afraid. Do they suspect a trap? She hurriedly looked down, confirming that the Spotted Pinnace’s gunports were closed. How can they suspect a trap? They’re whole-heartedly chasing down Rowena’s fogbank... but they’re only lazily coming this way!

A few minutes later, the elven ship furled the last of its sails, and everyone on board the Spotted Pinnace gave a collective groan.

Dammit... Viktalia cursed, fear and adrenaline running through her veins. They know something is up! They know it! At any moment, she expected the elven ship to use the last of its coasting speed to turn, bringing its long range guns to bear...

Instead, she heard Siran’s excited voice shout, “She’s dropping a longboat!”

A longboat only has ten or twelve people on board. Why are they dropping a longboat and sending it our way unless...

...they think we’re not worth the trouble of bringing their ship over?

“They bought our merchant ruse!” Viktalia blurted out excitedly. “They think we’re weak, so they’re only sending a longboat!”

“You really think so?” Siran asked guardedly, his spyglass on the tiny rowboat as it approached. “There’s only eight people in the boat. I don’t have a high opinion of elves, mind you, but elves can’t be that stupid.”

“These are... now what do we do about them? If they get on board, they’ll know we aren’t merchant ships really...”

“We can’t use our cannon... that’s far to obvious to the mother ship, and she could call back the two others,” Siran thought aloud. At the mentioning of the two others, Viktalia grabbed Siran’s telescope and checked. The other elven ships were now racing around a small rock promontory, to the west of the town. Quickly, they disappeared from sight.

“The other elven ships are gone,” Viktalia added. The large elven ship is quite far off... they might not see clearly if a few of us take pot-shots at the longboat when it draws near. If that’s the case...

“Siran, you think we should just shoot the longboat with some muskets?” It’d get rid of these slavers quickly! Now that she was sure the big ship wasn’t promptly ready to destroy them, and that she’d already had a taste of combat, Viktalia’s jitters were quickly disappearing. “I think I could take out the one in front, whose wearing something shiny...”

“No,” the captain replied rather suddenly.

“No? Why? You just said they can’t board us!” Viktalia said in confusion. “If they get on board...”

“They won’t,” the cleric grinned. “I have something special for them.”

Slowly, agonizingly, Viktalia watched the longboat draw closer and closer. As the longboat approached, Viktalia could make out its crew a little better... about ten elves manning the oars, each with a wicked curved scimitar and a pistol at each of their sides. At the prow of the longboat stood a single officer, resplendent in full silver armor, a gold hilted longsword on his hip. As the longboat closed, the officer raised a ship’s horn to his mouth. It too was ornate, with ironically peaceful patterns of leaves across its commanding form.

“Heave to!” a lilting, almost darkly musical voice called, its accent twisted the words of Common into something strange. “This is First Spear Elwin Midras of the elven ship Mithril Seas! You are now our prize of war! Heave your ships to, and prepare for boarding! We will take you out to the Mithril Seas where you will receive good treatment!”

Good treatment? Treatment as good as slaves? Viktalia wanted to growl, anger building up. You call burning a town good treatment!? Killing these people good treatment!? Itchily, the bard pulled out her pistol, hiding it behind her back.

“...resistance will be met with devastating firepower! Heave to, and prepare to be boarded!”

“Prepare for boarding my ass!” snarled back under her breath. She looked at Siran, expecting the captain to have his blunderbuss out already... but instead, the cleric was quietly praying on the deck of the ship. Frustrated, Viktalia whipped out her own pistol and took aim.

“Prepare for this!” she shouted, aiming for the head of the officer.

And all hell broke loose.

 

[HalfOrc HalfBiscuit]

Thanks for the update Emperor V.

I'm actually quite impressed with your players, as they now seem to be on to Plan C or is it D? Most groups I've DM'd or played in have resorted to "Oh ****, let's just attack" as soon as Plan A fails.

 

[Emperor Valerian]

I'd like to apologize, but there's not going to be an update this week... look for another update next week however.

 

[Emperor Valerian]

Short update tonight. They were doing pretty good up until this point... around here the "Oh well, let's just attack" took over. THey do have their limits.

*****************************
A Free for All

In her haste, Viktalia’s aim was far wide... instead of hitting the elven officer, it slammed into the rear of the longboat.

Before she could even curse, however, the elf leader’s body snapped to the right unnaturally, blood flying from his back as he spun and began to fall to the boat’s deck. As his crew looked on in stunned horror, a loud sharp crrraaaack echoed above the midday sea...


Viesel hurriedly rammed another ball down the barrel of his rifle, his eyes keenly watching.

I missed, he grumbled to himself. Sure, the target was over 800 feet away, sure, the wind had carried the bullet some, but the warforged didn’t care. As the other sharpshooters gathered around him finally reacted and attempted shots of their own, he took aim at the lead elf...



“What the...” Viktalia started. She looked over at Siran, but the cleric was still rigidly kneeling in place, his eyes closed fast in prayer. I didn’t do that... that elf was hit from behind... Viesel?

“Mont afo!” the elven commander shouted to the sailors in his own tongue. Immediately, their stunned staring changed to action, some grabbing for their wounded leader, others brandishing pistols, and the rest putting their backs into rowing away as if their lives depended on it. A split second later more gunshots rang out, as the elves opened up a ragged volley of pistol-shot.

Viktalia resisted the urge to duck as several of the bullets shot by her head. You’re second in command now... you can’t duck! You have to act like you’ve been doing this your entire life! Instead, she hurriedly reloaded her pistol, as the elven longboat slowly turned towards the distant elven mothership. As the Formoteran was taking aim with her pistol yet again, she heard a sharp yell, loud enough that her aim once again went wide.

Siran! she mentally yelled, and started to turn towards the cleric, when the sea itself underneath the elven longboat seemed to boil, as if a giant underwater was blowing bubbles. The elven fire stopped, instead replaced with shouts and screams from those inside the ship. For a second, Viktalia’s eyes caught the shape of something huge in the water, before the largest shark she’d ever seen, blue as the sea and fully as large as the elven boat, leapt from the water, its jaws agape. The elven commander had only a moment to scream, before the beast snapped him within its jaws as it arced over the hapless elven boat. With a crash of foam, spray, and blood, the behemoth summoned by Heraclius crashed back into the deep, dragging his armored prey down as well.

For a second, Viktalia started in shocked, stunned silence at the still foaming spot on the sea where the beast had disappeared, then she looked over towards Siran. The cleric’s eyes were open, and he looked at her with a positively mischievous grin.

“I bet you didn’t see that coming?” the cleric offered, and Viktalia slowly shook her head in wonder.

He made that... thing... jump from the water and grab the elven leader?! For a moment Viktalia gulped, wondering what other monsters Siran could summon through his saint, before her bardic mind took over. This would make for an excellent song... what should it be called...

The Priest of Sharks? Nah... sounds just plain... corny...

Demise of the Elves, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Sharks? Nah... too long...

Her introspection was interrupted by another blast of boiling spray from the sea, as the giant shark returned, this time from directly underneath the longboat. The elven craft seemed to momentarily lift into the air, before flipping over, dumping the entire crew of elves into the placid sea...

...with a shark that was easily close to twenty feet long...

Maybe Elven Stew? Viktalia thought as the elves screamed and flailed in the water.



“Well, what else do you see doing!?” Siran shouted a few minutes later, and the cleric winced at seeing Kaled’s dark face across the water. He cleared his throat, and continued. “This is our chance to take out the big ship! Her escorts still haven’t come back around, and they’re going to be right suspicious if we don’t at least act like we’re headed that way to surrender! The longboat could’ve flipped in a freak accident,” Siran offered in a hopeful tone, even as distant crrraaacks came from the hillside where Viesel and his sharpshooters were picking off the elves in the water, one by one. “But if we don’t at least act like we’re surrendering, that elven ship’ll get suspicious, and sit out there, with her long guns, and just pound us to pieces!”

“I know!” Kaled shouted back from the Black Joke, his face dark and glowering. “If your first mate hadn’t of opened fire on them, maybe you could’ve played it off as an accident! Now, we just have to hope the elves were too far away to see the gunsmoke or hear the gunshots!”

For a moment, Siran turned and looked at Viktalia. The bard’s face looked glum, even if she was still moving around the deck and giving orders as if nothing had happened. Kaled’s tongue lashing had been rather harsh, even if it was from another completely different ship.

“She did what she thought was right!” Siran shouted back. She’s a smart woman... even if shooting at them might not have been a good idea, she saw there was a situation, and took action. She needs to keep doing that. “Cut her some slack! She knew we couldn’t get boarded, and it was my fault for not saying what I was going to do!”

Siran couldn’t hear Kaled growl, but he could see from the Lieutenants expression that he wasn’t happy. After a moment of glowering, the barrel-shaped Kaled leaned over the railing and merely waved... the signal to enact Siran’s impromptu plan...

Plan C... or is it D? No... I think its E... the cleric thought, barking orders to the crew to unfurl the sails and turn the ship towards the distant elven monster.

“Make it look slovenly! Panicky!” Siran shouted up into the masts, as if the command had to be given. Fear was apparent in the eyes of the crew... down to a man. All had grown up hearing stories of the elves, their vindictiveness and cruelty. Some even had relatives that were now in elven chains... or worse. Once the first cannon shot rang out, all knew that no quarter would be given.

Slowly, even ponderously, the Black Joke and Spotted Pinnace swung their prows around, cutting through a sea that soon would no longer be quiet...

 

[HalfOrc HalfBiscuit]

Short update tonight.

Well any update is better than none.

They were doing pretty good up until this point... around here the "Oh well, let's just attack" took over.

And why not? It's usually the right answer. And even when it isn't, it's always FUN!!!

 

[Emperor Valerian]

Next update will be this Sunday, the 30th... and it will hopefully be a lot longer than the last one.

 

[Emperor Valerian]

A Bloody Day

What are they doing? Viesel wanted to ask, as the two smaller human ships swung out to sea. If they go out that far... I won’t be able to help them... As it was, picking off the survivors of the elven longboat still in the water was near extreme range for even Viesel’s rifle. The elven ship was far far beyond that, and slowly the warforged realized he wouldn’t be able to help this time...



Viktalia resisted the urge to instinctively duck as the dull roar of a cannonshot echoed over the ocean, a few seconds after a single puff of smoke came from the forwardmost gun on the elven warship.

A warning shot, she realized, as the cannonball sailed high overhead, splashing into the sea far behind them. They’re trying to tell us that they mean business... but that shot was awfully high...

...They’re greedy, she told herself, They don’t want to damage what they think will be their prize... Despite the reassuring thought that the elves wouldn’t pound them out of the water at long range, she still gulped on seeing the long row of red gunports that faced them, and the small army of figures dashing about on the elven deck.



Siran clenched his teeth only a few minutes later, as the long, low shape grew larger and larger, the elven xebec’s red gunports staring like the eyes of deaht itself peering into Siran’s soul.

“Chom a-sav! Morae diskenn!” Siran’s eyes flecked to the front of the huge elven ship, where several bright glints of silver denoted an officer with a ship’s-horn amongst the sea of bustling humanity on the ship’s deck. Other flashes rippled across the elven deck, and Siran grimaced more.

They’re handing out weapons... they’re expecting a fight now...

“Hrik! Are those guns loaded and ready!” Siran turned and barked. We’ll have one shot at this... figuratively speaking... Viktalia would kill me if she heard that pun...

“Yessir! Depressed down as far as they’ll go!” Hrik shouted back, and Siran turned to look at the elven ship before the excitable boy could say anything more. Instead, he raised his telescope, and watched the elven decks. More of the tall, willowy elves were on the deck, curved cutlasses, longswords and scimitars in the hands of many. In the hands of others shone the polished steel barrels of muskets.

Well, this is probably as close as we’re going to get... now... to time this just right. Siran’s carefully eyed the other ship, the range falling more and more as his heart beat faster and faster... the nervousness just before the guns let loose and battle was joined. If they turned too soon, they might not cause as much damage. Too late, and they’d run into the elven ship before getting a shot off... if the elven ship didn’t realize the ruse and shot them first. His gaze watched the elven captain, covered in bright silver armor, searching for any clues as to what the elf would do. The elf was busy barking orders in his native tongue, his hands waving and gesturing to the oncoming Spotted Pinnace... all of which further unnerved the cleric.

They’ve figured out that we aren’t quite as helpless as we might have seemed, Siran thought. Range is around 200 yards...Maybe we can get a little closer... Two hundred yards was close, but he wanted to be closer still... close enough that they wouldn’t hardly have to aim to hit the larger elven ship... close enough that they could board almost right after firing, while the elven crew was stunned...

Then Siran blinked... and cursed.

“Porus’ pisswater!” he swore, as one of the bright red gunports along the elven ship suddenly flipped open, and the long, golden, and angry barrel of a cannon now greeted his eyes. They know! They know!

“Let Fly!” he barked hurriedly. Please little boat... turn quickly, turn quickly!

Nimbly, the Spotted Pinnace lurched around to port, bringing her broadsides to bear as one by one, the elven gunports flew open...



Viktalia ducked as the deafening thunderclaps of the Spotted Pinnace’s guns successively roared through the air. Only moments later, her still ringing ears made out the still load roar of other guns going off. The air itself seemed to explode, and she felt the ship’s deck shudder under her, and splinters flash through her clothes. After only a few seconds, the din died away, replaced by the moans of wounded men, and the noise of water lapping against the ship’s hull.

The Formoteran opened her eyes, and looked around in a sea of acrid smoke. A huge part of the starboard railing was gone, and of the four crew manning that section of the ship, three lay on deck, bloody splinters coming from their bodies. She winced when she saw the fourth... his mangled, headless torso lay close to the opposite side of the ship.

Holy... the frightened, still unsure Formoteran in her shouted, before her sterner side remembered she was now the First Mate, and there was work to do. With all the willpower in the world, she forced herself to stand up. In a performance worthy of the greatest theater, the bard then forced her gaze into one of business, not fear, and began to bark orders.

“Damage report!” she called into the smoke, walking towards the middle of the ship, hoping Siran was still up and around. Her moment of fear passed when she heard the distinctly loud and sharp cursing of the cleric of war coming from the front of the ship.

“Mr. Yarls! Put our ship beside theirs as soon as you can! Everyone else, get some weapons and get ready to skin some elves!” He lumbered from the smoke, his face darkened with exertion and gunsmoke.



They got off a broadside just as we did... Siran fumed, looking about the deck. I see four dead... seven injured... the mainmast looks like its seen better days, he winced, the shining black shape of a cannonball still imbedded deep in the base of the mast. As the smoke began to thin, he began to make out the shape of the Black Joke, still following behind, now minus her mizzen-mast. Her gunports were open, and over the noise of his own crew, Siran could hear Kaled barking orders to prepare for boarding.

Good, they’re still there... we started with only thirty-five crew here... we’re going to need as much help as possible...

The cleric then turned his eyes back towards the starboard, where he could now make out the long, low hulk of the huge elven warship. Figures dashed about in the dark clouds of cannon smoke, and he could make out the silver-armored elf still barking orders, still well in command.

They weren’t hurt that bad... he realized, looking at the side of the elven hull. Large chunks of the railing were gone, and several of their cannons were visibly knocked from their moorings. He could make out the gray robes of elven priests of the pagan god Corellon Latharian rushing about the deck, saving those they could. They still have alot of sailors and warriors...

“Mr. Yarls! Belay that order!” Siran turned and barked again. We have no topmen... we can’t pick them apart with musketry since Viesel and his sharpshooters aren’t here... “Helm, hard-a-starboard, immediately! Viktalia!” the cleric’s gaze found the Formoteran helping some of the wounded crew below, “I want you to help the port guncrew! Mr. Banis! Double canister!”

We have to sweep their decks clean if we want a chance...

“Aye sir! Double canister!” the crewman in charge of the port guns shouted back, and Siran watched as Viktalia gave a quick salute before running over to help. Even with the extra help that the other guncrew was giving, Siran winced when he saw only ten people reloading the guns. They’re going to be too slow...

As the Spotted Pinnace heeled to the starboard, Siran looked back at the elven ship. St. Heraclius... let my sailors reload quickly enough... he mentally prayed as the pinnace swung in an arc that would take her behind the elven ship, and into position to rake* her opponent. If they were ready in time, every single piece of metal in their canister shot would rip apart a goodly number of elves... and even the odds...

Suddenly, Siran’s eyes caught something strange... an elf climbed on deck from below, clad in violet robes, not gray.

Who is that? A high priest of their pagan god? the cleric thought, trying to remember what the different robe color meant. As he watched, the elf raised his hands towards the sky, and the elf’s long, thin fingers began to glow and shimmer...

Healing spells don’t do that... Siran thought, the confusion turning into fear. Only moments later, a tiny, bright bead formed between the elf’s hands... and Siran finally, belatedly, realized what was happening.

“Dammit! They have a mage!” Siran cursed as the tiny white bead grew quickly. Instantly, the deck of the Black Joke exploded into a sea of flames, a massive explosion blowing her mast high into the sky...




Viktalia stood rooted in her spot for a moment, as the Black Joke transformed into a raging inferno before her eyes. She then worriedly looked back at the elven ship, to the robed man who’d launched the unthinkable destruction. An elf that can do THAT? She knew the elves were powerful in magic... but knowing something and seeing it for the first time were two entirely different things...

“Take him down! Take him down!” Siran shouted, pulling out his blunderbuss pistol and firing despite the hopeless range.

If Viesel was here... the Formoteran thought angrily, drawing her own weapon as the crew opened up with pistols, their shots flying wide. Just as before, the elf’s hands began to faintly shimmer and glow... and this time, his eyes were directed seemingly at her.

We’ve got to shoot him! she realized numbly as her body went into action, as if by instinct. She’d watched for many years how men of war used their pistols – it seemed a good skill to have when travelling, at the very least for personal protection – and she carefully knelt on the foredeck, bringing her free arm up to brace her gun arm for its shot.

Time it... she told herself, waiting through the pitch and roll of the ship, as it splashed closer to the elven vessel. Finally, when she thought she had the shot, she gently squeezed the trigger.

And cursed, as the head of the elf clad in bright silver, standing next to the mage, exploded into a sea of red. She’d hit a target, but not the one she wanted... and it seemed as if nothing would stop the mage from launching his fiery magic on the Spotted Pinnace...

As his hands glowed brighter and brighter, she saw a bead begin to take shake between his palms, growing larger and larger.

She jumped out of her skin when she heard the explosion right next to her ear...


===================================
*Rake – A ‘rake’ is probably the deadliest manuever in sailing warfare. Most wooden ships have heavily timbered sides... in many cases thick enough that in real life, cannonballs could – and did – merely bounce off instead of penetrate the hull. However, most ships did not have as heavy of timbers on the stern of the vessel... many had instead the captain’s cabin, with wide, brittle windows. Cannon shot would punch through with ease. Doubling the danger, any cannon shots that were fired into a ship’s stern would bounce down the length of the target, killing men and destroying guns along the way. Often, a single raking broadside could cripple an otherwise untouched enemy vessel.